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Rick Silva

Zenlike bassist of Psychosis

0 · 624 views · located in Baltimore, Maryland

a character in “Win Hands Down”, as played by Erik7622

Description

Full Name: Ricardo Juan Silva de Colombo. He tried Ric Silva for a while, but everyone spelled it Rick, so eventually he did.

Age: 29

Birthday: 9 September 1980

Appearance: Rick has the classic bassist build, one might say. One might also say he has the classic bouncer build, but he's a little short for that at a merely average 5'11. As alluded to, though, he is fairly heavyset, but in equal measures fat and muscle. His black hair stays kept business-short. He's able to pass as swarthily White in some contexts, at least until he opens his mouth.

Role: Erik7622's second-secondary, Bassist in Psychosis

Musical Style: Having worked with Izzie for a while now, Rick has refined his bass style to fit Psychosis. He tends to stay in rhythmic line with the guitars and drums, but frequently plays a contrapuntal line instead of merely following the riff. The lack of frets on his bass allows for frequent glissandi, and he also likes using double-stops to accentuate certain parts. For the slam grooves and some short solos, he'll also punch on his fuzz. His main influences on bass are Steve DiGiorgio, Joe Lester, Steve Harris, and Jeroen Paul Thesseling.

Instruments: Rick's main bass is a MusicMan Stingray, which he has owned since just after joining Psychosis. They've been through a lot together, and he loves the thing. He plays it into a Peavey T-Max and an SVT fridge, with a Boss tuner and Way Huge Swollen Pickle fuzz. He also still owns his first bass, a Greco Precision.

Personality: A self-proclaimed "functional slacker," Ricardo generally seems to coast through life, relying on a little bit of luck and serendipity to stay out of trouble. This isn't entirely a false impression of him, but he's more savvy than he lets on. He's not a Machiavellian mastermind by any means, but he's definitely good at reading people and situations, though not as good as he sometimes thinks he is. Naturally, that last part has a tendency to get him into trouble, but usually he can coast out of that too. Usually. Underneath that, though, he's also a little restless and unsure of what, exactly, he wants. He speaks both English and Spanish fluently, though not eloquently, and has as much of an accent as you'd expect.

Biography: Picture, if you will, a young boy of about ten. His father sits him down. "Escuchalo," he says. Listen to this. He puts a record on the player, hits play. The boy strains to read the writing on the sleeve nearby. It's English, of course, but the art strikes him first: a skeletal spook-man, grimacing at him, bloody hammer held back as if to strike again. Then the music starts. It's different from the radio, harsher, with a martial beat and heavy guitars in symphonic harmony. It's cool, but then he hears the bass on its own, a unique sound like a hundred wheels rolling over him. The boy smiles as the singing starts, English of course. "Me gusta," he says. I like it. I don't understand it, but I like it.

That was the start of Ricardo Silva's love of bass and heavy metal. He already loved music, but that had been mostly his mother's favorite Latin bands and the music on the radio. After that, he started on a path towards the darker, the more extreme, going from Iron Maiden and Ozzy Osbourne to Slayer with aplomb. He played in a few garage bands during this time, mostly school friends, before joining his first "pro" band, the Spanish-language death metal band Fin de Días. He held down a few jobs in this time, but music became his priority from Fin de Días onwards.

It wasn't smooth, of course. Fin de Días only lasted a couple years, and Rick bounced through a few bands before settling in with a tech-death outfit named Psychosis. He found bandleader Izzie Martinez terrifying, but took it as a challenge to improve his playing. He started learning bits and pieces of jazz theory and counterpoint, then grew them into his own style within the band. He's now the longest-tenured member of the band not named Izzie Martinez, a distinction he calls "Sobreviviente de la mierda más loca."

So begins...

Rick Silva's Story

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Lionel Anderson Character Portrait: Ted Marubini Character Portrait: Rick Silva
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The new arrival recognized the '64 the moment he turned the corner, by its distinctive former occupants if not its own appearance. The disparate heights and the guitar cases confirmed it; the Martinezes would be the first in the Studio with No Name. But second would be Rick Silva.

He pulled through a space down from the bandleader's car and parked. He retrieved his Stingray case and the small duffel bag crudely labelled "efectos" from the backseat, then locked up and headed for the studio after his bandmates. Ada was nowhere to be seen yet, but that was to be expected: new studio and all.

Immediately upon entering the studio, he noticed two things. One was a lack of any people, indicating (in his mind) that this studio's owner placed inordinate trust in Izzie to not be round when a band was using his space. It also indicated that Izzie and Val had already gone to the rehearsal room to set up, so he started to hurry down the left corridor. Before he left the front room, he noticed the second, more important thing: A sign hastily set on the desk, with arrows pointing left and right. By the left-pointing arrow was written 'STURM', and by the right-pointing arrow was written 'PSYCHOSIS.'

Ah.

He corrected his course immediately, barely pausing to wonder who Sturm was, and why they would need a sign indicating who went to which rehearsal space. Booking one band and not being there was one thing, but booking two bands? At the same time?

Helpfully, Izzie left the door open, allowing him to enter without a grand announcement beyond two upward head-bobs to his bandmates. With no fanfare, he set his bass case down and started unpacking his setup.

------

"Early is on-time, on-time is late, and late is unacceptable."

Surprisingly, Ted Marubini did not espouse those words, but Lionel figured he might as well. He didn't flip shit, exactly, but he had his own ways to make a musician regret being late. Lionel had seen it only once before, and didn't care to be on the receiving end of it. Consequently, when he saw the bus ran near the Studio with No Name only at every bottom of the hour, he realized he'd have to bite the bullet for a noon rehearsal, then see if he could bum a ride off Ted or Zack.

What? Christina was right on-time without having to pick his ass up, no sense fucking with that.

He decided to take only his strat this time, not willing to lug the heavy hard-case for his LTD on a bus on a Baltimore morning. Maybe if he could bum a ride off—never mind that for now.

The bus arrived and disgorged him at exactly half-past. Naturally, it also disgorged him a few blocks from the studio. Nothing a short walk couldn't fix. Partway through he realized only Ted knew the key combination, and that Ted wasn't here. And that two other cars were here.

This warranted a call.

"Yo."

"Yo, Ted. Where you at?"

"I was about to ask that myself." The urbane-yet-urban voice cloaked a certain level of frustration Lionel had heard before. He knew it wasn't his fault; it wasn't really anybody's fault, but Ted was a little mad.

"Ted—"

"Wait, I'm passing BWI. Again."

"Fuckin' A, Ted."

"Look, my GPS got me turned around and traffic sucks." Oh yeah, he was mad.

"You overshot," Lionel started. "Head like you going to the harbor, but turn off at Cherry Hill. Cherry Hill, Ted."

"Cherry Hill...okay. Then what?"

"It's like...right outside the projects. Can't miss it." Lionel glanced up at the studio, fitting its lack of name by not having a sign. "Okay, maybe you can. It's pretty ordinary. I'll be outside."

"Fine," Ted said. He hung up before Lionel could think about whether to bring up the possibility that they were not alone in this studio. He thought about calling back, but decided Ted had enough trouble without this.

Alone he went into the studio. Immediately he noticed a sign pointing Sturm one way and a band called Psychosis another. From Psychosis's side he heard a burpy fretless bass playing something that sounded halfway between Iron Maiden and Weather Report. Then the fuzz kicked on.

...Okay, I gotta see this. Against some quiet nagging doubts, he went over to Psychosis's side and peered in the open room curiously.

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Valentina Diaz Character Portrait: Lionel Anderson Character Portrait: Ted Marubini Character Portrait: Isabel Martinez Character Portrait: Zack Walker Character Portrait: Ada Rae Leveque
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When Val interrupted Izzie's admittedly fun jaunt through "Gilles de Rais", Rick dropped his volume and took the opportunity to adjust his fuzz settings. Briefly he considered gluing the knobs in place like Peter Steele (shit, was he really gone?), but as quickly as the idea came he dismissed it. So absorbed was he in getting the tone that he didn't notice the audience, at least not until Izzie addressed them.

And apparently she knew one member of Sturm, too. Not too unusual, he supposed; Baltimore was only so large of a city. No doubt they had met somewhere. No doubt he would never, ever hear how they had met. Izzie just wasn't that sort of person, which was fine. Just another layer of mystery in that enigma, wrapped in a riddle, encased in a titan.

Heh.

Oh, right, the visitors. The first two looked like salt and pepper. "Pepper" looked younger for his lack of a beard and height, and seemed like a guitarist, if only because the bag slung over his shoulder looked far too short for a bass. Besides, "Salt" looked much more suited to bass, or possibly bodyguard. Jesus he was big, right about Izzie's size.

"Saludos," he said, waving with a free hand. "Rick Silva."

-----

"Lionel," the guitarist responded, trying not to feel intimidated. Psychosis clearly had years of experience on Sturm, and though Lionel wasn't the biggest fan of the brutal-tech sound, he had to admit they had honed it to a fine art.

Patience, he reminded himself. This wasn't a competition. Music never was.

Although to the newly-arrived Christina, maybe it was in one respect. "Yeah, he got lost," Lionel said, almost embarrassed on his fellow guitarist's behalf. "He should be here soon, though. I gotta watch for him." He sidled past Christina, Zack, and an unfamiliar third person, a woman who didn't look like she belonged anywhere near two partial death metal bands. He ignored her and headed back outside, guitar-bag still on his shoulder.

And just in time, for as he walked out, a green Sentra came barrelling down the road. Lionel waved, and the car slowed dramatically, put on its turn signal in time to swing into the lot. It parked next to Christina's Accord, and out came Ted, tall and lean, rumpled sport-shirt buttoned one shy of the collar. He didn't wave to Lionel until after he'd retrieved his guitar case from the back of his car and locked it back up.

"You can stop smirking now," he growled, more annoyed than malicious. "That's Christina's car, isn't it."

Lionel tried to answer, but could only laugh and gesture for Ted to follow him into the studio.

Ted sighed, then asked, "What's with all the other cars?"

"I was aboutta say," Lionel began, quickly sobering. "Short version, we got company. Long version, we got company, and one'a them knows you."

When he got no response, Lionel glanced back. Ted hadn't stopped short like some stereotype of shock, but his face had frozen in confusion. Lionel decided to put off the ride question for later on.

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Valentina Diaz Character Portrait: Lionel Anderson Character Portrait: Ted Marubini Character Portrait: Isabel Martinez Character Portrait: Zack Walker Character Portrait: Ada Rae Leveque
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#, as written by iCakez
Zack looked into the room and gazed at their gear, noting what they used. When the setting was right and the people eager to talk, he would readily engage in gear talk. A gear freak when he was allowed to be. He nodded and smirked behind his beard, fixing his eyes on the members of the band that occupied the room. He was quite impressed by the sudden flash of skill from the guitarist of Psychosis. He had no time to comment on it though, before a giant of a woman directed words at them. Zack nodded in reply and looked behind him as Christina arrived.

"You're going to tease aren't you?" He said and smirked. They knew that none of them could tease Ted with that. He wouldn't like it. At all. But maybe Christina could get away with it. If she smiled prettily while she teased it.
Zack pushed those thoughts away and returned to the situation he was currently in. []iShe's so going to tease him...[/i]

He nodded to the man who introduced himself as Rick Silva. Actually, he was the only one to properly introduce himself. Zack figured that he should just go ahead and get it over with himself, then. "I'm Zack." He started. "I play the bass for Ted." Zack fixed his eyes on the giant woman who'd mentioned the frontman of Sturm by name earlier, prior to any introduction. "I take it you know Ted?" He added and smiled.


-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Introductions were a little slow for her, but they got it overwith. Well, almost. The huge man from Sturm deigned to state his name and role. She watched as Rick did the same, aside from stating his role since that was evident. Ada knew that meeting Psychosis could be a little intimidating. Mainly because of Izzie, but still.

She decided to stretch out her hand and take Zack's. "Hi!" She greeted happily. "I'm Ada." His rather large hand took hers and her small one almost disappeared. Zack smiled and shook her hand. Compared to Zack, Ada was tiny. She felt more normal when looking at the newest arrival, another woman. She repeated her gesture and stretched out her hand. "Hi, Ada." She took a step towards her as she spoke. "You look lovely. Welcome to the studio!" Ada smirked. She could be very open, from time to time. And she hadn't even had her first drink yet! Haha. Hmm.

"Well..." She said as she turned away and walked into the room. "What's up?" Ada called to her bandmates, hoping that the distraction of these new people would make Izzie forget that she'd been a little late. "You all good, Rick?" her small frame approached him and she put a hand on his shoulder, leaning down. "Izzie hasn't promised to disembowel me yet, right? Did she notice I was late?" Val wasn't as approachable as Rick was, Ada felt. She was working hard on that, though. Soon they would be getting drunk together and hugging and all that. That was her goal. She wasn't going to ask Izzie for obvious reasons, so that left Rick.

Ada turned and looked at the members of Sturm again and smirked. She wanted to see how Izzie was going to interact with these guys. That was always fascinating. One of the traits Ada found fascinating and truly liked her for.

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Ted Marubini Character Portrait: Zack Walker Character Portrait: Ada Rae Leveque Character Portrait: Rick Silva Character Portrait: Christina Kjaer
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In response to Ada's query, Rick craned his neck to face her and put his finger to his lips with an exaggerated "Shhhhhh." He didn't think it would be that big a deal, since they were still setting up and warming up. So long as she didn't delay that part of the process, it'd barely even affect their rehearsal. Honestly, it was hard to be mad at Ada anyhow, though after what happened to Patrick, Rick would put nothing past Izzie.

At some point Sturm's mid-sized member (Lionel, he reminded himself) had left, leaving only the big man (Zack) and the newest arrival, a petite chica somehow smaller than Ada. Given that Ada was the drummer for Psychosis, Rick had to second-guess whether Christina (for so she called herself) was the drummer for Sturm. Time would tell.

For now, back to finding the perfect fuzz tone. Again.

-----

Ted took only a glance at the sign indicating where Sturm ought to go, and set his eyes there. Studiously he avoided a pair of eyes, but he could feel them on the back of his head. He was late, of course. Couldn't be helped now, except by getting started. He'd already warmed up some while eating his late breakfast; the easier to get started now.

Of course, if Christina would stop staring at him like that...

"Okay, I'm late," he admitted.

Whatever Christina said next, he didn't hear, as a fuzzed bass cut through from across the studio. Clearly whoever was playing it was merely testing and adjusting settings, but Ted had to admit it sounded interesting. Was that fretless? What sort of band was this "Psychosis" that would have a fretless bass and fuzz? Seemed like an odd combination.

Intriguing...oh, right, they were there to record. Ted broke back to reality just long enough to hear Christina's jibes, and promptly tried to force them out. Key word being tried.

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Lionel Anderson Character Portrait: Ted Marubini Character Portrait: Isabel Martinez Character Portrait: Rick Silva
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A NEW DAY




The perfect fuzz tone finally came to Rick as he started warming up to track bass on "Gilles de Rais". He recognized it in a trill that sounded almost liquid. He didn't yell anything when he found it. He just looked up at the ceiling and kept trilling the two notes, hearing the seamless transition and sustain, feeling it, living it.

Then he remembered Izzie was watching from the control room, and quickly stopped. "Right," he said, adjusting his headphone mix back to the clean channel over the fuzz. "Listo."

The metronome clicked off eight lead-in beats. Rick took a deep breath. The bass part to this song was harder than the standard for Psychosis bass, with a few jumps in time signatures and a blistering bass-guitar trade-off section. They could punch the fuzzed-out fills in, but he (and Izzie) would prefer a single take for the overall part, so much the better if he could get the fills in the same take.

One minute. Intro and first verse, nothing special, too fast for anything fancy. They tracked a fuzzed part simultaneously, just in case anything sounded better. He didn't complain, since it meant no need to punch the fuzz on, and therefore one fewer opportunity to screw it up.

Two minutes. The slam chorus offered a chance for his contrapuntal efforts to shine, but then back to a steady gallop.

Three minutes. The gallop gave way to a second slam, this one with axes set to kill. Val would sow her demented brand of lead guitar later on, but for now, the stage was Rick's, for two short solos. The first one was simple, a double-stop slide up and a few flashy but easy licks. Nailed it and transitioned seamlessly back to the slam groove where Val would have her rejoinder. Then it was time for the second solo. A quick slide up, then a pseudo-sweep—

"Fuck!" He slid up too far, putting the whole solo out of tune. He stopped playing, but held a finger up. "Keep going," he added, before transitioning back into the slam for Val's second solo. They could punch that in.

After that he only had another verse and the perfunctory outro. The mistake haunted him, but he kept it together just long enough. After the last note, he gave the strings a frustrated whack, sending a dissonant chord into everyone's headphones.

"Sorry!"

-----

"Is this gonna be a regular thing?"

"No. Now c'mon."

Lionel sighed, then eased his guitar into the back of Ted's car, then himself into the shotgun seat. Ted pulled away and lurched into traffic.

"Studio's nice," Lionel said.

"Yeah." Ted wasn't in the mood to talk, but he had to admit that.

"I'm not sure if we're gonna get much done in a half-hour."

"Is what it is," Ted replied.

Truthfully, it wasn't about getting extra work in. Ted wanted to observe Psychosis at work. He considered himself a fine guitarist, but production was a different animal. He had self-produced his own solo record, but that was, well, a solo record. It was him and the acoustic, piezo pickup, a bit of added reverb at parts. This was a full metal band. He'd need all the experience he could glean.

Plus, it might be nice to reconcile with Izzie. Despite the terse split, he respected Izzie as a musician. They didn't work well as bandmates or musical partners, but Ted had had enough trouble over the years to know it hadn't been entirely her fault. It hadn't even been largely her fault. Compared to the "only prog nerds play in 5/8" argument that had landed Ted out of Evil, Izzie's quirks seemed so minor. And as much as he hated to admit it, she had been right about not needing seven takes of that solo.

Lionel's navigation landed them outside the Studio With No Name a few minutes earlier than Ted had projected. They came in to find the place eerily quiet. A third sign had joined the band signs, one word: SILENCE.

The guitarists glanced at each other, then quietly slunk over to their rehearsal room to drop off their guitars. Bereft of their axes, they made their way to the recording area.

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Lionel Anderson Character Portrait: Ted Marubini Character Portrait: Isabel Martinez Character Portrait: Zack Walker Character Portrait: Rick Silva
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"Not exactly," Ted said. "The bassist was the one behind that stunt, actually. He had some, uh...interesting ideas about recording. Mostly involving lunchbox amps on full volume." His expression turned a little dour at the memory.

Lionel shook his head, still confused about the epithet of "Jazzhole." It appeared he wasn't the only one. He made a note to ask Ted about it before they settled into rehearsing. Nice place, he mused, glancing around at the spartan engineering booth. He gave a small wave to the bassist in the recording room. Poor guy looked a little bored.

As soon as he turned to respond to Zack, the bassist had retreated to the hallway to call Christina. There was still time before Christina had to be here, about twenty-five minutes or so. Still, couldn't be too careful. Ted seemed in an alright mood, though, so maybe it wouldn't matter so much.

"So can you record multiple people at once in there?"

Lionel glanced over to his fellow guitarist. His expression was serious, but neutral. Suddenly coming by a half-hour early made sense. They'd discussed recording practices a few times, but Lionel hadn't been much help. Blasphemme had recorded into Jo's computer with some arcane process involving GarageBand, simulated amps, and input-output settings that Lionel had never bothered to learn. Neither had Evan Caul, so when Trap came about, they set a voice recorder on a music stand in front of their rehearsal setup and played.

Sturm had done the same thing for their demo, but this was different. This was professional. Well, more professional. They had to sound good, however that happened. Presumably it involved actual amps and microphones and shit.

-----

Rick, meanwhile, noticed that Izzie had removed her headphones, started practicing the next song, alternating with a few random ideas of his own. He wasn't sure what to make of the other band. He'd found their demo online after a bit of googling ("Sturm Baltimore" did the trick). The recording was pretty messy-sounding, but that seemed more bad production than bad playing. The two guitarists certainly seemed serious.

How Ted/Edward was related to Izzie intrigued him, but he knew better than to ask her. On the other hand, nothing prevented him from asking him. And if Ada had her way, there would be quite a lot of hanging out. And a not-inconsiderable amount of beer.

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Valentina Diaz Character Portrait: Lionel Anderson Character Portrait: Ted Marubini Character Portrait: Isabel Martinez Character Portrait: Rick Silva Character Portrait: Christina Kjaer
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"A fair point," Ted replied. "We'll just be rehearsing. Let us know if we're too loud." He turned on his heel as he waved, and started back towards the Sturm Room.

"Nice to meetchuz," Lionel said, following his fellow guitarist to the opposite end of the studio.

As they passed the kitchen, Ted said "Morning Christina," almost as an afterthought. He hadn't registered when, exactly, the drummer had arrived, but if she was late, it wasn't about to harm things any more than his little chat with Izzie. Psychosis' other guitarist was right; there were only so many hours in the day, after all. The best way to fix that wouldn't be one of his stares, but merely getting to work more quickly, and putting in a little bit more effort.

As much as Ted and Lionel considered their axework a team effort, they were definitely different guitarists. Their warm-up routines made this obvious. For one thing, Ted had an earbud in one ear, connected to a metronome. For another, Lionel was playing excerpts from songs rather than exercises.

Each way had its benefits, but Ted preferred more abstract scale exercises to limber his wrist and fingers. Creativity would come later; this was purely mechanical. And a little aural, he admitted, as he turned the amp's treble control down just a tad. Everything fit together in its own way, sonically, mechanically, musically.

-----

Rick, meanwhile, continued his noodling, eventually falling into Wrathchild. At around the bridge he noticed the distinct lack of half of a conversation in his headphones. He had tuned the conversation out once he realized that he wasn't getting an explanation of "Jazzhole" any time soon, but the silence turned out to be more noticeable than the noise.

Though he kept playing, he looked up. There in the booth sat both Martinezes, alone, not looking angry, but not happy to be waiting. Oops.

Best not to keep them waiting. The bassist stopped playing with a sheepish grin. "Did you want another take for Gil?"

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Valentina Diaz Character Portrait: Lionel Anderson Character Portrait: Ted Marubini Character Portrait: Isabel Martinez Character Portrait: Zack Walker Character Portrait: Ada Rae Leveque
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#, as written by iCakez
"You have that power." Zack said dramatically and smirked. He was quite a bit bigger than Christina. The kitchen blended perfectly with the rest of the studio. Not overly modern, but it had all the necessities. Fridge, small freezer, oven etc. Zack began making Christina and himself a cup of coffee. "So.." He started, but Ted and Lionel appeared in the doorway and greeted Christina. he smirked to himself. Ted was a good guy. So was Lionel. He always made sure to look people in the eye and greet them. It was good for the four way relationship that was this band.

Zack was rarely rushed or hurried upon, so he calmly and quietly handed Christina her cup of coffee and took a sip of his own. Ted and Lionel went to their room and warmed up. Since Christina had almost just landed at the studio, he figured it was fair that she was given some coffeine to get going. "So, did you go out last night or what?" He asked curiously, looking at the drummer over the mug.

Silently he reminded himself that they shouldn't let Ted and Lionel wait for too long. They did pay for their time here.

---------------

That resolved itself pretty nicely. . Ada thought to herself, giving the other band a smile before they left. Valentina had spoken up - which had surprised Ada a little bit - and reminded them all that they hadn't recorded the drums. The pressure suddenly came flooding back into her mind, and the small drummer shuddered a little bit. This was going to take another drink. While she'd enjoyed getting to know the other band, she also knew that Valentina was right. They did pay for their time here, and it wasn't exactly cheap. Actually, Ada didn't know what it cost, she could hardly remember what she had been asked to pay, but she knew recording studios were never cheap.

"I'll be right back, guys." She excused herself and quickly exited the room, hoping that her bandmates didn't notice anything odd. Silently, she cursed her insecurities as well as her face for betraying her.

In the kitchen she found the burly guy and the drummer from the other band. "Hi," she beamed, slightly more composed now. She lingered for a moment and then fished a beer out of the fridge.

"Hello," Zack mumbled in his beard. "Sorry if we occupied precious time back there. We realize that studio work isn't free, we just like to make new friends." His smile was slightly apologetic.

"Oh, don't worry. So do we." Ada thought for a moment. Technically she was pretty sure she and Rick were the only actual social people in the band. Izzie was hard to place. She decided not to say anything though. "I'd love to stay and chat, but I better get back to my guys." Ada said sincerely, before she hurried back.

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Lionel Anderson Character Portrait: Ted Marubini Character Portrait: Isabel Martinez Character Portrait: Zack Walker Character Portrait: Rick Silva Character Portrait: Christina Kjaer
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By the time Sturm's rhythm section joined the band's twin guitarists, Lionel had gone from Judas Priest and Kreator to Sturm songs. He perched on the stool with his guitar in a pseudo-classical position, running through their opening number. He hit a sour note and stopped with a grimace, but the riff continued. For a half-second he couldn't quite grasp the obvious, but when he glanced over to Ted, he realized his co-guitarist had joined in.

"Ah, nuts," Ted muttered, trailing off. "That wasn't too bad. It's a lot easier to concentrate without the screaming."

"That's why you wear the earplugs," Lionel deadpanned back.

Ted briefly glared at Lionel in response, but quickly returned his attention to the guitar, turning the volume down to run an alt-picking exercise up and across the neck. Lionel glanced over at Christina, who was clearly still a little tired as she settled in behind the drums. Then again, she always seemed a little tired before she got going. A quick jam would take care of that nicely.

Zack, meanwhile, always looked ready to go.

"Right, then."

Lionel turned his attention back to Ted.

"Now that we're all here, and we can't use the recording area...what's the warmup?"

The question itself was one of the trademarks of how Ted led Sturm (Lionel supposed he was the leader, in a loose sense). From the beginning Ted had mandated they never start rehearsal with a Sturm song, only a cover. However, he always solicited ideas for that cover, and they'd built up a small repertoire of those warmup songs.

"Pull the Plug," Lionel nominated.

~~~~~

Meanwhile, across the studio, Rick nodded to Izzie's suggestion, fluttering his fingers to make sure they were still limber. He ran through the previously-flubbed bass break one more time, sliding up into the pseudo-sweep perfectly, then trailing off from the written solo into a slow slide back down. "Listo!"

In that brief moment between that word and the start of the metronome, he did, indeed, feel totally ready. The silence reminded him a bit of the moment before the end of the intro tape and the beginning of Ada's count-in, when the only sound was the crowd, ready to become a riff-driven storm of bodies.

Five-six-sev'neight--

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Character Portrait: Lionel Anderson Character Portrait: Ted Marubini Character Portrait: Isabel Martinez Character Portrait: Rick Silva
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A NEW DAY

The moment Lionel opened the rear door of Ted's car to place his guitar, he noticed the case wedged between the backseat and the seatbacks was different—one of those smaller semi-rigid cases, not the beat-up hard case. He didn't say anything, though. Perhaps Ted had gotten a new case for "Blue Fire" at the shop; he'd mentioned needing new strings. A new case wouldn't be amiss for a guitar that Ted prized so highly.

They departed from Lionel's apartment to the strains of Traced in Air. Lionel asked if he could put something else on. To his surprise, Ted obliged. After searching the center console to find only some assorted jazz records and something hand-labelled "SP new band" (what), Lionel understood why. This was the most metallic they were gonna get until they reached the Studio.

"Next time, I'm bringin' some fuckin' Accept," he muttered.

Unseen by him, Ted smirked. They continued with only Cynic filling the air for a while.

At length, Lionel ventured, "I dig the new case."

"Hm?"

Lionel pointed his thumb backwards. "The Gator. Bet it's lighter."

"Oh, it is," Ted said. "The guitar's not much lighter, but the case is worlds better. It's even got a padded strap—"

"Wait wait wait," Lionel held up a hand. "You went out to buy strings."

"Yeah, and I bought strings."

"And a case."

"Yeah."

"...And?"

Ted sighed theatrically. "I was hoping the reveal would be when we got there, but...yeah. I bought a guitar. Case came with it."

"You. Ted Marubini. Bought and are using a guitar that ain't Blue Fire."

"I'm not BB King," Ted retorted.

"Hey, I ain't judgin'," Lionel said with a chuckle. "It's just weird. Like Accept doing a schmaltzy ballad."

"They didn't?"

"No?"

"I thought they had a couple. Wind of—"

"That was Scorpions," Lionel cut him off with a hint of irritation, then continued, "And we're getting off-topic. What kinda guitar?"

Ted hesitated, then got a smug look. "You'll see when we get there."

"Damn."

Fortunately, they were almost there. And indeed, once they got situated in their rehearsing room, Lionel saw the new guitar.

"Hot damn!" Psychosis may have heard it.

-----

Rick certainly did. Fortunately, he heard it from the kitchenette between halves of the studio, not from the recording room or the Psychosis rehearsal room. He didn't pay it much mind. The bass tracking was almost done; only "Brutalised and Skinned Alive" remained. Izzie was listening to his last take while he grabbed a cup of water. He thought it was fine, but it was Izzie's song, Izzie's band. He was the most senior bandmember, but he never held illusions about being more than that.

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Character Portrait: Lionel Anderson Character Portrait: Ted Marubini Character Portrait: Zack Walker Character Portrait: Rick Silva Character Portrait: Christina Kjaer
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Some musicians get an offshoot of stage fright that turned more into a fear of being looked at, an intense awareness of when any eyes were on them, whether those eyes numbered two or two hundred. Rick did not have this, so it took him a bit to realize someone was staring at him. It did not take him nearly as long to remember she was the small chica from the other band (Storm?), somehow Ada's counterpart in gender, size, and instrument.

Fortunately, she was not Ada's counterpart for inexplicable flirtatiousness. Her smile was merely professional friendliness, a necessity when two bands shared space. The smile was also a prelude to an important question. Unfortunately for her, Val had beaten Rick to the studio (again), and had thereby claimed the right to Don Cafedor (again).

"Coffee, no," Rick said, glancing at the half-full pot across the room, behind the new arrival. "Black sludge from the devil's armpit, yes," he added, loud enough to be heard in the control room, if the door were open. He never put anything in coffee, unless Val brewed it—as she had today. Maybe it helped her get those lightning sweeps, maybe it helped her keep up with Ada, but it was still too strong.

Abruptly, a weird discordant noise came from elsewhere in the studio. That had better not be Izzie's thoughts on the last take...

-----

Meanwhile, in the rehearsal room, Ted had finally gotten over looking at the new guitar and slung it over his shoulder. It felt reasonably similar to Blue Fire, but a tiny bit sharper where the upper line met his ribcage.

He flipped on the practice amp, turned the knobs to a position that sounded good, gave an experimental thumb-pluck on the low string. Sounded good. Now, all that remained was to baptize it with the chord to end all chords. F#m, add 4, flat 7. He strummed it to produce a distorted mess of dissonant notes and fret noise, because some jackass at the store had detuned it before putting it in the case.

After muting the horrible mess, Ted glared at the headstock. "Hang on a sec," he sighed, stomping the tuning pedal.

"Mother of fuck," Lionel groaned. "Warn me before you do that shit, God!" He then turned to Zack. "Sup, Zack. Please tell me you tuned your bass already."

"Bite me," Ted muttered, before giving a quick glimpse to make sure Lionel wasn't about to take him at his word.

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Character Portrait: Lionel Anderson Character Portrait: Ted Marubini Character Portrait: Rick Silva Character Portrait: Christina Kjaer
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The rumbly bass lick improved Lionel's mood immensely. Being reminded that they were still down one member, on the other hand, did not.

"Haven't seen her," he replied. "But if she ain't here yet, she'll be here..." He lost track of his train of thought. "Lemme check," he said, abandoning his guitar midway through setup. As he started out, he began calculating the odds that Christina might get Ted's somewhat infamous Ray—allegedly borrowed from Benny Goodman—upon her arrival. The lead axe-slinger was still tuning his new guitar, so he might not care as much about minor delays. On the other hand, minor delays were starting to add up, so he might be more annoyed about this delay, simply because Christina could have been on time. Wait, was she—yeah, it was noon; Sturm was officially entering Late Territory.

Before he could reach the front door to check for the old Accord, he heard her voice from the mid-studio kitchenette. Much to his surprise, it sounded quite chipper. Maybe she could jump in fast enough that Ted wouldn't notice.

He peeked in to see her in the middle of conversation with someone he vaguely remembered as being one of Psychosis's members. Not the drummer; he had no trouble remembering the disparity of their drummer being the one he least expected. Bassist, maybe? He seemed generic enough for that part.


-----


Rick, for his part, thought the question reasonable, though he couldn't remember the answer offhand. "Longer than anyone else," he said, almost on reflex. "Except Izzie," he added, subsiding to thought. He hadn't counted his years in the tech-death machine of Psychosis. Fin de Días had started in 2001 (easy to remember because Ramón had insisted on writing a song about 9/11 because...reasons), and ended almost three years to the day after that. Then he bounced for a bit and woodshedded like mad before joining Psychosis, back when they still had a bit of a punkish edge. That would mean...

"Five years," he concluded. "What about you?" The little that his curious searches had turned up about the other band (Sturm, he remembered now) seemed to indicate they were a new band, so she couldn't have been with them that long. On that note, he absently noticed one of Sturm's guitarists had joined them, but had not said anything yet.

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Character Portrait: Lionel Anderson Character Portrait: Ted Marubini Character Portrait: Zack Walker Character Portrait: Rick Silva Character Portrait: Christina Kjaer
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A wry half-grin cracked Rick's face at the reaction Val's infamous coffee provoked. He had long ago tried and failed to make it palatable. Izzie had seen the four empty packs of cream and sugar and looked at him weird for the rest of that week. Thereafter Rick simply tried to beat Val to Don Cafedor, which was easier said than done considering her penchant for bumming a ride off the bandleader who had fired Ada's predecessor for being five minutes late to a rehearsal. To be fair, he had also reeked of tequila and tried to cop a feel on Rick while somehow mistaking him for Izzie. Maybe that had been the real reason.

He remembered that the guitarist's name had begun with an L, but would have probably guessed Leon before Lionel. He nodded politely and extended his free hand. "Rick Silva."

The guitarist took his hand in a firm handshake, simultaneously aiming a playful glare at the drummer. "Ain't my fault the venues are always so hot," he deadpanned in response. "Ted's back there," he added, jabbing his thumb backwards in the vague direction of Sturm's rehearsal room. "Still tuning his guitar, so you might not be technically late if you get in there soon..."

Something outside the room drew his attention. Rick listened carefully, hearing two hushed voices. Izzie rarely raised or lowered her voice from its typical volume, Psychosis shows being the obvious exception. That left Val, Ada, and perhaps Ted or Barbagrande (What? Rick only met the guy once). Those two seemed unlikely. Ada must have arrived. Which meant another pair of ears to hear the latest take on B&SA. Which he would probably have to redo.

He gulped down the rest of his water and started for the exit, before remembering an important question. He froze a couple feet from the door, ignored Lionel's confusion, and turned on the balls of both feet to face the baterista.

"What's your name?"

-----

The other bassist's question nearly went unanswered. Ted plucked the third string, satisfied to hear a good solid C, then remembered. "Oh! Right, schedule. We're gonna run through the songs, first off. We only have four right now, and I'd like to see how long they are. If they're too short, we might have to come up with something new." He grinned. "That little lick there sounded promising. I'd play along, but...yeah."

A pause, as he digested Zack's other comment and resumed tuning. "We might need to get another coffee maker. Did you smell today's batch?" He made a face, then turned his attention back to the tuner, seeing string four approaching its destined F.

The last two strings followed into tune quickly. Satisfied, he tapped the tuner off, then prepared again. F#—well, technically, Em, add 4, flat 7. And strum. Strum. Strum-strummmmm.

"Solid," he said. It didn't sound quite as full as Blue Fire, but it could work. He would know by the end of the day.

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Character Portrait: Lionel Anderson Character Portrait: Ted Marubini Character Portrait: Isabel Martinez Character Portrait: Zack Walker Character Portrait: Rick Silva Character Portrait: Christina Kjaer
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"Yeah, sure, another time," Ted said. "But get thinking about what song you want for today's warm-up. I want to get right into it today. If we need to write more, best to start early." And perhaps his new guitar would help with that. Guitarists always talked about guitars holding songs or inspiring certain riffs, which had admittedly made him leery of the idea. The last thing he wanted to be was a guitar collector chasing an illusory perfect guitar. The metaphorical jury was still out on whether it was any better for him to become a guitar customizer, chasing illusory perfection in modification. Then again, he had settled on the guitar's current setup fairly quickly. But what if he needed similar pickups in this new guitar? What was the point in getting a new guitar anyway?

But he was getting ahead of himself. More important now was playability: could he play on this as well as on Blue Fire? Only time would tell.

"Let's defeat some fucking Huns."

Ted blinked and looked up. Lionel was walking in right behind Christina, with no expression on his face to complement, counterpoint, or otherwise explain his desire to murder Old Germanic barbarians. He offered no further explanation—though Ted noticed Christina give a wry grin to the guitarist. Inside joke? Inside joke.

"Right then," Ted said. "While we settle in, anybody got a warmup idea? Lionel, you don't get to pick."

Lionel shrugged and shouldered his Stratocaster.

-----

Was that...? Rick let the unexpected reference go and headed back to his band. That little break had been plenty of time for Izzie to make a judgement call on his last take. He made a mental guess of a...62.5% chance that it would pass. As he took sight of the band, all silent and staring at each other, he revised his guess to 37.5%.

Prodigal son? 12.5%.

"Yeah, I can give it another shot," Rick said. "I had some dry mouth, I bet that was affecting it." A blatant lie, like most of his excuses for insufficiently good takes. It was more his own joke for the bandleader than an actual excuse.

In the booth, he settled the headphones on, making sure the cord was running behind him (a mistake every guitarist made once—once), and fluttered his fingers to make sure they still worked. "Listo!"

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Character Portrait: Valentina Diaz Character Portrait: Lionel Anderson Character Portrait: Ted Marubini Character Portrait: Zack Walker Character Portrait: Ada Rae Leveque Character Portrait: Rick Silva
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#, as written by iCakez
"Huns?" Zack looked up so fast his beard had to settle. Confusion was plain on his face. He was not following at all. He had no idea what that was supposed to mean, but was wracking his brain trying to remember. Then he spotted the grin on Christina's face. He looked at Ted for help, but realized that his bandmate had seemingly shrugged it off.

Ah. Inside joke. At least they arrived at the same conclusion. He wasn't meant to understand what that meant.

"Ouch. Shoot through the heart." He said, as Lionel had quickly been dealt with. He was not allowed to vote. It dawned on him that he had started the chorus of a certain Bon Jovi song, whereafter his face froze as if he had been stricken with fear. As if someone had poured icy water down his shirt. He had never liked that band. Ever. When he was a young child, he had enjoyed the usual bands that every aspiring metal head listen to. Metallica, Slayer, Megadeth to name the 3 most obvious ones. As with most other people he knew who shared his taste in music, it had spiraled from there. There was a few really quite strange bands out there, that he had come across in his life. Those bands that really stick out because the music is just plain weird.

"To clarify, that is not my suggestion!" He said. He really didn't want to play that. "Uh... I don't know, Descent of the Fallen?"

[hr][hr]

She wasn't getting anything out of Val. But Ada was still curious. She sat in the chair in the corner, watching her from behind her phone. She was checking her socials. A few random people who had seen her play were commenting on various photos and Tweets. It was rarely interesting, but she was caught in the trap that was social media, so she scrolled on.

Looking away from Val, she watched as Izzie had cornered Rick. She winced, remembering the few times she had been on the receiving end of that, and realizing that she was going to be so again, later. She sighed, stomach growling. Ada shifted in her seat.

"Am I allowed to smoke in here or do I have to go out?" She asked while Rick got ready. She didn't want to leave the room as she figured that would be disrespectful - especially since she had already been late. Ada smiled brightly. An attempt to ward off any anger or annoyance.

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Character Portrait: Lionel Anderson Character Portrait: Ted Marubini Character Portrait: Rick Silva
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Why did I expect otherwise, Lionel mused. Descent of the Fallen sounded like a good one, but anything from Carcass's 'gross-out collage' period would be...funnier? That was most likely the reason why he, upon starting up his amp and securing his earplugs, immediately turned the bass all the way up, switched to his neck pickup, and started on his best rendition of the only riff he remembered from that album...the first one. Probably not the right song, but it seemed funny to him. Admittedly, it would have been difficult to recognize as coming from that album, being approximately 40% cleaner even with his best efforts at mud.

He only played until he saw Ted roll his eyes into a low-intensity Ray directed at him. It wasn't exactly disapproval, just the general feeling of 'really dude?' Which was all he wanted, anyway. With a chuckle, he fixed his settings back to his usual saltine-cracker-crisp tone and waited for Ted's tiebreaker vote.

A NEW DAY

An oldish man stepped out of Caton Castle. He pointedly held his breath passing by the two smokers just outside. With measured steps he reached a spot of no importance other than his own whim and waited there, bright eyes twinkling in his plump dark face.

He did not wait long before spotting the mint-green car pulling in halfway across the parking lot. With a benign glare he watched its occupant struggle out, beat-up and decal-strewn black guitar case in hand, shirtsleeves rolled up to the elbows, waistcoat not yet buttoned. He gave no reaction as the younger man approached and passed him.

"Maurice," the youngster said, nodding but not stopping.

"Ted," the oldish man replied, his voice twangy but firm. Without missing a beat, he left his post to escort the guitarist past the smokers and hold open the doors into what some called the last traditional jazz club in Charm City.

-------

Thirty minutes of setup later, the Maurice Anderson Quartet gathered around a hearty meal of fried food, beer, and water. After a quick prayer led by Maurice, they tucked in.

"So, Ted," Maurice said between bites, "How's my nephew doing?"

"You should know," Ted deadpanned back.

"I want an alternate perspective," Maurice chuckled. "Last time we called he said you were goin' into the studio."

"That's right."

"Well?"

"Well what? We're still...recording. We got some demos down. Drums are going down tomorrow, I think."

"Just the drums?"

Ted rolled his eyes. "Yes, just the drums. We have to record them separately for the right sound."

The drummer cut in, "But how're you gonna get the bass and drums to lock in?"

"Clicks," the bassist said disdainfully before taking a sip of beer.

"Len," the drummer retorted, his question to Ted half-forgotten. "Why on God's green Earth do you think Ted would use a click?"

"Because he will," Ted murmured. "Look, Jack, Jack, Jack." The triple invocation silenced the drummer's ire. "Riddle me this. What's our fastest number?"

"Cherokee," Len piped in.

"Nobody asked you," Ted retorted.

"Cherokee," Jack repeated.

"Yep. How fast is that?"

"Hundred thirty-three," Jack replied, pointedly glancing at Len to ensure he didn't interrupt.

"Right. That's most of our songs."

Jack and Len shared a glance, then returned to their food.

Maurice smirked. "You guys still have to play live, though."

"There's more wiggle room there," Ted said with a shrug. "Studio's gotta be exact. We're sharing with another band, and they've done ten takes for some solos."

"Ten takes for the solos?" Now it was Maurice's turn to be surprised. "Kinda defeats the point of a solo, if you ask me."

"Maybe," Ted shrugged. "It's a different world."

"Doesn't mean there can't be crossover," Maurice said with a smile.

Now it was Ted's turn to return to his food pensively.

-------

The show was at 6 PM, which made sense at a place with food. Rick and Izzie agreed on a pickup 30 minutes before showtime, to allow for plenty of time to arrive and get settled before the music started. Cool jazz wasn't exactly something Rick pegged Izzie as enjoying, but he wouldn't complain. He always enjoyed watching a good contrabajista at work. Ray Brown had given him some ideas for Psychosis slams before—not that he ever told Izzie that.

He arrived at Izzie's home with a minimum of fanfare—and parking spaces. He put on his hazard flashers and shot a quick text.

"Waiting out front. No parking."

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Character Portrait: Lionel Anderson Character Portrait: Isabel Martinez Character Portrait: Rick Silva
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"Pendejo," Rick growled under his breath, slamming the brakes mid-intersection for only the second time since picking Izzie up to avoid a costly rear-end on whoever decided it'd be a good idea to zoom around a right turn on red. This guy hadn't even done the dubious courtesy of a rolling stop to gauge the wisdom of his decision. Rick never regretted moving up to Baltimore, even with the mierda loca that had once seemed to follow Psychosis like a bad penny, but often he wished other people would learn how to drive.

Driving improved markedly after exiting Route 40, in part because there was very little left. Parking was nearly full, but only nearly, and soon Rick and Izzie were entering Caton Castle. A double bass and drumkit dominated the stage, but a blue Les Paul and Fender Twin could still be noticed off to the side of both. A trio? No, a quartet, Rick noted on the chalkboard. Ah, there was a music stand between guitar and bass, no doubt for the bandleader. Trumpet? Saxophone? No me importa, he decided. This would be a good night regardless, a nice break from 8-10 hours of playing or listening to fragments of the same 9 songs.

-------

Meanwhile, on another side of Baltimore, a quite different scene took place.

"JL, my man!"

"Dannyboy!"

Bartender and customer exchanged a frantically embellished handshake over the bar. "Here for the game?" Dannyboy said.

"And a Cuba libre," JL answered. "Open up a tab."

"Right on," Dannyboy replied.

Lionel handed over his debit card for the tab, and received the lime-crowned concoction a minute later. He took a stool near the end of the bar and situated himself to watch the talking heads talk pre-game shop. There was reason for hope after trouncing the Rangers, especially since today was at home, but still Lionel declined to wear any Orioles merch. Twasn't the season to celebrate the team. Twasn't the decade, really.

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Character Portrait: Valentina Diaz Character Portrait: Lionel Anderson Character Portrait: Ted Marubini Character Portrait: Isabel Martinez Character Portrait: Ada Rae Leveque Character Portrait: Rick Silva
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There was a difference, Rick would argue, between perezoso and relajado. Perezoso meant letting life pass you by. Relajado, by contrast, was knowing when to let life pass, but also when to take control. When it was wise to speak up and when it was wiser to let the chips fall. It required restraint, yes, and a calm affectation, but more than that it required perception. Hard to seize the moment if you didn't see it, after all.

The above mishmash of Sherlock and Zen was Rick's explanation of how he noticed Izzie's momentary pause. He followed her gaze quickly to the stage; something had caught her eye there. No doubt it was the bright blue Les Paul. It certainly was something unusual. Maybe a custom job? But then its owner would have had the self-respect to get it refinished at some point. Goddam, the light was not kind to that guitar. Then again, he and his bass had been through a lot with Psychosis—to say nothing of Izzie's SG! Perhaps he should not throw stones.

Just after he ordered "Ron's Famous House Chilli[sic]", the lights began to dim. Four men took the stage, two black (trumpet? and drums) and two white (guitar and bass). After a few moments of idle noodling, they began the most famous five-beat in jazz history—maybe all music history.


-------

Meanwhile, over at the Anchor, the talking heads were just getting warmed up. Lionel was nearly halfway through his first drink, and had somehow found himself listening to the man five drinks deeper than he (At six-fifteen! Why‽) debate fashion with Danny.

"I tell you one thing, son," the man said. "You know what I see a lot of, and I'm not sayin' you do it, but I see it a lot, and I just don't get it?"

How to ask a question, clearly, Lionel thought.

"Wuzzat?" asked the bartender, glancing aside to Lionel.

"Well," the tippler began, before taking a deep breath and apparently inhaling the only gnat in the whole damn bar. Lionel snatched his drink as the coughing fit started, just before his fist came down hammerlike on the bar.

"Careful, man!" Danny's hand came down softer but firmer on the man's wrist. "Don't overexert yourself."

Lionel looked up at the television in a vain hope the pre-game would be more interesting, then surveyed the bar again to see if anyone new turned up. He turned just in time to see a chick downing an entire beer bottle. From the look on her face, she probably needed it. Her companion seemed keen to lift her spirits, anyhow. Maybe a bad breakup. Though as he turned back to the tippler, finally ending his coughing fit, he couldn't shake the feeling he'd seen one or the other of them someplace before...

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It was about the middle of the third number ("Suggested by Minor Swing," according to the bandleader) that Rick put two and three together and realized the guitarist of this band was also the "Great Jazzhole" whose band was sharing the studio with Psychosis. The guitar was certainly distinctive, though its owner was somewhat less so. Despite his name, he played a pure sideman here, standing straight as a cornstalk through comps and solos alike, barely acknowledging the knowing chuckles from a few tables when his rambling solo finally resolved into "Classical Gas." Rick could have made a comment about that, but he withheld it, knowing Izzie was probably doing the same. She never pronounced judgement until she understood the subject, and for a musical performance that meant waiting until it was finished to say a word. Ted's aimless solo cast a shadow over his inventive comping, but he and the bassist traded eight-bars with a synchronicity that made Rick wonder if he had played with Ted's metal band before Barbagrande.

As the applause died, Rick scooped up a bite of the "chilli," but paused with it in his mouth on hearing Izzie's judgement. Realizing how silly that looked, he quickly closed his mouth, chewed the bite, waited for any other comment. Nothing came until after he swallowed, whereupon he had to respond: "That's it?"

-------

"That's it, man! You gotta get it!"

"Get what?"

"Get summa that," the tippler said, using his olive-pick to indicate the yin-yang pair at bar's end.

Lionel tried to ignore him. "Did she say why?"

"She just said, the guy next to the really drunk guy, could you bring him a beer," Danny repeated flatly. "I dunno either."

"You're helpful," Lionel grumbled. "I guess I'll pay in kind and see what happens."

"You're getting her a beer?"

"He's gettin' her! Y'knowhatI'msayin', he's gettin' some—"

"—fuck up," was the only audible part of Lionel's answer.

Danny blinked. "What?"

"I said get her a Cuba Libre too."

"Fuckin' kids, quit playin' games. She wants the—"

"An' I told you to shut up," Lionel cut him off. "You do your thing, I do my thing, cool?"

"Kids," the tippler grumbled. "I'mma take a piss." He lumbered steadily away towards the sign saying "EMERGENCY EXIT."

"Don't worry about him," Danny said. "He's not that drunk yet."

Lionel grunted. "Ask her why she got me that beer."

"Only if you tell her why you're getting her a Libre when she probably doesn't do rum."

"Well, I don't do beer," Lionel retorted. "Pen?"

Danny obliged. Lionel grabbed the anchor-emblazoned napkin and scrawled under the twin hooks, "TRADE?" Danny smirked. Lionel half-hoped the game would start soon, half-hoped he wasn't getting buttered up for a rebound, half-guessed he was misinterpreting the whole situation, half-wondered how many halves would fit in his state of mind.

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Character Portrait: [NPC] Bartender Character Portrait: Valentina Diaz Character Portrait: Lionel Anderson Character Portrait: Isabel Martinez Character Portrait: Ada Rae Leveque Character Portrait: Rick Silva
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Rick couldn't resist grinning at Izzie's expanded commentary. She sounded like a talent scout, or a producer, or a bandleader—which she was, of course. He wondered if she could have been anything else. Could she have played the sidewoman to another? Maybe not with her stature—then again, Dio had played with taller men and never lost command of the stage. He was a born frontman, with a golden throat powered by aetheric lungs that could make the stuff of Michael Whelan covers sound like Renaissance art. And Izzie, in turn, was a born leader, with a clear vision of what she wanted, a keen ear to hear what suited it, and an iron determination to leave behind that which didn't suit it.

Then again, all of that could also apply to a world-class dictator. Perhaps he ought to be more cautious. But for now, there were more important things, like talking shop.

"Good? No, I gotta pay. And talk to the bassist. Hablamos bajista, ¿clara?" 'Bassist-talk' made sense in his head, but not so much out of his mouth. Still, he would stick to it.

It didn't take long to flag down the server for the cheque, and even less time to flag down the bassist, a skinny muchacho who seemed in no hurry to leave. In their low-end discussion, neither of them noticed as the quarter's guitarist quietly made his way to the bar, to a particular young woman with fair hair and a flowing caftan dress.

-------

For a brief moment, Lionel felt a pang of jealousy for Ted, and could not say why. That was a lie: he was jealous because Ted was at a jazz club, the sort of soporific place where people went to relax after a hard day. A bar such as the Anchor, on the other hand, was for a bit of excitement after a long day of modern ennui. Normally that was more Lionel's thing than the jazz club. But this was not a normal situation. The drunk sumbitch was not only drunk and vicariously horny, he was getting violent. With a woman.

This never ended well. Danny had seen that too, if Lionel interpreted his quick bark for "Elliot" correctly. Presumably he meant the large man edging his way through the crowd. Lionel had seen this scene a few times before. Swing and a miss, a forward pitch, then either a strikeout or an intentional walk. And sometimes that happened in the baseball game instead!

Time for a curveball. "Ayo, let her go!"

Drunk Sumbitch froze, still holding the woman's wrist, but his attention on Lionel, bleary eyes narrowed. "Why d'you care?"

"'Cause she don't want none of you, old man!"

Lionel expected that to be a serious aggro-draw, but instead Sumbitch grinned. "Whatcha gonna do about it?"

For the first time that night, Lionel realized he might have fucked up.