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suitably_heroicIt wasn’t often that Dane got a weekend off– so they made good use of it. Which was to say Jack had found himself dragged off to a snowboard rink on Hunter Mountain, where he had been pressured - peer pressured! - into trying the whole thing himself. (“Why are we voluntarily rolling around in the snow again?” “Aren’t you from Space Canada?” “...Shut up.” “We can go home, if you want.” “...Nah.” “You can keep complaining if you want to.” “... Thanks.”)
He did keep complaining. But he’d also enjoyed it: it had been the first time in a couple of months it felt like they’d had real off time. It seemed like there was always something to do - at the metal clubs in the city, for their friends backstage, or in the recording booth. Jack hadn’t had to dip into his Jedi savings in a few months now. It felt weird.
But good-weird.
“How’s the shoulder?” Dane asked. Jack fiddled with the straps of his snowboard, attempting to wiggle his feet out of it.
This was the worst part. The being stuck in your stupid shoes.
“It’s stopped itching,” he said, finally righting himself. “That’s a good sign, right?”
That had been the initial excuse for this trip. After space knows how many years, he’d finally decided to get the stupid shoulder scar covered up. He’d carried the mottled skin with him for so long: oscillating between pride, because it showed how he’d tried to protect someone who mattered, and shame. Because he’d failed.
(Because every time he saw it, he still heard Sion’s voice in the back of his head: I will remake you. So when I look upon you it shall be like a mirror. Because it reminded him he too was a broken, screwed-up thing full of self-hatred, walking this galaxy only because he couldn’t get himself to let go.)
But now it was done, and most of the skin was black, bar the little pinpoint stars that made up the opening piano notes of Metallica’s The Unforgiven. Hidden, he thought, in his weaker moments. Reforged, he thought, in his better ones.
Dane slung an arm over his shoulder. “You think you’re going to get the rest of them covered up?”
Jack snorted. “I know a guy who’s tattoos top to bottom and I’d rather throw myself off this mountain than start looking like him,” he said. “I’ll take maybe one or two more, if I can think of something worthwhile. That’s it.”
He thought about Cade, though. Maybe he should reach out. To him, or to Jess, or to Sia, more often. Felt like that life kept drifting away from him more and more, though. It touched on a weird fear, either of being dragged back, or of finding that his old friends didn’t recognize him anymore.
He probably really should call Cade.
They’d left Hunter Mountain on Monday morning, and launched right into gig prep - at least until Dane’s shift started in the evening. Jack spent the rest of the evening tinkering with the latest song, the sixth in what he was pretty sure was going to wind up being another stupid album.
The last one had gotten decent reviews. (It had taken him months to convince himself to read them.) He was pretty sure they could do better.
Tuesday was gig night. A bigger venue. He was getting used to that now. They had an audience. Who in karking hells had ever thought that was a good idea? But the nerves didn’t sing in his veins the way they used to. Wasn’t as scared of being seen.
He could face the crowd now.
“We got our start as a cover band,” Jack said into the microphone. “And before that, I got my start singing lonely karaoke in the dinky little bar I worked at.” He looked out over the crowd. “I wasn’t doing too hot back then, so I’d sing terribly sad little pop songs up on our stage. A cry for help. I’m not even kidding. And it isn’t like I didn’t get help, sometimes, when I hit rock bottom. But it wasn’t until years later, when someone actually asked me about what I was doing up there–” He cast a glance aside. “--that I realized I’d been waiting for someone to come in and talk about it. But no one ever did.”
He put his fingers down over the piano keys. “Anyway, for anyone who’s new here, yeah, you’re trapped in my confessional now,” he said. “We’re kicking this off with a cover, in honor of sad guys singing sad songs in empty bars everywhere.”
He cleared his throat. Hit a chord. And: “Party girls don't get hurt. Can't feel anythin', when will I learn? I push it down, push it down…”
They got the crowd going. And then exploding, as he launched into It’s the you that kills you, snarling and screaming all of his feelings back into the microphone. Giving it all. Letting it go.
By the end, he’d lost his jacket and his shirt, and the new tattoo seemed inky black, then purple, then golden under the stage lights.
When they were done, he collapsed into a seat backstage, a bottle of water in hand, and let the last of his sins sweat out of his skin. At least for the night.
He didn't hear Sion any more.
[[ can be open for phone calls, etc ]]
He did keep complaining. But he’d also enjoyed it: it had been the first time in a couple of months it felt like they’d had real off time. It seemed like there was always something to do - at the metal clubs in the city, for their friends backstage, or in the recording booth. Jack hadn’t had to dip into his Jedi savings in a few months now. It felt weird.
But good-weird.
“How’s the shoulder?” Dane asked. Jack fiddled with the straps of his snowboard, attempting to wiggle his feet out of it.
This was the worst part. The being stuck in your stupid shoes.
“It’s stopped itching,” he said, finally righting himself. “That’s a good sign, right?”
That had been the initial excuse for this trip. After space knows how many years, he’d finally decided to get the stupid shoulder scar covered up. He’d carried the mottled skin with him for so long: oscillating between pride, because it showed how he’d tried to protect someone who mattered, and shame. Because he’d failed.
(Because every time he saw it, he still heard Sion’s voice in the back of his head: I will remake you. So when I look upon you it shall be like a mirror. Because it reminded him he too was a broken, screwed-up thing full of self-hatred, walking this galaxy only because he couldn’t get himself to let go.)
But now it was done, and most of the skin was black, bar the little pinpoint stars that made up the opening piano notes of Metallica’s The Unforgiven. Hidden, he thought, in his weaker moments. Reforged, he thought, in his better ones.
Dane slung an arm over his shoulder. “You think you’re going to get the rest of them covered up?”
Jack snorted. “I know a guy who’s tattoos top to bottom and I’d rather throw myself off this mountain than start looking like him,” he said. “I’ll take maybe one or two more, if I can think of something worthwhile. That’s it.”
He thought about Cade, though. Maybe he should reach out. To him, or to Jess, or to Sia, more often. Felt like that life kept drifting away from him more and more, though. It touched on a weird fear, either of being dragged back, or of finding that his old friends didn’t recognize him anymore.
He probably really should call Cade.
They’d left Hunter Mountain on Monday morning, and launched right into gig prep - at least until Dane’s shift started in the evening. Jack spent the rest of the evening tinkering with the latest song, the sixth in what he was pretty sure was going to wind up being another stupid album.
The last one had gotten decent reviews. (It had taken him months to convince himself to read them.) He was pretty sure they could do better.
Tuesday was gig night. A bigger venue. He was getting used to that now. They had an audience. Who in karking hells had ever thought that was a good idea? But the nerves didn’t sing in his veins the way they used to. Wasn’t as scared of being seen.
He could face the crowd now.
“We got our start as a cover band,” Jack said into the microphone. “And before that, I got my start singing lonely karaoke in the dinky little bar I worked at.” He looked out over the crowd. “I wasn’t doing too hot back then, so I’d sing terribly sad little pop songs up on our stage. A cry for help. I’m not even kidding. And it isn’t like I didn’t get help, sometimes, when I hit rock bottom. But it wasn’t until years later, when someone actually asked me about what I was doing up there–” He cast a glance aside. “--that I realized I’d been waiting for someone to come in and talk about it. But no one ever did.”
He put his fingers down over the piano keys. “Anyway, for anyone who’s new here, yeah, you’re trapped in my confessional now,” he said. “We’re kicking this off with a cover, in honor of sad guys singing sad songs in empty bars everywhere.”
He cleared his throat. Hit a chord. And: “Party girls don't get hurt. Can't feel anythin', when will I learn? I push it down, push it down…”
They got the crowd going. And then exploding, as he launched into It’s the you that kills you, snarling and screaming all of his feelings back into the microphone. Giving it all. Letting it go.
By the end, he’d lost his jacket and his shirt, and the new tattoo seemed inky black, then purple, then golden under the stage lights.
When they were done, he collapsed into a seat backstage, a bottle of water in hand, and let the last of his sins sweat out of his skin. At least for the night.
He didn't hear Sion any more.
[[ can be open for phone calls, etc ]]
no subject
Date: 2025-02-05 04:43 am (UTC)Find any wonderful/terrible tourist traps on your road trip?
no subject
Date: 2025-02-05 05:40 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2025-02-05 04:24 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2025-02-05 06:57 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2025-02-06 05:28 pm (UTC)Then, a moment later,
So what are you up to? When can I visit to bring your terrible present and scope out the museums there? New York apparently had a lot.
no subject
Date: 2025-02-06 08:08 pm (UTC)Would he regret that? Probably.
no subject
Date: 2025-02-06 10:12 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2025-02-08 02:52 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2025-02-08 02:56 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2025-02-08 03:23 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2025-02-08 03:26 am (UTC)That was a threat, yes.
no subject
Date: 2025-02-08 03:42 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2025-02-08 10:07 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2025-02-11 10:35 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2025-02-12 12:35 am (UTC)I was going to kick you out of the order for some spurious reason, but I doubt they'd consider me a member in good standing, either.
She was getting strangely good about that.