The Little Drummer Boy... And A Bassist, Guitarist, and Singer

Chapter 2

**Thank you for your patience as you waited for the conclusion of this short story. We hope that this extends your holiday cheer a little longer.

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The bandmates had been seated at the folding table for ten minutes with their bowls of minestrone, kaiser rolls, and beer nuts. Nikki noticed that the soup in the bowls wasn't disappearing as quickly as he envisioned it would. Hell, the piss-hand nuts and pretzels were disappearing at a faster rate. "Heh... it's not a family recipe. I mean, I don't even know my Italian side of the family, but I feel like the instinct to cook from my roots is ingrained within me."

Tommy gave Nikki a contrived smile. "It's really meaty," he assured, as he held his fork out with the hotdog impaled on it.

"Yeah Nik, it's a good winter soup. It's cleaning out my stuffy sinuses as we speak," Vince said, trying to blink back tears caused by the sharp heat of the pepper.

"It's perfect for Christmas. It kind of reminds me of my mom's cinnamon buns that she baked every holiday season," Tommy added.

"I hear ya, Tom," Vince said, as he cleared his throat. "The ketchup adds a nice tang for balance, and compliments the hotdog."

"Oh come on! Cut the shit," Mick spewed. "It tastes like the smell of my brother's vomit after he ate an entire habanero pepper on a dare. Not to mention the egg snot consistency."

"The gratitude I get for slaving over a hot stove all evening," Nikki scowled, as he slapped his palm on the table top with force, causing some of the soup to jump out of its bowls.... if only to save itself.

"Dude, dude... it's really good. I'm ready for a second serving," Tommy hurriedly said, as he picked up the bowl, brought it to his lips, and began slurping the rest down with gusto, his lips feeling torched, as the soup passed through them.

"Here, have the rest of mine then," Vince offered, as he stood up then placed the bowl in front of the brunette. "I'm gonna plate up dessert."

Nikki put his elbow on the table and sunk his chin into his propped up hand, looking rather glum, as he scooped up a few spoonfuls of his Christmas soup, and watched them dribble back into the bowl.

"Hey, Nik...if you're not gonna finish yours, I'll have it," Tommy announced. "Sometimes when I do the cooking, I'm not hungry by the time I finish because I've been tasting stuff along the way. I figure that you're probably full."

"You can have mine too," Mick offered, pushing his bowl towards the drummer.

"I don't want yours. You've one hundred percent been grossing me out today for some reason," Tommy replied.

"I'm grossing you out?" Mick questioned, matter-of-factly. "How about Chef Sixx here with his bowls of holiday horror."

"Shove it, man," Nikki spat, then immediately returned to his state of brooding, allowing his jaw and cheek to mush into his palm.

"Aw, does wittle Nikki need some reassurance that he's still appreciated," Mick snarked, with a snide smirk.

"To each their own," Tommy shot back. "I, for one, thought this was killer."

Mick broke out into a fit of laughter. "You're telling me. Who's gonna be the first one to shit their very soul out into the toilet tonight."

"Enough!" Nikki screeched. "Okay, so I'm not the best cook in the house."

"You wouldn't even be the best cook if pitted against my dog in a cook-off, who's favorite meal is the cat shit he digs up in the garden."

Tommy didn't even have to look at Nikki, he could feel the humiliation and rancor rolling off of him, heavily blanketing the small dining area. "I'm laying claim to the leftovers tomorrow."