Building the Lost Boys

Paul (Set It Off)

David was bored. Another Saturday night, the sun long down, and the Boardwalk crowded to capacity. With this many people, there just had to be someone out there who would make a perfect member of his gang. Who would be the first new Lost Boy?

Of course, this was difficult, considering David wasn't great on people skills, and how do you approach someone and ask them to join the legions of the undead?

Lighting a cigarette, he continued to balance on the railing of the Boardwalk, looking dark and ominous to the passers by. Parents who passed by him automatically prayed their children would not grow up to look like that scruffy punk in the oversized trench coat. Especially with that filthy smoking habit.

David sighed and was about to give in and go get some 'dinner' when he heard a swell of cheering coming from the crowd. Apparently there was a concert on the beach tonight. Hundreds of teenagers were crushed in a huge mass against the outdoor stage.

"Let's hear it for Psycho Voodoo Mummies!" A stagehand was shouting into the mic, announcing the band. The entire band rushed the stage, crowding onto the tiny platform. They were all dressed up in a lot of spandex and makeup, with ratted hair sprayed within inches of its life.

David rolled his eyes. A local band. Ugh.

The show started but the band was just bad. Well, David took that back. The front man slash singer was bad. Really bad. Suddenly, there was a commotion and a tall, lanky blond guy jumped onstage. He wrested away the microphone from the singer. David's interest perked up.

He was standing at the rock
Gathering the flock
And getting there with no directions

"Is it just me or did we come here to night to ROCK!" The lanky blonde roared into the microphone, causing the sound system to produce major feedback. The crowed roared back its approval. The original singer clawed at the blond guy, trying to take back the mic. The band, stunned by the turn of events, sat motionless, watching to see what was going to happen.

With a hard push, the Psycho Voodoo Mummies' front man took an unplanned nosedive over the front of the stage. The lanky blond, his hair a wild mane ratted and teased into an enormous mess, smiled darkly and turned to the band. He seemed to tell them something, with a lot of hand gestures. Almost immediately they kicked into an impromptu rendition of the Kiss hit "Rock and Roll All Night", with said blond singing.

And underneath the arch
It turned into a march
And there he found the spark to
Set this fucker off

David smiled, greatly amused. The blond had balls, that was for sure. And he could sing, better then the sorry excuse for the front man of Psycho Voodoo Mummies. He wasn't Gene Simmons, but the crowd didn't care.

He said set it off
Set it off now children
Set it right
Set it off
Set it off now children
Set it a fire

With David and the crowd watching, the lanky blond ripped through several hair metal cover songs. The tight white jeans hugged his legs and butt, the fishnet shirt exposing his bare chest beneath. The calf-high black boots were snug as his pants, laced tightly. But the piece de resistance was the old thrift store tuxedo jacket the blond wore over the fishnet shirt, complete with tears, rips, and tails. The lights made the safety pins and chains attached sparkle. He was almost a caricature of a gentleman gone wrong. But he played the crowd just as much as they fed his need for attention.

He lay in need of some attention
And there he played his card
Going into shock
The last thing that he said was
Set this fucker off

The world seemed to stop. This guy, who had the audience captive in his hands, impressed David. He wasn't above taking control of a situation, he commanded attention, and he could make chicks swoon. What more could David possibly want in a gang member?

Everything is all right
All we need is some direction
Every time the wind blows
Everything you don't know
Turns into a revelation

Around midnight, the Boardwalk security came over and broke up the concert. The lanky blond posed on stage, a few camera flashes going off, before jumping down into the sand. Smiling, he made his way through the throng of people, which suddenly scattered as a bleached-blond dude made his way towards him. David's presence seemed to instantly part the crowd, and as he reached the blond they fell into step alongside each other.

"You made quite a splash this evening."

"Thanks, dude."

"My name's David." A gloved hand shot out. He took it, shaking heartily.

"My name is Paul Swafford. Are you some kind of talent agent or something?"

"No. I'm something better. Tell me, have you ever read Peter Pan before...?"