Crescendo

Chapter 1 - Here's to the Start

"Thankfully. The four of us would definitely break this thing," Turner mutters under his breath.

"Anyway. I want to say, I love these bastards. We're gonna rock the good ol' USA to hell and back," Christian says with loud enthusiasm.

The crowd breaks into applause and hoots of agreement.

"You guys want to say anything?" Christian asks his two friends.

"Bodies will be rocked and joints will be rolled. Here's to HELLFIRE!" Sky says.

"To HELLFIRE!" The admiring on-lookers raise their glasses and joyful voices as they toast to the upcoming tour.

After the crowd calms down, Sky jumps back down. Turner gingerly steps off and back onto the floor in obvious relief. As the music turns back up, Christian pulls a random girl up there with him and starts dancing. Sky smirks to himself. Christian's so pumped about the tour, he had to throw a massive farewell party.

Sky might not be as exuberant as Christian, but he's excited. He loves singing and it'll be great to be on the road again. Performing, doing what they love. He has a good feeling about it.

He makes his way over to his former seat. One chick and two other guys sit there, waiting for his return. He doesn't know them too well, having only met them once or twice. Hell, he barely remembers their names. But at a party, with a few good lines of coke, suddenly everyone's your new best friend.

"Hey man," one of them greets him. "Welcome back."

"Yup. I'm here. Now, where were we?" Sky asks playfully as he looks down at the table in front of them. Lines of coke are strewn across the wooden surface, gleaming up at Sky, teasing him to come out and play.

"You're up."

He gladly takes his place on the couch. Swiftly, with practiced ease, he lifts the rolled-up dollar bill to his nose, leans over the table, and downs two lines. Not wanting to be greedy, Sky eases off. He pushes his dark, curly hair off his face and reclines back into the cushions. Closing his eyes, he waits for the rush to kick in.

Yes. Everything is good. In this moment as he's flying, everything is perfect.

Ugh. Just...ugh. That's the only thought, or well, grunt, running through Alex Cortes' mind as he steps through Christian's door. It's not that he doesn't like parties, but as the oldest one out of his bandmates (a whopping twenty-seven in comparison to the other guys' early twenties), Alex feels like he's "over" the dramatic celebrations the younger members love to throw. Maybe it makes him bad at being a rock star bassist and more like a cranky grandpa, but Alex would much rather be at home watching crappy reality shows with his girlfriend, Melissa, making snarky commentary.

As a saving grace, she's actually coming out with him to Christian's party, which is Rave #598. As they hang by the doorway, everything is celebratory anarchy.

"Do you think it's okay that we're late?" Melissa asks, more concerned with social protocol than he is. If this was a smaller gathering, she would have insisted they bring a casserole or dessert.

Alex snorts. "No. This is only another one of Christian's ragers. I doubt our absence has left a gaping hole in the festivities."

Perfectly on cue, a stumbling drunk somersaults past them...only to hit the wall full force.

Melissa stifles a laugh, but Alex is less amused. He swears in Spanish, his Dominican accent making an appearance. Then, he maneuvers Melissa so she is off to the side and out of range of any flying projectiles, humanoid or otherwise.

"I'll go grab us some drinks. Wait here," Alex says.

"Alright. I'll try not to get pulverized," Melissa adds, having read Alex's thoughts. They trade understanding looks before he merges into the withering crowd, off on his beverage mission.