Post by stella roselyn guthrie. on Jul 7, 2012 10:15:46 GMT -8
Five minutes. Five minutes until showtime. Stella had scored this gig off complete chance. She was filling in for a last-minute drop-out. Lucky her, she was hanging outside the back of the club playing guitar aimlessly. She had been perfectly content listening to the thump of drums and the hum of a distant, roaring bass-line from where she stood. The night was always comforting to her, especially in places like these. Behind a nightclub or in the back of one, at a stranger's party, in an alley between two bustling stores. It was unusual, sure. She didn't find them dangerous, though. She was the danger. She was the strange girl in the alley who mothers steered their children away from, what with that crazy look her eyes gave off half the time, like she was innocent but unstable. But, here she was, the confused receptor of an impromptu gig at a nightclub she didn't even know the name of. In five minutes.
The club was already full. In fact, it was teeming with hot, dancing people. People who were already drinking. She felt a bit anxious, but she knew her crowd. Drunk people dancing. As long as she played something they could flail themselves around to, her talent wouldn't be at scrutiny. Not at all. "Oh, yeah, sure." she said to whoever this guy was giving her the offer - well, telling her - to play. "Fuck." She walked inside. Easier said than done. Whoever-Guy had been running around outside like a mad man. What for, she didn't know. Had he actually been hoping to find a musician playing by the trash cans? Maybe. She didn't know Venice, anyway. Maybe that always happened. But somehow she doubted it.
As she pushed her way through the bustling crowd, holding her guitar over her head so that nobody could get at it, she wondered what exactly she was supposed to do next. I guess I just... play. She felt like it was supposed to be more complicated than that. I just play? That's it? I get the gig, and I play. Well, I guess that's what happens when you don't spend weeks rehearsing. Not that she ever did when she had a real, prepare-for kinda gig. She just figured that's what she was supposed to do. Stella made her way onto the stage. As she crawled up, she was tempted to punch her fist in the air. She felt like a survivor having made it through that crowd. "God, it's packed in here." she said to the guy who she guessed was supposed to be her drummer.
