Bolts clicked and bars unfolded. The little black plastic wheels of amps rolled across the uneven flooring, cabling and brightly coloured wiring stretched across the floor like snakes in the jungle bed. The early sounds of muffled buzzing and atmospheric crackling shook in the speakers, electric cracked as they hooked everything up. They're baby instruments logged in to the incubating system of the bar, strings humming in excitement to play.<br/><br/>This. This right here. This what Buck lived for!<br/><br/>The stench of sweat and cologne, body glitter and tattooed naked flesh crashing against the beat! MMM!<br/><br/>Only problem here was that between him, his band, the gear and the smaller secondary stage, there was barely room to stand, let alone swing around and dance.<br/><br/><br/>Apparently the main stage was too good for them. In all fairness he'd spent his life avoiding anything main; mainlands, mainstream, maintaining (whether that be good grades or hobbies), he'd even had a bad episode with Maine Island on one holiday way back when. It was strangely ironic that the one time he would have appreciated something 'Main' it was taken.<br/><br/>Or so they said.<br/><br/>The pink haired monstrosity was almost certain that he was being<span style="font-style: italic">punished</span>for something! No idea why!<br/><br/>"OI! Cue ball!" Buck hollered across the room, wide cattish grin lighting up his pixie head. He waved a hand in the direction of Manager Mike (who'd already pre-occupied himself chatting away with some blonde little goofball-- something was niggling him about the kid, but he ignored it. Probably seen him about town or something) and raised his voice further, just in case they missed it, "Y'couldn' fit a rubber band on here, let alone a full band!"<br/><br/>Someone told him to shut up and play from across the room.<br/><br/>Well, it was nice to know the customers at least remembered him! Very cute!<br/><br/><br/><span style="font-style: italic">One hour of load noise/music later...</span><br/><br/>His heart bettered against his rib cage like a frightened bird, lungs and chest burned with the noise and post song friction, his head swam with adrenaline and music, sweat cooling on his skin.<br/>Gracey slapped a flat palm across his bare shoulder, "Nice one,"<br/><br/>Somewhere along the way he'd lost his jacket and then somewhere further along the way away went the shirt. It was at these moments, in the post-show wash, that he was at his his most natural state, all the little barriers he built up daring the day collapsed under the weight of his own self-adoring lyrics and Buck was himself.<br/>Due to the artistic nature of his occupation Buck-Beau was an underfed, overworked little monster and had never done a dickey lil thing to stop his lifestyle from creeping into his appearance. There were enough bags under those eyes to comfortably supply several chain stores for years to come. His facial piercings caught the stage lights and the stage lights caught the shape of his skull under the taught city worn skin.<br/>He was all arms and legs, hung on a tall, slinky frame with a coat hanger thin rack of shoulder and a dominating portion of hip bone. Bend him at the right angles and you could have caught the thin line of ribs pushing up from under his worn skin and played them like the xylophone. Yum.<br/>The only thing saving him was the pattern of tattoo work chasing from left rib to thigh-- not that you could see the latter portion of ink anyhow...<br/>Like all good muse chasers, he had mad eyes, immense, wild sandy things set in his face like headlights on a car, looking like they belong in an aquarium behind glass for the most part. Upkeep was not a big priority of his.<br/><br/>"Mmhmm," Buck threw a bottle of water over himself and shook his head like a dog. Someone handed him a shirt impatiently.<br/><br/>"You can go home now, nice show, we'll pay you later," The words sounded agitated, forced.<br/><br/>Bucks gaze swiveled up from beneath his dripping fringe. It was Manager Mike, a regular brick wall of a man stood before him like the Goliath before David, he'd walked the kid in and now he was here to escort him back again.<br/><br/><span style="font-style: italic">Aww and here he was thinking they trusted him!</span><br/><br/>"Naww, naaaww," Buck grinned breathlessly, "think Imma stay for a drink if y'don't mind!"<br/><br/>Mike grit his teeth, warning plain in his eyes.<br/><br/>"I'm a paying customer!" he added with a wink, "My moneys good as yours! Besides," he patted the old boys cheek playfully, "I's a changed man, didn' chyoo hear?"<br/><br/>Buck swaggered up to the bar, dancing from foot to foot, the music still going strong in his head even after his fingers had stopped playing, he perched against a stool and ordered himself umpteenth beer for the evening. He hid himself in the dark behind his eyelids and collapsed on the counter top patiently awaiting the return of his equilibrium, muttering every curse he knew under his breath through clenched teeth and a shaky smile.<br/><br/>For a short while he stayed there in his strange state of hibernation, flaked out on the polished woodwork then the murmur of voices next to him snagged his attention. It was the blond boy again. Little bespectacled Mr Dejavu, the thing that had been talking at Massive Mikey.<br/><br/>Ugh! Something niggled and itched at the back of his head. He was almost dead certain he knew the kid! Buck racked his memory, travelling back into the loud ruckus of a childhood passed, trying to carve names and faces of the garble--<br/>--shit!<br/><br/>"Aww heyall!" he sat bolt upright, snapping his fingers and pointing a pistol made of digits at him, "Yo! Li'l Blondie! You're..." he paused trying to figure out the name--<br/><br/>Jake... Jasper... Jack...<br/><br/>It was no use, he didn't remember, "OI! Toast!" Buck leaned back ushering over his band mate from the other side of the room. Poor Toast, who'd been locked in close eyeball combat with a pretty brunette girl, groaned, shoulders drooping, "Watchya want!?"<br/><br/>"C'mere, have a look!! It's him!!" Bucks hand struck out like a cobra catching Jaren's sleeve whether he liked it or not, "That kid from LE BAR!" the pink haired cretin cracked up, grinning toothily at the slinky bespectacled boy, "You are aren' chya hon!? Ha! Shi-ite! I know you!"