VIII. A Night on the Town
The clouds over New Liberty had been promising rain all day. Around 9:30, they delivered.
"Figures." said Lucian Briggs, stepping out onto the street. He carried a guitar case in one hand.
"Ah, quit whining." said Jacob Radford, lugging an oversized bundle that contained a set of drums. "We did all right tonight."
"That's all we ever do, Jake." said Lucian.
"Not true." said George Banks. George had a base guitar slung across his back, shielded from the weather by nothing more than a sheet of plastic. "Sometimes we do horribly."
"Very funny." said Lucian. "Why do we even do this? I mean, it's not like we can get famous off of music like bands used to."
"I don't know about you, but I enjoy these gigs." said George. "The fact that we make some cash on the side doesn't hurt, either."
"I just...I just feel like we're wasting our lives at this."
Jake laughed out loud. "Briggs, you're such a ham! I'm twenty-six years old, and I've seen shit in this business that most people plain old don't see anymore."
"Like what?"
"Well, there was that time that chick on Loose--" started George. Loose was a synthetic drug that had made a splash in the aftermath of World War III. It had a cocaine-like high.
"George!" cut in Lucian. "That was three years ago. I'd like to think we've gone through something that, even if it doesn't top it, is comparable to the junkie girl humping Jerry onstage." Jerry Meyers had been their original singer. He'd been killed by chots at a rave two years earlier.
"I miss Jerry sometimes." said George.
"Yeah, we all do." said Jake. "Anyway, I was going to say that I've seen two hundred people, all shoved in some dirty waterfront bar, drinking watered-down booze that's gonna give 'em hell the next morning, and every single one of 'em was having a hell of a time. That's what I do this for, not to get to third base with some downtown slut in the middle of a set, and not for the money.
"Don't get me wrong, I've got nothing against somebody paying me to do something I already love. Cash is always tight these days. But I tell you what; going out and doing a show, making people forget their miserable lives for a few hours, that gives me (and neither of you shits better laugh about this) a purpose that most folks'd kill for."
"Amen to that, brother." said George.
"George," said Lucian. "Turn your bass over, the rain's almost eaten through the cover."
"Damn it!" said George. "You know, they say you used to be able to drink rainwater--"
"Yeah, just like you used to be able write songs that made fun of the government, too. If those days ever existed, they're long gone, my friend." said Jake.
The trio descended the stairs to the subway.
"I just wish people would come to see us, you know? I mean, I'm sick of being done with a show by nine o'clock so that some local favorites can play 'til dawn." said Lucian.
"Lucian, it's Wednesday night. Being the opening act is a good thing, especially when you're working stiffs like us." said Jake.
"Yeah, I guess." Lucian concurred.
Lucian wasn't really a working stiff anymore. Jake worked for the electric bureau of New Liberty, George for a steel foundry on the coast of Lake Gustav. Lucian worked as a lower-level administrator. He was a target for middle-management aggression. His job was to explain away the inefficiencies of the other bureaus of New Liberty. For instance, why power outages lasted weeks and New Liberty took longer to produce a square foot of steel than most cities took to produce a working automobile.
Lucian boarded his train, going the opposite direction from Jake and George. They shared a room, but Lucian lived alone at the borders of the uptown areas of New Liberty. He didn't like to tell his friends, but cash wasn't as tight for Lucian as it had used to be.
Lucian didn't have much in the way of family. He'd been an only child, his father killed by Rehnquist's up-and-coming regime when he was five. His mother had died when Lucian was twenty. She'd been working undercover for the insurgency since Lucian was an infant. Surprisingly, she'd died of pneumonia, rather than the usual cause of insurgent death--gunfire.
Lucian had seen his mother consumed and heard of his father being destroyed because of Rehnquist's government. He'd had enough. Lucian decided his family had spilled enough blood trying to bring down a regime that seemed indestructible. Lucian had simply resigned himself to his fate as an unfortunate citizen of Rehnquist's New World Order. He wasn't particularly loyal, but he wasn't an insurgent--Lucian Briggs just was.
Lucian stumbled into his small but tidy room around ten. He cleaned himself up, went to bed, and was asleep by half past.
At almost exactly eleven PM, Lucian Briggs began to dream.
"Figures." said Lucian Briggs, stepping out onto the street. He carried a guitar case in one hand.
"Ah, quit whining." said Jacob Radford, lugging an oversized bundle that contained a set of drums. "We did all right tonight."
"That's all we ever do, Jake." said Lucian.
"Not true." said George Banks. George had a base guitar slung across his back, shielded from the weather by nothing more than a sheet of plastic. "Sometimes we do horribly."
"Very funny." said Lucian. "Why do we even do this? I mean, it's not like we can get famous off of music like bands used to."
"I don't know about you, but I enjoy these gigs." said George. "The fact that we make some cash on the side doesn't hurt, either."
"I just...I just feel like we're wasting our lives at this."
Jake laughed out loud. "Briggs, you're such a ham! I'm twenty-six years old, and I've seen shit in this business that most people plain old don't see anymore."
"Like what?"
"Well, there was that time that chick on Loose--" started George. Loose was a synthetic drug that had made a splash in the aftermath of World War III. It had a cocaine-like high.
"George!" cut in Lucian. "That was three years ago. I'd like to think we've gone through something that, even if it doesn't top it, is comparable to the junkie girl humping Jerry onstage." Jerry Meyers had been their original singer. He'd been killed by chots at a rave two years earlier.
"I miss Jerry sometimes." said George.
"Yeah, we all do." said Jake. "Anyway, I was going to say that I've seen two hundred people, all shoved in some dirty waterfront bar, drinking watered-down booze that's gonna give 'em hell the next morning, and every single one of 'em was having a hell of a time. That's what I do this for, not to get to third base with some downtown slut in the middle of a set, and not for the money.
"Don't get me wrong, I've got nothing against somebody paying me to do something I already love. Cash is always tight these days. But I tell you what; going out and doing a show, making people forget their miserable lives for a few hours, that gives me (and neither of you shits better laugh about this) a purpose that most folks'd kill for."
"Amen to that, brother." said George.
"George," said Lucian. "Turn your bass over, the rain's almost eaten through the cover."
"Damn it!" said George. "You know, they say you used to be able to drink rainwater--"
"Yeah, just like you used to be able write songs that made fun of the government, too. If those days ever existed, they're long gone, my friend." said Jake.
The trio descended the stairs to the subway.
"I just wish people would come to see us, you know? I mean, I'm sick of being done with a show by nine o'clock so that some local favorites can play 'til dawn." said Lucian.
"Lucian, it's Wednesday night. Being the opening act is a good thing, especially when you're working stiffs like us." said Jake.
"Yeah, I guess." Lucian concurred.
Lucian wasn't really a working stiff anymore. Jake worked for the electric bureau of New Liberty, George for a steel foundry on the coast of Lake Gustav. Lucian worked as a lower-level administrator. He was a target for middle-management aggression. His job was to explain away the inefficiencies of the other bureaus of New Liberty. For instance, why power outages lasted weeks and New Liberty took longer to produce a square foot of steel than most cities took to produce a working automobile.
Lucian boarded his train, going the opposite direction from Jake and George. They shared a room, but Lucian lived alone at the borders of the uptown areas of New Liberty. He didn't like to tell his friends, but cash wasn't as tight for Lucian as it had used to be.
Lucian didn't have much in the way of family. He'd been an only child, his father killed by Rehnquist's up-and-coming regime when he was five. His mother had died when Lucian was twenty. She'd been working undercover for the insurgency since Lucian was an infant. Surprisingly, she'd died of pneumonia, rather than the usual cause of insurgent death--gunfire.
Lucian had seen his mother consumed and heard of his father being destroyed because of Rehnquist's government. He'd had enough. Lucian decided his family had spilled enough blood trying to bring down a regime that seemed indestructible. Lucian had simply resigned himself to his fate as an unfortunate citizen of Rehnquist's New World Order. He wasn't particularly loyal, but he wasn't an insurgent--Lucian Briggs just was.
Lucian stumbled into his small but tidy room around ten. He cleaned himself up, went to bed, and was asleep by half past.
At almost exactly eleven PM, Lucian Briggs began to dream.
posted by Andrew Michael at 2:32 PM
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