Post by orinocoflow on Sept 8, 2011 23:20:57 GMT -5
this is a story i am collabing with Furb and we hope you enjoy it! This is what happens when our fave bands, Family Force 5 and Celtic Thunder, mix to produce a Nox story! Updates are a mixture of both of us, lol, so we hope you enjoy it!
"You guys are no fun,” Keith pouted sullenly. “Except for Neil, who is the only one out of you who knows his guitars.”
“Well, not everyone cuddled with a McPherson instead of a teddy bear when they were little,” Ryan groaned, rolling over and burying his face into his pillow with a sigh of bliss. “G’night…”
One by one, the others dozed off and the sounds of snoring singers filled the bus until only Keith and Neil were left.
“”Want to go play a little in the other room?” Neil suggested, nodding to the door leading to the front of the bus.
“Sure!” the surfer agreed instantly, popping to his feet and clutching his beloved Betsy to his chest.
“I swear you’re dating that thing,” Neil muttered under his breath as he followed. “Then again, I really should not be talking,” he mused with a glance at the spectacular instrument in his hands.
The two men strummed their guitars softly and talked a little in the late-night quiet as the bus wound its way through the streets of Miami, Florida, after an evening of performances. Nothing but the sound of cars rushing around with the occasional horn-honking and tire screeching moved the air.
All of a sudden, a startlingly familiar sound reached their ears from the outside. They exchanged glances of shock and surprise before leaping to the window and peering out.
A bus about the same size as their own rumbled down the street, the tinted windows open, the driver looking about ready to fall asleep behind the wheel with exhausted eyes and a haggard expression, and a trailer pulling behind them as well.
“I want that bus,” Keith whispered. “It has got to be HUGE inside! Can you imagine how many guitar moves I could do in that space? Yeeeow!" he head-banged, smacking the base of his guitar to get a musical ring. “I mean...” He settled down but lasted only a split second before his control dissipated. “It would all be for the good of the show.” He paused. “Ooh! And I'd be able to fit my surfboard in there! And now Sharon won't find an excuse for me not to bring all my guitars! And hey, that hitch looks sturdy, we could’ve brought the boat! And—”
Neil sighed and glanced back at the bus beside theirs, his attention riveting to the main compartment.
What caught his interest the most was the rock music pumping out the open windows played on an acoustic guitar but sounding just as hard-core as if it was on electric guitars and drums.
“There have to be at least three guys playing something like that!” Keith squeaked excitedly. “Can you imagine having another one like us on tour with us? There aren’t enough of us! We’re a dying species!”
“Well, I’m pretty sure Sharon doesn’t mind that one bit,” his friend said wryly. “The refrigerator is suffering enough from your bottomless stomach, and three of those would send us into bankruptcy.”
“I wonder who they are,” he continued with an appreciative smile for the music. It was definitely not Celtic, but it was something he missed from hearing on the radio.
Keith seemed to not hear any of this, focusing instead on seeing the brand of the strange guitar the shortest man held in his hands. “Is that a McPherson? I wish I could see better. No, that can't be a McPherson, the hole’s normal…what is that thing? It looks like it belongs in a museum!”
All of a sudden, a brilliant idea popped into Neil’s head and he turned to Keith with a wide grin. “If we can hear them playing, maybe they might hear us playing? Maybe we could join them and have some fun!”
At that moment, the second bus finally pulled up alongside them at the red light and they both examined the mysterious guitars and their owners. To their shock, there were five men sitting together on comfortable couches, and although three had guitars in their laps, only two were playing.
Their hands flashed over the strings, bringing old 80’s classics to life in the enormous bus while the other three laughed and watched. One of the others started pretending that the pillows were drums, beating them with his hands and creating a natural sound, much to Keith’s and Neil’s surprise.
“How do ye feel ‘bout a little competition?” Keith grinned wolfishly with a drawl, his eyes glittering with excitement as the other men continued playing, their hands absolute magic. His own were beginning to twitch in anticipation.
“Let’s,” agreed Neil, positioning his instrument on his knee. In a second, Keith was beside him, already playing one of his songs as loudly as he could.
In that instant, Keith’s calloused fingers started plucking at the strings and Neil started hitting the base of his guitar wildly, keeping an upbeat tempo. The rock through the window slowly drained to silence until it was only the sound of Keith’s voice, guitar, and Neil’s beating along that could be heard.
“Yoo!” the blond hooted, strumming harder. “How I wish…” he sang, not tapping his foot in time to Neil’s patting. “You were mine!” He closed his eyes, spitting the song out. “Ooh, you were mine, if only you were…” Neil joined in now, their two light voices melding together, “…mine….”
As the words faded, there came an enthusiastic whoop through the window and someone yelled, “Now you’re asking for it! Let’s briiiiiiiing it on, Family Fo’ce Fahve!”
“Huh?” Keith and Neil popped their heads over the windowsill and saw all three guitar players get into the game, jamming hard and in a practiced manner, obviously pros at this and not amateurs hoping to score a few songs at a pub show. The man on a sweet 1970’s Kent guitar head-banged impressively enough for Keith to feel a twinge of envy for the amazing light-brown hair that flowed easily with each pump. A blond with some neon blue acoustic guitar was really getting into it, jumping several feet into the air with powerful strums.
But most eye-catching was a young man who looked no older than Damian. Shorter by almost a head than any of the others, he had definite attitude and carried himself like a leader, and even in the plain white muscle-shirt and black jeans he seemed regal. The hair was cropped short everywhere except the top and back of his head, resulting in a striking shock of slick black hair flying all over the place. The wild spark in his eye immediately reminded Neil of Keith when the latter had gotten a new guitar, and he suddenly remembered the man saying something about three mini-Keiths on the bus…
“We come from the land where the mullet attacks!” the man sang, grinning madly as he strummed the guitar without even needing to look at it. In fact, none of them so much as glanced at the instruments. “Business up front, paaaaaahty in the back!”
“This is new,” chuckled Neil, but his eyes were fixated on the man’s guitar. A revolting off-white, yellow color it had to be custom-made, the thing was absolutely ugly. Meanwhile, the men were breaking it down pretty well, the short kid really putting his all into it. Then, while the brown-haired man played, he suddenly turned and tossed that hideous guitar over his shoulder at another tall man with long, viciously curly hair who caught it without sparing it more than a glance.
Twirling on the spot, the kid jumped up until he was right in front of the open window and started rapping, although with style. “Mama, whatcha got cookin’ in that kitchen, cookin’ fried chicken? Ya know I love that soul food, everything you cook is so good. For a southern man like me, ya gotta cook it up clean, cook it up mean, mama don’t like it when you got leftovers, give meh some of them collard greens!”
Keith slowly felt his eyebrows inching up. “They’re food people, just like me!” he exclaimed happily. “Now I want to eat. Wonder if they have any of that fried chicken in their fridge…”
The rap continued, this time the kid really getting down into the dancing, shocking both observers with his break dancing while still managing to sing.
“Keith’s eyes narrowed. “Oh, this won’t do…” he muttered. “This won’t do at all.” Shocking Neil by suddenly changing his stance with the guitar and blaring out a new tune, the shorter man struggled to keep up. “Yeeeow!” he hollered again. “I like my…” he continued, his accent thick with agitation, so the other group could not make out his words. “You know I like it, when the sky is blue!”
The other band slowed to take him in, the guitar-playing blond nodding in approval.
“I like my gal swee-eet, sweet as hon-eh-eeh!”
Neil slowed as he saw Ryan emerge wiping his tired eyes and turned them, red and bloodshot, to Keith with a homicidal look.
“Yes, I like a rainy day or two-oo, that’s what I-“
Suddenly, Ryan had the neck of the guitar in his hand, stunting Keith’s key change.
“Let. Us. SLEEP!” he hollered, the veins standing out on his neck. Keith immediately took a step back but then realized that his precious was still in the tired man’s grip. Gulping, he darted forward and quickly snatched it back, caressing the smooth wood lovingly and wiping away imaginary smudges only he could see on the polished surface.
“Hey, man, go play with your own toys!” called a now-familiar voice from the other bus. Turning slowly and containing the fumes that were about to burst, Ryan ground his teeth at the kid who stood there defiantly, the mischievous eyes gleaming in the streetlight. “You can take a guy’s basketball, but never touch his guitar, ya hear?”
Ryan could only gape, shocked at the teenager’s impudence. All of a sudden the bus lurched as the red light turned green, and before anyone else could react, the kid picked up a box Keith knew all too well.
“Truce?” the teen asked, gesturing to the box.
“YES!” Keith whooped and ran over to the driver’s door. “Pull the bus over in that parking lot over there! No, the closer one!”
“But that’s illegal, it’s closed—”
“Oh, just go somewhere, okay? Don’t let that bus next to us out of your sights, or the pizza on that bus!”
The two buses pulled over on a parking lot two blocks down, and as soon as they had slowed down enough to park, the door burst open and Keith sprinted out to the other bus, where the teen was laughing and jumping out the window to join the blond.
“One of our own!” he called back to his friends in the bus.
"Brother!" Keith cried, throwing his arm around his shoulder. Or rather, trying too, but his arm swept above the young man’s head.
The boy looked him up and down. "Daggum, what kind of monster are ya?"
"A tall one," Keith stated matter of factly, grabbing the box from him.
"I can vouch for the monster bit.” Ryan groaned, practically rolling out the door.
"So can our fridge," Neil added as he followed the black-haired man.
so, what do y'all think? keep it up?
"You guys are no fun,” Keith pouted sullenly. “Except for Neil, who is the only one out of you who knows his guitars.”
“Well, not everyone cuddled with a McPherson instead of a teddy bear when they were little,” Ryan groaned, rolling over and burying his face into his pillow with a sigh of bliss. “G’night…”
One by one, the others dozed off and the sounds of snoring singers filled the bus until only Keith and Neil were left.
“”Want to go play a little in the other room?” Neil suggested, nodding to the door leading to the front of the bus.
“Sure!” the surfer agreed instantly, popping to his feet and clutching his beloved Betsy to his chest.
“I swear you’re dating that thing,” Neil muttered under his breath as he followed. “Then again, I really should not be talking,” he mused with a glance at the spectacular instrument in his hands.
The two men strummed their guitars softly and talked a little in the late-night quiet as the bus wound its way through the streets of Miami, Florida, after an evening of performances. Nothing but the sound of cars rushing around with the occasional horn-honking and tire screeching moved the air.
All of a sudden, a startlingly familiar sound reached their ears from the outside. They exchanged glances of shock and surprise before leaping to the window and peering out.
A bus about the same size as their own rumbled down the street, the tinted windows open, the driver looking about ready to fall asleep behind the wheel with exhausted eyes and a haggard expression, and a trailer pulling behind them as well.
“I want that bus,” Keith whispered. “It has got to be HUGE inside! Can you imagine how many guitar moves I could do in that space? Yeeeow!" he head-banged, smacking the base of his guitar to get a musical ring. “I mean...” He settled down but lasted only a split second before his control dissipated. “It would all be for the good of the show.” He paused. “Ooh! And I'd be able to fit my surfboard in there! And now Sharon won't find an excuse for me not to bring all my guitars! And hey, that hitch looks sturdy, we could’ve brought the boat! And—”
Neil sighed and glanced back at the bus beside theirs, his attention riveting to the main compartment.
What caught his interest the most was the rock music pumping out the open windows played on an acoustic guitar but sounding just as hard-core as if it was on electric guitars and drums.
“There have to be at least three guys playing something like that!” Keith squeaked excitedly. “Can you imagine having another one like us on tour with us? There aren’t enough of us! We’re a dying species!”
“Well, I’m pretty sure Sharon doesn’t mind that one bit,” his friend said wryly. “The refrigerator is suffering enough from your bottomless stomach, and three of those would send us into bankruptcy.”
“I wonder who they are,” he continued with an appreciative smile for the music. It was definitely not Celtic, but it was something he missed from hearing on the radio.
Keith seemed to not hear any of this, focusing instead on seeing the brand of the strange guitar the shortest man held in his hands. “Is that a McPherson? I wish I could see better. No, that can't be a McPherson, the hole’s normal…what is that thing? It looks like it belongs in a museum!”
All of a sudden, a brilliant idea popped into Neil’s head and he turned to Keith with a wide grin. “If we can hear them playing, maybe they might hear us playing? Maybe we could join them and have some fun!”
At that moment, the second bus finally pulled up alongside them at the red light and they both examined the mysterious guitars and their owners. To their shock, there were five men sitting together on comfortable couches, and although three had guitars in their laps, only two were playing.
Their hands flashed over the strings, bringing old 80’s classics to life in the enormous bus while the other three laughed and watched. One of the others started pretending that the pillows were drums, beating them with his hands and creating a natural sound, much to Keith’s and Neil’s surprise.
“How do ye feel ‘bout a little competition?” Keith grinned wolfishly with a drawl, his eyes glittering with excitement as the other men continued playing, their hands absolute magic. His own were beginning to twitch in anticipation.
“Let’s,” agreed Neil, positioning his instrument on his knee. In a second, Keith was beside him, already playing one of his songs as loudly as he could.
In that instant, Keith’s calloused fingers started plucking at the strings and Neil started hitting the base of his guitar wildly, keeping an upbeat tempo. The rock through the window slowly drained to silence until it was only the sound of Keith’s voice, guitar, and Neil’s beating along that could be heard.
“Yoo!” the blond hooted, strumming harder. “How I wish…” he sang, not tapping his foot in time to Neil’s patting. “You were mine!” He closed his eyes, spitting the song out. “Ooh, you were mine, if only you were…” Neil joined in now, their two light voices melding together, “…mine….”
As the words faded, there came an enthusiastic whoop through the window and someone yelled, “Now you’re asking for it! Let’s briiiiiiiing it on, Family Fo’ce Fahve!”
“Huh?” Keith and Neil popped their heads over the windowsill and saw all three guitar players get into the game, jamming hard and in a practiced manner, obviously pros at this and not amateurs hoping to score a few songs at a pub show. The man on a sweet 1970’s Kent guitar head-banged impressively enough for Keith to feel a twinge of envy for the amazing light-brown hair that flowed easily with each pump. A blond with some neon blue acoustic guitar was really getting into it, jumping several feet into the air with powerful strums.
But most eye-catching was a young man who looked no older than Damian. Shorter by almost a head than any of the others, he had definite attitude and carried himself like a leader, and even in the plain white muscle-shirt and black jeans he seemed regal. The hair was cropped short everywhere except the top and back of his head, resulting in a striking shock of slick black hair flying all over the place. The wild spark in his eye immediately reminded Neil of Keith when the latter had gotten a new guitar, and he suddenly remembered the man saying something about three mini-Keiths on the bus…
“We come from the land where the mullet attacks!” the man sang, grinning madly as he strummed the guitar without even needing to look at it. In fact, none of them so much as glanced at the instruments. “Business up front, paaaaaahty in the back!”
“This is new,” chuckled Neil, but his eyes were fixated on the man’s guitar. A revolting off-white, yellow color it had to be custom-made, the thing was absolutely ugly. Meanwhile, the men were breaking it down pretty well, the short kid really putting his all into it. Then, while the brown-haired man played, he suddenly turned and tossed that hideous guitar over his shoulder at another tall man with long, viciously curly hair who caught it without sparing it more than a glance.
Twirling on the spot, the kid jumped up until he was right in front of the open window and started rapping, although with style. “Mama, whatcha got cookin’ in that kitchen, cookin’ fried chicken? Ya know I love that soul food, everything you cook is so good. For a southern man like me, ya gotta cook it up clean, cook it up mean, mama don’t like it when you got leftovers, give meh some of them collard greens!”
Keith slowly felt his eyebrows inching up. “They’re food people, just like me!” he exclaimed happily. “Now I want to eat. Wonder if they have any of that fried chicken in their fridge…”
The rap continued, this time the kid really getting down into the dancing, shocking both observers with his break dancing while still managing to sing.
“Keith’s eyes narrowed. “Oh, this won’t do…” he muttered. “This won’t do at all.” Shocking Neil by suddenly changing his stance with the guitar and blaring out a new tune, the shorter man struggled to keep up. “Yeeeow!” he hollered again. “I like my…” he continued, his accent thick with agitation, so the other group could not make out his words. “You know I like it, when the sky is blue!”
The other band slowed to take him in, the guitar-playing blond nodding in approval.
“I like my gal swee-eet, sweet as hon-eh-eeh!”
Neil slowed as he saw Ryan emerge wiping his tired eyes and turned them, red and bloodshot, to Keith with a homicidal look.
“Yes, I like a rainy day or two-oo, that’s what I-“
Suddenly, Ryan had the neck of the guitar in his hand, stunting Keith’s key change.
“Let. Us. SLEEP!” he hollered, the veins standing out on his neck. Keith immediately took a step back but then realized that his precious was still in the tired man’s grip. Gulping, he darted forward and quickly snatched it back, caressing the smooth wood lovingly and wiping away imaginary smudges only he could see on the polished surface.
“Hey, man, go play with your own toys!” called a now-familiar voice from the other bus. Turning slowly and containing the fumes that were about to burst, Ryan ground his teeth at the kid who stood there defiantly, the mischievous eyes gleaming in the streetlight. “You can take a guy’s basketball, but never touch his guitar, ya hear?”
Ryan could only gape, shocked at the teenager’s impudence. All of a sudden the bus lurched as the red light turned green, and before anyone else could react, the kid picked up a box Keith knew all too well.
“Truce?” the teen asked, gesturing to the box.
“YES!” Keith whooped and ran over to the driver’s door. “Pull the bus over in that parking lot over there! No, the closer one!”
“But that’s illegal, it’s closed—”
“Oh, just go somewhere, okay? Don’t let that bus next to us out of your sights, or the pizza on that bus!”
The two buses pulled over on a parking lot two blocks down, and as soon as they had slowed down enough to park, the door burst open and Keith sprinted out to the other bus, where the teen was laughing and jumping out the window to join the blond.
“One of our own!” he called back to his friends in the bus.
"Brother!" Keith cried, throwing his arm around his shoulder. Or rather, trying too, but his arm swept above the young man’s head.
The boy looked him up and down. "Daggum, what kind of monster are ya?"
"A tall one," Keith stated matter of factly, grabbing the box from him.
"I can vouch for the monster bit.” Ryan groaned, practically rolling out the door.
"So can our fridge," Neil added as he followed the black-haired man.
so, what do y'all think? keep it up?