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Post by orinocoflow on Dec 23, 2010 14:57:39 GMT -5
Chapter Sixteen
Dark Alleys “Paul? Are you ready?” Dominique walked into the room to see Paul standing by the window, staring out at the setting sun. He didn’t appear to have heard her, and as she went up to touch his arm, she stopped, looking at his eyes. They were sad, a sort of longing in them, and when she finally gathered herself to touch him, he started as though from a trance before focusing on her face and smiling. “You look beautiful,” he murmured, taking in her appearance. They were going to one of his solo concerts at the National Concert Hall, and she was in a slim black dress, ridiculously high heels that Paul was always amazed she could even move in, let alone walk around in for several hours on end, and her hair was flowing down. Taking her coat, Paul led her out of the house and to his car. * * * “That was incredible!” she complimented when he walked out into the street after the concert was over. He beamed down at her happily, his blue eyes sparkling with the mischief she had first seen in him so long ago. Kissing her softly, they made their way to the car, talking about what she thought of the concert and then his side of the event. When they were inside, however, the convertible would not start. Sighing, he opened the hood but could find nothing that was wrong. Unable to find his cell phone and not seeing anyone around, he locked the car and they decided to walk back home. It was not far, and after multiple confirmations she finally convinced him that she was able to walk back home in her heels. Surprisingly, the streets were empty. No cabs were around, and only a few people were out on the sidewalks, but all at least two blocks away. Pressing her closer to his side, Paul quickened the pace, knowing that the dark alleys exiting into the empty street could harbor anything. And sure enough, his fears were authenticated. Just after passing one of those alleys, Paul heard a soft step and then felt something hard pressing against the small of his back. Freezing, he gripped Dominique tighter, the back of his neck prickling with anticipation. “Why don’t we go for a walk in that alley, huh?” came a chilling rasp, emphasizing the words with a none-too-light prod of the object at Paul’s back. Paul glanced down at Dominique, grimacing inside as he saw her fear-filled eyes and knowing that it was his fault that they were out in an empty street with no one to help them if that thug decided to use the knife at his back. And it was a knife; Paul was pretty sure, judging by the thin edge. She stared back at him, but nodded slightly and lay her head high on his chest. There was no choice but to do as the guy told them. They were about thirty feet into the alley when the thug stopped them and told them to turn around. He was about Paul’s height, but heavily-built; dressed in black from head to toe with a black ski mask or something pulled over his face that revealed two merciless dark-colored eyes. Something in his hand reflected the moonlight, and he raised it at Dominique. “Give me that bag,” he snarled, leaning forward to take her purse, taking his eyes off of Paul. At that moment, Paul saw his opportunity, and he knew that it was all he had. Stepping forward, anger threatening to burst through his control, he bunched his fist and swung hard, catching the guy in the jaw with a brutal right hook. As he went down, Paul didn’t wait to see the outcome; he grabbed Dominique's hand and they ran out of the alley. Halfway to the exit, she stepped wrong in her high heels and would have fallen if he had not caught her. Barely pausing, he swung her into his arms and sprinted out, spurred on by the heavy footsteps behind him as the thug ran after them, cursing and yelling. Ten feet, just ten more feet, he thought, running faster than he had ever before. He felt a slight tug on his right arm, but that just made him run faster. Once out in the street, he did not stop until they were two blocks away. A long time ago, the man had given up chasing them and had gone back to wherever he had come from, but Paul had not stopped even then. Seeing a cop, he raced over to him, adrenaline pulsing through his veins and making him go on. “Sir, are you alright?” asked the cop, seeing the two of them. Paul stopped and sagged against the man’s car, gasping for breath. Dominique stood beside him, brushing a lock of hair that had fallen down into his eyes back where it belonged, and then turned to the cop, telling him basically what had happened. He listened through, and then looked at Paul in surprise. “I have a few questions for you off the record— you ran two blocks in a tux and dress shoes?” Paul nodded, finally having caught his breath. “Okay…and you are in that group, Celtic Thunder, right?” When Paul nodded again, the cop turned red and said, “Would this be a bad time to ask you for an autograph to send to my daughter? She’s in the States and has seen you guys perform for the last two concerts and thinks you’re the best one, but never gets the VIP tickets, so…” he trailed off, blushing. “You know…maybe after all of this is straightened out?” Paul stood there for a moment, surprised to hear this. “Um, yeah, sure, just first find the guy who did this, true? You do that, I’m pretty sure I can arrange for her to get a Meet and Greet ticket for next tour. If not, she can expect an autograph in the mail.” The cop grinned. “She would love that! We can get your car in the morning or later tonight, we’ll see. Now, let’s go back to the station so that we can find the guy without attracting such a huge crowd,” he suggested, looking at the gathering passersby. Nodding, Paul and Dominique walked with him to the station, which was right on the corner. Dominique traced the tear in Paul’s sleeve as they walked along. “Did he cut you?” she asked quietly. Paul glanced down in surprise. “What?” Seeing the slash, he frowned angrily. “Great…he just had to rip my best tux. Make that my only tux! What am I supposed to wear to Mike’s wedding tomorrow morning?” She looked at him in silent amazement, astonished that he could joke so casually about something like this so easily. Shaking her head, she walked with him, her hand on his arm. Feeling something on his hand, she looked down and her eyes widened when she saw that his knuckles were red and raw, and one was split from having punched the thug. Closing her own hand over his, she thought back to how, when he had stepped forward to hit, his eyes had shone with barely-contained rage. She didn’t think she had ever seen an expression like that, not even when Phil had been furious at Paul that winter night. Massaging the hurt hand of her hero, she walked back to the station with him, preparing for what Phil would say about all of this.
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Post by orinocoflow on Dec 23, 2010 14:59:06 GMT -5
Chapter Seventeen
Promo tours “No!” Sharon glanced sharply at both Damien and Paul. She had been assigning who would be traveling with whom for the promo tour, and when she said that the two of them would be together, they had both yelled in unison. “If only you guys had clapped like that for ‘Raggle Taggle Gypsy,’ our first rehearsals would have gone by much faster,” joked Keith. Ryan laughed, while the two gave him “spare-me” looks, again, simultaneously. Sharon shook her head. “Boys, honestly! Sometimes I think I am in control of young children, not grown men. And before you start, Damien,” she said quickly, catching him as he began to speak, “you are almost eighteen, so you should be able to control yourself. Don’t pick up any habits from Paul here.” She sighed as Paul protested. “And that just proves my point.” Paul looked at Damien. Damien looked at Paul. Both of them looked at Sharon and said, “Do we have to?” * * * Paul woke up immediately as he suddenly bounced up in his bunk and hit the wall full force, slamming his head on the post. Shaking it to clear the stars he saw, he glanced at Damien and gaped; the kid was fast asleep, snoring even! And not at all ruffled. As the bus hit a hole hard, Paul was tossed out of the bunk and onto the hard, cold floor, his blanket getting tangled and twisting around his legs, catching him off-balance. When he finally straightened, he glared at the door which separated the two of them from Gary, the driver. What was he doing in there?! Sudoku? Muttering under his breath, he got back in the bunk and tried to go back to sleep. A few hours later, he was tossed out of the bunk again. This time, however, it was Damien’s fault. The kid stood there above him, holding the blanket, a sheepish look on his face. “Sorry Paul, I didn’t know you were wrapped up in it completely! You did, however, execute an incredible flip in the air. That looked…” he trailed off as Paul stood up, his blue eyes tired and apparently furious. Swallowing, Damien handed back the blanket and practically tripped over his own feet getting out of the bus. Once outside, he called, “We’re getting off, and we have the whole day before PBS tonight, so we can go around town!” With that, he disappeared into the bright sunlight. Paul shook his head, grinning. It was just too easy making the kid think he was angry, and he was terrified of it! * * * PBS that night was ridiculously hilarious. “So, Damon McGetty, as the youngest member of Celtic Thunder, how do you like it? Do you miss being back home?” Paul grinned, glancing down to avoid the camera seeing his face. Damon McGetty? He was going to have a field day after this! The lads all later watched each other’s appearances, and when they saw this, they were going to be calling him that forever! “And speaking of home, would you please go up and sing “Home” for us during this break?” Paul sat there, deep in thought, until Damien finished and the announcer said, “Excellent job! Well done, Paul Byrom!” Paul and Damien glanced at each other in astonishment, but the guy really was serious—he was calling Damien Paul! Stifling laughter, they went through the rest of the night, wondering what else was going to happen. As they walked back, Damien was laughing his head off. “Who did he think you were?” he snickered, holding his stomach. “I don’t think I want to even guess,” agreed Paul, smiling. Interesting! * * * On the way to the next location, they watched recordings of the other interviews that the guys had sent him. Over on the west coast, George was being called Donald Ferguson and Ryan was called Brian even though during the interview their names were in yellow captions beneath their faces. Paul and Damien laughed even more when their director was announced as Paul Coulter! In return, they occasionally got back emails from the other lads, all of them teasing each other over what happened each night. Mostly, Paul kept on getting comments about his jokes and the faces he made while saying them, as well as the general pranking. But all of this was just what he was used to, and he loved it.
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Post by orinocoflow on Dec 23, 2010 15:01:06 GMT -5
Chapter Eighteen
Swapping Play-lists and Learning to Share “Damien, turn the volume down! The whole point of an iPod is so that you can save the people around you from the torture of listening to whatever it is you’re listening to!” “But everyone loves these songs!” came the exasperated reply. “Do you see me listening to them? Willingly, at least?” he glowered at the kid, clutching his cell phone to his ear. He had been talking with Dominique when all of a sudden some song or other had blasted out of the iPod across the bus. “Aw, man, come on, just try at least. Here, isn’t this one good?” he added as he keyed in some song and tapped along to the beat. Groaning, Paul shook his head. “No, it’s not good, so please use your earplugs and be quiet while I finish talking.” “Wait, what about this one?” “ Stop with the Taylor Swift already! When I’m done, I’ll show you what real music sounds like.” “Why don’t I give you boys some time to mix your play-lists and call back in ten minutes?” said Dominique, laughing. “If not, we can always go online; there, you don’t need to hear me to understand what I’m saying.” “But I miss your voice,” murmured Paul quietly. “I’ll call back in ten, okay? Now go teach him what ‘real music’ sounds like.” Turning back to Damien, he found him absorbed in a song that kept on repeating the same lyrics over and over again. Opening his eyes, the kid grinned. “I love the beat on this one,” he said, tapping along. “Yeah, well, maybe Sharon will let you sing it in the show,” retorted Paul sarcastically. Damien scowled, but smiled as the chorus came on and he started to sing along in a bad karaoke version of it. Apparently, some songs were made to be sung by high voices for a reason. Paul shook his head again. “This is even worse than having Donny Osmond singing ‘Young Love’ when he was like seventeen,” he grumbled, collapsing on the bunk beside Damien and grabbing his iPod away from him, scrolling through the play-list. “Who’s Donny Osmond?” Paul froze mid-swipe, and then slowly turned to look at the seventeen-year-old. “Please tell me that that was a joke,” he said, all calm and controlled. Damien recognized the warning, but shook his head, blushing. Paul nodded once, thoughtful, and then gave a short answer. Afterwards, he said, “You not knowing who that is just made me feel ten years older than I am already. Seriously! You’re a singer—don’t you know any of the enormously-famous groups in music? Did you ever learn music history or listen to music that is older than you?” he ranted, incredulous. Damien shrank back into his corner until he saw the gleam in Paul’s eye. Realizing that his friend was not actually mad at him, just amazed, he sat up again and snatched back his iPod, choosing a new song. Paul cringed as a horrid song came on. “And you listen to Hannah Montana,” he muttered. Damien did a theatrical double-take and clapped a palm to his chest in a “how dare you say that” manner. “No, that’s her singing as Miley Cyrus! Hannah Montana is a TV character, but Miley Cyrus is her actual name.” Paul blinked. Once. Twice. Then nodded slightly and said, “Yeah, okay, sure.” And then he lifted his head, remembering. “Hey, Damo, it is a Monday, you know.” “Yeah, so?” “Well, typically, kids are in school on Mondays, and that does include you the last time I checked. So instead of sitting here listening to…that, why don’t you go other there to your laptop and get today’s assignments? And since I’ve got a few minutes before I get a phone call that was interrupted,” he said pointedly, giving Damien a searing look, “I can help you with the math. Heard you had some trouble with it last time.” Now it was Damien’s turn to groan. “But…” “No buts, don’t even try it. And mind you, I will make sure you aren’t watching the new episode of Lost on the computer.” Damien frowned, but went over and found his new homework. Pulling out the Calculus, he plunked down beside Paul and opened the book. “All right, what do you need help with?” asked Paul, eyeing the problems he had not seen since graduation. “Let’s see…this page I could use some help on…this one…oh, and these next three. Hope you don’t have a long phone call,” he finished, smothering a grin but failing when he saw the look on Paul’s face. “Aw, come on, what are big brothers for if not for solving calculus, right?” he teased. “Well, that and giving tips on how to get cute girls,” he added mischievously. Paul glanced at him, remembering what he had been like at the same age. Smiling, he pulled the book into his lap. “All right, let’s get started…” * * * “Paul! Get out of the shower already!” Paul glanced up over the shower curtain. “I’ve only been in here forty seconds! Do you want me to time you, too?” “Hurry up!” “I'm covered in soap!” “Well, then wash it off! Or I’m going to turn the warm water off. That would be kinda fun, so beware! Anyway, come on, we have to be ready in ten minutes!” “All right, all right! But I’m timing you, you got that? No way are you kicking me out and then staying in here for five minutes.” As he shut the water off and got out, grabbing a towel on the way, he frowned when he saw Damien pacing across the bus. “What’s the matter?” “Don’t laugh, but I forgot my towel at the last hotel we stayed at.” Paul stared at him, astonished. “Well, too late now. I have a spare that you can use, but we’re going to have to stop at a Walmart or something to get you another one.” “Okay, thanks,” said Damien, grabbing the spare and running into the shower, turning on the water as he went in. Paul smiled, waiting only a few moments until Damien realized that the water was ice-cold. It really is kinda funny, thought Paul, avoiding the bar of soap that went flying past his shoulder, and got ready for the last promo appearance. * * * The last day of recording of the new albums was a relief. The past few weeks had been a pain because, unlike the rest of Ireland, the one town they decided to record just happened to not have a single pub! Now how could any self-respecting Irishman possibly survive there? To top that, the place they were staying at was run by an old couple that seemed to think that all of them were much too thin, insisting on feeding them every time they saw the lads. As a result, they had gone as far as slipping into their rooms by climbing the tree. Not only was it great fun and burned off those calories from the meal before, but it also avoided getting them another one! “Damien, will you get off of the computer?! Checking your status every minute will not affect whether you win the Glee auditions or not, believe me!” “Hold on a sec, hold on,” he muttered distractedly. “Damien, seriously! We have to get this last song done.” When there was no reply on the other end, Paul decided to take matters into his own hands. Walking forward, he shut down the computer with a few well-practiced beats of the keys and confiscated it. Behind him, Damien was preparing to make a dive for the laptop, and at the last minute, Paul tore into a desperate sprint for the main room. Once there, he slapped the computer onto Phil’s piano and jumped out of the way of a charging teenager. “Damien, Paul, do we need to go over the rules again?” asked George in a teasing, teacherly manner. “No American football games in the recording room,” he scolded lightly. Damien made a face, and George smiled sternly. “Damien, Paul’s right, we do need to get this over with, and checking every few minutes won't help you at all, trust me.” “Come on, Damo,” laughed Keith, coming up and popping a Santa hat onto the kid’s head. “Feel the holiday spirit! Prepare for the Christmas that is nine months early!” “Okay, okay, but why do I have to share the sound booth with Paul, too? Why him?” Paul grinned. “Consider it payment for me helping you with your homework. Quick, what’s the product of—“ “Don’t start!” Damien cut him off sharply. Grumbling, he took his lyrics into the booth, motioning for Paul to join him.
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Post by orinocoflow on Dec 23, 2010 15:02:39 GMT -5
Chapter Nineteen
Volcanic Ash Volcanic ash. Now who would ever have thought that volcanic ash would prevent Paul from getting anywhere? Unfortunately, it did. And now, not only could he not get anywhere, but he was stuck on the wrong side of the ocean with only enough clothes for an overnighter. Paul looked around the airport, wondering what in the world he could do. No flights anywhere out of the States for a awhile, and no hotel rooms because of some World Convention. Now what?! “Is that…yes, I think it is…Paul Byrom?” Paul turned to the voice, surprised to see a couple standing there. “Yes?” “Oh, it is you! We saw your concert, and I must say what a beautiful voice you have! We’re hoping to get tickets for your fall tour this year. I hope you come by Boston.” “Yeah, I might if I get out of here for recording,” replied Paul, glancing at the flight list. The man asked, “Are you stuck here?” When Paul nodded, he continued. “If you go to Boston, you have a better chance of getting to Ireland because we have direct flights every day there, and tickets are easy to get. In the meantime, you can stay with us, if you would like.” Paul considered it. If he stayed in DC, he would have to get two flights to get out, but one flight was always easier. And as for the offer, why not? “If I won't get in the way, I would like that, please,” he replied, smiling. The couple beamed. “All right, let’s see if they have any tickets. If not, we’ll see.” * * * The next few days went by wonderfully, and Paul had a chance to explore the city for the first time, and, of course, get more clothes. When he called Dominique to let her know what was going on, she said, “Paul, honestly, I don’t know what you spend more money on—clothes or movie tickets. You’ve seen five movies in only a few days, and have raided the local A&F store.” Smiling at the memory, he settled down in the couch, but it did not last for long. “Hey, Paul, how did your day go?” asked John. Paul looked over his shoulder and smiled again. “I don’t know how to thank you for this; probably the best vacation I’ve had for a long time, and I finally get to see another city of the States thoroughly.” John nodded. “Just wondering, how would you like to see more of the city…from the State Trooper’s point of view?” Paul stared at him. This was the chance of a lifetime! He had always wanted to, and this was probably the only time he would EVER be able to! John laughed, the gleam in Paul’s eye the only answer he needed. “Okay, we can go and get you to sign a few waivers tomorrow, and then we’ll see about it, eh?” * * * It was settled that night, actually, and the next day, Paul was up and ready to go earlier than he had ever woken up before. And guess what? Almost as soon as they were on the road, a signal came in saying that there was a car accident a few miles out. Turning on the blue and reds with instructions from his host, Paul sang all the way there, much to the amusement and support of the driver. Some of the other Troopers, knowing that there was going to be a singer with them for a few days, tuned in their radios to listen. Paul was amazed at the scene when he heard why it had occurred. Definitely blogging about this, he thought. Taking a rain-slicker, he ran out to where he would direct the traffic around the accident. After about ten minutes, a Trooper came up to him. “You’re Paul Byrom, right? The tenor with Celtic Thunder?” Paul nodded. “Yes, I am.” The man grinned shyly. “My wife is a huge fan of CT, especially of you. She has all of your albums, posters; basically anything with you. This may not be the time, but afterwards, do you think you can call her? Her birthday is today, and I could not think of anything better than to have you call her. She would love it!” Paul smiled, hit by a sudden mountain of déjà vu. Pushing those thoughts away, he nodded again. “Sure, no problem.” As he ordered the cars past, a few stopped and begged to take pictures of him, and one even had his CD and a Sharpie, so he quickly jotted his autograph down before urging the cars on. After several hours, Paul was exhausted. Leading cars by whose occupants wanted autographs, pictures, and just to chat was hard; doing so in the pouring rain was even harder. His swanky hat was soaked, and even with the rain-slicker, he was wet. When he finally took the hat off, his hair was plastered to his face, but he was happy. And the phone call? The woman shrieked into his ear with delight, but then quickly controlled herself and they talked for a few minutes before he sang her favorite song, “Because we Believe.” It really was the best birthday gift for her. Another few days of this, and then the flights should clear up, he thought, not sure if he was glad or sad about that.
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Post by orinocoflow on Dec 23, 2010 15:05:02 GMT -5
Chapter Twenty
Heritage and Christmas Paul sighed, straightening the gray scarf he wore. One more taping, but this one was different from the rest of the tour, so he was a tad nervous. Peeking from behind the slit in the curtain, he grinned when he saw how the room was mostly divided—Ryan’s fans in one corner, Keith’s in another, a bunch of teenage girls wearing Damien shirts were in the middle, and a small group off to the side in the middle each had a shirt reading, “Byrom’s Babes.” Otherwise, there were a lot of group shirts and other random fan shirts scattered around. Surprisingly, there were only a few green glow-sticks flashing in the audience, even though the shop was selling them at the show. As Ryan came up beside him, Paul poked him in the ribs and nodded towards a group of Ryan’s Angels wearing…were those halos? Apparently, they were. Ryan groaned softly but then poked back. “So what? It looks kinda nice…and definitely shows who their fav is!” Seeing the look on Paul’s face transform from humorous to sullen, he bit his lip and quickly wished he could take the words back. “That came out differently from what I expected…I—“ “Nah, it’s okay,” replied Paul and walked back to his section of the dressing room. There was still some time before the show, and he checked his mic for the hundredth time, knowing that something was going to happen; he could just feel it. He clicked his mic on when Phil went onstage to introduce the show and give the usual warning, cracking jokes all the way. Catching Damien’s eye, Paul stifled a laugh when he saw the faces the kid was making at some of those jokes. Blushing, Damien stopped and quickly clicked on his mic—and what do you know? A look of absolute horror crossed his face when he realized that all he could hear was static. Pulling it off of his shirt, he sprinted back to the tech table to get it sorted out. “ What?! But it was working ten minutes ago!” exclaimed the techie, already reaching for a back-up mic. Turning away to let them figure out what to do, Paul strained to hear the beginning of the music, frowning when he saw what was going on onstage. “Heartland.“ Neil was beating those drums like his life depended on it, but hardly any sound came from them. His face constricting with worry, he muttered into his mic, probably telling Sharon that the mics on the drums weren’t working. Backstage, the lads all let out a collective groan as they realized that they had yet to have a taping where the mics did not act up on them. On the other side of the radio they could hear Sharon instructing Neil on what to do, her voice bordering on panic. And then they were on. The crowd roared, but quickly settled down to listen. He heard a few people in the front commenting on the fact that Ryan was wearing gray, for once, and then their attention was fastened on the blue pants and bright blue tie Damien wore. He could hear them saying, “What do you want to bet that they match his eyes?” Smiling, he stepped forward for his solo. As Damien stayed back for his next song, “Come by the Hills,” Paul noticed a flash of black on his wrist. Focusing, he saw that there was a bracelet on Damien’s wrist, thin and dark. Smiling because he had an identical band on his own wrist, Paul disappeared backstage to take a short break before he went out in a few songs. Towards the end of Ryan’s song, “Black is the color of my true love’s hair,” Paul went back up to watch the choreography; it had always fascinated him how well the people behind the lights were controlling it and coming up with all of these ideas. For example, here, Ryan was pumping his fist, and with each movement the lights literally seemed to pulse along in beat. The song itself was amazing, with Ryan leaping around, stroking the new instrumental girl’s dark hair; full Dark Destroyer mode. This was one of Paul’s favorite Christy Moore songs, and Ryan had a way with turning Christy’s songs into even better performances. As the tune for “Working Man” came on, Paul quickly rolled up his sleeves and got ready, smiling as Keith struggled to free himself of the scarf he wore; and at the moment, he appeared to be losing drastically. Finally succeeding a mere few moments before he was due onstage, he easily tossed his hair and it fell exactly the way it was supposed to without him so much as touching it. How did he do that? Seriously! Although he could use a trim… For the next song, “Home from the Sea,” which they had all nicknamed “Carry us Home,” Paul sat beside Damien on the fake rock to the side of the stage, and as he sang so automatically that he didn’t even have to think about the lyrics. He thought about how many times he had to perform with Damien lately; he was sitting on a rock with him, he had had to share a bunk with him when Keith had spilled soda all over Damien’s on the kid’s eighteenth not that long ago, and he had several songs with him. “Paul, Damien, you are not about to go to the principal’s office! Come on, cheer up.” Paul jumped as Sharon’s voice sounded in his ear. Beside him, Damien was the same, blinking as he realized that they had almost missed their cue. Thanks to modern technology, their earpieces were practically invisible and the single whisper-thin wire was hidden by hair. Except in George’s case, of course. Afterwards, the two of them stayed back as they prepared for their next song—a duet called “A Song at Twilight.” Moving to the center of the steps, they sat and made themselves comfortable. Surprisingly, Damien was about Paul’s height now, maybe even a hair taller. That was always an ongoing joke between the lads, how Damien had been shorter than Neil and was now as tall as Paul! As the last note ended, Damien turned to him and danced his eyebrows, beaming. Chuckling quietly, Paul grinned back and gave him a look that said exactly how well the song had gone. As they walked off, Paul couldn’t help slinging an arm around Damien’s shoulders, deep in thought. But as soon as they were backstage, they flicked off their mics and burst out laughing. Whooping, Damien punched Paul lightly in the shoulder. Frowning teasingly, Paul said, “Your voice blended really well, I’ll give you that. But…leave the Swanky Eyebrow to me, true?” Winking, he left. “Belfast Polka” came on, with Brendan shaking the life out of his instrument, whatever that thing was called. Next was “Gold and Silver Days,” a song that Paul had particularly loved from Phil’s own album he had heard a few years back. George and Ryan sang a great version of it, with Ryan putting a hand on George’s shoulder at the “Friends we can rely on” line. There was so much more connection between the lads in this show; it was actually startling, and Paul wondered if it meant anything would happen in the near future. Neil walked forward, a bit nervous. Trying to be all proper, he broke into a smile when some fan yelled “Go Neil!” And he deserved it—the song, “Noirín Mó Stoirín,” was beautifully sung, and it almost made Paul forget to change into the collared shirt and vest until Damien ran by and hissed, “You gonna change or not?” Cursing under his breath, he tore off for his corner, tugging at the shirt as he went, and tripped for his efforts. Why, why, why did this always happen to him?“Steal Away” went without a hitch, except for the fact that Keith finally realized that he needed to cut his hair when it went into his eyes as he stepped forward. “Skye Boat.” Sung by George. What was it with George and boat songs?! The lads had all laughed when they saw the song lists for the new show, but even more so when George saw how many boat songs he had. Even so, it was performed well, the melody haunting and beautiful. And he was up next. “My Love’s Like a Red Red Rose” was one of his favorite songs to sing in the new show, and it replaced his old ones well. He saw that part of the audience was fixated on his hair, and he tried to hide a smile, given that it was a sad song. For the first time, Damien had just had to come in and catch him right after he had waxed his hair into a perfect style! Of course, how could the kid resist a playful ruffle, and it just had to be exactly a few moments before the wax stiffened. As a result, the first time around, it was stuck in that ruffled position, and it just did not want to wash out! He could still remember Damien, practically rolling on the floor with a stitch in his side from laughing, enjoying the show thoroughly as Paul struggled to wash out his hair and redo it again. And now, even though he had finally managed to get it back into that style, Damien still tried to ruffle it every time he walked past. But how could you get mad at him? Of course, you could not. The only time Damien had regretted rumpling Paul’s hair was when he had done it after Paul had worked on it for about an hour, getting it just right for a night out with Dominique…and just as he did it, the doorbell rang, announcing Dominique's arrival. Now that was not a night Damien liked to remember, since his iPod had “disappeared” for a week afterwards, and then mysteriously “reappeared” in his suitcase at the end of the week. “Whiskey in the Jar.” Now, how to describe that, other than Keith and Neil rocking it out in matching guitars—bright orange. At one line, “I shot him with double barrels,” he pretended to shoot Neil, and that went great, considering how easily they played off of each other. The crowd laughed at other lines and the way he delivered them. Again, his hair was in his eyes, and Paul resisted with incredible self-control from giving him a pair of scissors for Christmas. As Keith threw his pick out to the crowd at the end of the song, there was a scramble to catch it. A fleeting look of worry passed his face, but it was quickly resolved when someone caught it and the fans calmed down. For the last song of the first act, “Place in the Choir,” it was wonderful! Paul stood beside Damien near the bottom of the stage, and they grabbed each other’s hands and did what would later be called the “pull towards each other, no we’re NOT hugging” move. Up above them, Keith and George could not let those two have all the fun—no, they ran together and did a high five. Ryan, ever the mature adult in the middle, shook his head and gave the audience a look that totally said, “Kids. What did you expect?” The rest of the song was hilarious, and it was obvious that the crowd was not paying attention to the lyrics, but the lads themselves. Keith grabbed Damien by the ears and gently tugged, pinching, receiving a scrunched-up face from the teen. Paul and Damien clasped arms, doing a quick jig—which included stomping feet—that unfortunately did not make it to the DVD. Damien seemed to freeze all of the action with an extremely low line, and Paul decided to steal Ryan’s signature knee bends, though making them deeper and being awarded with a deafening cheer from the crowd. Ryan clapped him on the shoulder and gave him a “That’s my move!” look, but he just waved it off with a grin, enjoying himself. This night he was going to give the crowd his best, and they loved it! Damien, biting his lip, went on to do the complex dance moves Paul had taught him in their spare time and beamed when he got them right. Glancing at Paul, his blue eyes were sparkling as the tenor gave him an approving nod, happy. They all sat in a row, but their feet were moving of their own volition, dancing along to the beat, waiting to be out there dancing. At the end, as they all stood up and walked forward, Keith broke the line and stepped forward with…jazz hands. Paul almost laughed when he saw the fans’ reactions. As they walked off, Keith did his famous side kick, and another cheer went up. During the intermission, Paul was amazed once more as the new instrumental girl practiced. Coming from Ireland, she played at least a dozen different instruments, and she never seemed tired at learning all of the music…as well as dancing while playing. Shaking his head, he knew that he would never be able to play that many. No, he’d stick to singing. Following Phil’s introduction and the opening music, Neil tugged on a jacket and opened the concert the new act, singing, “It’s beginning to look a lot like Christmas.” Throughout the song, he kept glancing at the ceiling, waiting for the fake snow to come down, but it never did. What, is the snow glitching on us too? First the mics, now this. As soon as he walked back, the snow came bursting down, covering the stage in a film of growing white and floating into the audience and onto the orchestra. He could see some of the musicians grumbling that they could not see what they were supposed to be playing because of that snow! Damien waltzed out in this cream-colored outfit singing “Winter Wonderland,” making it very obvious that he was “not married” when the snowman asked. Playing around onstage, he was completely at home there, no longer stiff and awkward, having grown into his voice and gotten enough practice dancing to no longer worry about messing up the steps. Ryan came up behind Paul and whispered, “Is it obvious or what, that he has taken hints from me on stage performance, what with my theatrical ‘Ride On,’ eh?” Paul glanced over his shoulder feigned surprise. “Oh, really? And here I though that it was all from him hanging out with me so much!” he teased, jabbing Ryan playfully in the stomach. Just as Ryan opened his mouth to reply, George grabbed Paul and shoved him toward the stage. “Go! You’re up!” “Christmas Morning Donegal.” This was his favorite song by far. In a black suit and the wonderful sparkly tie, he held back his voice in the soft beginning. As the choir boys in the background pitched in with their chorus, Paul stepped out of their spotlight and looked back at them, remembering himself when he was at that age; as memories flooded him, he almost missed his cue again until he dimly heard Sharon calling his name. Blinking, he turned back to the audience and sang right on cue as if nothing had happened, his voice strong and surprisingly powerful in the silent auditorium, his arms outstretched in the same way as in “You Raise Me Up.” As the song finished, he turned halfway and motioned to the boys and winked at them, including them in the applause. They deserved it. For “Amazing Grace,” the others and Neil came out to stand beside him. As soon as they finished, Paul caught up with Keith. “Love how you just had to strum the song on that air guitar of yours,” he teased, grinning when Keith turned red. His hand had automatically moved as though strumming a guitar and Paul had of course caught him doing that. Punching Paul in the shoulder—the same one that both Ryan and Damien had punched that night already—he shook his head and walked off to change, laughing. If they keep this up, I’m going to be black and blue tomorrow, thought Paul, rubbing the spot.
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Post by orinocoflow on Dec 23, 2010 15:06:42 GMT -5
Chapter Twenty-one
Part two of Christmas and a Late Birthday Present Apparently, Ryan did not get the message that “Let it Snow” and “Bad Bad Leroy Brown” were two different genres and therefore should be performed differently; there he was, casually leaning on the railing, the band snapping along with him, and then he was hopping along the stage, all swagger and Dark Destroyer. Appearing beside Phil, the two of them somehow then ended up beside Brendan and pretended to play the bass along with him. But when he sang about snow, it didn’t come down. Looking at the stagehand, Paul shook his head when he realized that they were out of snow. Something just has to go wrong, doesn’t it? He mused, watching him send an assistant out to get more of the fake snow. Towards the end of Ryan’s song, Paul frowned when he saw that Ryan was not dancing, only tapping his foot a bit and moving his knee, and on the radio he could hear Sharon grumbling that he did not dance. When Ryan came backstage, he switched on and said, “I didn’t want to mess up, since I honestly can't remember that last part of the dance. Sorry.” When Keith walked out for “Last Christmas,” Phil immediately pointed out by gesturing that “that was his look” since both he and Keith had white coats on, but Keith made a show of pointing out that his had black lining. Neil followed with “When You Wish upon a Star,” but left when they walked out to sing “Silent Night.” In Gaelic. Paul could remember every single egg joke that he had received during rehearsals for this song, well, concert in general, and they had all seemed to involve George in one way or another. When it had gotten to the point where all of the food in the cafeteria had eggs in it in one form or another, he had paid them back by changing the recognition language on their phones, laptops, anything he could find to Gaelic, and then they had admitted that they were even. George stayed to sing “Going Home for Christmas,” but backstage the other lads were trying to teach Damien how to tie a tie. “Damien, hold still! I can't—great, now I have to do it again.” “Ryan, come on, I can do it! I—“ “No you can’t! Last time you did it, you had six inches of shirt under your tie. Far as I know, that’s not how to tie a tie,” argued Paul, exasperated. “Here, let me do it.” After about ten seconds, the tie was perfectly down the center of his shirt, covering the buttons and where the belt buckle would have been had he been wearing one. “There you go, now—no don’t touch it! Don’t touch, don’t you dare touch it!” Damien nodded and ran off towards the stage. Just as he walked past a fake Christmas tree, it snagged his tie and—guess what? Untied it. He glanced back, but Paul was already gone, so he quickly retied it as best he could and went onstage, hoping that the others would not see that it was a good six inches above his waist. When he came backstage, however, his hopes were dashed. Paul was standing there, tapping his foot, arms crossed over his chest in a very intimidating appearance. Swallowing, he tried to walk by, but Paul blocked him and gave him an annoyed scowl. Lowering his head, Damien murmured, “Sorry.” When there was no response, he dared a glance up and was surprised to see Paul grinning at him. “Damo, Damo, Damo; why are you so easy to trick? Hmm?” asked Paul, raising one eyebrow. “Looks like you’re going to have to learn how to tie a tie eventually, but we’ll save that lesson for later. For now, I think you can just work on taking over Ryan’s heartbreaker role—that was a good start out there, what with all of them ‘Aw’-ing as soon as you came out.” He reached out, turning Damien around to go back onstage for the next song, “Christmas 1915.” “Oh, and by the way—you were very close to keeping the beat when you were snapping. Definitely better than before, but we can still work on it.” Winking, he walked out. When George sang the “He had a tenor voice so pure and true” line, he turned slightly and nodded at an unsuspecting Paul. No one else onstage saw it, but the audience did and there was some quiet laughter. Keith, confused, was probably wondering why these weird people were laughing while the lads were singing about death. Unfortunately, that just made them laugh more. And next was “Baby it’s Cold Outside,” which Ryan milked to the outmost, stealing a few endearing moments from Paul’s performance from “That’s a Woman.” No doubt he hoped that that would definitely win him the girl this time if his Dark Destroyer routine did not. Paul walked out after him for “Ave Maria.” And for the first and only time for this show, he was nervous. This was a complicated song that had been added at the end, so none of them had had much practice with it, but he was confident that Phil would keep them all together. And sure enough, he did. Every now and then Paul would dart his eyes and glance at Phil, who would direct him to slow down or speed up, and then Phil would motion to the band to keep the music in an almost identical version of Paul’s voice, timing everything so that it was perfect. Beautiful. For “Hallelujah,” Paul smiled when he saw how Ryan was using Paul’s idea from the Take me Home show by letting the light play on his eyes. And then he loved how, similarly to how Paul had forgotten to unbutton his jacket during “Still Haven’t Found” in the previous concert, as soon as Ryan went down the steps, he slipped his hand up slowly to unbutton his jacket, skillfully flipping them open. However, he was so focused on being subtle that he missed his cue to go back up the steps and had to actually run up them to keep in time. Keith jumped out with “All I want for Christmas is You,” and he and Dave had a great time playing it out. Keith sang about how he did not care what was under the tree, and as soon as he finished and turned to Dave, he was surprised to see Dave, who had his hands interlaced over his heart, pretend to “beat” his heart “out” of his chest; he so felt Keith’s pain. By now the crowd was laughing, cheering, and Phil turned to start them clapping. When Keith sang about hoping for snow, he looked up at the ceiling, but the snow was stuck—again. At the end, after he pulled mistletoe from his pocket and held it above his head, he threw it into the audience. For George’s “I Wish It Could Be Christmas Every Day,” Phil began to strum on his conductor’s baton as if it were a guitar. Paul shook his head, laughing. What is it with guitar fever this concert? he wondering, thinking about all of the guitar imitations and real ones during this show. And then at the end, Neil, George, and Brendan formed a kick line. By now, the crowd was cheering and laughing, loving the show. Paul himself was laughing hard, imagining George, calm, mature George, running out and doing that without any prompts whatsoever. “Paul! Get onstage now!” He winced, tugging at the earpiece to loosen it from his ear, but then realized that he was late for his entrance. Practically trampling a stagehand walking by, he tore out of the curtain and skidded to a halt as he just barely missed body-slamming into George. Keith ran out behind him, having been waiting for Paul’s arrival to cue his own. Singing his line, he grabbed Paul by the shoulders and shoved him out of the way to stand between him and George. Damien slunk out onto the stage, singing about “telling ghost stories” and jumped on Paul, clapping his big hands on his friend’s shoulders. Paul, in the spirit, staggered and gave one of his most exaggerated “terrified” expressions, crowding close to Keith for “protection” and pulling his jacket closer around himself, sending the crowd into more laughter, along with Neil and Keith, who had a hard time controlling themselves for their own lines. Overall, “It’s the Most Wonderful Time of the Year” was a time for them to get out the hilarious sides of themselves. And then, one by one as their individual lines came up, they all broke away to stand on the top step, swaying together at the end; even Damien could not get it wrong, not with the two lads beside him threateningly close if he dared make a mistake. The song ended and the lads turned to head backstage for a quick break before returning. And at that moment, the snow finally fell! They came back out for “We wish you a Merry Christmas.” Unable to resist, Damien reached over and rubbed George’s bald head like he had once done back during their first trip to DC. By now, all of them were covered in fake snow. Ryan tilted his head back to try and get it to slide off, but it did not want to. Paul gave up when he realized that it was stuck between his spikes. Damien looked hilarious with a chunk of soapy snow stuck to his temple and hanging by his eyes, but he could not get it off as easily as he had thought. After the first bow, Keith yelled “One more!” and after the second bow, Ryan could not hold himself back any longer and swiped the snow off of Paul’s head, accidentally messing up the carefully-lain spikes. Not caring anymore, Paul just laughed and ruffled Damien’s in turn. * * * And finally it was done. Grabbing Damien, they wrapped a bandana around his eyes and led him into the bus. “Where are you taking me? Guys? What—“ “Be quiet and be patient, will ya?” drawled Ryan. Finally inside, Paul stood behind Damien and leaned the kid slightly back, untying the bandana and saying, “Happy belated birthday, Damo.” Wrapping his arms around Damien’s shoulders, he waited for a reaction. Damien stood stock-still, gaping at the bike. It was awesome. Red with black streaks, it had just about everything a folding bike could, with incredible brakes, a ton of gears, and overall it was just what he wanted for a bike. After a few minutes of stunned silence, Keith chuckled. “Well?” Damien looked at each of the guys and grinned from ear to ear. “Thank you,” he whispered, his voice still gone. “Good thing we gave it to him after the concert, or he wouldn’t’ve been able to sing,” joked Keith. “Is it really for me?” asked Damien, his voice coming back. Paul squeezed his shoulders and nodded. “Yeah, all yours. We’re going to spend a lot of time in cities, so you will cover more if you’re on a bike. And now that you’re eighteen, we can let you go off on your own more as long as you have a phone on you, so you can explore the States more. Sound good?” Damien nodded, too happy to say anything. “Thanks, you guys. This is great!” Laughing, he walked forward and ran his hand along the new bike. It was perfect!
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Post by orinocoflow on Dec 23, 2010 15:08:07 GMT -5
Chapter Twenty-Two
Keith’s new hairdo Whistling, Paul walked onto the stage where they were doing the final rehearsals. And stopped short. “What…Keith…hair…did you do…” he was unable to make complete sentences. Keith’s hair was shorter, gelled back, and practically brown. When the young man looked up, he was grinning. “Well, what do you know? The Mouth is speechless!” he exclaimed, laughing. “What do you think?” he asked, patting it down as if it wasn’t already plastered. “I don’t know what I think, but I know that I don’t want to be here when Sharon walks in,” replied Paul, finding his voice. Keith snorted and waved a hand nonchalantly, turning to George and Ryan, who were staring at him silently. Neil had a broad grin on his face as he stifled laughter. “Hey guys!” called Damien, glancing at them while rolling onstage on his new bike…and did a double take, his eyes glued to them and forgetting to brake. There was a crash as he rammed head-on into a wall somewhere backstage, and a few moments later he popped back out to stand there and gape, looking from Paul to Keith and back again. “I…Paul clones…I...thought we had a Paul clone,” he finally managed. He, too, was apparently suffering from tongue-catching cats. Keith laughed, but when he looked at Paul he stopped. “We do look a lot alike,” he said quietly. And they did—brown gelled hair, five o’clock shadows, same height, and practically matching jeans and t-shirts. “Well, I know I don’t want to be here when Sharon sees you,” said Damien. Ryan nodded agreement, still astonished at the new Keith. At that moment Phil and Sharon walked in, discussing choreography and last night’s show. Almost simultaneously, Paul, Ryan, and Damien turned on their heels and sprinted backstage, and since Neil muttered something about tuning his guitar and left in the other direction, George was left alone with Sharon, Phil…and Keith. Peeking from behind the curtain, the three of them watched. On the other side, Neil poked his head over the orchestra pit and watched from there. Sharon was silently observing Keith, while Phil had an incredibly amused expression on his face. George, catching the moment, made his escape to stand beside the other three. Finally, Phil started laughing until tears sprang to his eyes, but Sharon continued to take in the new hair. At last, she spoke. “Now who’s going to be the surfer with the ‘bushy bushy blond hairdo’?” she asked, still surprisingly calm. By now, Keith and Phil were absolutely red in the face, albeit for different reasons. Clearing his throat, Keith opened his mouth to say something, closed it, and then tried again. “I just wanted to try a different look, see how it went. I actually kinda like it.” Neil snickered from the orchestra. “Yeah, well, Paul can't surf if his life depended on it, and you at the moment look a lot like him.” Keith reddened even more, if that was possible. “I was not trying to copy Paul!” “Keep telling yourself that,” murmured Neil, winking at Paul. Sharon sighed. “Are you boys going to continue sparring, or can we begin rehearsals?” She spared Keith one last glance, and then, shaking her head, walked offstage. * * * Dominique walked into the auditorium, smiling when she saw Paul on his laptop in the corner where the Internet was best. Coming up, she wrapped her arms around his shoulders and was about to kiss his cheek when his cologne reached her nose. It was not Paul’s, not unless he had changed it. The man jumped in his seat, slamming against the wall in his haste, shock registered on his face. “Keith?! What happened to your…hair…” she trailed off, not sure if she was seeing correctly. “Um…yeah…did Paul…” “Dominique?” came a familiar voice. Turning, she saw Paul jogging over, juggling food on a paper plate and trying to keep juice from spilling out of a cup. “What are you doing here? I thought you couldn’t make it?” He paused when he saw the look on Keith’s face, slowing down to a walk. “And I take it you’ve been introduced to Keith’s new look…Keith, what in the world happened? You look like you’ve seen a ghost!” “Not unless that ghost was mine after you saw what just happened,” muttered Keith under his breath. Paul frowned. “What was that?” “Nothing,” was the quick reply. Turning back to Dominique, Paul led her over to the table he had been planning on sitting at, busy catching up on everything that had occurred while they had been apart. Breathing a sigh of relief, Keith slumped back in the seat. Hope they’re not going to ask me to sing “Doo Wacka Doo” or something, he grumbled, finishing his lunch. Maybe this new hair was not such a good idea.
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Post by orinocoflow on Dec 23, 2010 15:10:18 GMT -5
Chapter Twenty-three
Spiders and Oreos “Okay, so this is a song that I wrote—Damien, get out of the camera’s view!” he snapped, glaring at Damien. The kid looked up from where he was by the fridge, soda pop in hand, his eyes wide. “What…oh, you’re filming your new song! Sorry, mate, I just wanted to get something to drink.” “Well, you got it; now get out!” “All right, all right, no need to get all bothered about it!” replied Damien, acting hurt as he left the room. Once outside, he went straight to the other side of the bus. “Hey, Byrom, want to pay Keith back for hiding your phone the other day?” he called, leaning over his friend’s shoulders. Paul was lurking on the pub, reading the active conversation, and debating whether to pop in or not. Closing the laptop, he put it away and whirled around in the chair, smiling evilly. “How can I resist?” he said, dancing his eyebrows. Damien laughed, tried the eyebrows but failed. Paul smirked and shook his head, but then refocused on Damien. “So, what’s your idea and will he be mad?” “Oh, he will be extremely mad,” chuckled Damien, sharing Paul’s conspiring look. Sharon glanced up at them from where she was with Ryan going over choreography, but then sighed and looked back at the sheet. Ryan, however, had an expression on his face that read, “Save me! I want to do it too!” * * * Keith sang, his eyes closed as he savored the sound of his favorite guitar vibrating with each note. Humming while not singing, he did not see the light, fake spider slide onto his shoulder…or his other guitar disappear…or the Oreo edging closer to the hole in the guitar. “Spider!” hollered Ryan at the top of his lungs, making even Paul and Damien jump. Keith stopped as the yell interrupted his song, and turned to look at the guys over his shoulder… “AHH!” he yelled, jumping away, his leg tangling with the chair he was on, tripping him. The strategically-placed Oreo fell into the guitar, which went clattering onto the floor, knocking over the table with the laptop on it. Keith grabbed the computer as it fell towards him, but that also brought the spider back onto his arm. With a yelp, he rocketed back into the corner of the bus while the spider went flying in the opposite direction—towards the door. Just beyond there, Keith could hear muffled laughter fading as it went farther away. Growling, he set his laptop carefully aside and ran after them. As he barreled into the room, Sharon looked up from where she was talking to Ryan about his new dance moves. Paul was on the computer, lurking in the pub on one tab and chatting with Dominique on the other. Damien was battling George on the XBOX, and apparently losing. Neil was nowhere to be seen, but that was not unusual. “Okay, does anyone want to explain what just happened to me in there?” he asked, taking a deep breath to calm his anger. “Um…you kicked me out for getting a soda?” proposed Damien, absolutely blameless. “You screamed like a girl?” suggested Ryan, glancing up to look at him. Keith ground his teeth but didn’t say anything. Instead, he turned to Sharon. “Sharon, as the only one in this room with a sensible head, can you please tell me what happened? You too, George, but you look preoccupied at the moment,” he added quickly, seeing the Scot turn to look at him with a quirked eyebrow. She smiled. “I have to agree with these two—you yelled at Damien for getting a soda and you did scream in there.” Keith gaped at her. “B-but I heard Ryan…” “There was a huge spider over there in the corner, but I think you scared it off with that piercing voice of yours,” laughed Paul, his blue eyes sparkling. “But you heard Sharon, and you did admit that you believe her, so you might as well save us the pain and go back to your song. Hurry, because I wouldn’t mind a soda myself.” As soon as Keith was back in his room, the three friends leaned together and high-fived, quietly thanking Sharon so that Keith would not hear. Later that night… “Hey guys? Where’s my other guitar?” * * * Keith sighed. After the incident with the spiders, he hadn’t seen his guitar at all. Now, during rehearsal, he had had to use one of the band’s spare ones. It felt wrong, somehow, and he sighed again as he realized just how much he missed it. No one seemed to know what had happened to his, but Sharon was not concerned for some reason. “Miss your guitar?” asked Ryan, sitting down beside him. Keith only glowered in response. “Well, good luck. It might help to rest before the concert.” “Okay, guys, let’s go through the songs again. We’re almost done, Damien, don’t groan like that,” said Sharon. “Neil, get your guitar, I want to see you onstage this time because we just can’t have you in the pit if you’re playing.” Neil grabbed the guitar case closest to him, flipped it open…and froze. Shooting a quick, horrified glance at Keith, he slammed it shut and ran back into the pit. When he returned, he had another one. By now, the three conspirators were stifling laughter and clearing throats. Keith gave them a dirty look, but used the guitar he was given. Finally, the concert was over. Some people at the M&G had asked what had happened to his guitar, and he had mumbled some answers. Escaping from the group, he kicked something hard under his bunk while collapsing on top of it. Frowning, he leaned down and pulled out what was there. And then just gaped at it silently. It was his guitar. His precious guitar, the one that had disappeared after the episode with the fake spider. Grinning, figuring that he would wonder later about where it was, he pulled it into the familiar position and began strumming it. However, as he did so, he became aware of a strange clinking inside of it, as well as the fact that it was horribly out of tune. Turning it upside down, he stared as five Oreos fell out of it, along with…was that a spider? “Right, it’s just fake, just like—AHH!” Dropping the guitar, he jumped back onto his bunk as the huge black spider suddenly began to move and run along the guitar’s spine. As the spider disappeared through the crack in the corner of the door, Keith took a deep breath and looked at the guitar. Fortunately, it, being used to the odd bumps it might get while on a bus, was unharmed, but the strings were completely out of tune. Grumbling, he cautiously picked it back up, checking to make sure that there were no more surprises. “Damien. It had to be him. Unless Paul…naw, had to be Damien.” Glaring at the door, then at the bunk across the way, he smiled. Damien would never know what hit him...literally. * * * In the middle of the night, there came a scream from Damien’s side of the room. When Paul turned on the small light to see what the matter was, he started laughing hard, leaning weakly on the corner of his bunk when he saw the intricate web of fake spiders and Oreos hanging above the teenager’s head, a small, furry, real spider right on the middle of his chest.
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Post by orinocoflow on Dec 23, 2010 15:11:07 GMT -5
Chapter Twenty-Four
Epilogue One
The New Thunder As Paul walked down the hallway he had so long ago, he could not help feeling a twinge in his heart. This had been a major part of his life for the past few years, and now it was coming to an end, he just knew. In the room there were eleven people. George and Keith were in chairs against the wall; Ryan and Damien were standing by the windows, facing Phil and Sharon, who sat in the middle. On the other side on a long couch, the five new members of CT sat. Paul frowned; the man that would be filling in for George had hair, and a lot of it, making the contrast startling. A young kid of about seventeen had on torn jeans, a black t-shirt with some rock band’s name on it, and Converse minimum a size too big for him. Two other men looked like twins—tall, with black hair and startling yellow eyes. The last was a man of about twenty with copper-red hair and emerald green eyes. Together, they looked nothing at all like the friends he had grown to feel like family with. When he came in and stood beside Ryan, he knew that something was up. These feelings were confirmed when Sharon looked up and he saw the expression on her face. “Well, these have been a wonderful few years with you guys, but now that we have the new group, it’s going to be hard minding both sets. As a result, I’m sorry you five, but,” she paused, taking a moment to look at each of them, “CT is over. This new group will continue with the concerts in Europe and elsewhere, and you guys are…” she trailed off, but she did not need to finish. The lads were free to go. No more touring with the group, no more teasing each other on those long bus rides, no more flipping kilts and swanky eyebrows. Paul didn’t even want to guess which one was the tenor, but he was willing to bet that he was going to be the one and only Swanky Tenor no matter who was the new one. Many fans had been sending him letters saying that he was irreplaceable, and that was a fantastic way to boost his confidence. But this hit him worse than he expected. CT was a huge part of his life; what was going to happen now? This was not him with two other tenors running around the world; this was him with a group of the best friends he had ever had, each one different. Damien was the kid brother he had never had; Keith and Ryan were friends he could do anything with; George was the level-minded one of the group, but great craic if the situation called for it; if you had any personal problems, he was the one to go to; Neil was the one that everyone enjoyed teasing. This was the end. * * * A few days later… Paul leaned on the railing of the bridge, looking out over the stream. It was autumn, the most beautiful season because of the red and gold leaves all around and the vibrant green grass on the hills around the multi-colored trees. And for once, the sun was out and shining. Dominique stood beside him, and the two of them were silent, thinking of all that had happened in the past couple of days. After a long time, he straightened and then rested one elbow on the wooden rail, turning towards Dominique, a pensive expression on his face. Finally he looked into her eyes, his own blue ones serious. “So this is it, eh?” he murmured, his tenor voice blending with the rippling stream. She glanced down quickly and then up again, nodding once. He bit his lip, and then took a step closer. “Any chance I might see you again anytime soon?” “Probably. I don’t live that far away.” He nodded, thinking. And then, slipping one hand onto her wrist and the other into his pocket, he took the last step, standing right in front of her, forcing her to look up into his eyes. Paul cupped her hands in his, and smiled when he saw her face change as she realized what he was doing. Looking at her, he saw exactly when her eyes lit up as she moved back ever so slightly to see what he had pressed into her palm, and he was rewarded with her happy face beaming up at his before she stepped forward and returned the embrace, whispering into his ear one word that changed his life. THE END
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Post by orinocoflow on Dec 23, 2010 15:11:59 GMT -5
Chapter Twenty-Five
Epilogue Two
The Last Night Paul stood there right after he had just finished singing “Ireland's Call.” The crowd was on their feet, screaming and cheering, and the applause was deafening like never before. As he looked over them, he realized that this may very well be the last time he saw anything like this. Damien squeezed his shoulder, bringing him back to reality, and they bowed once. Twice. Three times. The crowd cheered even louder, and he blinked as suddenly it all became blurry. Shaking his head, he tried to clear his vision, but hot tears streaked his cheeks as he knew that this was it. His last concert with Celtic Thunder. No more teasing Damien, no more flipping his kilt, no more getting slagged by the rest of the lads, never doing “Sway” again, never doing any of these songs; at least, not with CT. This was it. Gritting his teeth, Paul managed a weak smile at the audience, but then bowed his head when a group near the front shouted, “WE’LL MISS YOU PAUL!!!” to keep them from seeing him breaking. It became even worse as the whole audience began to say a similar version of those four words, and he swallowed hard. This was it. As they escaped backstage, he collapsed on a stool, his teeth grinding hard as he struggled to maintain control of at least some of his dignity, but when Damien gripped him by the shoulders, crying, he grinned up at him, punching the kid lightly on the shoulder. “Aw, com’on, Damo; at least now you have full right to do The Eyebrow,” he managed, swallowing. Was he ever going to be able to do that again? He stood up, slinging his arm over Damien’s shoulders and then looking up at the rest of the cast and crew gathered around. Ryan and Keith were grinning, Neil had a sad expression on his face, and George just smiled the way he could. Stepping forward, he put his hand on Paul’s spare shoulder and turned to the rest of the guys. One by one, they joined the group, shaking Damien by the shoulder and clapping the tenor on the back, wishing him the best. About a minute later, a light hand touched Paul’s shoulder. Glancing over his shoulder, he paused as he saw who it was. Immediately, the lads stepped back and, murmuring under their breaths, left the two of them alone. Dominique stepped forward, looking into his blue eyes for a moment before wrapping her arms around him tightly with a sigh, her face buried in his chest. Paul gripped her against him like he would never let go, breathing into her hair. How long they stood there, he had no idea, but he finally turned her slightly and led her outside, pausing only to grab their jackets. Putting it on, he hugged her to his side and they walked a little away from the busy concert hall and out into the cool air. There was a bench nearby, and even though they were in a city covered in streetlights, the stars were surprisingly bright, shimmering in the night. For a moment he thought about the song “Nights in White Satin,” but pushed it away as his vision threatened to blur again. Stopping near the bench, he turned her to look straight into her eyes. Reaching forward, he gently wiped away the wet streaks he found there. She risked a glance up at his face and then sighed. “So, this really is it. You’re actually leaving CT. And Ireland,” she added, her voice lowering to a whisper. He nodded. “Yeah, this is it.” He slipped his hand into his pocket, fingering what was inside. Taking a step forward, he forced her to look up into his eyes since there was hardly any space between them; at the same time, he touched her wrist, bringing it up. She looked up at him with a mixture of confusion and surprise as Paul cupped her hands in his, and he smiled when he saw her face change as she realized what he was doing. Looking at her, he saw exactly when her eyes lit up as she moved back ever so slightly to see what he had pressed into her palm, and he was rewarded with her happy face beaming up at his before she stepped forward and returned the embrace, whispering into his ear the one word that changed his life. THE END
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Post by orinocoflow on Dec 23, 2010 15:12:49 GMT -5
Chapter Twenty-Six
Epilogue Three
Champagne, anyone? Paul turned after his kilt flip in “Ireland's Call,” the cloth flying high. But then he paused, forgetting everything as he saw the banners in front of him. The whole auditorium was holding up banners, all of which said a variation of “We’ll Miss You, Paul!” or “Byrom Babes have your back!” Swallowing, he smiled and walked forward unsteadily, surprised and wondering where they had come from. The music finished, and Paul waited for the last part of the concert…but the music suddenly changed to something he knew very well, and he stood there, astonished for the second time that night as the crowd sang for them! The rest of the guys, including Neil, who had come out to sing this last night, knew what they were doing, and all Paul could do was stand there, speechless, as they sang that song. They finished, and as the crowd erupted into applause, cheering, and “We’ll miss you, Paul!” cries, Sharon walked out onstage and they quickly silenced, waiting to hear what she would say. “Hello everyone. I think that you all realize that this is Paul’s last concert with us, and I would like to take a moment to say how much of an benefit he has been these past few years. At the moment, I think this is the quietest he has ever been,” she laughed, catching his dazed expression, “and I believe the lads each have their own fond memories.” Ryan started out, saying how he had first met Paul; Keith followed, and Paul noticed that Damien was crying, his face red as he wiped away tears and looked absolutely miserable. George and Neil said a few words, but when it came the teenager’s turn to say something, he just shook his head, looking at the floor and wiping away the wet streaks on his face, swallowing hard. Paul took a step closer and clapped his shoulder affectionately, forcing a smile. Sharon stepped up, smiling at the two of them. “Good luck Paul; we wish you the best,” she said warmly, holding out a bottle of champagne. Paul’s eyebrows shot up, but he took it, grinning and thanking her. As the crowd applauded again, he saw that there were several crying faces in the audience. Smiling mischievously, he lifted his kilt one last time, bringing all of those tear-stained faces to laughter at his pink shorts. Expertly unscrewing the bottle, he shook it vigorously and popped the top, spraying the five guys and the first few rows with champagne. He saw Sharon take a step forward to stop him, but Phil held her back with a hand on her arm, smiling and shaking his head in a “Let him do what he has wanted to do forever—wreck havoc on everything” way. Paul laughed when he saw that Damien was smiling now, and he glanced over to Sharon, nodding his thanks and grinning. Together, the six guys bowed once, but as they were about to again, Paul extracted himself and backed away from Keith’s hand as the blond tried holding him back, blowing a kiss to the audience and quickly walking offstage, hiding the tears in his eyes firmly. I promised I would stay strong, he thought to himself, but all that he could think about was how this was where their first concert in the States had been, and now this was where his last was…with CT, at least. As he sat on a stool, thinking about it all and turning the bottle of champagne over in his hand, a shadow crossed over him. Looking up, he smiled as he recognized who it was. He stood up and reached out to her. Dominique stepped forward, looking into his blue eyes for a moment before wrapping her arms around him tightly with a sigh, her face buried in his chest. Paul gripped her against him like he would never let go, breathing into her hair. How long they stood there, he had no idea, but the lads left them alone when they came backstage at last. He finally turned her slightly and led her outside, pausing only to grab their jackets…and a pair of plastic cups on the food table. Putting the jacket on, he hugged her to his side and they walked a little away from the busy concert hall and out into the cool air. There was a bench nearby, and even though they were in a city covered in streetlights, the stars were surprisingly bright, shimmering in the night. For a moment he thought about the song “Nights in White Satin,” but pushed it away as his vision threatened to blur again. Stopping near the bench, he turned her to look straight into her eyes. Reaching forward, he gently wiped away the wet streaks he found there. She risked a glance up at his face and then sighed. “So, this really is it. You’re actually leaving CT. And Ireland,” she added, her voice lowering to a whisper. He nodded. “Yeah, this is it.” He paused for a moment, not sure how to continue, but then brought up the dark green bottle in his hand and turned it so that she could see it. “Want to have some? It’s actually quite good—I wish I hadn’t wasted so much.” Dominique smiled. “Sure. Do you—so that’s what the cups were for.” Paul poured a bit for each of them, laughing when the fizz bubbled over the top. As they sipped the champagne, Paul finally managed to muster up the courage he needed. Stepping closer, he lowered the cup, watching her intently until she looked up at him. “Dominique…I was wondering…would you please come live with me in New York? I just don’t really know how else to put it, but having you so far away…” he trailed off, looking down at the cup in his hands. After a moment of silence, he risked a glance back up and found her smiling at him. “Did you really expect me to say ‘no’ to that, Paul?” she asked softly, catching the relief in his eyes. “Well…there was also this…” he continued, pulling a small, black velvet box out of his pocket. Flicking it open, he stepped closer and brought it up, a small smile on his face. The arms wrapped tightly around his neck were more an answer than he ever needed. THE END
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Post by orinocoflow on Dec 23, 2010 15:14:16 GMT -5
ok, a LONG time ago, furba4eva wrote a piece for my story and sent it to me, asking if i could post it. so, full credit to furba4eva!
this was way at the beginning, just at the introductions:
Paul shifted uncomfortably in his seat as the rest of the men were introduced, feeling more and more out of place.
“Okay guys,” Sharon said. “Let me bring in the band.” Opening the door she ushered a few people in. “this is--” She began to introduce until Paul interrupted her.
“You!” he cried happily jumping from his seat. “I know you!”
“You.” Neil whispered backing up slowly.
Paul cheered as he ran to hug the guitarist, who ran out of the room.
“I quit!” he yelled.
After a few moments of silence Sharon turned to the remaining boys. “Do you…?”
“Nope.”
“No.”
“Nuh-uh.”
“I’m so glad I’m not him.” Keith finished.
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Post by orinocoflow on Dec 24, 2010 20:03:36 GMT -5
Oh, and heads up to my readers--there will be a sequel Also, if you dont want to reread the whole thing, which I do recommend anyway I edited the 23rd chapter ending and added a new epilogue (chapter 26), so read those if you havent already!
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Post by celticbear on Dec 27, 2010 0:14:08 GMT -5
Ori! I love the new format for this story! Plus I love how you let Keith get even with Damo even though Damo did not act alone in the Oreo and Spider prank! But it was funny never the less! You got what happened at Paul's last concert down perfectly! I'm also happy Paul proposed to Dominique and she accepted! Can't wait for the Sequel!
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Post by orinocoflow on Dec 27, 2010 15:42:10 GMT -5
ok, sequel is the wrong word for it, but you all will see what happens!
anyone else reading this?
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