"We're here!" I heard Roland chirp in a singsong manner as the bus slowed to an unsteady stop. I rolled out of the bottom bunk of the bunk beds Roland and I had and proceeded to walk to the front of the bus, clad in boxers, a thin t-shirt, and roughly four gallons of icky, nasty, and very wet sweat.

"Here being Hell?" I snarled as I walked up to Roland in the driver's seat.

"No, here being Phoenix, Arizona. More specifically, in front of Ember, the club you're playing at." He replied, smiling brightly.

"But it's 105 godforsaken degrees outside...and at least thirty more than that in this convection oven on wheels!" I cried in dismay.

"It wouldn't be if someone hadn't broken the air conditioner in the middle of nowhere in Texas!" Roland growled.

"How was I supposed to know that one wire was so important!?" I cried exasperatedly.

"Just shut up, get your laptop and that damned stringed thing that you like to call a musical instrument, and put on some deodorant because you smell like a family of llamas." Roland commanded.

"Fine. But the next time you insult my violin, it's on." I threatened.

As I turned around and walked to our room I heard the taunting call of 'bring it, pretty boy' from the front of the bus.

I grabbed my violin case and laptop from my room and plodded back up to the front of the bus, pausing only to make sure my hair was neatly in place and my clothes weren't falling off of me, which they sorta were.

For a performance, I could understand dressing up...but for a rehearsal? Old black jeans falling off my hipbones and a tight black tank top for me, thank you.

I was aiming for 'housewife sexy.'

...don't give me that look...

Fashion aside, I looked somewhat decent. In a rumpled, just got out of bed, cute kinda way.

Not that I was trying to impress these vandals with my appearance. Nope, not that at all. It just doesn't work for a socialite such as myself to go out looking like Ernest Leaves the Trailer Park.

I walked out of the bus, stopping only to tell Roland I was going in for the rehearsal and listen to him wish me luck. I won't need luck, I mean, how hard can it be to deal with five juvenile delinquents with instruments? I walked through the powerful rays of the hot sun, feeling very much like an ant under a microscope, miserably trudging my way towards the club.

From the outside, the club was quite unimpressive, a warehouse located in downtown Phoenix with a stylized fire on the side and the word Ember over the front doors. I opened the front doors with some trepidation, but I quickly banished it. I am Quinn Alexander, world renowned violinist, after all; and with that one last stunning display of arrogance, I entered the club.

The bottom floor of the club, where I was, was merely a large dance floor with a stage at one end and a bar taking up the entire left side of it. There was an upper 'floor' consisting of a balcony running the perimeter of the room and various catwalks running from place to place up there. The whole inside of the club was a dark grey, from the smoky floors to the walls painted in various shades of grey, giving the wall an overcast look. Behind the stage, however were large flames painted onto the wall, shooting upwards towards the roof. I walked over to the bar, where the only person I immediately noticed was.

“Bar...person?” I asked, stopping in front of the bar that the man was behind, stocking up some crude, commonplace alcohol. “Bar person, did you hear me?”

“Yes, your highness?” He countered, standing up to his full height which was dwarfing my small frame.

“Would you please tell me where the band is currently?” I asked him, eying a bottle of cheap liquor on the bar warily.

“Well, your highness.” I grimaced at the nickname, “I believe the musicians are in repose in the grand hall.”

“Where might this grand hall be?” My interest piqued, it appeared even common clubs have become more luxurious.

“Right through those doors.” He replied, pointing to a set of double doors on the far end of the room.

“Thank you, bar person.” I said graciously, nodding at him and walking over to the doors.

I pushed the double doors open to find a large room with plain white wallpaper, three occupied bean bag chairs and a similarly occupied couch...and nothing else. Some grand hall...I'm just going to have to have a word with that bar-person. The bean bag chairs were occupied by two girls and a boy who looked to be about twelve, but was probably in his late teens. The couch had two men sitting on it, but they were sprawled out enough to take up thing.

“Who exactly are you supposed to be?” One of the men on the couch asked me. He had light blue eyes, matching blue hair that wasn't styled at all, falling haphazardly around his face.

“I'm Quinn Alexander, the violinist the label sent.” I replied succinctly, trying to decide whether to smile or not.

“I'm Jensen,” Blue-haired-man replied.

“I'm Niklas.” The boy on the bean bag chair said. He really did look young, what with straw-blond hair cut at jagged angles, humongous blue eyes and a dusting of freckles across his nose.

“I'm Leda.” One of the girls on the beanbag chairs said. Leda had auburn hair, and it was long; at least to the small of her back. Her skin was amazingly pale, and she was tiny.

“And I'm Amelia, but everyone calls me Lia.” The other girl introduced herself, smiling brightly. She had coal black hair pulled up into a messy bun, her eyes were a shade of blue that looked like fog, steely and mysterious. “The silent one beside Jensen is Jackson. He's usually a bit more talkative. Umm...if you have any questions about the music, you should talk to him, he writes everything. The rest of us are gonna go out for the sound check. If you need anything, just call for me, okay?”

“Okay.” I replied, Lia's spreading to me. Lia and three of her bandmates got up to leave the room, only Jackson and I left behind.

I turned back to the couch to start discussing the music with this Jackson. He had been looking down the whole time, so when he looked up at me it was like being punched in the jaw – he was gorgeous. His hair was a dark, dark red and it was swept over his icy blue eyes. His jawline was strong, and his nose was perfectly proportionate to the rest of his face.

“Are you going to stare at me all day, or are we going to fix this music?” He sneered at me, yet even that sneer made me wanna jump on him and have mad rabbit sex with him for the rest of my life.

Or at least have a quickie...

“The music doesn't need fixing. I already wrote a violin part into it.” I replied. “It's all on my laptop.”

“And that's why it needs fixing. You're used to writing symphonic movements, and this is no symphony.” He replied, somehow making the word symphony seem like a curse word of the worst kind.

“I may not be used to writing rock music, but music is music, and I damn sure know how to write music!” I replied heatedly, choosing to ignore my earlier statements for the sake of winning this argument.

“Humph.” Was the only reply I got from him.

I could tell, this was going to be a looong morning...

--Later that afternoon--

“How'd it go?” Roland asked me as I stomped onto the bus.

“The man is a stubborn packmule of a human and he should be put down!” I snarled, slinging my laptop onto the table in the dining area.

“Hey! That's an expensive piece of equipment, don't just throw it around!” Roland admonished.

“If I break it, I'll just buy a new one with Mommy's money. It's just a thing, it doesn't matter.” I replied, flopping down onto a bench at the table.

“Meanwhile, I would've killed for a 'thing' like that when I was your age.” Roland grumbled.

“Save me your tales from the Dark Ages of mankind.” I deadpanned. “I'm going to kill the lead singer. He's the biggest ass I've ever met in my life. He always thinks he's right, he has no respect for anything other than himself.”

“Really? I don't think I've ever met anyone like that...” Roland said in a strange tone of voice, sitting down by my head and proceeding to stroke my hair, mussing the blond locks.

“I don't think I'm going to survive this.” I muttered, moving closer into the hand that was stroking my hair.

“You'll be fine, you have my intelligence, your father's will, and your mommy's money.” Roland assuaged, chuckling.

“You're right! I can deal with this. How hard can it be?” I exclaimed, standing up suddenly and hitting my kneecap on the bottom of the table, causing myself to flop right back down onto the bench, moaning in pain.

“I think that's a good omen.” Roland said.

“Shut up.” I replied, nursing my wounded knee.

“How much changing did you do to the music?” He asked, changing the subject in an attempt at taking my mind off of my ever swelling and bruising knee.

“Very little actually, just some notes here and there, and there's a song that they aren't playing anymore that he said I didn't have to learn.” I replied.

“You mean you haven't learned the music yet!?” Roland asked disbelievingly.

“Of course not. I'll memorize them at the sound checks tonight, so they'll be fresh in my mind and I can ad lib some parts if necessary.” I told him. “Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to get dressed for tonight.”

I walked into my room, nearly tripping over some stray clothing, and over to my closet where I flung the door open and proceeded to throw things out of it and onto the bed.

"Hmm..." I had to find an outfit that would make an impression on their boorish minds...something less sophisticated than what my normal audiences would

"Roland!?" I called, turning to lean out the doorway to our room.

"Yeah?" He yelled back.

"What the hell am I supposed to wear!?" I exclaimed.

"Something that you'd wear to a rock show." He explained as if an idiot would know the answer.

"Umm...what exactly does one wear to a rock show?" I called tentatively.

I heard no reply, and then I saw Roland walking down the hall in the middle of the bus towards the room, eyeing me suspiciously.

"You mean to tell me," He asked as he stopped directly in front of me, "that you've never been to a rock concert before?"

"Mommy always said they were for druggies and whores and if I went to a rock concert, everyone would automatically know from then on out and they'd all think I was a druggie whore." I explained.

"...Rich parents ruin good children..." Roland muttered.

"Hey! I am not ruined!" I exclaimed. "And besides, that's totally irrelevant. The point is: I don't have any clue as to what to wear."

“It's a rock concert...just wear something tight and black...” Roland trailed off, walking away.

“Where exactly do you think you're going?” I snapped, annoyed at his apathy.

“In the distant future? Hell. Right now? I'm thinking the gas station across the street for a coke.” He replied, exiting the bus.

“Bitch.” I whispered, smiling softly before whipping myself back into the task at hand, picking out clothes for this so-called rock concert.

Hmm...tight and black...I can do that...no, I really can't...I paced the room, wondering what the hell I was gonna do when it hit me, Lia told me that if I needed anything, I could come to her for help!

I immediately left the room, tripping over the same pile of clothes, and ran out of the bus into the club.

I walked through the bar, glaring hatefully at bar-person as I walked by, and went straight into the 'grand hall', where Niklas and Jensen were sitting on the couch, whispering to one another.

“Excuse me?” I asked hesitantly. The two immediately stopped whispering and looked up at me with a start, obviously not expecting me.

“Could you tell me where Lia is?” I asked the two men.

“I think she's on the bus, you want me to take you to it?” Niklas offered, his enormous blue eyes trained on me.

“Would you?” I replied.

“Of course.” Niklas answered simply. He got up from the couch and kissed Jensen lightly on the forehead before turning to me and motioning for me to follow him. So follow him I did, through a small door in the back of the 'grand hall' through a small hallway and out the back of the club where another bus was located.

I followed the small blond to the bus, where he opened the door and called Lia's name quite loudly into the interior of said bus. She appeared a minute later, exasperated by Niklas' yelling at her.

“Yes?” She asked the smaller boy.

“Quinn needs your help with something.” He replied simply, turning around and waving at me before walking back into the building, most assuredly back to Jensen.

“You need something?” Lia asked reassuringly.

“I...I have no clue what to wear...” I muttered, my eyes trained on the ground.

“That's your only problem?” Lia asked, earning a nod from me. “This is gonna be fun. Leda!” She cried, turning back into the bus.

The other woman appeared quickly, looking at Lia tiredly. “What is it!?”

“It's time for a closet raid!” Lia chirped happily. “I'll get the scissors and duct tape, you go on ahead and see what's there to mess with.”

“Scissors? Duct tape?” I asked, confused.

“Yes silly, we're giving you a wardrobe makeover.” Lia replied, smiling brightly at me. “Now shoo! Both of you, I'll be along in a second.

-----Later Yet that Afternoon-----

“Perfect.” Lia said, eying me critically.

“Yes, we did a very good job this time.” Leda concurred.

“I look okay?” I asked timidly.

“You look amazing.” Leda replied.

“Mm-hmm...we'll have to watch out and make sure no one steals your innocence.” Lia said, smirking.

“I'm going to assume that's a good thing...” I muttered. I wasn't allowed to look into a mirror, but I trusted Leda and Lia. They knew how to make someone look like a degenerate boorish hooligan, and I needed to look like one.

“We have a half an hour before the final sound check, and an hour and a half until opening.” Leda said, looking down at her watch. “Let's go get ready.”

“Agreed.” Lia said, she turned back to me and smiled before leaving the bus. “You're gonna knock the boys dead.”

“Good.” I murmured, thinking of beautiful Jackson and his icy personality. It would be nice to see if I could get him to be a little bit nicer to me. Most people were nice to me from right off the bat. Yes, Jackson was an enigma, but I enjoyed a nice challenge every now and then.

I looked down at my body, viewing the clothing they'd put me in for the first time, I had been blindfolded when they'd given me what to wear, and I'd stayed blindfolded to put it on.

They said it would make me more pliant...and they were right. I blanched at the sight of my outfit. The black shirt I was wearing was like a second skin, and the waist and abdomen of it had been ripped to shreds, making my entire stomach visible. My now glittery stomach, I realized, remembering when they'd put glitter on me. The sleeves were different, one sleeve was full length and flared at the wrist slightly, the other was somewhat sheer and stopped at my elbow.

The black jeans I was wearing were in a similar state, skin tight, and ripped in various places. Notably, they also had straps running from leg to leg at random. There were four belts slung around the waist of the jeans, which were far below my actual waist, at an angle.

I couldn't see my face, but I knew they'd spent a long time applying various makeups to it. I shuddered to think of what my face actually looked like.

“Quinn?” Roland called out from the front of the bus, “You – whoa!”

“I look like a druggie whore!” I cried, flopping onto the bed.

“You look like a rock star.” He replied.

“I...I do?” I asked, rolling over on the bed.

“You do.” He said simply.

“Really?” I asked.

“Yes.” He said, eying me calmly.

“I told you that you had nothing to worry about.” I said, sticking my nose up. “Pshaw...I know how to dress for a rock concert.”

“You sure do.” Roland replied, smiling blandly and giving me a knowing look.

“Roland?” I asked him.

“Yes?” He deadpanned, still smiling blandly and making that face.

“Do shut up.”

--That night--

Our sound check had gone well. The band was surprised at how well I fit into the music.

Pshaw.

Of course I fit into the music.

It's my job, and I'm the best at it.

The boys had, in fact, been quite surprised by my apparel. Niklas had smiled enormously at me every time he saw me, Jensen looked at me disbelievingly, and Jackson totally ignored me.

But that was to be expected.

I mean...the man is an ass after all.

Unbelievably sexy, but an ass nonetheless.

Even more sexy in concert attire, might I add. A black button up shirt, and strappy black leather pants. Incidentally, Roland informed me that the strappy pants are called bondage pants...he wouldn't tell me why, but he told me that's what they're called. I think I'll ask Lia later.

Anyways, sound check was good. My playing was flawless, as always. Jensen and Lia are the guitar players, and they're quite good actually...for sub-par common musicians anyway. Leda is a superb drummer, though I was quite surprised to see the small redhead at the drumset at first. Niklas plays the keyboard, and he's a classically trained pianist, so I actually have a little respect for his playing.

And Jackson's voice...

Jackson's voice is amazing...

It's so unfair...such a wonderful voice, body, and face, with such a pretentious personality.

I don't know how the world puts up with people like him.

After sound check, I went to the 'grand hall', where Roland and the band's manager were sitting and talking. I didn't want to interrupt, so I went to the coffee machine on the other side of the room and fixed myself a cup.

You may be asking yourself why I'm drinking average coffee when I'm usually so quality-oriented.

The answer: When you live on the road, you learn to drink and love whatever coffee happens to be nearby.

I walked back over to the managers to find the others sitting on the bean bags and the parts of the couch that weren't taken up already.

“How much time is left?” I asked Roland, taking a sip of coffee as I walked up behind him.

“About ten minutes. You warmed up?” He asked, smiling.

“I was bored warmed up.” I replied, smiling back, the question and answer being old joke between us.

“Were we supposed to get that?” Jensen asked, looking at me confusedly.

“Not really.” I replied, reassuring the blue-haired male. He was on a bean bag, with Niklas sitting across his lap. I finished the coffee and walked back over to the coffeepot, putting the cup into the sink and washing it slowly, hoping it would pass the time. I dried my hands off efficiently and walked over to my violin, grabbing it and playing a few scales and exercises quickly.

“Nervous much?” Jackson asked, and I could tell he was smirking at me.

“Is it time yet?” Lia asked, stopping the argument between Jackson and I before it could start.

“Yes.” Their manager replied; the crowd is ready and waiting. We were headlining the bands playing tonight, and were the most popular band there. We're playing a set of three songs first, and then we'd come back later and play another set, and then later another, and so on.

“Ready?” Their manager asked them. The band members nodded their assent and made their ways to the doors. I started that way before turning back to Roland.

“Good luck, kid.” He told me.

“I don't need luck.” I replied. “I'm me.”

I turned around and walked out with that statement, but not before noticing the grin it put on Roland's face. I walked out and was met with something I wasn't expecting at all.

A sea of people.

Not a few people.

Not people sitting down.

Not quiet people.

A loud, standing, living, sea of people.

Strangely dressed people in black and white, with weird hairstyles and piercings in strange places.

I walked over to the stage on the little walkway thing that ran from the 'grand hall's' entrance to the stage and took my position just a little bit behind and to the left of Jackson.

I watched as the band members got their equipment set up and got comfortable with the setting and so on. My equipment was already ready, and I doubt I could ever be comfortable with this setting.

“Ready?” Jackson asked, turning around to us.

“Mm-hmm.”

“Ditto.”

“Right-o, chap.”

“Shut up, Jensen. I'm ready.” Lia, Niklas, Jensen, and Leda, respectively, replied.

“...you ready, Quinn?” Jackson asked, turning to face me specifically. Yet again, I felt the wind knocked out of me at Jackson's icy gaze.

“Yes.” I somehow managed, and I turned away, looking at my violin as I brought it up and brought the bow to ready.

“What's up, guys!?” Jackson called into the microphone, his voice like liquid sex. “Are you ready for a show? Good, because we're here to give it to you. I'm Jackson Alric, and we're Distant Winter.”

And with that, the show began. We were opening with a song I had little part in, I merely provided a counter to the guitarists, and held little importance. Lia opened the song with an acoustic guitar, a sweet melody followed by Jackson's silky voice. The song went by quickly, and before I knew it, Jackson's voice died out into the screams of the fans in the audience.

Our next song was one I was much more influential in, with ridiculously fast passages that put some tension under Jackson's smooth voice.

Jackson turned around between songs, looking at me strangely and murmuring a word to the band. 'Psychobabble' was what he said. The others gave him a shocked look, for Psychobabble was the song he'd told me that we weren't going to play.

The other's spared me small looks of pity before preparing themselves for the new song.

If Jackson was expecting me to give up this easily, he obviously had no clue who he was fighting against.

The song opened with descending notes played by the keyboard that sounded like massive church bells before the drums kicked in, to form a slick, electronic sexiness that turned Jackson's voice from silky to gravelly.

I just stood there, looking foolish as the song continued. I was completely incensed by Jackson's actions, but I had to admit, the man has the voice of a god. I just listened to him for most of the song, bringing my violin up again when it neared Jensen's guitar solo. He looked at me out of the corner of his eye as I brought the bow up to touch the strings, preparing myself for some improvisation.

Jensen nodded slightly at me when his first note would normally be heard, and I drew the bow across the string quickly, eliciting a scream from the violin. The high-pitched note cut through all of the other noise easily, and with practiced ease I pulled the pitch down with a flurry of notes. I kept the notes in the middle range, shifting quickly and creating a whirlwind of sound as the bow shifted across the strings rapidly. At this point, the solo was nearly over, and I could feel the anger coming from Jackson and the awe coming from the audience, so I sped up, the notes going by faster and faster and higher and higher until my fingers couldn't keep up, and I ascended back to the screaming high note and held it until Jensen got the hint and came back in.

I dropped the violin from it's normal position and nearly doubled over so I could breathe, and as I did, I heard the people screaming.

They were screaming for us?

I'd performed many, many times in many, many places...but no one ever screamed for whoever I was playing with.

It was almost enough to make me forget my rage at Jackson...almost.

--After the show--

“That was amazing, you guys!” Roland said, grinning from ear to ear as the band and I filed into the 'grand hall.'

The instant I walked into the room my eyes searched out Jackson, and I made a beeline for him as soon as I saw him. I stopped dead in front of him, eyes flashing, and I did the unthinkable:

-SMACK!!!-

I watched in slow motion as my fist snaked out and hit him square in the jaw, creating total silence in the room.

“How...how DARE you!?” I yelled, my anger getting the best of me. “You lied to me!”

“You hit me!” He yelled back, his eyes like glaciers. “And it's not like anything bad came of it! You managed to come up with that little thing of the top of your head!”

“That doesn't change the fact that you purposely chose that song after telling me repeatedly that we wouldn't play it!” I replied, still yelling.

“It doesn't matter, it backfired anyways!” He replied, rubbing his jaw.

“Yeah...I was pretty amazing, wasn't I?” I replied, smiling slightly.

“You were okay.” He said quietly, but I didn't push it, I figured it was the best I was gonna get out of him for a while.

I turned around and faced my other bandmates, walking towards them, when suddenly I felt the earth shift upwards and meet my face with a resounding -crack-.

“OUCH! What the hell was that for!?”

“You punched me, that's what the hell that's for!”

--------------------------------------------------

A/n: 11 pages long.

Don't expect that regularly, it only happened this time because I couldn't decide whether or not to split this one in two...I probably should have, but I figured you'd waited long enough, why split it up more?

Umm...I don't like it, it's disorganized, but it needed to be put up anyways.

I need a beta person, so if you'd like to help me with that, send me an email, IM me, or leave me a comment on my myspace or xanga, and you can get all that info through my profile.

Review Replies:

liquoricejetplane: I looooooved winterguard. I can't wait for this next season. Quinn is like my polar opposite. So I just say exactly what I would not say in any given situation, and I'm glad you find that as funny as I do.

Xanthofile: Don't feel neglected! I heart you. Matishayu is only good in certain moods, and depression is not one of them.

Jma: Yes. He and his love interest will clash quite a bit before they finally admit that they have the hots for each other. It's much more fun to write about two people who are mean to each other.

Graphi: I like gravitation too, and I like slash too, and I also love music...speaking of, have you listened to Death Cab for Cutie yet!?

DO SO!

After you review.

And that goes for everyone else as well.