The Chronicle Green: Let the Music Make your Head Spin
"Ramsey!" A glass fell to the floor and smashed into pieces, leaving a growing puddle of red wine on the fluffy white carpeting. "Ramsey, get your fucking ass in this fucking room right now, or I swear to god, I'll kick your sorry ass to hell and back!"
The door opened hesitantly. A round, bald head peeped in slowly and nervously. "M-miss… it's only ten minutes before your concert starts… the manager says you must get up on stage now." By now, he was fully in the room. His features seemed to be accentuated by the dim lights of lavish dressing room. He had long, deep creases on his forehead: too much stress. Too much worry. His eyes were a dull grey and all of his face showed his tiredness. He was really much too old to be working in this sort of job.
"I'll get to the stage when I'm damn well ready, got it!?" The young woman picked up her guitar and slung the strap around her shoulder. She tried making her way to the door, but she stumbled due to the countless glasses of wine she had earlier. "Where in hell is my fat suit?" she slurred, struggling to get up, and using her guitar to level herself.
Mas was one of the most peculiar rock star Mr. Ramsey had ever laid eyes on. For one, she was almost always drunk. Come to think of it, he had never seen her sober… ever. And two, every concert, she always wore a large, beige fat suit, similar to what skinny people who sumo wrestle wear. How she could play the guitar in such a getup, he never knew, but all of the members in her band were forced to wear the uniform.
A woman entered the dressing room carrying a package with a note attached.
"What the fuucckk??" Mas grabbed the package and read the note.
Mas, please find the details of your task enclosed within this package. I'll talk to you later, sweetheart! Kisses from the English Ninja.
Tearing open the package, she found small, crescent bottle filled to the top with a strange, dark green liquid that was faintly glowing. "What the hell is this?" The label read 'Diluted Moonbeam. Use with Caution.' She popped the cork out and hastily downed the contents of the bottle.
Her eyes lit up like a fiery inferno. "Let's rock this house, damnit!" she grabbed her fat suit and rushed to the stage revitalized and surprisingly sober-looking.
The sounds of heavy metal rock and loud, complicated drum arrangements filled the entire stadium. The masses of people screamed and danced to the music. When the song ended, the crowd chanted, "UNO MAS! UNO MAS! UNO MAS!"
Mas adjusted the tuning of her guitar. "This song goes out to my personal assistant, Damien Ramsey, who I know is hiding something from me, but I'll get it from him at the end of the show, right, Dame?" She pointed to him on the side of the stage. The crowd cheered as Mas started the song with a slow guitar riff.
Meanwhile, behind the curtains, Ramsey was wondering what Mas meant. Am I hiding something from her? He scratched his head. But suddenly, he realized. He reached into his pocket and fished out a vial of a dark green liquid. It had no label, but he knew what its contents were. He saw Mas drink a bottle of the same substance that she got from a package that was dropped off in her dressing room earlier. The only difference was that the contents of this vial was glowing much more intensely.
Suddenly, he heard a loud ruckus from the spectator pit. "KILL DAMIEN RAMSEY. KILL HIM. KILL DAMIEN RAMSEY. KILL!" The audience chanted monotonously, as if they were in a trance. The people had stopped dancing and singing, but the music played on. It was only now that Ramsey had realized what the lyrics of the song contained.
"The man with the dull grey pearls in his eyes, he stalks his way through the corridor. Tired, lonely, fed up with life, sometimes he feels like he wants do die. Why can't we give him what he wants? He wants to die, he wants to die. Damien Ramsey wants to die. So let us give him what he wants. He wants to die, he wants to die. Let us give him what he wants. He wants to die."
The chorus repeated over and over. He wants to die, he wants to die. Ramsey covered his ears and dropped to his knees. "I don't want to die!" he screamed as the people jumped up on the stage and surrounded him.
Mas made her way to where the bawling man kneeled. "Face it, Damien," she looked down on him as if he was a pitiful insect not worthy of her time (and to her, he was a pitiful insect). "You cannot deceive me any longer."
"What are you talking about, Miss Mas?" He strained to hear what she was saying over the din of the hypnotized mob.
"You and I both know that you've got something that I want." She pressed a button on the fret board of her guitar. The body fell to the ground with a thunk, leaving the neck in her grasp, but at the same time, revealing a long blade where the body used to be. "I'm just coming to take it from you… if you don't mind, that is." An evil smirk slowly crept onto her face.
"N-no, p-please!" he groveled, putting his hands in front of him, trying to protect himself.
She gently sliced the blade so that it just cut open his right pants pocket. The small vial slid out, making a soft tinkling sound as it made contact with the cement flooring. "Did you really think I wouldn't find it?" She stooped low and clenched the vial in her fist. She turned around and passed her blade to a zombie-fied blonde rocker girl next to her. "You can finish him off."
Back in her dressing room, Mas took out a piece of paper and an eye lining pencil. She wrote:
"Ennja, the tour was over. We survived. Signed, Sam, a.k.a. Mas"
She read her note over twice before adding a post script.
"Ps. Say 'Hi' to the gang for me."
Satisfied, she carefully folded the paper twice and inserted it into the crescent bottle that was in the package that had been brought to her, not an hour before. She tucked the bottle into the package, as well as managing to squeeze in the vial along with the bottle. Return to sender. She thought with a smile.
She quickly scribbled another note on a different piece of stationery.
"Wish me luck, Nicky."
Tapping the pen on her chin, she continued. "I've gone to play for the Gods. Don't wait up for me. I don't expect to return. Love, Sam."
Rereading the note, she added a post script, just as she did before. "Ps. I will become a God; a Thief for all Eternity."
"Encore." She whispered as she slipped out the door, leaving the entranced audience and the dead body of his former personal assistant.
A/N: AND FINITO CHAPTER FOUR!!
There's a bit of a Spanish lesson in this one. 'Uno mas´ means 'one more', in Spanish. Believe it or not, I actually learned that phrase when watching Shanghai Noon, starring Jackie Chan. So basically, the crowd is asking for an encore. Ya'know? I'm a Jackie Chan fan. Like, totally.