The Band

Cassie’s P.O.V

I woke to the sound of my shrill alarm blaring in my ear. Rolling lazily over, I swatted the annoying object and heard a prang of mechanics as it hit the wall.
“Dammit,” I hissed, “I’m gonna need a new alarm clock…”
I fell out of bed and walked over to Caitlin’s sleeping form on the couch in the corner and almost fell on her as I attempted to shake her awake.
“Hmfrmshmemnhfrm,” she mumbled into her pillow, and I was disgusted to see a wet patch near her mouth. Ugh.
“No, I will not leave you alone, you great big tub-a-lard! If I have to get up, then you do too!” I cringed as the loudness of my own voice pierced my sleepy state of grogginess. I gave the lard one last exasperated glance and walked to the door. So, of course I couldn’t walk through the door like normal people. I had to fall. Then I tripped on Eloise’s drumsticks, and then a jumbo-sized box of spare guitar strings that could have any number of owners, considering the majority of us played at least a little guitar.
Sniggering sleepily, realized that I had unintentionally left Caitlin to try and wake up Bianca. Tee hee hee…
I stumbled into the pissy little kitchen. Apparently, today was the day we were going to recruit some random hot guy into the band to balance out the all-girlness. And how did I know this, dear reader? I knew this, my sweet, because Eloise was chanting ’Today’s the day, Today’s the day!’ repeatedly as she danced around the kitchen, whipping out drinks and such. We didn’t actually let her do any cooking, for fear of eviction, so it was her job to get drinks of a meal time.
“G’morning, Cass!” Eloise glomped me with a barely tolerable amount of glee, “would you like coffee or hot chocolate with your orange juice?”
I yawned, Eloise was such a little puppy in the morning, “Elo, you know for a fact that I don’t drink coffee. What’s our solution to that?” I gave her a look that one would give to a 5 year old, a look that most would deem patronizing.
“Hot chocolate with 4 sugars,” she replied proudly, and practically pounced on the mugs-cupboard. “Whose turn is it to cook?” she asked over her shoulder, busily stirring my lovely lil’ brew.
“I dunno…I’ll check.” I trudged wearily over to the fridge and peered at the roster pinned to the door. I squinted with annoyance and waited for my eyes to adjust. I felt sooooo freaking tired…
I bet karma is gonna make it my turn just ‘cause I glared at that homeless guy…
I sniggered maliciously when I saw that it was Caitlin’s turn.
She did shoot the homeless guy the bird… hehe life is good
“Who is it?” Eloise inquired once more.
“Caitlin!” Eloise stifled a laugh, poorly.
“BILLY SLATER!” Came the muffled cry from inside the room that I shared with Bianca and Catlin, followed by a loud thud. I gathered that Lewis had been thrown back by the sheer force of Bianca’s cry. Bianca opened the bedroom door with a creak, and padded through, stretching like a cat, followed by a befuddled Caitlin rubbing the back of her head.
“Who’s cooking?” Bianca asked as she accepted a glass of orange juice from Eloise, “Coffee,” she murmured in response to Eloise’s inquisitive glance.
“Caitlin is! Hahaha!” I laughed maniacally, throwing my head backward dramatically.
“Ack!”
My head snapped around to see that Caitlin had tripped on Elo’s drumstick, and head-butted the wall.
“Lewis, you should know by now that no matter how hard you try the wall will always win,” Sam laughed sleepily from the doorway of the second bedroom.
“Yeah, but it was lookin’ at me funny, Bill,” Caitlin grumbled, rubbing her forehead.
“Caitlin! Feed me,” Bianca cried.
“Fucking hell, I gotta cook with a concussion…” Lewis muttered.
“Yep,” I piped cheerfully, but don’t break yourself. It’s hard to play synthesiser if you’re hospitalised. You could probably still sing, but I doubt the nurses would let us practice in a hospital room.”
“Nah, she can break herself if she likes,” Sam said, “Singers and keyboard players aren’t particularly hard to find. You’re completely expendable!” She slapped Caitlin lightly on the back and strolled through to the kitchen. Eloise handed her the largest mug we owned filled with reaaally strong coffee. Nobody needed to ask what Sam wanted – it was either filled with caffeine or alcohol.
“Hurry up, Lewis,” Eloise coaxed, helping Caitlin into the kitchen. “What’re you gonna cook?”
Lewis sighed. “I dunno. Lemme check.” She walked over to the cupboard and scanned it, mumbling something to the effect of ‘Fucking hell, Eloise, put away you fucking drumsticks.’ “This cupboard is thoroughly uninspiring,” she muttered.
“Well check the refrigerator, the other cupboards,” I suggested, “Come on girl, get creative!!”
“Yeah,” Bianca yelped, “Feed me…us…”
“Well a plague on all your houses. I’ll just go get something from the store!! They have plenty of those here!” Caitlin stalked over to the door and unhooked a bike key from the wall. Bianca had insisted from the moment we moved to New York that we all learnt to ride motorcycles. Apparently they were cheaper to maintain. So, between the five of us, we owned two bikes. Every time we needed to go anywhere we had to play rock-paper-scissors to decide who had to take the Subway.
“Uh, Lewis?” I looked at her strangely, “You’re only in you pyjamas.”
“The people of New York shall gaze upon my PJs and be humbled!” she cried, and grabbed Eloise’s Jack Skellington jacket, flinging it around her.
“Hey!” Elo cried in protest. Lewis poked out her tongue and left.
“Where’s my hot chocolate?!” I demanded, and Eloise scurried off to find it. I got my drink and went to join Bill in the tiny-arse Den/Dining-room. I gazed around our pissy little shit-hole and wondered how the hell we actually managed to survive with five people in a two bedroom apartment. Most nights Elo couldn’t stand to stay in the same room as Bill. She always ended up on the floor of our room or underneath her drumkit in the back of the Den. We didn’t actually have any couches in our shit-hole except the one Caitlin slept on. We only had the seats we sat on for practicing our instruments.
I manoeuvred myself expertly over to my seat, weaving in and out of piles of broken tambourines, unbroken synthesizers, bass guitars and keyboards. As I sank into my wingchair, I had to take a moment to stare endearingly at my beautiful, white Les Paul guitar. I then thought of how awesome Jade Puget looked in the ‘Love Like Winter’ video when he was doing his kick and the Les Paul sliced through the air with breath-taking style and incomparable sexiness.
Mmmmm Jade… God he’s a hottie…
“Ack!”
“Hm?” Sam looked pointedly at me, “Were you thinking Jade-ful thoughts again?”
“Yeah…” I looked down at my slipper-clad feet. “Don’t judge me.”
“You know I’m going to anyway,” she pinted out.
“Shut up and sit down, Bill.”
“Well, fine.” Sam walked away from the single window in the Den and sat on her seat. As she rested her coffee cup onto the stack of broken tambourines that served as her table, I noticed something.
“Hey, Bill, what’s that mark on your wrist?” I peered at the offending limb curiously.
“Well, it appears to be a stamp for a club.”
“We went to a club last night?”
“Apparently. Check your wrist,” Sam commanded.
“Hm.” I looked down and saw the same red-ink stamp that adorned Sam’s wrist. I examined it more closely. “Hey! It’s the stamp for Obi’s!”
“Oh, really? Paddy must’ve let us in,” Sam murmured, stroking her chin.
“Thank God for Bianca getting with a club bouncer!” I cried in thanks.
“Yep, if it weren’t for her we wouldn’t have gotten into nearly as many Shenanigans as what we have.”
“I agree. The guy that made our fake IDs sucked balls. It’s for those reasons I’m glad Bianca took up karate. His face will never be the same,” I laughed blissfully.
“Her lovely sparring partner helped,” Eloise added, entering the Den.
“Hey Elo,” I began, “Did we go to Obi’s last night?”
“Well, I didn’t. The re-run of Jess’s fashion show was on. I stayed home while you guys got shattered. Which was well enough, because my sister called.”
“That definitely explains the headache, then,” Bianca muttered darkly, and made a beeline for her bass. We all nodded silently.
“Thank God for Bianca scoring a bouncer who knows karate for a boyfriend!” Bill announced.
“Don’t forget he looks like Billy Slater!”
“Facepalm,” I muttered.