Nine

The first time the two meet, it's at a seedy bar, just half a mile away from their home town. It's as dark and smokey as you'd expect any roadside establishment to be, and in the gloom it's hard for either of them to make the other out, especially in their inebriated states.

That doesn't mean they get along though. Not at all.

In fact, Joey's first impression of Corey is that he's a drunken fool, and one with about five times the amount of self confidence any one man should ever have.

To be honest, he's not far off the mark. Corey greets him by slinging an arm around his shoulder, pressing a wet, sloppy kiss on the younger man's cheek and slurring; "Hey, doll. Fancy a quickie in the bathroom?" Where he got that line from, Joey has no idea. What puzzles him even more is why Corey ever thought it would work.

When the blond draws back, the first thing he does is drop his eyes down to take in Joey's chest, apparently expecting to see the rounded mounds of breasts there. The blue orbs widen in horror as they take in the flat, very male plane hidden under the Metallica shirt.

"Woah, sorry dude." Corey grins. "Thought you were a chick."

Joey's only response is to kick him in the balls. Hard. He smirks in satisfaction as the man doubles over in pain, then turns back around to resume his previous conversation. He hears the man stumble away, and laughs quietly. His friend rolls his eyes cheerfully, and ten minutes later, they've already forgotten the small interruption in their alcohol fuelled debate.

Still, the encounter bugs Joey. It's not the first time he's been mistaken for a girl - and it probably won't be the last - but it still annoys him. That said, he can't really blame the people who do so. Between his tiny build, long flowing black hair, and ever so slightly camp fashion sense, he can understand why people make the assumption.

As far as he's concerned though, the guy who just came on to him (at the time, he doesn't know it's Corey, of course) is plain rude and deserves the anguish he's apparently inflicted.

A few hours later, another man comes up to him. This one's not half as drunk, or as brash, but doesn't hesitate to settle down the a chair next to Joey and his friend. Without so much as a introduction, he turns to the long haired man and begins the conversation; "I heard you nutted Corey Taylor."

Joey raises an eyebrow. "That was Corey Taylor?"

Even at that age, the man has a reputation. It's not one of the terrifying frontman from that infamous band that you either love, or get scared out of your wits by - this, he would gain a few years later - but it's a reputation none the less. In his early twenties, it's that of a mad man, who spends his time getting drunk and high at endless parties. It the reputation of a guy who will pull more chicks in one night than Joey has in his entire life. The reputation of a guy who'll do anything, no matter how crazy, and without much persuasion.

Somewhere under all of that, there are also rumours of a genuinely good musician, but Joey's never seen his band live so he's not going to put any money on those.

"Yeah," the newcomer grins as he answers. "Kudos for that." He holds up his beer in salute, then takes a sip.

"Thanks, I guess."

"Name's Paul, by the way."

"Joey."

"I know," Paul grins, taking the other man by surprise.

"Do you?"

"Well, you see," The man's obviously enjoying the theatrics of this. "Me, and a few mates, are putting a band together. And we need another drummer. Word on the street is, you're pretty good."

"Am I?" Joey smirks. He knows damn well that he's a good drummer. He wants to see what else Paul will come out with though.

"Well, I've seen you around at a few shows, and short answer? Hell yes. So, we want you in."

"Oh, really?"

"Oh, yes!"

Joey laughs, then shrugs. Why not? He figures. It's not like this will be the first band he's ever been in, and it probably won't be the last. The music scene's pretty dead at the moment anyway - too much rapping, and pop shit.

"What kinda music you play?" He questions.

"Metal, I guess. It's kinda an amalgamation of a load of shit though. I play bass. Shawn's on drums, and Anders' on vocals, and we're still hunting for other members."

"Hang on, I thought you said you wanted me as a drummer?" Joey frowns. "Or are you kicking this Shawn guy out?"

"No way! This is his baby! Shawn wants to do some percussion-y stuff. Don't ask, I don't know. But we need another drummer."

"So, you're gonna have two drummers?"

"Pretty much."

"What kinda band is this?"

"A revolutionary one." Paul grins.