Band Cramp

Driven and determined, Gareth motored through the wintery weeks until the air became comforting and the field lulled with the scent of daffodils. Darren hadn't been seen and there was a real peace at Gareth's core, as a result. Adonis had slaved away in the warming temperatures, ensuring their show would not suffer the same fate as Basingstoke. Chase scrutinised every action they made, from the front of the field, making musical amendments or clarifying the drill. Kerry-Anne felt safer with her new locks and had regained some of her lost furniture through unscrupulous boyfriends with wide contacts. It had been a focused few months, aimed at fixing all the wrongs. So far, it was working.

Gareth was sure the second show would be leaps and bounds better than their first. He was far more confident with the music and could now play longer than a few minutes, thanks to his continual practise. After all, Gareth had little else to do now that Darren has disappeared, and enjoyed many of his afternoons with Nathan.

'He's so much better than me!' Nathan flustered, one warm evening in Gareth's room, 'Bob can paradiddle his way out of a prison cell, if he wanted. He'd Hot, Pepper, Cheese me into tomorrow if he wanted. It's so frustrating!'

Despite Nathan's tirade in how much better his brother played the snare drum, Gareth felt a sense of contentment and warmth from being in Nathan's company. Finally, they were doing something together that wasn't just throwing water balloons at elderly folk. Even then, that was more Darren's idea of fun.

'I stink more than Lofty's playing, mate,' Gareth chuckled, 'so I wouldn't worry about it. At least Bob's got you there to calm him down, right?'

'True, true. You know, Bob doesn't hate you, Gazza. He's just looking out for you. I think he's squared up to you so many times because he cares,' Nathan suddenly said.

Cared? It seemed unlikely, but the more he thought about it, the more there seemed to be a semblance of sense in it.

'If you say so,' Gareth sniffed, eyeing his ankle tag and wondering if he'd have to wear it all through the drum corps season.

'Anyway, let's try again. We need to make sure the new finale is working for us,' Nathan announced.

The finale consisted of a slow build up from the horns, before escalating into a full force piece of percussion and brass. It was by far their most difficult part and Gareth had struggled to even keep up during the previous rehearsals. It was like trying run whilst your feet were numb, or blowing into a tube after running several miles. Why did the most difficulty piece have to be last, after he'd exerted all his energy on the previous pieces? Somehow, he'd have to endure.

Nathan unleashed his drum sticks on a circular, rubber pad which sat on Gareth's bedside drawer - the only other bedroom furniture that had been re-acquired. A small, wooden stool had been donated by Nathan, sick of sitting on the floor during their music sessions. Sick of hearing Gareth's horn, Kerry-Anne had forced Gareth to use his mouth piece, instead, whilst he practised their new finale. Blowing into his isolated mouth piece, in time to Nathan's drumming, Gareth kept pace.

Ratta-pat-pat, ratta-pat-pat, ratta-pat-ratta-pat-ratta-pat-pat.

Nathan stopped short, tripping over several fast ratta-pats.

'I think I need a break from all this rudimental drumming,' he sighed. 'I'd best get going, really. Long day tomorrow. Give 'em hell, Gazza.'

'You too, Nath,' Gareth fist-bumped his friend.

Perhaps this was the calm before the storm? Whatever it was, Gareth felt particularly mellow and leant against his window sill, enjoying the early summer breeze and the orange hue of the sun set. Tomorrow - a storm.

********************

Pepper spray. Old Man Sam had rummaged through his weathered pouch, strapped to his waist, and produced a spray of liquid poison. Gareth shuffled uncomfortably in his coach seat as Old Man Sam shoved the tiny phial of liquid under his nose, repeatedly. He hadn't sat next to the elderly gentleman by choice, but Stefan had found a position next to Big Gay Brett and Nathan was next to his brother, once again. This was Gareth's punishment for over-sleeping and running head over heels to catch the show coach. He wondered who'd sat next to Old Man Sam last time, and commended their strength for surviving.

'Being an elder, all sorts o' youths try their worth on ye! It does good to stay protected,' Old Man Sam grumbled loudly. His breath reeked of warm yeast and Gareth gagged at the combination of stenches.

Both he and Old Man Sam sat directly at the front of the left hand aisle. Cindy and her son, Bruno, sat behind Gareth. Elisa sat scrunching up her nose at the spray smell now wafting over to her, directly on their right. Gareth turned to face her, his expression calling for help. Elisa shot him an apologetic look as she sat next to Chase, who stared intensely out of the window. Elisa's wheel chair sat, folded up, by her legs and strapped to the metal divider between her and the coach driver.

The driver was particularly attractive, Gareth thought. She was a young girl with shades atop her bleach blonde hair. No doubt, their driver was the fabled Abbi which Stefan had mentioned, before. At least they wouldn't have to worry about dying before reaching the competition grounds, this time.

'We'll be reaching Leicester in approximately half an hour, which is just enough time to make out with the person next to you, take a really large dump in the onboard toilet, or drink yourselves stupid at the back. I repeat, we'll be approaching Leicester in thirty minutes,' Abbi announced on the coach speakers.

Gareth examined the jokey coach driver from behind, her deep brown hair visible at the roots of her blonde dye. She was younger than the average driver, but certainly older than Gareth - maybe in her mid to late 20s.

A flash of hazy hillsides invaded the back of Gareth's mind, where he'd sat atop Sandy with Shardae-Rae. A flash of Spring, a kiss of passion, and then a slap of shame. Gareth may have fancied the pants off of several girls in his life, but he could never quite pitch it right with them. His thoughts flashed between nervous approaches and their resulting failures, sending him sprawling to late night tirades with Darren. Suddenly, Gareth was back in the coach, aware of his surroundings. He focused on Abbi and cleared his throat, going for the kill.

'Hey, babe, you driving so good, you driving me crazy,' Gareth smouldered.

There was a moment of silence, broken only by Elisa's stifled chuckles.

'Just no,' Abbi responded, her tone deep and her eyes on the road.

Cheers, Gareth thought, bitterly, feeling his blood heat up his cheeks. He turned his attention to his right, for some closure from the incident. Past the laughter of Elisa, was the murderous stare of Chase.

'There is a time and a place, Mr. Firkins. Evidently, you stare up girls like they're a juicy ticket to jail. I recommend you focus your efforts to the show,' Chase growled.

With a chin gurning for attention, Gareth turned away.

'Give it a sniff!' Old Man Sam interrupted, shoving the bottle of effluvia under Gareth's nose.

Gareth gagged and pleaded for the trip to be finally over.

********************

Leicester Athletics Stadium was expecting all of the participating bands of the season, unlike Basingstoke. The sky was a pale blue and the ground bright with reflection as Gareth descended from the coach steps. What was immediately apparent, however, was that whilst they were clearly in the built up area of Leicester, they were nowhere near the stadium. In fact, Adonis had been plopped right by the side of an empty park field.

'Pre-show practise,' Chase announced, taking off his usual burgundy coat and wrapping it around his waist. His earthy, baggy t-shirt read "You lip it, you lap it", which was no doubt his birthday gift from last weekend's drink-a-thon. Gareth, of course, couldn't attend due to his ankle tag.

Having become almost second-nature to him, although no less infuriating, Gareth looked for the truck in preparation for unloading. However, it was nowhere to be found. After an awkward ten minutes of waiting around, it soon became apparent that the rehearsal would have all the impact of Gareth wooing Abbi... or Lofty convincing anyone of anything.

Sure, the truck may not have turned up, but the brass section's horns were stored in the side of the coach. Soon, with the horn cases marking the edges of the rehearsal field, to ensure no dog walkers walked their terriers within its perimeter, everyone was ready to practise.

It wasn't long before they were racing around the field, repeating the adrenaline-rushing finale in front of markers of traffic cones and coats instead of usual numbered signs. When they'd run the same section for an hour, Gareth's lips were buzzing and Lofty was wheezing from his smoker's lungs.

'Gush and go?' Ealga asked.

'Five minutes,' Chase confirmed.

'All right, you heard the man! Sip your water, smoke a cig and go, go, go!' Dave clapped his hands, jogging to the front of their make-shift field.

Gareth always felt awkward during these breaks periods. Whilst he blended with the band much better than when he started, he still didn't quite gel with the varied occupants. Still, he was decisively sick of just sitting on his lonesome and decided to drag himself to the crowd forming around Siobhan. When he reached her, she had her phone to her motley group.

'Mam reckons Aedan was swapped with some other kid, that's why we looked so different at birth. Bloody twit. So the other day, he brought his kid over and he then fell asleep on the sofa. His kid, you know, Ethan, did this...' Siobhan introduced, before playing a video on her phone.

Gareth peered between the cracks of Cindy and Dave, watching as a toddler, which he could only assume was "Ethan", removed his nappy and freed all of its excremental contents. Gareth felt himself physically heave as the toddler smeared its waste across the sleeping man's face. There was a collective wail of disgust.

'That, folks, is what I have to put up with every time Aed drops his kid off at my place,' Siobhan tutted, pocketing her phone.

'And you videoed that, not help him?' Gareth winced.

Siobhan eyed Gareth for a moment before answering.

'It's what you do when you're siblings.'

'Shevy's the evil twin of the two, I reckon,' Ealga laughed. 'Or she'd have mucked in!'

'Very funny, Ealga,' Siobhan rolled her eyes, 'almost as funny as your Ealga-mobile impression when you visit Ethan.'

Ealga flushed, causing Gareth to fold his arms to coax it out of her.

'Well, you know, Transformers are popular with kids and, well, I pretend to transform to keep him entertained...' Ealga trailed off, which Kara found particularly hilarious.

'Enough chatting. Sip some water and carry yourselves back to the field. I'm not finished with your carcasses, yet,' Chase grunted, his hands grabbing the shoulders of both Ealga and Siobhan.

Soon enough, the rehearsal continued on the park field, drawing a crowd of bemused parents and their youngsters, before they grew bored of the repetition.

Part way through marching Part 3, Gareth saw everyone slow down to a halt. He focused his attention on Chase, who had ceased conducting and began shaking his head to the grass.

'How can I be expected to suffer your intolerant and pubescent efforts as I stand proud at the front of the field?' Chase snapped.

Aaron glanced at Gareth, who responded with a What? in his returning gaze. In fact, Gareth found this slightly unfair, as he was trying his hardest.

'Again. Top of Part 3,' Chase commanded, raising his hands to start over.

Giving his A game, Gareth bombed through the piece until Chase cut them off, again. This time, Chase put his hands on his hips and sighed, before looking up to his confused drum corps.

'You think this is a game?' Chase roared. 'You think you can just transgressively slump through the show without progression?' The question hung in the air for a few moments whilst the members of Adonis looked uncertain as to Chase's reaction. 'Let me phrase this in a way the gelatinously inclined members and mentally challenged can understand - You've lost. You can't just wander around the field without aim and pray that you'll survive! You've got to think about each and every action you take! You're sloppy, Adonis! You're going to get creamed and it's all your fault! Do you hear me, Adonis? You're going to get creamed!' Chase burst into violent shouting.

This was grossly unfair, given the amount of input Gareth had given. Feeling his old habits flare up from the pit of his stomach, Gareth held his mouth closed to avoid further confrontation. Chase was just having one of his moments. It'd pass.

'There's only so mu-' Lofty started.

'Don't lip it, Lofty, lap it,' Chase growled.

As Lofty jiggled his way around the perimeter of the field, Chase rolled his eyes back into his head and took a deep breath.

'From the top of Part 3. Again,' Chase exhaled.

There seemed little hope and the atmosphere was suddenly stagnant. Two sets in, Chase exploded.

'Roll step, for goodn- They'll crush your feeble pudding bodies into a sloppy cream! Drop your instruments. Drop them, now. Come to the front.'

Everyone complied.

'I don't know about the rest of them, boss, but I'm giving it everything I have,' Dave commented as they all bunched up around Chase's black box.

'Shut up and listen. You need to try. Try harder than ever before. I won't be embarrassed by a bunch of sloths. Do you know what the Drum Corps community is saying about us? They think we're a joke. The first show of the year was a joke. Forums have exploded with jests about how you can't even march your way through a Junior Class Show. Prove them wrong, for crying out loud!'

Then Gareth exploded.

'My knee is stiff from running. My lips are buzzing from playing. My chest is heaving from the effort my lungs have put into breathing. And you're the one telling us we're not trying hard enough?!' Gareth boomed.

'Shut your trap or you'll be lapping this field until you drop, Mr. Firkins,' Chase snapped.

Gareth simmered on the spot as several other voices called out in irritation. Lofty finally made it back from his slow lap, wheezing loudly, his head hunched over his body.

'Everyone back to the coach, my chumlies!' Mandy called out, trying to lift the mood.

'Well? You heard the lady,' Chase muttered, turning back towards the coach.

The members broke away from the field and grabbed the few instrument cases scattered about, several hushed voices expressing their bitter frustration to one another.

As they slumped back to the coach, Gareth couldn't help but notice Tracey squeezing up to a rather disgusted looking Dave.

'Dad?' Yammers Junior asked out aloud.

'Not now, your mum's calling...' Yammers trailed off, pulling his phone out of his coat pocket.
The proceeding conversation was disheartening and Gareth forced himself over to Stefan, feeling sorry for the grown man.

Stefan patted Gareth on the shoulder and they walked back to the coach, together, horns in hand. What a demoralising feeling before the show. Angry, but not defeated, Gareth was determined to prove Chase wrong, as well as everyone else.

********************

A concrete car park finally greeted them as Adonis virtually exploded out of the stifling coach. The truck was waiting for them, although for the first time ever, it had already been unloaded. A smile grew across Gareth's face at the sight. Madeline and her silent husband had evidently unloaded the truck whilst waiting for the rest of the band.

'Uniforms. Ten minutes. Then we're on,' Chase shouted, abruptly, his short temper having enveloped him.

Ealga lit up a quick cigarette with Lofty and Dave as Gareth and many others returned to the coach with several black bags. Small, white numbers adorned on the front of the bags. As he walked past, Gareth couldn't help but wrinkle his nose at the noxious cigarette fumes.

'Number Eight,' Gareth confirmed, chucking Ealga's black bagged uniform in front of her.

'Place we came last show,' Kara laughed.

Chase shot Kara a glare of contempt.

'Gotta laugh about these things, otherwise we'll all be as depressed as Elisa,' Ealga puffed.

'I'm not depressed about anything, thanks,' Elisa commented, rolling by to her uniform.

There was a moment's pause whilst the smokers enjoyed their cigarettes.

'If you could march in any section, Elisa, where would you be?' Ealga asked, an inquisitive expression across her face.

'I bet it's brass,' Gareth affirmed.

'I can speak for myself, and no, it wouldn't,' Elisa replied.

'Come on,' Ealga continued, 'which section?'

'Percussion, without a doubt,' Elisa smiled.

Ealga nodded in response, before throwing her cigarette to the concrete and squashing it beneath her boot.

'Oi, Gazza!' shot a piercing voice, causing Gareth's heart to freeze.

It was clear who this voice belonged to, but they were in Leicester, so it couldn't possibly be. Why would he be in Leicester? Sure, he could illegally drive his dad's Ford Fiesta, but he would never bother to drive all the way to an unknown location just to call Gareth out. What was going on? Only one way to find out...

Gareth turned away from the coach, only to find the culprit mingling near another coach. He was dressed from head to toe in black, his torso half covered in a deep cyan, a falcon head breaking from the colour. It couldn't be... but it was. Darren Johnson was dressed in another corps' uniform.

'Daz?' Gareth gawped.

Darren responded by sticking his gloved middle finger up, before turning to the other uniformed members.

'Corps Attention!' Darren growled, causing the rabble to stand tall. 'Let's show these losers they ain't gonna ignore The Falcons!'

'Leave your instruments! Field rehearsal, only,' a scruffy, but broad bald man shouted, which Gareth guessed was their corps director.

Adonis watched in silence and trepidation as The Falcons marched off for their warm up rehearsal. Gareth's mind raced with how ridiculous this all seemed. Darren? In a drum and bugle corps?! It seemed highly unlikely and Gareth weighed up the possibility whether or not Darren had been sentenced to service with a drum corps, like Gareth was. Warren would have told him, surely? No, Darren would have been signed up to Adonis had that happened. This was intentional. He'd signed up to The Falcons to beat Adonis and anger both Gareth and Nathan. What a git!

'They're at the top of their game. We'd be deluded in our cognition in defeating The Falcons, so our aim is to simply ignore them, and improve our own score,' Chase glared, causing the coach groupies to turn away from Darren.

'That's the kid from the field!' Kara yelled out. 'Get him, Ealga!'

'Eagla-mobile, activate!' Ealga yelled, pretending to be a Transformer and glaring lasers at Darren. Several members laughed at this, but Gareth simply felt uneasy.

Chase scowled and tapped his leather wrist watch.

Old Man Sam took a swig from his hip flask, which he conspicuously flashed to the world whenever he was troubled... or happy... or disgruntled. In fact, he seemed to take a swig from the foul smelling liquid in most instances, Gareth noticed.

'Tha' there galoot. Them nedds need teachin' a lesson!' he croaked, watching Darren strut away.

Gareth nodded, slowly, thinking of all the times Darren had caused trouble for others for his own gain. Now it was time for his comeuppance.

Whilst Ealga and the rest of Adonis boarded the coach with their bagged uniforms, Old Man Sam placed his arm around Gareth's shoulders and led him behind the vehicle.

'I reckon ye've had experience in the field...' Old Man Sam said in a hushed voice, produced his pepper spray where his hip flask once was.

This was the exact kind of stunt Darren would have pulled in the past, which caused ambivalence within Gareth. This was the perfect way to pay Darren back for tossing a brick through his bedroom window. It had caused massive aggravation and without the appropriate funds to pay for a new pane, the window had been boarded up, swallowing Gareth's room in darkness. On the other hand, this was also the exact kind of stunt that Gareth was trying to distance himself from. To be reckless or circumspect? Should he teach Darren not to mess with him, or should he teach himself humility? It was a tough decision.

'We spray the mouth pieces,' Gareth confirmed, his mind whirring with revenge.

'Atta, boy!' Old Man Sam cooed, before making sure the coast was clear.

With his stomach knotted with anxiety and anger, Gareth crept past the coach to where the horns all lined up, outside The Falcons' coach. The silver lacquer shone against the concrete, pulling the two saboteurs towards the instruments. The Falcons were long gone, possibly to the practise field for their show, ahead.

Sniffing the air like a retired Great Bernard on sugar, Old Man Sam sniffed the pepper spray stench that eroding from the small spray phial, seeping from its prison. Then, he handed Gareth the spray and continued to sniff the air for any approaching members.

Gareth's heart raced. Should he really do this? Was it worth lowering himself to Darren's level? In a panic, Gareth backed away from the instruments, lowering the raised bottle of pepper spray.

With a menacing growl, Old Man Sam threatened Gareth to think again. Maybe this wasn't such a bad idea? The Falcons would be unable to play properly - Adonis would have a chance against them in competition. Gareth would beat Darren at his own game, and that alone was worth tasting.

The spray hissed as it covered the horns' mouth pieces. The players would surely taste defeat, as well as their salty tears as their lips burned up.

'Let's get gone. We've got a show to win,' Gareth whispered to Old Man Sam, his stomach still dancing with dare.

Taking a deep breath, Gareth rammed his hand into his right leg pocket and fondled his father's medallion for a few seconds. Calmed, somewhat, Gareth returned to his uniform bag, Old Man Sam in tow. It was time to get in his head in the game.

'Let's do this, then' Gareth smiled, climbing into the coach.

Hanging his bag on the side of the coach luggage rack, above his seat, Gareth started to change into his tightly raised trousers complete with hideous braces. He'd become accustomed to changing at the same time with everyone else in such a confined area, despite this only being his second time. It made sense, as there were no changing rooms, and only Tracey ever caught his eye.

Gareth scooped Stefan's cap from his head, which had become his best friend during rehearsals, and zipped himself into the sleek Adonis uniform.

'Everyone relocate outside, right now!' boomed Chase from the coach door, 'We're on!'

********************

The air was lightly breezy and the temperature pleasant. Gareth stood on the soft grass, facing backfield, ready to buzz his lips. Chase took a deep breath to calm his nerves, concerned over the performance to come, and conducted the F warm up. The horns resonated well and reverberated all around the stadium in equal amounts of heavenly tones and dark air. Satisfied at his own playing, Gareth felt confident as they turned to walk onto the competition field.

'Please welcome to the field in competition... Adonis!' exploded the speakers around the stadium, the announcer clearly excited. The crowd followed suit, clapping Adonis whilst they set up. 'Adonis Drum and Bugle Corps hail from the unknown county of Bedfordshire, isn't that exciting? Drum Major Chase Johnson is also the corps director,' explained the loud speakers.

'It's Chase Diggby...' muttered Chase, passing Gareth on his way to the usual black box.

'Fun fact - Adonis have both the oldest and the youngest member in competition in Open Class. Their show, today, is "The Art of Video Games". How unusual!' the announcer blared, giving Gareth the distinct impression that he found collecting rocks or stamps the most exciting thing in the world. Chase ascended on the box. 'Drum Major, is your corps ready?' Chase turned to the audience and punched his chest, swiping his hand up to his forehead, gaze held high. This was his salute. The crowd erupted in cheers. 'Adonis, you may commence your show in competition!'

Turning back to Adonis, Chase raised his arms and began the show.

Like a chorus of angels, the audio swam into the air and enveloped the corps in a blanket of comfort. Their show had started well. Full of confidence, Gareth stepped off, thinking two steps ahead and ensuring he knew where to run and play before he reached there. The rest of the show grew and matured from its start. Adonis danced and swayed into shapes of Pac Man and rotating circles from Halo. Despite a few wobbly notes in the finale and Yammers being slow in a few sets, his mind perhaps elsewhere, the show fireworked into life, before exploding with spectacle at its end.

'Yes!' Gareth proudly whispered to himself, breathing heavily as he eyed the crowd, his horn down in front of him.

Chase turned to give a final salute to the stadium.

'Ladies and gentleman, wasn't that fantastic? Give it up for Adonis!' exclaimed the announcer to several depressed cheers from other corps' supporters.

Marching in single file off of the field, in high spirits and a skip in their step, Adonis paraded back to their coach. They passed the scowls of Darren Johnson and The Falcons, who readied themselves to head to the stadium field.

A volcano of exploding cheers sprang into the air at that moment. Gareth was swept up in the ride. They'd done it! They'd crafted and marched a decent show.

Chase said nothing, but gave a slight and rare smile. He crossed his arms over his black jacket version of their uniform, giving Mandy a nod. Mandy returned the nod with a cherubic smile.

Nothing could break their spirits.

'Keep your uniform trousers on, but take off your jackets and hats, my strawberries,' Mandy smiled.

'We ain't taking off again, then?' Lofty creased.

'We're staying. Keep your uniforms handy for retreat and rendezvous back here in precisely an hour,' Chase confirmed, unusually happy.

'Ealga-mobile do good,' Ealga commented, pretending to do a robot-esque transformation. Siobhan laughed hysterically.

And then the wail of dying elephants cleaved through the air. They all stopped and gazed towards the edge of the stadium, confused. All except Gareth.

Chase's smile slowly faded as the ruptured playing gave diminuendo to his father's cackles. He subtly scowled at Old Man Sam, his eyes curious and yet fearful of what he'd done.

This was bad. Gareth didn't feel elated at all, not anymore. It was as if he had been popped by a piercing pin, his ego deflated and replaced with cold air.

'What,' Chase whispered, violently, 'did you do?'

'I'm sure he didn't mean-'

'Silence, Mr. Firkins! This is none of your idle concern,' Chase hissed, grabbing his father's collar.

'It's every bi' his concern, ye dunder-son. He helped me do it,' Old Man Sam cackled.

Gareth wanted to disappear into his aching guilt.

'Tell me you didn't. Tell me you fought for this corps and didn't proceed to jeopardise our small victory, Mr. Firkins. Tell me you aren't as puerile as that Falcons kid makes you out.'

Feeling his face flush, Gareth was at a loss of words. Chase's lip quivered and his nostrils flared. He'd never appeared more furious with Gareth, and for the first time, Gareth felt particularly threatened from the Scot's silent stare.

'There will be a short intermission for this worrying turn of events, so sit still, folks!' came the loudspeaker, in the distance.

A disappointed and fearsome gaze projected from both Ealga and Dave. It was the same stare Darren would shoot Nathan before giving him a beating.

Nathan gave a wistful and worried glance.

'Tell me you didn't, Gazza. Tell me you didn't lower yourself to Darren's level... again,' Nathan's voice was quiet.

Gareth spluttered, but struggled to produce any coherent words in defence. There really wasn't a decent excuse. Just as Gareth began to find his voice, one of the judges strolled up to the meek group of marching members.

The stout judge investigated Adonis with an inquisitive expression, his black polo shirt wet from sweat. It was clear he'd been running between bands in suspicion, chasing the cause.

'I've been tipped off,' the judge's Brummie accent and low voice started, 'in why The Falcons, seeded as the top tier corps, were only able to play like the bottom tier Adonis.'

'Who called us "bottom tier"? I'll have 'em for that,' Aaron piped up, clearly hurt by this.

'Tipped off by whom?' challenge Chase, standing in front of the pudgy judge, his arms crossed.

The judge raised an accusatory eyebrow on his perspiring forehead.

'It was Daz...' Gareth moped, it was clear as day it was.

'Don't lip it...' sneered Chase, but was interrupted by the Old Man Sam.

'Kind of like The Falcons, ehehe!' he chortled. There was an awkward silence. 'Them Falcons must be cryin' in agony from their puckered lips,' spat Old Man Sam, before breaking out into a high pitched chuckle.

The judge narrowed his eyes.

'Pardon, but did you say their lips were in pain? How d'you know that?' his thick Birmingham accent spouted.

Old Man Sam kept quiet, looking rather shifty and realising he may be hit by the mammoth of all storms from his son.

'Sorry, but I've got to search yer,' the judge replied.

Everyone waited, on edge at the unfolding scene. The judge patted down Old Man Sam and rummaged in every pocket, causing the elderly "gentleman" to laugh in tickled hysterics. Eventually, Gareth's eyes widened in worry as the judge pulled out the very pepper spray they'd used, earlier. They were screwed. 'Ducky to Doughnut, repeat, Ducky to Doughnut,' the judge spoke into a walkie talkie radio device.

Chase eyed Gareth with venom as a static voice responded.

'Doughnut in. What's up?' came a southern sounding female.

'Adonis are being shifty. One o' them had pepper spray in his pocket. Their coach is also sat opposite The Falcons', over.'

There was some muffled static which was inaudible below harsh whispers from Chase. It didn't matter what Chase was saying, as this was drowned out by Gareth's own racing thoughts. He knew this was the end of his band career.

'It's been decided, my duckies,' the judge cleared his throat, 'Adonis have been disqualified from competition.'

As the judge shook his head in disappointment, all attention focused on Old Man Sam and Gareth, murderous and upset. Nathan wiped his eyes in disbelief. Tracey gave a great sigh. Aaron cracked his knuckles.

'In my great sagacity, it befalls me to craft the final verdict. We're to travel home, our heads held high from the best show you've ever performed, Adonis, but we're to eject those holding us back from further glory,' Chase piped up, addressing the corps. He turned to Gareth. 'Lofty, the trumpet spot's yours - Mr. Firkins will no longer be a part of our corps.'

With that, Gareth endured a torturous and guilt-injected coach journey all the way back to Sandy, a prisoner to his foolishness and back to square one.