Band Cramp

The night had been strangely comfortable, almost serene and free of snoring. Gareth felt well rested and raring to go as he sat down for his breakfast, at last making it early enough for some of that delicious breakfast sausage... almost cremated. The charcoal flavour couldn't dampen Gareth's spirits, however - he was out to prove himself. Once he'd gulped down the remainder of the plain pasta which accompanied the char-grilled pork, Gareth was off to make a fool of himself by warming up.

Lofty bumbled out in the clothes he'd worn the previous day. Looking no better than an egg on toast, with a musk of damp dog, Lofty lit up a cigarette whilst waiting for everyone to arrive in the courtyard.

'Love the cap,' Gareth chortled, seeing the "I love DCUK" now resemble something far more rude.

With a quizzical expression, Lofty removed his cap, leaving the lit cigarette in his mouth.

'Like your new cap, Lofty? I think it's an improvement!' Kara laughed, her voice somehow cutting through the air as if she were shouting at the top of her lungs.

'Oh, you can talk, Miss Grucock,' Yammers sighed, following through the double doors and out into the courtyard, 'so just leave poor Lofty alone.'

Whilst Lofty exploded in a fit of argument, Gareth spotted a milk float, in the distance. Gareth peered around the school building to catch a better look at the white vehicle, now riding the drive up to the courtyard area. The rattling of milk bottles grew in crescendo, before drowning out Lofty's voice. The rider was a familiar figure, looking rather embarrassed... and naked in all but a green apron tied around his front. He looked about, sheepishly, before stopping the float just shy of Gareth.

'Don't ask,' Big Gay Brett hushed, stepping out of the vehicle and downing a glass bottle of white joy.

'It's the milkman,' Gareth stifled a chuckle.

'Anyone want some milk?' Big Gay Brett asked, turning bright red.

Kara was already in a fit of hyena laughter, followed by Lofty's wheezing dog impression.

'You... you were out all night... after the camp...' Kara breathed in between her laughter, 'how drunk were you?'

'Maybe a bit of a lot. Yeah, I couldn't get this morning off work. Just... don't ask any more questions. It's been one hell of a morning and my head's killing me.'

With that, the morning passed in a flash. Stefan's impression of a flying fish kept Gareth happy, whilst Lofty kept everyone else occupied with arguments about everything. Bob, Dave and Sadie looked like the world's most murderous trio when next to each other during drill basics, and Big Gay Brett had even managed to rustle up a fleece and trousers from somewhere. Everything went far smoother than yesterday, and by lunch time, even the vinaigrette couldn't put Gareth off the day.

Gareth listened to the slop of the vinaigrette as he chewed it to ribbons, making sure there was nothing solid by time he swallowed. His thoughts were elsewhere, thinking about the spots he'd marched to during yesterday's run of "Part 1". Just as he was, Stefan sat down opposite him.

'It's about time you knew what the show was, Gazza,' Stefan announced, his fork jamming itself into some spiralled pasta.

'Why ain't no one told me, yet? I need to know what all those random bits of marching's gonna lead to,' Gareth winced as the vinegar attacked his taste buds.

'Well, today is focused entirely on marching the opening part and the second part of the show, so you won't have to worry about the music... yet.'

'I get that, I get that,' Gareth raced, impatiently, 'but do we have a theme? Is everything just random bits of music? How many parts are there?'

'Easy, amigo,' Stefan reassured, 'we don't even know what the last part of music will be, yet. So far, we have three pieces of music. We've yet to be given our final, finishing piece. I'll be going into detail over these, with you, in the future. For now, you just need to know that our show theme is "video games".'

'Video games?' Gareth repeated, confused.

In Gareth's head, video games were a bit of a novelty for 10 minutes and that was it. Sure, he'd played Call of Duty with Nathan, when Bob was absent, but Gareth was the kind of guy who went out and about, not stay inside playing games. Did video games even have music to properly play? It seemed strange, to Gareth, but at least he now knew the show theme.

'It was Yammers Junior's idea and it took off particularly well. I've helped develop it by writing the scores you'll eventually be practising from. Speaking of which, I want to invite you to the Horn Club,' Stefan simply explained.

'The Horn Club?' Gareth repeated, pulling a face at the thought that it related to Stefan's other hobbies.

'It's nothing like what you're thinking, I assure you. Honestly, you'll need help with the music and The Horn Club's the best way to do it. I'll explain more at the end of the day, so just a head's up on that. For now, focus on your marching dots for part one. Don't forget the counts, or steps, that you need to take to reach each of those dots, too.'

As Stefan bounced up to drop off his plate in the food tech sink, Gareth realised Stefan's last statement was entirely alien. One count equalled one pace... okay, that made sense, Gareth thought, mulling it over. Each "dot" was the place he was supposed to reach at the end of the counts he was given. He went over part 1's dots once more, in his head: Two paces outside the 40 yard marker, sixteen paces from the front, then twelve slow counts to head diagonally backwards to the 20 marker, then sixteen really fast leaps to race for the 50 marker and its line which separated the field in two. At least he remembered that much. Now it was time to see if he could actually do it.

Gareth was ready.

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

'One, two three four, slow-ly, horns, out, nine, ten, eleven, twelve, Firkins, further, fifteen, sixteen, turn, run, three, four, five, six, jazz, run, nine, ten, in, line!' Chase shouted in time to each beat.

They'd now run the first part of the show countless times and Gareth was sure he wouldn't forget this, now, not when it was so short. It did, however, make him realise how unfit he was, wheezing and breathing heavily at the end of all the dots. His last dot was directly in front of the 40 marker, just several paces behind it and from the front of the field, which apparently led straight into Part 2... whatever that would be.

When Stefan handed him his next dot, Gareth couldn't help but beam back with pride. Stefan winked in response, as the feeling was mutual. Gareth then glanced at Sadie, but then turned immediately away from her toothy jaws, not quite yet comfortable with his other trumpeter. He took this time, however, to see how everyone else handled things on the field.

Cindy Lars was a nice sort of person, much older than the majority of the members, but with far more energy. Her corn-rowed hair was dark, but greying, and her skin was like bubbling chocolate. Gareth watched as she smiled, letting Melanie pass her, before continuing back to the front of the field with Elisa and Lofty. Ealga, meanwhile, simply elbowed Aaron out the way of her route, her dot book in hand and no empathy for the poor tuba player. Aaron immediately confronted Ealga, who simply shrugged at Aaron's rising temper. He stormed off to his next dot, his large tuba in hand. The difference between Cindy and Ealga was immense, which Gareth had put down to being part of different sections. The drummers seemed somewhat more steely-faced and arrogant compared to the rest of the band, a couple of other members aside.

Gareth turned his attention to the giggling of the three colourguard members; Kelsey, Siobhan and Tracey, the last of which was posing for Yammers near his next dot.

'Look, you can pose all day, but I need to get to that dot' Yammers smiled.

'Will I make you... hit the spot?' Tracey fluttered her eyelids, sickeningly.

'Not for long...' Yammers Junior muttered quietly to avoid detection from both his father and Tracey, who continued to flirt.

'More than Sharon ever could. Besides, she's got her own bike to exercise on,' Yammers chuckled, causing Yammers Junior to pull an even more guilty face over something.

Gareth walked to his next dot, as it had become customary to do when given the next place to go to. They'd walk to the new dot, wait for everyone else to place themselves in their dots, see where everyone stood, then walk back to the previous dot, ready to march it properly within the set amount of counts. In this case, he had to make it to this dot in another eight counts.

One, two, three, four, five, Lofty.

'What are you doing on the field?' Gareth blinked, having been assured that Lofty was part of the front ensemble, or "pit", let alone not fit for marching.

'Proving a point,' replied Lofty, his thick lenses making his eyes appear far larger than they actually were.

No one else noticed for a while, until Lofty marched to a random spot on the field, following the next marching set. Gareth, his eyes kept to the front as he marched, spotted Chase eyeing Lofty with a controlled rage, rather than confusion. It was then that Gareth realised that this couldn't have been the first time Lofty had tried this... whatever "this" was.

The drum sticks stopped tapping against one another and Chase stared straight at Lofty, presenting him with a condescending smile.

'I suppose you think you're clever, Lofty?'

'No, mate, I'm just proving how I can march as well as-'

'Don't talk back to me!' Chase boomed, before taking a deep breath to calm himself. 'I tolerate you, Lofty, because you clearly have a passion for the drum and bugle corps scene. I don't, however, expect to coddle you like a baby and guide your every action because you're too thick to comprehend the difference in why the front ensemble don't march and why all other sections do.'

'It's not fair, mate, I can play a trumpet better than any jail fodder can, but you let him march instead of me! That should be me there, and he should be playing this stupid triangle,' Lofty retorted.

'Oh, here we go,' Yammers sighed, 'just give it up, Lofty. I've got your back more than anyone, here, and if the corps director says you're better off at the front, then you do as he says.'

'Thank you, Mr. Yammers, but I don't require anyone fighting my battles,' Chase quickly responded, his voice low and his brow following suit.

'Maybe it's about time we let him, my blueberry?' Mandy piped up from somewhere behind Chase, within the front ensemble.

Chase spun about on the spot, leaving the back of his greasy, shoulder length hair exposed to the rest of the corps. Gareth could only assume that Chase's face was full of murder from one of Mandy's few suggestions, although Gareth also had the distinct impression Chase was the very reason Mandy didn't pipe up much at all.

'You want this kid's wobble-me weeble to march on the field in Mr. Firkins's place?' Chase repeated.

'He can play the trumpet almost as well as Stefan, whereas Gareth's new.'

'Gareth can already march ten times better than Lofty can. End of discussion!'

'Come on, mates, you can't just push me into the pit forever! I want to march!' Lofty whined.
'Join the club,' Elisa groaned, somewhere in the battery.

Soon, everyone was talking among themselves whilst Chase and Mandy had their domestic over Lofty. In a bizarre way, Gareth was enjoying this, listening to them go back and forth whilst he looked about the field some more.

His ears pricked up at the sound of a bass guitar, seemingly plugged into an amp. Gareth's attention followed the sound of the funky groove to a young teenager in the front ensemble, standing next to Elisa. He had wild, dark hair, which was like a small afro with a quiff at its front. His skin was dark and his smile wide. In fact, if Gareth didn't know any better, he was the spitting image of a tiny Bruno Mars - a popular singer with some of the girls he'd known.

Soon, Cindy was calling over to him.

'Bruno, Bruno, not now. Wait for Chase to tell you guys to play,' she hollered above the rising volume of chattering.

Gareth mulled this over in his head for a moment before realising, this kid's name was Bruno Lars! Gareth chortled to himself at this thought, just in time for Chase to emerge victorious from the argument.

'You suck, mate. One day, I'll be marching,' Lofty grumbled.

'Don't lip it. Lap it!' Chase grunted.

As Lofty shook his head and started to jog around the outskirts of the field, the volume decreased and everyone was back in hand.

'Next set, everyone,' Dave called, 'we need to impress the corps director, yes sir!'

Gareth sighed as this was yelled. It was becoming apparent that Dave was more of a boot kisser than Lofty was argumentative. Any further thoughts were pushed aside, however, as Chase clapped out two drum sticks in time.

'Stepping off with your left foot, Mr. Firkins. Come on, it isn't rocket science. Left is right. Right is wrong. First count is left. Second count right. Let's all do it again for the sake of Mr. Firkins,' Chase announced, ceasing the tap of his drum sticks.

There was a slight groan, but Gareth didn't let it impede him like it had on the previous day - several other members had screwed up their sets in some way and they had to re-do them for their sakes. There was simply just so much to remember that it sometimes became difficult to remember the finer parts, Gareth realised.

'Remember - posture,' Stefan whispered, as he walked past and back to his previous dot.

Sometimes, Gareth did wonder if this was all possible to do at once, since it seemed crazy. He was giving it his best, however. To stand straight, his horn out in front of him, roll-stepping and keeping in time was just very difficult over a prolonged period of time. He'd have to weight train with his trumpet or something to get used to the extra weight on his arms. The ankle curfew bracelet was something Gareth also had to contend with, constantly rubbing up and down the bottom of his foot with its extra weight. Complaining about that seemed futile, though.

As they were about to start Part 2, once more, what sounded like the theme from the A Team launched into the air. Gareth, as well as most other members, turned around to see what was causing the commotion, only to find Yammers whip out his phone.

'No phones at band, Yammers,' Dave threatened, as if this cardinal rule must be followed to avoid punishment by execution.

'Eyes front!' Chase roared, fury slicing the air with a pointed tongue.

Gareth immediately did so, unsure of why Chase was so furious over such a small occurrence. Was is that Chase hated technology of all kinds? Probably not, otherwise he wouldn't have let amps onto the field with the battery front ensemble, or "the Pit" equipment. Maybe he just hated being slowed down by others' phone conversations? Seemed logical, at least - Chase didn't like interruptions on the field. It was a good thing Gareth no longer had a phone after Darren "borrowed" it from him. He'd seen Darren outside his window with a new pair of trainers, several days later, no doubt from some new found money.

'No, Sharon, listen to me,' Yammers repeated, flustered, 'no, you're not listening! Listen! She's nothing, just waves the flags at band, that's all... no... Yammers Junior? All right... all right! I know his name's Michael Yammers, I get it, but he'll always be my son... and you'll always be my wife, Sharon. Look, whatever he's told you, you... no, what do you mean "no"? No, don't cry...'

An awkward silence descended on the field, the vein in Chase's forehead pumping sterner and sterner as his fists clenched, waiting for the phone call to finish.

'Sharon, look, I... I can't talk right now, I'm at band...' Yammers tried saying in a hushed voice, but Gareth had heard this conversation before and knew the words inside and out, 'Don't explode at me when you have... have that toy boy, Alexander, at your beckon call! He's no dance instructor, he's... no, look, listen...'

'Get off the phone or get off my field, Mr. Yammers!' Chase growled.

'I'll call you back, Sharon... I'll... no, look, I'll call you back,' Yammers ended, quietly.

Gareth watched on as Yammers' red eyes fixed themselves on Chase, his phone just held in his right hand momentarily. Pocketing his phone, Yammers took a deep breath. He nodded to continue, before picking up his bass drum and strapping it to his torso, it's drum skins facing horizontally.
'Right, same set. Lofty, from your triangle,' Chase commanded.

Lofty hit the triangle with a loud "ting" and everyone continued repeating their new dots until eventually, it was time for something Gareth wasn't expecting.

'Just for this next set, I want to hear everyone vibrate the air with a beautiful middle C. Understand, everyone? That's marching a middle C,' Chase requested, rubbing his hands.

Of course, this was the very note which Gareth had struggled to hit in the classroom, with Stefan. How could he possibly play this whilst marching?! He decided to just give it his best shot, remembering what Stefan had said about tightening his lips to produce a higher note.

'Horns up!' Chase commanded. Everyone did so, Gareth placing the mouth piece of the trumpet to his lips. 'One, two, one, two, three, breathe, play!'

Gareth marched his eight paces with the best non-sounding note he had ever played. It was a good thing everyone else drowned him out with better sounding notes. Once he'd reached his dot, they all stopped.

'Hmmm, not bad, but there was one note which didn't quite match up with the rest. Do it again on your own, Mr. Firkins.'

Gareth opened his mouth to argue, seeing this as extremely unfair and embarrassing, but decided to close it upon seeing Chase's judgemental and murderous stare. He didn't fancy lapping the field, so trudged back a dot to march on his own.

'One, two, one, two, three, breathe, play!'

Gareth marched in time to the slamming sticks, blowing, at last, a middle C from the end of the trumpet bell. Elated, Gareth kept going, the note warbling horrifically as he marched, much to the amusement of everyone else. Every step caused the note to judder, until it eventually cut off on count seven, rather than count eight, due to running out of breath.

He was met with laughter.

'Perfect roll-step, I think you claimed, Mr. Firkins?' Chase smiled, smugly.

'What's... that got to do with it?' Gareth asked, feeling his face burn red.

'Roll-stepping cushions the impact of your weight against the ground. It stops notes from sounding like a siren. Keep that in consideration and work on your playing for next time. I just wanted you all to push some air through your horns,' Chase responded. 'Anyway, you all look more than a little tired. You've worked hard. Take a five minute water break.'

Chase was met with cheers as most members rushed to the front of the field in the surprisingly bright, but chilly, afternoon. Soon the sun would set and the light would cease, so there couldn't be much time left to march, Gareth realised.

As Gareth placed his battered trumpet down at the front of the field, he approached Stefan.
'So why have I been chosen over Lofty?' Gareth asked, interested.

'You're a better build, perhaps more trustworthy if given the chance,' Stefan simply responded, taking a swig of bottled water.

That meant the world to Gareth, so he just smiled and gazed out to the tree tops, watching as their small, newly grown leaves waved in response. With any luck, winter would be truly over, soon.

This was apparently the opportune chance for the front ensemble, or "pit" section as everyone seemed to refer to them as, to play on their glockenspiels, bongo drums and cymbals to have fun. Gareth listened, impressed with the incredible speed and talent Elisa played various classical music in, her hands racing around the keys of the instrument with tight precision. It was only when she stopped that Gareth saw she had two glock sticks in each hand, playing two notes at a time.

'Come on, Yammers, I'll show you your freedom for no longer being chained,' Tracey's sultry tones slithered around Yammers, leaning against the wooden building at the very front edge of the field.

'Don't you think you've done enough damage?' Yammers shook, angrily, causing Gareth to shift uncomfortably as they both walked by.

'Face it, you're mine.'

Yammers closed his eyes and grabbed his phone from his shorts pocket.

'I have to make a call.'

And with that, Yammers was on the phone to a cacophony of hysteria, pointed and painful to all who heard. Gareth turned away, knowing full well the consequences of this conversation. Yammers would return to the field a broken man and, sure enough, when their five minute water break ended, Yammers slowly slinked back to the field with the fire extinguished from his eyes.

It seemed, to Gareth, that despite everyone's differences, they all had their own problems which weren't so different, after all. They left their problems behind, got back out there, and marched on. Band had to be a way of escaping those problems, Gareth realised, such as how this was his escape from prison. Finally, it all made sense in how such an eclectic bunch formed, sticking together through their strange unison and campfires in the evening. For that reason, Adonis must have been the closest family Gareth had ever known. They were the closest family Gareth had ever been a part of.

'Set 23. 12 counts. One, two, one, two, three, march, go,' Chase announced.

Gareth put his left foot behind him and marched backwards for twelve counts. In his peripheral vision, he caught Yammers sort of drifting in the middle of the field. He looked somewhat lost.

'Mr. Yammers, you looked nothing worse than a lost puppy in a crowd of lion cubs. Have you perhaps forgotten your next dot?' Chase asked, his hands behind his back.

'I... I don't know what happened. I just... can't remember,' Yammers replied, dumbfounded.
Yammers' heart just wasn't in it.

'Chase, drum major, it's not his fault... it's Tracey, she-' started Michael, known as Yammers Junior, but Chase shot daggers at his throat in his response.

'Tracey can do no wrong to anyone, so don't you dare talk about my daughter like that!'
Yammers Junior sighed, his face stuck in its perpetual smile, almost as if to mask his true sadness at the unfolding events.

'I just... I...' Yammers started, but his voice cracked and he trailed off into silent sobbing.
An awkward silence descended, once more.

'Get him off the field,' Chase snapped.

Yammers Junior complied, walking his sniffling father off, his heart broken and his troubles more prevalent than ever.

'We've a lot of ground to cover. Let's start from the top of Part 2, again, and push through. We've only an hour of sunlight left and I'll be damned if I let this corps destroy itself before then,' Chase commanded, the band members realigning themselves to their relevant field dots.

The remainder of the day was a blur of blunders, but overall the hard work felt worth it. Sure, Gareth felt he wasn't up to scratch, but this bizarre use of his time was somewhat enjoyable. He was sweating and tired, but he felt he'd performed well, despite the hiccups that he and the rest of the corps had enacted.

By the end of the day, Gareth had a smile on his face almost as constant as Lofty's clumsiness. He'd managed to survive all of Part 1 and had learnt all of Part 2 with little problem. Now he just need to know what music this all fit to, as opposed to just counting numbers in his head.

'All right, my chumlies, you've worked hard an-' Mandy started.

'I'll take over, Mandy,' Chase quickly interrupted, 'otherwise we'll be here all drum corps season.

'If a Roman legion worked as hard as you, today, then they'd be screwed... which is what you sorry lot are right now. You've worked hard, I'll present you with that, but even though time has been recaptured from yesterday's "issues", we still have a long way to trudge as a unit. Right now, somewhere out there, the Telford Scouts will be working harder, The Falcons will be tearing their bodies asunder, and even Rutherford Phoenix will be honing their skills to fight for their lives on the field. So we will up our game, come next camp, and work our way through each Sunday rehearsal until we can finally stand tall and not as hunched, worn out ragdolls at the end of a weekend. Adonis, you may be in my hands whilst I mould you into a true drum and bugle corps, but as far as I can tell, I'm also in your hands if I'm to be known as a "sterling drum major and corps director". Go away, learn your music, and let's make next weekend better than today!' Chase roared.

'Yeah!' Dave's hyper boot licking response bounced, drowning out everyone else's unenthusiastic "yeahs".

'We can do better than that,' Chase growled. 'Adonis, are you ready for the season?'

'Yeah!' Gareth shouted with everyone else, this time.

'That's better. Next Sunday, Sandy scout field, 10.00am. Don't forget to come prepared. Oh, and Adonis, if any of you conveniently forget to pack our expensive equipment into the truck, you'll incur the wrath of not only me, but Sadie, who seems to be the only member that's ever willing to give up her time for this,' Chase responded, a rare smile upon his face.

Sadie gave a demonic glare as several members turned to her during Chase's warning, including Gareth, who immediately turned back around.

As several members started to walk past Gareth, Dave and Aaron grabbing the nearest bongo drum and Kara immediately heading for the cymbal stands. Gareth realised they were to all carry pieces of the pit equipment to the front building, where the courtyard lay. Under Chase's constant gaze, several members rushed to the equipment, leaving behind what appeared to be the heaviest and most irksome pieces. Not wishing to be lumbered with the heaviest glockenspiel instrument, Gareth seized his chance and ran for the electric guitar amp that was used by Bruno Lars.

Heaving with the might of the somehow heavier-than-expected amp, and his horn in his left hand, Gareth wobbled off of the grassy field to the concrete courtyard. Waiting for him was a small truck, once white, now covered in road dust.

Several members waited in a queue with various pieces of equipment, handing them up to Yammers and Yammers Junior, who stood in the back of the vehicle. Yammers's eyes were red, but Gareth knew he'd stayed to try and take his mind off of his unfortunate turn of events.

Gareth pushed to the front of the now empty-handed group, which had congregating into conversation, ready to hand over the amp. Yammers grabbed the amp without a second thought and took it to what looked like a large shelving unit in the vehicle, strapped down by plenty of stretched cables. Everything appeared to have their specific place on that truck, put tightly and neatly away in every available nook and cranny. It was certainly impressive, Gareth gave it that.

He turned around only to find most people had suddenly disappeared, mysteriously. Was this what Chase had meant?

'Come on, next item,' Yammers called, his voice hoarse.

Knowing that the truck wouldn't pack itself, Gareth grabbed one of the glockenspiels and rolled it to the edge of the truck. Seemingly, only Sadie, Dave and Chase were left at ground-level.

'They've all left, again. Typical. Make sure they hear about it next Sunday, Sadie. All right, we need one more person to help lift the glocks. They're heavy at one end, so we need three people at the back, two at the front,' Chase stated.

Just then, Stefan rolled out of the gym and down into the courtyard, a holdall in on hand and bedding in the other. Stefan looked up just in time for everyone to look back at him. Giving an expression which embodied the phrase "busted", Stefan dropped his stuff and jogged to the truck.

'Glad of you to volunteer, Stefan. Grab the back right. Mr. Firkins, you're on the middle back. I'll take the left back. Sadie and Dave, take the front. Ready? 3, 2, 1... lift!' Chase commanded.

They did so, Gareth finding the weight of the glock immensely heavier once it was in the air.

Yammers and Yammers Junior grabbed the front. With an almighty heave, they rolled the glockenspiel onto the truck, before sliding it into place under one of the large shelving units.

It took a while, approximately half an hour, for everything else to be packed away on the truck. Now Gareth could see why everyone was in such a hurry to disappear.

'Gazza, before I go, don't forget the Horn Club. Here's my address. Make sure you can get there for Wednesday at 5.00pm. I've made sure it's within your curfew, don't worry,' Stefan explained, handing Gareth a piece of paper.

'Sure thing,' Gareth responded, eyeing the detailed note.

Stefan wandered off, only to be replaced by the far more fearsome Chase.

'Your parole office, Warren, has been contacted. He should be here any minute,' Chase explained to Gareth, 'but I'd just like you to know that despite our differences, you worked your manhood off, today. Keep that attitude going for next weekend and you'll be well on your way to getting that ankle tag off your leg. Don't disappoint me again.'

Just as he said this, Warren pulled up in his embarrassing smart car, causing Chase to reconvene his "disappointed face". Oh well, at least the disappointment was at Warren, not Gareth.

'Are we ready to go?' Warren smiled.

After swiftly grabbing his sleeping bag and clothes, Gareth was packed and in Warren's tiny car, driving back to reality.

'So, how was your first camp experience?' Warren smiled, as they drove.

'Well,' Gareth started, trying to find a way to describe it, 'Chase could have been less of a-'

'But how was it?'

Gareth paused before giving any further answer, his hand having found itself back to his medallion and stroking it, fondly.

'It... it was enlightening' Gareth simply smiled, leaving the rest of the journey to continue into the future, his thoughts on practising the C scale and preparing for the hard times ahead.