“Hey, babe.” The blonde greeted Blaine at the door and kissed his cheek. “Ready to practice?”

“Sure am.” Blaine slipped off his coat and tossed it on the back of the couch.

The band had practiced in Katlinne's parents' garage almost every day. The space was small, with a dirty and torn loveseat on the outer wall, and a washer and dryer against the opposite wall serving as a table where they often went over their tabs. All their gear barely fit huddled together in the center of the musty, oil scented garage.

Everyone took their places: Robert on drums, Katlinne on mic, and Vince on guitar.

Blaine picked up the old bass guitar and held it tight across his body. He strummed and grimaced at the horrid sound from the amp. “Did you tune it right? Sounds off.”

“Let me see that.” Vince snatched the guitar from Blaine's hands and picked at the strings. “Yeah, it's a bit off. Who's the dumbass that fucked with the gear?”

“I think Marilyn has been running around in here again,” Katlinne announced.

“Fuck! Would you tell the folks to keep Mary out of here, Katy?” Vince barked, adjusting the strings. “We can't play shit if she's coming in here messing with the gear. What if she breaks something?”

Katlinne stomped towards her brother. “Why don't you tell them? Besides, she's only four. She doesn't know any better.”

“Okay, can we just get going? We have a gig in a couple of hours.” Blaine had grown impatient. Katlinne and Vince always fought with each other, ever since he'd met them. And while Blaine figured it was the typical sibling rivalry stuff, when it interfered with band practice, it drove him nuts and he always had to play the referee.

Vince huffed and shoved the guitar back into Blaine's arms. “Here. It’s not perfect, but it should work.” He stomped back to the opposite side of Katlinne and muttered, “It's a good thing the club has their own equipment.”

Blaine started with a tune and Katlinne followed humming along. Once Vince joined in with his melodic solo, the sound came together as something dark and deep.

It was the perfect sound for Club Voodoo, the manager told them the day he'd watched the band perform. She offered them a gig and the possibility of more every Friday night. That was, if their show tonight brought people in. They were absolutely sure it would.

“Whoo,” Robert howled. He threw his drum stick into the air at the end of the song. “That's what I'm fuckin talkin 'bout!”

“Still sounded like shit on Blaine's end.” Vince folded his arms in front of him, squeezing the guitar against his chest.

“Quit being a bitch.” Katlinne smacked Vince's arm. “Come on, let's get to Voodoo and check out the other bands.”

***

Dim fluorescent lights lined the club's ceiling, with black lights scattered along the walls, illuminating the bar and crowded room. The chatter of people around the bar made it almost impossible to hear the band at the opposite side of the building even though the bright spotlight shining down on the stage was hard to miss.

This was the first time they'd been in Club Voodoo together as a band; usually Blaine would just hang out, drinking booze and trying to hook up. He'd never been very successful though, most of the guys he took home were a little too tipsy to do more than pass out next to him once they arrived at his place.

Tonight, he didn't have to worry about that. This was a performance for the band, not a test to see how well he could flirt.

They moved through the crowd, Vince stopping to chat with someone he recognized. The other three lingered, waiting for their band member.

“These guys sound like shit,” Katlinne mumbled just loud enough that Blaine overheard.

“Yeah.”

Blaine focused on the other band's appearances. Short hair with longer bangs spooled over their eyes enough to hide them; tight jeans, almost too tight, and black t-shirts that displayed other, more famous, band names. It was all the latest rage among teenagers and Blaine rolled his eyes in disgust.

The singer's voice crackled through the amplifiers while the guitarist's tune was a little off making Blaine cringe.

“Fuckin screamo shit,” Vince snorted when he came back to the group.

Two ladies had gathered beside the stage, presumably the band's girlfriends, but that was it. The rest of the crowd sat farther away, watching with uninterested eyes, or they lined up at the bar to drown themselves.

“Are you Til’ Dark?” A woman approached, dressed in a tacky white with pink striped business suit jacket and long skirt, unusual for the club. She carried a notepad at her side.

This was it. Blaine's stomach began to twist in knots. He knew they had to have a hell of a performance to impress the club's owners. As he started to extend a hand out to her, Vince moved in front of him.

“Why, yes we are. And who are you, beautiful?” Vince asked with a wink.

Katlinne nudged her brother's side. “I'm sorry, ma'am, he doesn't know any better.”

The woman flashed a doubtful smirk. “Right. Anyway, I'm Vanessa, co-owner of the club,” she said while shaking Katlinne's hand. “Tommy's really looking forward to setting you up for Friday's—“

“Uh, Tommy?” Vince interrupted.

Katlinne smacked him on the arm. “He's the manager, you dumb ass.”

“Would you two knock it off?” Blaine huffed.

This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

“You sure he's not drunk?” Vanessa furrowed her brows at Vince. “There's a strict policy against drinking while on stage.”

“No, he hasn't been drinking—“

“Yet,” Vince added.

“Would you just go sit your ass down?” Katlinne clenched her fists.

Blaine stepped in front of them before they could do anything that would sacrifice their first gig. “Allow me, ma'am. I'm Blaine Schneider, bassist. We are very impressed by your club, and would love to be the front on Fridays.”

“Ah, wonderful. At least one of you has some manners.” Vanessa curled her plump red lips as she flicked her eyes in Vince's direction. “We're hoping to add a different sound. Tell me, what kind of music do you play?” She readied her pen and paper.

“Melodic—“

“Metalcore.” Vince interrupted.

“No, I wouldn't say metalcore. Dark melodic metal,” Blaine continued.

Katlinne shook her head. “Its got more of a gothic sound, though.”

“Yeah, gothic.”

“Hmm,” Vanessa wrote in her notebook. “Dark gothic melodic metal? Very interesting. Well, if you guys can pull in a crowd, it rocks. Plain and simple, right?”

The group nodded their approval. Vince raised his fist in the air. “Hells yeah.”

Vanessa smiled brightly. “You guys are on in fifteen minutes,” she said just as the music ended. A few dull applauds followed and Vanessa rolled her eyes before disappearing into the crowd.

“Metalcore?” Katlinne slapped her brother in the back of the head. “There's nothing on the set that sounds metalcore.”

“Ah, come on.” Vince shrugged. “What about the song I wrote? It's more metal than goth.”

“Not on the set,” Robert said, looking over the set list.

“Christ, let me see that.” Vince ripped the paper from Robert's hand, looked at it and sneered. “What the hell is this shit?”

“This shit is going to get us our Friday spot.” Katlinne snatched the list from Vince. “Besides, you love the solo for Save Me.”

“That pussy song? Fuck no... no offense Blaine.” Vince patted his friend's shoulder. “But that song you wrote is about as whiny as...”

Just then, the singer from the last band wandered out from the crowd.

“... this fucker right here.” Vince flicked the man's ear as he walked past.

“Asshole,” the singer snapped.

“Yeah? Come on, you pussy fuck!” Vince tried to bolt after the man, but Blaine caught him by the arm before he could step further.

“Would you knock it the fuck off, Vince? You're going to blow this for us.” Blaine tightened his grip a moment until Vince stopped struggling.

Vince stilled and lowered his head. “Get off me, man.” When Blaine dropped his grasp, he groaned, “Let's go.”

The band stepped up on stage. Blaine looked out to the crowd gathered around the bar. The bartenders were frantically working to fill orders. Most everyone was at the bar, disregarding the tables in front of the stage. Only the previous band had sat near the stage with their girlfriends.

Blaine examined the rest of the stage. The lighting controls which was a switch panel on the floor close to the front of the stage. Since he normally controlled the spotlights, he scooted the panel close to him with his foot, its long extension cord followed. Then he picked up the bass guitar, examined the club's not so expensive property, and strummed a low chord. It sounded right, at least. He looked to Katlinne in her long black skirt and gothic eye make-up as she grabbed the microphone and pulled it off its stand, then to Vince who stared bright-eyed at the un-enthusiastic crowd.

Vince jerked the mic from Katlinne's hand. “Hey, listen up, fuckers.” His voice came across the speakers. “We're Til’ Dark and we're going to blow the roof off this joint.”

The commotion caused a few to turn their heads, but that was it. The singer of the last band held up his middle finger to Vince and shouted, “Fuck you!”

Vince cringed and threw the mic back to Katlinne.

What a tough crowd. Blaine shook his head, fed up with everything already, and tapped a button on the floor with the toe of his boot. The club went dark. The crowd silenced, and, at last, Blaine could concentrate on playing a good show. He started with a low tune, perfectly played by memory.

Katlinne gripped the microphone tight and began her harmonious vocals. Once Vince and Robert joined in, it was almost perfect.

Blaine hit the spotlight button on the floor, and a few in the crowd started towards the empty tables close to the stage. He forced the smile from spreading on his lips; no, he had to remain neutral or pissed off. This wasn't some jolly pop show. It was a metal concert.

***

Despite the great start to their thirty minute set, as time passed, Blaine's luck spurt had run out. Vince had missed more notes the more he drank. Blaine had pressed the wrong button with his foot and the spotlights turned to the crowd, blinding them. And during the long solo to “Save Me”, the second to last song, a string on Blaine's bass broke, sending an ear wrenching twang through the amplifiers.

Blaine dropped his arms and hung his head, clicking the spotlight on the floor to send the club into darkness. He was tired of his shitty luck; that was the worst time for it to show up.

“Hey, it's okay,” Katlinne whispered next to him. “We brought our equipment, you know.”

Blaine shook his head, knowing full well his bass wasn't tuned right. “End it.”

“What?”

“It's over.” He unsnapped the guitar strap and set the bass back in its stand. Then he stepped across the stage.

“Thank you everyone. Til’ Dark,” Katlinne announced their end in the microphone.

As Blaine stepped down the stairs, Vanessa stopped him. “That was great. A little short on time, but very good.”

“It wouldn't have been so short if the guitar string hadn't snapped,” Katlinne said from behind.

“That bass has a bit of a glitch, but if Tommy liked it, you're welcome to bring your equipment on Friday's.”

Blaine had his doubts that the manager enjoyed their performance. Sure, everything went fine for the first fifteen minutes, but the last ten minutes sounded worse than any of their practices.

The rest of the band had crowded in close to Blaine. Vince threw his arm around him, leaning in towards Vanessa and asked, “Think the manager liked that little performance of ours?”

Vanessa's grin wavered before she turned to look toward the bar. “You guys want to stick around for a little longer, and I'll see what I can do.” Then she stepped away, giving Vince one last grimace.

“Did you fuckin see that? I think we're going to get the spot,” Katlinne said, leading the band to an empty table.

Everyone remained quiet. Blaine couldn't believe it. He searched past the crowd at the bar, spotting Vanessa and Tommy on the opposite side. The manager nodded his head and Blaine thought he saw a smile on the man’s face.

“Yeah, but Vince missed so many damn notes back there,” Robert teased as he jabbed his elbow into their guitarist's side.

“Don't be hard on him,” Blaine said. “At least we have a chance.” Though he was still skeptical.

Vince shook his head and crossed his arms with a sour pout.

“Come on. What's wrong?” Katlinne asked.

“Nothing. I'm happy, really,” Vince mumbled.

“Bullshit. I know that look. You're pissed off about something.”

“Would you get off my ass? The show went okay, but do I have to be so happy about it?”

“Yes, yes you do, okay,” Katlinne said. “We've been waiting for this for a long time.”

“You've been waiting,” Vince huffed. “Not me. This isn't my band. It was never my band to begin with. I only promised to help you out when you couldn't find anyone else.”

“Then why have you stuck around for three years?” Blaine wondered.

Vince shrugged. “Thought ya'll could give me a chance, but I don't see that happening.”

“Look, all you've done is tried to change us, Vince.” Katlinne folded her hands. “It doesn't work like that—“

Vince jumped out of his seat and slammed his hands on the table. “Suggestions. They were fucking suggestions... Never-fucking-mind.” He stomped in the opposite direction.

Katlinne bolted after him, leaving Blaine and Robert on their own.

“She's right though,” Robert began. “That's all he's tried to do is change the band. Remember his idea that we all ruffle our hair like Bon Jovi?”

Blaine chuckled. “Yeah. Or when he started rapping into the microphone to Live Dangerous?”

“You don't think he really thought about going the Korn route, do you?”

“Oh, shit, I hope not.” Thinking back to the stunts Vince pulled in the beginning helped Blaine loosen up.

They both laughed at the thought until Katlinne came back. She plopped into her chair. “You guys need to knock it off.”

“Oh, come on. We're just fucking with him.”

“He's not leaving, is he?” Blaine asked, knowing full well how hard it was to find a guitarist in the first place.

“He's at the bar getting a beer. But if you guys could lay off of him, that would be great.”