"Hey Jess, you good?"
"Hm? Oh, yeah. Sorry, was just spacing out for a minute there."
Jess, in fact, was not good. Here she was, sharing a spot in line with a puddle of bum pee and cigarette butts waiting to see some metal band she'd never heard of to celebrate her promotion to 'Senior IT Analyst.' She could probably come up with about seven other things she would rather be doing right now, and they'd all be variations on the same theme: 'stay home, and shut out the world.'
"Come on, man, we're gonna see Kuhani!" said Angela. "They're, like, one of the heaviest bands on the planet, and we get to see them live! Like, how often are you gonna get to say that?"
Jess threw a sidelong glance at her and muttered "Hopefully only once." Even though Angela was doing this for her, Jess would never call her a 'friend,'
per se
-- at least not to her face. Jess wasn't sure she's had an honest-to-God friend since graduation, but Angela was probably the closest approximation she had at the moment. "Besides, have they even toured outside the state yet?"
Angela gave her friend a playful smack on the arm. "Dude, you're gonna love it, trust me -- even though you didn't exactly dress the part."
"What's wrong with what I'm wearing?"
"Dude, the only 'metal' thing you've got on right now is those shitkickers. Otherwise... jeans and a zip-up hoodie? Really? Tell me you at least have a band tee on under there."
"I do not, no," she said in a flat, even tone. "I'm sorry, is there a fucking dress code for a concert at..." -- Jess leaned out to the side to squint up at the neon sign -- "...The Meathook?" It didn't help that, looking up and down the line, she spotted maybe two or three faces darker than bone white. Even they weren't as dark as her; it looked like they treated and straightened their hair out, too, while she kept her tight curls in a natural, semi-short afro. She couldn't help but feel like she'd have stood out regardless. Different clothes wouldn't really have helped.
"Hey, it's all good, didn't mean to sound judgy. Tell you what, we'll go shopping this weekend, get you some threads, my treat. Cool?"
Jess looked Angela up and down: black combat boots -- or 'shitkickers,' as Jess had just learned they were called -- ripped-up black denim jeans, a black sleeveless Kuhani-labeled t-shirt tied up to show off her pentacle navel piercing, blue hair hanging down in twin pig tails, black lipstick, the whole nine yards. She couldn't help but smirk.
"And end up looking like dimestore black Harley Quinn? No thank you."
"Oh fuck you, I look good," Angela said, tilting her head back, flicking one of her pigtails behind her. She was being playful, but she wasn't wrong. At work, Angela drew the most stares from the guys, and from some of the girls. It didn't hurt that any and all body fat she had was comfortably resting inside of her sizable tits.
In terms of figure, Jess wasn't anything to sneeze at either. She worked out to keep semi-fit. She didn't see the need to put in any more effort into her appearance than was required, though Her main focus was on her job; everything else was secondary.
Up ahead they heard a raspy voice shout, "Have your IDs and cash ready, or get in the back of the line!" It sounded like they were starting to let people in.
"Here we go," they both said, one obviously more excited than the other. The evening wasn't particularly chilly, but Jess couldn't help but feel a slight shiver run through her as they edged closer to the door. Of course, she wasn't expecting to walk through the door to find some Satanic cannibalistic death cabal or anything, but she was still anxious. She was, technically, still walking into the unknown.
Finally making it to the front of the line, Angela waved to the bouncer. "Hey Terry!"
"Hey girl, good to see you again," the large, pot-bellied bouncer at the door replied. He and Jess leaned in and faux-kissed each other on their cheeks. Everything about him belied the gentle way he spoke to Angela: his trove of jewelry and piercings, his many tattoos, and his sheer size. "Who's your friend?" he asked, taking their IDs and cash.
"This is Jess. She just got promoted, so I'm taking her out!"
"Ah," Terry said, sizing Jess up. "First time?"
"How'd you know?" Jess asked, raising a single eyebrow. This was the first time she actually made eye contact with the man.
"Lucky guess," he answered, before turning his attention back to Angela. "We'll make sure she gets out alright. Here you go." He handed them back their IDs.
"Thanks Terry, you're the best!"
They made their way past the bouncer and got their hands stamped. Then, Angela grabbed Jessica's hand and pulled her towards the stage.
"Wanna go in the circle pit?"
"I'm sorry, the what now?" Jess asked, furrowing her brow. She started to wonder if this was where they were gonna sacrifice animals or something.
Angela laughed. "I'll take that as a 'no.' All good, we'll just hang out around it so you can at least see what it looks like."
Jess immediately started looking for the exits. She realized the room wasn't very well-lit, but she could make out some of the stone columns near the corners, mainly thanks to the dim light from the nearby red 'EXIT' signs. Looking up at the stage and seeing the band's gear on display, her heart started to pound faster. Behind the drum kit was a large black banner with the word "Kuhani" poorly written on it in white paint. Whether its quality -- or lack thereof -- was intentional or not, she couldn't say.
Looking over to the left, she noticed a smaller flag draped over one of the amps. It looked like the flag was red, blue, and black with some kind of heart on it. Observing the people around her, then looking back at this flag, she felt it was a tad out of place.
"Hey Angie, about that fl-" Before she could finish her question, the lights went out. The crowd started to cheer all around her. Some were simple 'woo's', and others were guttural screams. She saw movement on the stage. She could feel the voices closing in all around her, the eyes all looking at her, her heart pounding in her chest -- the panic starting to set in.
Blue spotlights suddenly shone from behind the stage, backlighting the band. She could make out three figures, two in front holding guitars, and a head poking out above the drum kit. From the speakers to her right, a somber, minor-key melody began. The guitar playing was slow, with heavy reverb. After a few moments, it was joined by a tenor male voice. She could see the microphone stand in front of the guy on the left. The singing was soft and clean, dragging and pushing from note to note and syllable to syllable.
Jess found herself entranced by this voice. She couldn't even pretend to understand what the words were, but the lyrics could've been absolute garbage for all she cared.
She didn't even notice Angela screaming her head off to her right: "I fucking love you! Woooooo!"
As the vocalist sang the final note, the guitarist so finished his melody. The intro had seemingly come to an end.
Then, from the stage: a violent crash of noise. The lights flared, finally revealing the band as they unleashed a cacophony of sound upon the crowd: the drums crashing all over, the guitar down-tuned and fast, and the bass guitar low and percussive. The vocalist was no longer singing; he was screaming. It was a guttural roar.
Jess turned away from the sonic assault on instinct, covering her ears and squeezing her eyes shut. Suddenly, though, she realized something: the two distinct voices -- the clean vocals, and the scream -- were both the same person. She slowly turned back towards the stage, uncovered her ears, and looked up.
Whenever Angela would talk her ear off about this metal band or any other, invariably the topic of the band members' looks would come up. Angela never really got into specifics beyond 'He looks so metal!' and 'Sooo fucking hot, oh my god!' In Jess's mind, that had meant short, rail-thin, hair everywhere, ratty clothes, and probably the persistent reek of rotten ass.
This guy, however -- this bass player -- had dirty-blonde hair that went just past the shoulders. He also had a beard, but it was neatly trimmed. His eyes were an almost luminescent blue-green. He had shoulders and pecs for days, but he wasn't huge. He was wearing a grey tanktop, but it was tight enough to prove he spent plenty of time working out.
The bass slung over those broad shoulders looked like it was of some kind of unpainted wood, and his hands moved over it with fluidity and grace -- a master's touch. The rest of him seemed to be blue jeans that went down to forever, abruptly ending at what looked like black boots underneath. It was hard for Jess to tell at this angle.
Jess scanned back up and noticed that his shirt exposed the anterior part of his pecs. His chest was so large she thought it would burst out the sides of the tanktop. With every movement his hand and forearm made up and down the fret board, his left shoulder and pec flexed.
The vocalist raised both arms and gestured at the audience. Jess turned and looked around at the crowd. Most were facing the stage, jumping up and down, and screaming along to the words. A few had phones out recording the performance. Jess realized she was sweating; whether it was due to anxiety, excitement, or her choice of clothing, she couldn't say.
Probably shouldn't have worn a sweater to a metal show
, thought Jess as she unzipped her hoodie. Thankfully, she was wearing a crop-top with spaghetti straps underneath, instead of some heavy-ass band t-shirt like Angie.
Speaking of, where is Angie?
she asked herself. Jess looked right and Angie was gone. The music stopped. The stranger that took Angie's place started cheering and screaming with the rest of the crowd; the first song had just ended. Before she could gather her thoughts, however, the next song began. The torrent of fury washing over Jess was overwhelming. Even though she didn't feel that the energy was directed at her necessarily, being in its presence was still intimidating.
Jess noticed her palms were slick with sweat. "Just find something to focus on. Anything," Jess whispered to herself. She looked back up at the bass player. Much like she was focused on his face, he seemed to be focusing his energy into the microphone. Underneath that short blonde beard she noticed his full lips pressed against the foam pop-filter covering its head. She glanced up and made contact with those almost-glowing blue eyes. Their intensity didn't seem borne of rage, but of something else -- something far more primal.
Or maybe I'm just projecting
, Jess thought to herself. She then realized that that would mean that
she
was the one feeling something primal. Jess couldn't be sure.
Two songs became four; four became eight; Jess's gaze never wavered. She even started getting into the music, finding the groove of the bass and bouncing with the crowd. Unfortunately, even though she tried to keep fit, she found that she couldn't keep up with either the band, or most of the crowd. Jess was getting tired. Her vision started to blur, but she kept her eyes on those two glowing blue orbs above her. He pointed down directly at her, and then everything went black.
A cool breeze blew across her face. It would've felt soothing, had it not accentuated the feeling of dried sweat on her forehead. She felt gross and cold. As she opened her eyes, she checked her fingers and toes.
Yep, everything's still there
, she thought. When she looked up, she saw the source of the breeze: some woman wearing a Kuhani shirt flapping a packet of papers at her face. She noticed a badge and lanyard around her neck.
Must be a stagehand or something.
