Inhaling more pot-filled smoke, Matt Roberts closed his eyes and took in all the noises of the room. The chatter of stoned partiers, gritty alternative music from a nameless band on the shoddily-built stage, the crackling of a beer-can as it was popped open; this electrified atmosphere was what he lived for. Still, he couldn’t help but feel slightly out-of-place. His date was off somewhere, likely flirting with other men, but that behavior wouldn’t be too troubling. This wasn’t exactly a formal occasion, and there were no etiquette rules to be broken. Besides, she had cheated on her (now ex) boyfriend at a similar party several months ago, with none other than Matt himself.

Perhaps out of slight boredom, his attention was turned towards the band onstage, and he quickly began wondering how the duo had been so largely ignored throughout the evening. The kid at the front of the stage, looking no older than 18, seemed to practically beg attention with his dyed blue hair and wardrobe choice of a tattered tuxedo. His amp was of terrible quality, to the point that his guitar-playing could scarcely be heard above the noise and chatter of the party. It was obvious that he favored flair and dramatics above quality, to the extent that he’d dress sharply, at the expense of sounding like shit onstage. The drummer, on the other hand, seemed to be everything his fellow band-mate wasn’t; level-headed and casual. Dressed in a simple black shirt, his charming looks made it abundantly clear which musician was more likely to score with a woman after the show.

Although their true worth seemed to come from being a spectacle, rather than performers, they were still unlike anything Matt had seen before. Whether intentional or not, the two possessed a perfect duality of the subdued and the extravagant. And yet, despite this symmetry, something seemed to be missing. A two-piece band was always a bizarre sight, and it was no difference for this one in particular. It was an incomplete act, one that needed a bridge between the two widely different personalities.

“Good evening, cunts,” the guitarist said with a sarcastic smile on his face and arrogance in his voice, “We are the ‘Octopus Arson Club’, and it is fantastic to see a whooping nine of you paying attention to us. I suppose the booze is more important than witnessing a future rock star in the making. Doesn’t really make much sense to me, but then again, I have an IQ above 40.”

As expected, there was a hostile reaction from the small crowd; bottles and cans were thrown at the guitarist, and various insults and explicates were shouted. Even the drummer, who had played no part in the actions that angered practically everyone in the audience, was bombarded with similar objects. Still, the newly-created aggressive attitude towards them didn’t dampen the guitarist’s spirits. Having finally achieved his apparent goal of attracting attention, he merely winked at his drummer and began playing the next tune.

Matt’s reaction towards ‘Octopus Arson Club’ was very different than the others, as he was ever so slightly enthralled by their theatrics. As he rejoined various conversations with various people, the antics of the unknown guitarist were crossing his thoughts. After several more minutes of quiet pondering, Matt finally relented and asked about the band. The stoner, someone who’s name Matt had already forgotten, gave an answer in a very slurred and unfocused manner;

“Oh, you mean Eric Johnson and Greg Oldson? Yeah, yeah, used to go to school with ‘em. Eric’s an alright geezer, always knew how to piss people off. Don’t know why Greg would fancy being in a band with him, though; always seemed like more of the brighter sparks.”

“Doesn’t exactly seem like that now, does he?” Matt said, observing the cut on Greg’s forehead from a thrown bottle. No further conversation was made, as the stoner was, by now, too far gone to tell left from right. It was simply amazing that he could’ve made a casual remark in the first place.

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OOC: I've done this sort of thing before; the backstory to Infinite. I've just always liked writing about it, since it's interesting, for me, to show what Eric Quillington was like before he was famous. This is going to go from the time where Matt joins the band, up to the first major storyline I wrote. Anybody interested in reading that RP can click HERE. The second part of this Prelude will be up later today, after which the storyline will really get going. Probably about 10 parts total, I'm not really sure yet. Let me know what you think, though; I hope everyone likes it!

OOC: Thank you very much! Stay tuned, though; the best is yet to come, haha.

OOC: Younger Infinite FTW.

OOC: Thanks, man! I've always liked to develop characters in personality, so it'll be nice having Eric go from the arrogant ass he is here to modern-day Quixotic, haha.



OOC: YES! It's incredibly fun to write this story while they're young, since I can have them be radically different than they are nowadays.



OOC: Thank you so much! I'm trying to make this as detailed as possible, so I'm glad the effort is paying off. Part 2 will be up soon, I just didn't want to have a super-long post, since people might lose interest. So, I split it in half.

Two musicians stood in an alley, outside of the party they had been performing in front of for the last hour. The word ‘musicians’, however, was something of a stretch; the most memorable part of their act had been Eric’s sarcastic comments to the audience. As angry as they had made each and every member in the small crowd, they had no choice but to go back and face them again after this short break; the other band had unceremoniously bailed, leaving ‘Octopus Arson Club’ to perform during the entirety of the party. In between the two performances, Greg and Eric were content to relax outside, leaning against the alley-wall. Once again, the word ‘relax’ isn’t entirely accurate; there was an uncomfortable silence between the two. Most of the tension had to deal with the consequences of Eric’s outburst, primarily how Greg wound up with a gouge on his forehead while the reason behind the thrown bottles walked away unscathed.

“Well, that was quite an audience,” Eric said, hoping to diffuse some of the built-up anger radiating from his drummer, “They were quite funny, too. I guarantee they’ll have us in stitches by the end of the evening.”

Rather than the hoped-for reaction of a smile or a laugh, Greg simply stared at Eric with barely contained irritation. These types of difficult situations weren't among the guitarist’s specialties, who typically preferred a more lively discussion. This one, on the other hand, was more one-way, with Eric doing most of the talking. But, if Greg didn’t want to have a conversation, that sure as hell wasn’t going to stop it from happening.

“I mean, I’ve heard of the expression ‘throwing everything except the kitchen sink’ whenever you’re really enthusiastic about something, but these guys are taking it literal-“

“No, just… stop. Let it go.”

As this exchange of terrible puns and rejected humor continued, a third person quietly made his way down the alley. Matt Roberts, who had been looking for an opportunity to talk to the duo since Eric’s poorly-received outburst twenty minutes ago, finally saw his chance. A bass guitar, slung in a bag around his shoulders, signified his intentions. By this time, the conversation between the band-members had shifted into one of Eric’s periodic boasts of ego and superiority.

“They don’t appreciate a Messiah until he walks on water, nobody does. Another five years, when they see me playing Wembley, think they’ll have different opinions. Let’s go in there and play fuckin’ Supernova, or Styx, one of our originals. I bet it’d-“ Eric abruptly stopped his rant after noticing Matt listening in on the conversation, “Yeah, mate, what do you want?”

“Oh, nothing,” Matt said, irritated at Eric’s hostile tone of voice, “Just wanted to make sure you hadn’t been knifed or something. They fucking hate you guys.”

“Words of comfort, thank you so much,” Eric said in a chirpy tone, obviously unbothered by the harsh reality, “What about you, though? Do you hate us?”

“I think you’re a laugh, though not really in the bad way. The sound is just kind of flat; you need a bassist.”

“Oh, I see. This is you asking to join the band.”

Matt, while talking face-to-face with Eric for the first time, observed something rather bizarre; he seemed much more out-of-place when not performing onstage. There was a slight awkwardness in his posture, as if he didn’t know what to do with his hands while not playing an instrument. Eric Johnson was alien in appearance, and bizarre in personality; someone who seemed to barely function in society, but was somehow a spectacle to behold. He was the perfect frontman, and Matt wanted to join his band. Thankfully, Eric made the first move.

“Tell you what, mate, I’ve got something of a proposition for you. But, first, one question; are you in a band?”

“Well, I was, but even then it was nothing serious. I mean, we called ourselves the ‘Infinite Problematique Crisis of Sector 8’. We were practically taking the piss, y’know?”

“Actually, I lied. Two questions; is it still considered plagiarism if you only take one word?”

Unsure of what to make of this question, Matt merely shrugged his shoulders in slight confusion. Taking this action as a way of saying no, Eric gave an enthusiastic thumbs-up, turned on his heels, and began walking back inside. Greg, having long since gotten used to his band-mate’s way of giving orders, quickly followed his lead while gesturing for Matt to do the same. For a second, though, he stayed behind and thought over whether or not he really wanted to perform with them. The frontman seemed to be making it up as he went along, without a plan or care in the world. And although it was a perfect representation of the hedonistic lifestyle, it would still make for an incredibly scattershot experience. Still, Matt had nothing to lose; the worst that could happen would be the trio getting booed off of stage. This wouldn’t be extremely bad, in all honesty, since most of the people at the party were too drunk to even be able to hit a car with a can. And, if well-received, Matt would likely get laid, as all good musicians do. So, in the end, there would either be cans or a female. It would probably be the former choice, but the night would be interesting either way. Taking a deep breath, Matt stepped into the building, making the best decision of his life.

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OOC: So, I'm envisioning this to be in the style of a TV Show; there will be different episodes, with the 'Prelude' being the first. It's an usual idea, so I'm not really sure if this'll work or not. Still, worth a try, right? There will be about 10 episode, culminating with a re-write of the 'Growing Pains' storyline that I did a while back. Let me know what you think, though!

Edited by user 02 June 2011 07:36:44(UTC)  | Reason: Not specified

Ooc: Great stuff again man. Well written and totally interesting. I think episodes will work well. Looking forward to reading more. I think alongside Stacey, you are bossing the RP section at the moment!