Series: Original (Marty the Banker)
Disclaimer: Wholly original work.
Summary: "We take these things from you!"
Marty grabbed the microphone from the stand, leaving the guitar parts for Jack to figure out. They'd done this song enough times that Jack would be able to improvise. And Marty just wanted to... sing.
"We take these days - These nights - These needs
He was growling, shrieking, lost in the song and the power he was pulling from the air and from the crowd. The sound guy was thankfully smart enough to turn his guitar down, muting the crash it would have made otherwise as Marty threw himself forward, still purging himself through his voice as he struck the edge of the mic stand and sent it teetering.
He didn't even see it fall forward, didn't see a guy in the front row who looked so much like all the other guys in the front row at first glance reach to catch it.
All Marty knew was that suddenly the song was over and he was drenched in sweat, gasping for breath as he went to put down the microphone.
"Thank you, Clairmont," he said quickly, ignoring the cheering once he realized the stand was gone.
Their eyes met for a second, locking briefly as the stand was hoisted back and Marty took it with a smile, knowing words would be lost now anyway. And impulsively, he handed his guitar pick back, earning a beaming smile in the process. Blonde. Green eyes. Instantly memorable now...
"Hells was that?" Jack was screaming suddenly, reaching to get Marty's guitar away. "Hells!"
The moment was over. The magic, gone. And Marty suddenly found himself in an emptying dive with an understocked bar, tired and not really wanting to pack up and leave.
"I had a moment," Marty replied, giving one last look off the stage. The other man was gone, probably off with the rest of the scene, getting drinks and getting ready to go. Once the music stopped, there was no reason to linger in such a hole, anyway.
"I've never hear you sound like that." Jack was already half-packed and Marty felt instantly useless for not having done a single thing yet but stare at the face in his mind.
Shit. And that was lost now too.
"There was a bit of magic in here, I guess," Marty explained, finally bothering to start unplugging cables. He needed a drink more than anything. Why the fuck wasn't someone bringing them drinks? Fuck...
Not three minutes before, he'd felt as though he had the world and now... a dive in the bad part of Clairmont, playing to soused college brats and factory workers. This was not what he'd imagined.
He wanted to be the song. That's where the magic was. He wanted to Take.
Drink Lemonade! Tip Your Waitress!