At the sight of the notebooks, Tabby lights up. Wordlessly, she hooks the strap of the guitar around her neck and sits down on the floor as Viv leaves. She doesn't bother asking for an amp; she always found the mistakes in her playing to present themselves while the strings were quiet.
"I'm going to shower, nobody bother me for at least an hour. If I pass out, let me be. I need the sleep."
"G'night," Tabby says, turning to look at the notebooks. Something urges her to grab one of them and start flipping through, but doesn't. She is curious, but hesitant to pry too far. "Woah, how long have you had these?" she asks, looking at the leopard-print cover specifically.
Quickly testing to see if the guitar is in tune, she makes a slight adjustment to the B string, then looks up at Beau. "Where should I start? Give me any page and I'll try and figure it out. she says. The eagerness in her words doesn't match her voice. It is pretty much always calm and smooth, no matter what she was saying. "I'll try anywhere," she continues, strumming the thin strings lightly.
"God, maybe three years?" Beau narrows his eyes as he thinks before sitting down on the floor beside Tabby. "Viv and I started writing in them before we met Mav and…" He paused. "Yeah. The riffs in the beginning are a lot older and pioneered our debut album, but then we moved past the power chords and more into deeper stuff with some fuzz." From beneath the couch, Beau slides his own guitar out. It's a black stratocaster with stickers and orange and red duct tape slapped across it.
With a practiced hand, he plays the main lick of the namesake song of their second album–Crybaby. It sounds cleaner without the distortion of the amp and fuzz of the pedal. "So, it'll be smart to start with our setlist. We rarely change it from show to show granted we're just the opener. We usually start with Bleed, then we move into Fuckin' Frenzy, Hotel Eight, One Night Stand, Rope the Thunder, Crybaby–" He snaps his fingers.
"Wind-Up," Maverick inputs after clearing his throat.
"Yes, thank you Mav." Beau laughs softly. "Wind-Up, then Yonder There, Mind Break, Small Thing, and we end with Ninth Spire." He plays their iconic riff from Ninth Spire as he finishes the list. "Sometimes we take some out or add another one depending on our time slot or if we need to buy time for the main act."
"Mm." Tabatha listens carefully to the setlist as it's listed off. The lick Beau plays is still familiar. Crybaby, Wind-Up, Hotel Eight, Small Thing, and Ninth Spire she recognizes- she remembers shouting the lyrics to Ninth Spire with Drew that one time… God, that was fun. It also destroyed her throat for a day, but that was nothing compared to some other shows she'd been to. If she knew more of the actual lyrics that might've been a different story.
"I'm not totally caught up on all of this," she admits. "I've heard the earlier stuff. Not much else- but I've heard Bleed." She lifts her head from her guitar. "I'm sure I'll have most of it down by rehearsal, though. If not, I want you to leave me on the curb." She says this with a serious tone, but laughs after a moment.
"How did Wind-Up go again? The lick, I mean." She messes around for a moment, trying to see if she can find it herself. After a few seconds she finds the first couple seconds. "Well, after that," she adds, trying what she already knows a few times.
The guitarist laughs softly at Tabby's rambling antics. "Don't worry about all of it. I promise we'll be fine no matter what." The show had already been postponed for six days. The crowds were angry. Some had been understanding granted that the rhythm guitarist of the opening band was found dead in a trailer, but the overall vibe was clearly displeased. Beau feels his natural smile fading at the thoughts, but he shakes it all away, leaning into Tabby as he watches her play.
"Here–" Beau plays the following riff to Wind-Up a few times, on the third repeat beginning to say the notes with the play. "Don't worry about getting the riffs down." He's still playing, his fingers practically moving on instinct at this point. "You're our rhythm and you can leave all the hard stuff to me." He smiles and reaches back to pull his shoulder-length hair into a short ponytail with the lemon scrunchie. "Sorry you're in this position to begin with, love. It's not really ideal for any of us."
Behind them, Maverick clears his throat and stands, excusing himself to the bedroom he shares with Beau. The guitarist turns to watch him leave, turning back to Tabby after the door's been shut.
Tabby watches and listens closely, picking up with Beau to be playing in time with him. She watches her own hands carefully, hoping to get a visual of what the song is supposed to look like being played. She smiles slightly to herself. When Beau pauses to tie his hair back, Tabby continues for a moment until he apologizes. She looks up with a surprised expression.
""Sorry"? I signed up for this," she laughs. "I'm enjoying myself so far. No one's thrown up on the side of the road yet, so this is one of my better experiences," she jokes obliviously. Realizing what she'd said, she clears her throat and adopts a more quiet, serious tone. "But, uh, yeah. I know I'm no Saylor, but I'll try my best, y'know?" Tabby says cluelessly.
It's then when Tabatha realizes Maverick has left the room and she continues working on the lick, ducking her head to watch her fingers on the fretboard. Somehow she feels like she worded something wrong, but can't say what. That tended to happen a lot when she would start going off on tangents with each time she spoke, but she was usually able to pinpoint where she went wrong and backtrack or apologize. The air felt oddly heavy.
Beau smiles softly at her, shaking his head and causing a few pieces of hair to escape his lemon yellow scrunchie. "I wouldn't place a bet on nobody getting drunk out of their mind. Maverick is never one to turn down a drinking game, and that's proved much more problematic than helpful. He may be a massive guy, but he's a lightweight who's unable to say no." His smile slightly wavers at her more serious disposition. "No, no, you're all too fine, love. I guess this new change is sudden for us all. Poor Viv was the one who found Saylor, she was the closest to them. Don't take it the wrong way if she treats you kind of scummy for the first week or two. It takes her a while to get used to anybody."
The memory of he and Viv's first meeting almost causes him to laugh. They met at a club, she was a fine lady, he danced over to her and she spilled her drink on his head and firmly declared her lesbianism to the entire club. Afterwards they were kicked out and found a different club to play open-mic at. From there, she invited him to her band, which had only been her and her close friend Saylor.
The guitarist spares a quick look to the door Maverick disappeared behind, then listens for the running water of Viv's shower. Usually, Beau would feel depressed and lonely without his friends in the living area with him, but he's growing quite attached to Tabby. She's sweet, kind of clueless but she has the spirit. A naturally gifted guitarist and quick learner, too. "Let's get back to playing, yeah?" Beau looks to his guitar, the high riff of Hotel Eight coming naturally to his fingers. "I want you to play this but down it an octave."
"Poor Viv was the one who found Saylor, she was the closest to them. Don't take it the wrong way if she treats you kind of scummy for the first week or two."
What?
Something in Tabby's subconscious seems to click, but she doesn't know what. Maybe the wording was just weird- "was"- but wasn't there talk about something else happening? She doesn't remember, which makes her realize just how tired she is.
But knowing the sort of "off" demeanor from Vivian was normal is oddly comforting to Tabby. Despite this, she still feels an urge to at least try and connect with her, as she would anyone and everyone else. She nods. "Good to know," she says genuinely.
As Beau begins the Hotel Eight's riff, Tabatha feels herself pulled back out of her head and back into the world. Tabby nods and listens for a moment- after some messing around, she finds the first notes, then the second and third and so on. She lowers it an octave afterward, playing along with Beau. "This is it, right? I think I have it." She stops then quickly plays part of the riff at a more rapid speed to check. "Could be messing something up, I can't tell."
(hi, im so sorry bestie i have been struggling lately aldskjf too much homework and even more burnout and the rp brainworms have not been kind to me)
Beau smiles as he watches her play for a few moments. As she lowers it to the proper octave, Beau takes his opportunity to play the main riff of Hotel Eight over the top of it. He has to admit that it sounds nice–not nearly as practiced as what it had been, but it's definetely something Beau can work with. "You've got it, darling!" He says, his unfortunate London accent seeping through his words. If Viv were here, she'd throw something at him and tell him to shut up. His accent is annoying and Beau disrespectfully disagrees. Everything about him is perfect.
"I think you're just lingering too long on the end here–stop the notes quick, we don't want a reverb that could tangle things up." He shows her his quick-stop tactic for his notes. "But other than that, I think we're at a good starting point." He smiles, a flashy sort of thing. He may be British but at least he takes decent care of his teeth. "After you do the lick, you follow the key changes the rest of the band is taking. I don't remember exactly what switch we make, but trust me, it will feel right when you play with us. Instinct will take over."
(Sorry this is incredibly short, I've also been super super busy and burnt out and stuff 😞 I lost track of time which tends to happen a lot this time of the school year)
Tabby attempts the technique Beau shows her. She isn't sure she has the lick completely, but assures herself that she will learn quickly. Picking up musical information is something she prides herself in; she always has. Not as much when it comes to more "practical" matters.
"I trust you enough to not question that," Tabby says, smiling as she continues her attempts, getting closer and more familiar with each repeat of the lick. "I'm sure it'll be fine! Great, even," she adds enthusiastically. She pauses as she realizes the slight change in Beau's voice.
"Where are you from?" She asks, distracted. Maybe it was prying- again- but Tabby is not only naturally inquisitive, but also unskilled at making conversation any other way. Not for very long, anyway. It feels strange to just begin practicing without saying a word, and the silence that had briefly fallen between she and Beau was uncomfortable enough for her to actively avoid it. "Someplace in the UK?"
(HI YEAH don't worry man I feel you,, it's the end of the year and I am feeling DEFINITELY burnt out. A little. A lot.)
Beau laughs softly, shaking his head and letting his hands lay limp on the neck and body of his guitar. "I thank you, darling." And he does. It's not often his stupid ego gets stroked, especially with bandmates like Viv and Maverick. They're amazing musicians and talented artists, but they could definitely use a little more coaching in the whole "Friends" department. Viv can be mean, Maverick can be oblivious. Is a decent set of friends too much for Beau to ask? `
The sudden question jars Beau a bit, but he's quick to recover with a smile. "No, don't worry about it, love. And yeah, I'm from London. I lived there until I was seventeen before I ditched the Big Ben for the Big Apple." He snorts. God, that was what? Five–six years ago? "All the heavy metal bands in England were full or failing, so I thought my best bet would be here." He winks. "And I was right."
(GUH IM ALIVE sorry for the wait again😖)
"Really? That's so awesome," Tabby replies, eyes widening. "Is it much different here? I've never been out of the country, and I can say with confidence that Chicago- or wherever we are- is a little different from where I grew up."
Tabatha had a little more luck when it came to the music scene in her hometown. Just a few minutes' drive from Austin was her middle and high-school, where she first took an interest in music- especially guitar. It's hard to imagine anything less than the experience Tabby was raised on.
"Really? I expected a bit more from London," Tabby says. "I think you're better off in the states, though. Maybe fate fucked up the bands and brought you here?" She smirks. "Not a bad turnout, in my opinion."
(I UNDERSTNAD DW)
"Yeah, it's all pretty different," Beau laughs with a shake of his head. "For instance, they drive on the wrong side of the road over here. Also, they insist on calling crisps chips? And their chips are called french fries for whatever reason. They're not even French?" He throws his hand up in mock expiration. "I guess London will always be my home, but I've left it behind. America's where my future's at."
Beau had started out swallowed by the punk scene when he was a pre-teen. His brother liked to drag him to mosh pits and it was a miracle he didn't break any bones while the Clash criticized every single aspect of government and society. When his mother forbade him from becoming a punk, Beau decided he'd become a metal head. He grew his hair to a mullet, got a few tattoos and wore leather gloves everywhere he went. His first band was made out of his best friend's garage. They all pretended they could play music until they actually learned.
"Well, I appreciate those kind words, love," Beau smiles his stupid flirty smile and leans back on his hands. "How about you? Where did you come from?"
"Round Rock, Texas. Unlike you, I grew up somewhere normal," Tabby laughs. "And, by the way, the right side of the road is where you're supposed to drive. That's why it's 'right'." She smiles at her own horrible joke, anticipating the typical reaction toward puns.
Tabatha clears her throat. "Wait, so how did you all meet?" she gestures past Beau at the room where Vivian was staying, as well as Maverick's.
