Electric Angel Rock 'n' Roller

Upon given the new information that the rock writer’s own father happened to be in the music industry as well, the blonde musician’s brunet brows rose up into his fringe with surprise evident on the remainder of his features. “Really? That is crazy how you’ve kept it in the family, but ah…” he gave a simple shrug of one of his shoulders. “Don’t worry about the accent. You sound less like a snob than a majority of British people we’ve met. Some think I have a weird accent–how strange is that?” he let out a breathy chuckle followed by a short sniffle before taking another sip from his glass. 

“It’s what I’ve heard. They don’t take too kindly to most American bands these days and our peers have dealt with some pretty rough situations, to put it mildly,” he said with a slight grimace tugging at the corners of his mouth. “But I’ll give it the benefit of the doubt. I mean, we recorded the album in England but didn’t perform. I’m sure that’s something you guys would write about: the fact that a bunch of strange-looking American guys worked with the producer who perfected “Bohemian Rhapsody” and looked after Queen. That in itself is worth a laugh.” 

Benjamin propped up his head with his hand beneath his chin, pale blue eyes shining with familiarity and warmth toward the woman while she jested about getting free tickets to one of their English shows and the comments on his drastic change in appearance. He snickered at the former statement, pensively running his ring-clad index finger nimbly over his lower lip, “I mean, I can always try it out. I’d be happy to help a friend out in any way I can.” the latter statement in regards to his appearance resulted in the man tugging at a blonde strand of hair that was slightly obscuring his DO NOT ENTER sign earring, which shook distractedly nearly every time he moved, and glancing toward it. “I’ve gotten a lot of people telling me I look completely different from those days and I suppose that’s true to some extent but I don’t know–I think it might just be the hair.” Of course it wasn’t true when the man appeared to have traded in his baby fat for a set of muscles nearly everywhere, a defined jawline and sharp cheekbones, but Benjamin was often unaware of how striking he had become, brushing it off as simply a result of his having blonde hair more than anything else. 

His gaze then shifted back to Millie, grinning with a hint of gleaming white teeth while studying her features. “With all due respect, I think you’re wrong. You don’t look a day over twenty-four in my honest opinion.” he rose his free hand as though making an oath. “Swear to god.”

“   Oh   well   …   shit   ,   if   that   isn’t   the   nicest   thing   anyone   has   ever   said   to   me   .   “   She   laughed   and   then   just   shook   her   head   .   She   was   actually   nearing   the   age   of   where   women   wanted   to   hear   this   from   men   .   “   You’re   too   sweet   .   “   Though   she   could   sense   his   sweetness   still   as   it   seemed   even   more   authentic   now   that   he   was   doing   something   that   meant   so   much   to   him   .   “   Well   ,   I   am   happy   for   you   to   be   able   to   do   what   you   love   to   do   and   make   it   what   you   want   it   to   .   Even   though   we   only   met   one   time   and   I   know   you   won’t   believe   this   .   You   really   did   make   an   impression   on   me   .   Not   that   I   like   keeping   up   with   it   until   you   guys   made   it   .   Especially   that   car   …   “   She   snickered   a   bit   about   it   .   “   I’m   just   happy   to   see   you   again   .   “   Saying   in   that   warm   tone   of   hers   to   him   ,   it   was   hard   not   to   notice   how   drastic   his   change   was   to   her   .   That   jaw   though   .   It   could   do   some   serious   damage   on   a   piece   of   meat   if   it   wanted   to   .   

Honestly   ,   she   enjoyed   his   company   . 

Also me:

Blondie, Aug. 20 - 26 Talking Heads ,  Aug. 27 - Sep. 2 Cars, Sep. 3 - 9

If one didn’t know any better, this may have been a very vexing list to read, though to the experienced eye, the building itself was a venue set up for bands on the rise to perform in when in town. They certainly weren’t the sort of bands anyone would have expected but then again the times were ever-changing and gave way for new acts to make their own paths. Certainly there was a mystical air about the place despite being in the center of a bustling city, one couldn’t help but venture inside and see for themselves what wonders were being made by the musicians of today. Seeing how the stormy day was, it was safe to assume that it was in fact September 4th, a gloomy Monday night for most save for those who resided in this little venue. The band performing were certainly not the type that would have been popular in years prior due to their rather quirky appearances and unique musical stylings, but their album that had been released just months prior was gaining quite a substantial amount of attention, causing the group’s career to take off exponentially. And here they were in this little place, being announced by the owner of the venue:

“And now, ladies and gentlemen. All the way from Boston, The Cars!”

The group of unlikely-looking rockstars took the sage, stoic and silent. Their notoriety of being a relatively distant band without virtually any acknowledgement of the audience hadn’t quite caught on though they weren’t about to change it any time soon. They would begin with “Let the Good Times Roll” and end with “Just What I Needed” and eventually returned for two songs as an encore. The unique sounds the ensemble produced was enough to make an impact on the crowd to prove their worth which was something they were all relatively proud of though after the show, they still refused to show much emotion in regards to anyone outside of their group. The venue itself remained relatively active following the performance, many of the other occupants simply dancing to house music or hanging around with friends and/or significant others while the band sat close to the bar though not exactly together but merely in the same space, waiting out the rain and having a beer. There sat Benjamin, the bassist and one of the lead vocalists, sporting clothes far from his vest, choker and leather pants get up from the performance; a white sweatshirt with a subtle Boston Red Sox logo, the sleeves rolled up over his brawny forearms and bright red trousers with sleek brown ankle boots; rather tame by comparison but enough to make him feel rather comfortable since he was a tad too shy to communicate with fans unlike the lead and rhythm guitarists of the band, and who could blame them? Their confidence often flourished when a venue was swarming with attractive women and Ben could only look on with amused admiration. 

He wouldn’t mention why he had missed out to Madeline, in fear that he might ruin the mood, instead choosing to smile through it and hope she wouldn’t persevere the reasons behind his inability to stand out from the famous festival. Not much later did she offer for them to meet again the following day and the faux smile began to transition into one of a more genuine nature. “Well–gosh! I’d …” he lowered his voice so as to not appear overexcited. “I’d like that. You seem to be a one-of-a-kind lady, you know?” His intense blue gaze remained fixated on her own while a hand lowered to gently grasp her own, bringing it up to brazenly press his lips to her skin, gauging her reaction with that classic bedroom stare he seemed to naturally possess with little to no effort.

“Well, I’ll give you my number and you can give me a call tomorrow. We’ll work out the details,” Madeline told him, planning on writing it down on a napkin later. Ben had gently taken her little hand and pressed his lips to it, staring through her with ice blue eyes. A bright blush rose on her cheeks as she looked away and giggled. For a girl that talked a big game, Madeline sure got flustered very easily.

It wasn’t long until the woman had changed the subject, her voice reverting to its (perceived as) usual cheer demeanour, commenting on how much she had revered those days of the peace and love movement. A thin line of a grin stretched across Benjamin’s striking features while she reminisced of the days passed. “Hard to believe that was over a decade ago. So much has changed,” he commented softly before returning his attention back to his companion. 

“I see it this way. I still carry it with me. I still carry that feeling, those memories. If I still have all that, it’s not over.” That was either profound or depressing or both, Madeline thought to herself. She mentioned that things and people changed and you just had to roll with the punches. If only she’d take her own advice for once. Whatever, she was getting too far into her own head. This was a rooftop party at the motherfucking Riot House. This was no time to philosophize, this was time to continue getting shit faced.

“Hey, of course- it did take me a second when you ran on stage but, I could never forget this face! No matter how blonde you are..” A sweet giggle fell from Whitney’s lips as she playfully pinched Ben’s cheek— it was true, he always stood out like a sore thumb to her, in a wonderful way. He was quite handsome and that crooked grin of his had always been contagious, especially when they were young adults ; even a decade later, nothing had changed. It made her chuckle, though, at how quickly he was to recognize her earlier- her youthful features hadn’t really altered much, just a more mature version of herself took the place of the bubbly brunette from Indiana. “Think I changed at all?”

As she fixed him up, clearing his eyelids of shimmery eyeshadow, Whitney simply beamed. It was truly something- once they got back into the groove of interacting with each other, it was almost like they’d never parted- even if their reunion started just minutes prior. They simply clicked and enjoyed each other’s company, and she listened to his musings with a happily open ear. “Well hey, it’s not always easy, but- you eventually get the hang of it… it doesn’t look half bad on you, honestly..” She mused, brows furrowed in concentration before the color was cleanly smudged from his skin. She noticed that sly look coming from him and grinned. “What are ya lookin’ at, blue eyes..?” It was playful, of course, but that look nearly made her blush reappear. Keep it together, Whitney…

With one more swipe of the rag for good measure, the brunette finished and watched as he got up from the seat, starting to pack up a handful of things into his bag. “That cat is a handful…but I love him dearly. He likes to steal my food sometimes..” A roll of the eyes along with a chuckle. “Good lord, I sound like a crazy cat lady!”

Her eyes then softened as he continued. “That’s really sweet, Ben- you were and still are a really good friend to me.” She said softly, a genuine smile creeping it’s way onto her lips as a dainty hand found his arm. “And as far as your projects go- of course that wouldn’t stop me from continuing to write you, I was happy to know about what was going on in your life ; it would brighten my day, really- especially when things weren’t going too well on my end.” The hand then softly fell back down to Whitney’s side and she soon followed suit to the main floor- Ben leading the way.

Right away Whitney knew that the first piece of a description for Ben’s fellow band mate had been much too vague, seeing as it was more of the first thing that popped into her head than an actual guess or recollection— and she couldn’t help but laugh along when he teased about being more specific, much like the good old days when he gave her that same look for a small mix-up here and there. There’s Benny.. “I know, I know! Y’know, um..yes, okay!” A pensive finger tapped on her chin, but it only took a few moments before the bassist confirmed who the correct tall subject was. She had met two other very tall friends of his the night before, and was glad that she’d guessed right out of the fear of embarrassing herself a bit— but she knew it wasn’t a big deal. “That’s really cool, actually- I’m not surprised that that’s his thing, even from the short we met yesterday. But really? Leather undertones..? Does that mean what I think it means…?” She then gave him an inquisitive look, one brow arching up to the ends of her dark fringe. Now it was her turn to tease him back, ending with a playful nudge to his arm and a sarcastic little laugh. “Obviously it means you’re perverted degenerates.. geez, Benny, pump the breaks on all that leather you guys are wearing..”

The level of playful concern grew on Whitney’s face as she watched Benjamin throw back his liquor like it was nothing, and she wondered if this was what he did after any other show or if he was just very excited to be off stage and get intoxicated as soon as possible. A bout of comfortable silence fell between them as her own beer was nearing half full now, and soon he seemed to be done with his second glass of whiskey on the rocks before he spoke up once again, this time with a surprisingly enthusiastic tone— it only made her smile again, so no harm done of course. Another laugh fell from her alcohol-stained lips as he spoke yet again about the ill feelings pertaining to his stage clothes, which she absolutely did not mind.

In response to the discussion of his band’s first album’s rejected original cover, he gave her a smirk upon the implications of the leather theme being related to something of a more sensual nature, something which made him quickly break character when she decided to call him and his band a group of “perverted degenerates”, his head tilting back as he released a guffaw in his baritone voice. “Yeah--that’s us alright. The strangest-looking perverts to ever grace the music charts!”  

Her compliment on his stage attire did not go unnoticed for once he gazed downward to remember just what he had been wearing, a shrug of his broad shoulders would be his initial reply, followed by the humble comment of, “Oh this? It’s just something silly I found in a shop when looking for something fun to wear that fit David’s criteria for our image. You should see the other stuff I wear.” he pauses to wet his lips and take another sip from his fresh glass. “I have this shirt that is completely split open along the side here,” he gestured toward his torso, tracing his finger down the seam of his current shirt. “But it’s kept together with strings tied together of all things! It looks ridiculous but I like it. Very breathable.” he nodded loosely, the alcohol truly began to settle in his bloodstream as that comforting, fuzzy feeling resulted in his typical half-lidded gaze becoming less emotive than before; eyes failing to widen as much as usual until he remembered their conversation and moved to carry on to changing backstage so as to not give her the lasting memory of an old friend in stage clothes soaked in sweat and reeking of a gymnasium locker room. “Alright, enough chit-chat about me, just tell me more about you and what you’re doing these days.” he began, gesturing in the form of a nod of his head toward the backstage entrance before approaching that area himself, figuring that the conversation had given his band mates enough time to change their clothes and give them some privacy to continue their discussion.