Page 3 of Composed at Randy's
I fail.
It’s just… Mel and Shay had both promised that the limo was off-limits, and I?—
“Dude, I honestly have no idea how someone like you manages to look like this.” Travis, the drummer of our band Baelfire (Yes, it was named after me. No, I didn’t pick it.) interrupts my train of thought and gestures vaguely at the entirety of my body lounging in the back of our limo. He’s referring to the black leather harness crisscrossing my black fishnet-covered chest, the artfully smudged eyeliner, and the oh-so-casually messy strawberry-blond hair cascading over half of my face.
It took my stylist Trina a solid hour of vicious poking to get it that way, thank you. She’d also tried to convince me to let my makeup artist cover my freckles, but I noped my way right out of that. Freckles are hot, and I love mine.
“Someone like me?” I ask around a mouthful of the delicious Hello Kitty-shaped sandwich I’d ordered at our favorite diner, Randy’s.
“Soft and goofy.” Travis tries to jab my food to emphasize his point, and I snatch it safely out of reach.
“I can like cute, soft things and not want to be one,” I say sagely before I get back to demolishing Hello Kitty’s torso. I pause eating when I remember I haven’t addressed the other half of Travis’s statement yet and say, “And I’m not goofy. You’re goofy.” I wad my sandwich wrapper into a ball and flick it directly at Travis’s face.
Travis smacks it out of the air and says, “The only part of you that fits this gig is that you’re a vindictive bastard.”
Vindictive?
I bet he’s talking about that time last week when I’d physically tossed out a techie openly ogling Mel’s ass while making rude gestures.
Or maybe he means the time I kicked a racist troll in the chest and accidentally knocked him down a flight of stairs.
Boy, did I get in trouble for that one.
I refused to apologize, though and chose to eat the legal fees and publicity storm it caused.
Next time, I’ll make sure there are no stairs before I kick.
If I remember.
I get in trouble a lot, by the way. I can’t help it.
No, seriously, my impulse control is complete garbage on a good day, and when I see someone doing something fucked up, it’s nonexistent. To date, I have yet to hold in the desire to show bullies and assholes the real-time consequences of their actions.
But if I don’t, who will? My fans back me every time and do some fairly outrageous things to show their support anytime I get in trouble. The shit-ton of money I have doesn’t hurt either.
I have real power in this world, and like some smart old dying guy said that one time,“A bunch of power is great...”No, that’s not it. Maybe it’s“If you can beat people up and get away with it, it’s a big responsibility…”Goddammit, that’s not right either.
I’ll google it and tell you later. I think you can get the gist though.
Anyway, I reason that a cracked eye socket or a handful of missing teeth is a great way to let my personal philosophy really sink into a person who’s in need of a solid mental rearranging.
I don’t respond to Travis’s bitchy comment other than to make a sort ofcheersmotion with Hello Kitty’s adorable head. Then I finish her off because she’s fucking delicious and needs to be inside me.
“Yeah, never mind. You can keep your goth card. No normie eats like that.”
“What can I say? I like pussy.” I give Travis a not-so-innocent smile.
“You like dick, too, so do me a favor and never eat a banana around me, okay?”
“No worries there, bananas are gross. Like, they've got those strings. Seriously, who likes eating strings? And you can't get rid of them because there's always a sneaky one hiding in there somewhere. It's like they're trying to get eaten. And don't even get me started on the bananus, man. I can’t even with that shit?—”
Travis interrupts me before I have a chance to explain why eating banana ass is completely different from eating regular ass. “What the fuck is a bananus?”
“The ass end of the banana. duh. No one wants to eat that.”
“Okay, okay, spare me the details! I'm sorry I asked. Jesus, Bael, I swear, if your fans knew what you were really like, we'd be out of business in a week.”
I’m pretty sure that if I was allowed to be as weird as I truly am, our fans would go apeshit. I think being yourself resonates with people, and it goes a long way, but nobody listens to what I think.
