Apocalyptica Fic: What Could Go Wrong? Part 7

The disturbing sight of one man emotionally reunited with several tons of articulated metal called for the entire watching world to turn away by mutual, tacit consent and stare fixedly in the other direction.

“Two hours,” Aedd reminded them, wagging a finger reprovingly at the band, before offering his arm to Daciana; the two of them strolling off for all the world like a couple exercising easily on the banks of the Seine.

The four wildmen assigned to help proved themselves to be able electricians, and soon had the Srads wired for sound- overseen by careful, anxious musicians. Daciana had been right, however- even if these folks’ medium was the spark of electricity, they treated the beauty of the instruments with great respect. In fact, with Mikko fussing over his drums finally settled, and the band tuned, pitched and warmed up, two hours flew by, marked only by a few curious glances from the rest of the lycanthrope-would-bes as they passed before the rough stage area on their way to do whatever people who live in a wood do do on a Saturday night while waiting for terrorised musicians to play for them.

Just as Aedd swaggered onto the stage to get the clan’s attention and announce the evening’s diverting entertainments, the Driver made a reappearance. After smooching his rig for a faintly obscene amount of time, he had dived inside, unlocking it with a ‘bloop-bloop’ of his key fob. A curious woodsman who had stuck his face through the opened door in the flank of the metal and glass beastie has all but had his nose snapped off as it was summarily slammed in his face. Taken aback, this young gentleman had growled under his breath, until the Driver’s own face appeared at the window, and after a heated staring match lasting just a  few seconds, Perttu had watched, intrigued, as the woodsman had actually backed down with embarrassment, shaking his head before running off towards the tree line, shaking visibly. Perttu noted that something flashed in the Driver’s hand, and barely caught the ambiguous- and increasingly mysterious- Driver’s eye, before that man disappeared back into the tinted glass gloom of the bus.

Nothing else appearing to happen there, Perttu left him to it. The Driver wasn’t going to run away with the bus, something told the young cellist that they were safe on that score; but what he was up to was anyone’s guess. Figuring that it would be a much better bet to concentrate on the problematic job at hand, Perttu had shrugged off this odd episode, concentrating on setting his bow and making sure his instrument was happy to play- he needn’t have worried. Under awed fingers, she sang like a bird in his arms- a fluttering, sighing sound that was almost enough to make him fall in love then and there.

Aedd was garnering applause for his speechyfying up front, and while he basked in the limelight (a pair of hastily erected halogen bulbs), drawing barking laughter and roars of approval from the crowd – all in the native language and hence worrying incomprehensible to the nervous band ranged behind him, Eicca heard a “psst!” and glancing around off the back of the stage, saw the Driver gesticulating. Without trying to draw too much attention to themselves, the band hunkered down towards his wildly flapping hands; Paavo knelt to fiddle with a bootlace, Eicca crouched, head bowed, as if summoning up the gods of music to his show. Antero simply knelt, crossing himself as he went, bowing his head to hear the Driver’s scripture, while Perttu ostensibly examined the pick-up strap arrangement on the back of his instrument from a closer angle. Mikko found a sudden fascination with the peddles of his high-hat and bass. Together they leaned towards the Driver, whose bright eyes and grinning mug bespoke a faint hope they might actually get a way out of this...

“Play well boys, yeah?” The Driver gave them a huge double thumbs-up. “Big fan, big fan!”

sensing, perhaps, the leaden waves of annoyed surprise rolling over him off the stage, the Driver’s face froze in an expression of pleased fan-boy grimacing, and through suddenly tense lips he added, “I’ll wait for a signal- pick the best moment- then drop everything and run like hell for the bus.”

“Who are you- Task Force Delta?” Paavo all but spat in disappointment. Here they were, stuck in a foreign wood, about to play for their lives, and their Driver, after showing a definite tendency to unhinged behaviour, was exhorting them to do a Bruce Willis through a large gathering of heavy-set, dangerous wildmen.

The driver’s eyes flashed unexpectedly- a cold slice that sent a shiver of alarm down all their backs.

“Just- be-ready,” the Driver grated out. “And don’t piss about; I won’t wait!”

With that, he mugged a grin again, did the thumbs-up and scampered away; neatly skirting the crowd’s attention and heading back for the bus.

“Bloody ‘ell; he wants to make a run for it!” Mikko breathed.

Antero eyed the drummer grimly. “How much have to been keeping up with the morning jogs?”

“You can’t be serious!” Paavo tried to appeal to Eicca’s reason. “They’ll be all over us like an angry rug!”

He didn’t have to add that most there present looked capable of ripping them limb from limb. He didn’t need to.

Eicca met his gaze, but shook his head, amazed and unsure.

Perttu gulped, glancing nervously back towards the crowd, whom Aedd appeared to be whipping into a froth of excitement, inciting them to howl every time he swung his arms- bodily parts he was now windmilling like a good ‘un.

This could get very bad, and be very final. Aw- sh1t!

Aedd made one final swooping gesture, bringing the crowd to a baying halt, then turned and threw both arms towards the band, ta-daa!

Smiling stickily, the band pulled themselves together, and trotted nervously to the front of the stage.

“Good evening- uh- Romania!” Eicca tried.

There was a deathly silence.

“Whoa- tough crowd!” Paavo quipped.

A few titters.

“Uh, it’s really an honour to be here this evening- not to be eaten right away, give us a chance to prove ourselves-” the rest glared at Eicca. The boy was wittering, and it wasn’t helping their chances any, to judge by the stony looks of incomprehension. “-but, anyway, you can’t understand a damned word I’m saying, so what say I shut up and we rock this sh1t?!”

That was a cue, if ever there was one, and, following the hastily scribbled running order (written on the back of the label for a family-sized tin of Jalapeño peppers provided by one of the roadies), the band launched into Hall of the Mountain King. This wasn’t a usual concert-starter, but they figured that the crowd might appreciate something dated brought into the Apocalyptica style as a way in to their music.

And it appeared that the gamble was playing off. After they entered with a wall of sound, the Strads proving that they were ladies who loved a bit of rough, and Paavo’s very recognisable bass line appeared from the chaotic din, the crowd began to clap and cheer, nodding and swaying bodies with approval. Emboldened, Eicca even managed a more genuine smile, and moved front stage with his instrument, which invited Perttu to do the same, as they began throwing the melody line between them like a highly strung game of musical tennis.

By the time they rolled that number to its ending, the crowd was finally thawed, and with them all the way.

Hey, maybe this won’t be such a good-awful f*ck-up, Antero cautiously allowed himself to think. The gig is going great! What could go wrong?