Be-Goths and Black Cellos

[Ni Gustov]

“You turn left two streets down, and then you hang a right at the street after that.”

‘Thanks kid…You’re not near as spooky as you look…ya know? Anyway, thanks.’

The tourist wandered off in the direction Ni had pointed. The man had been obviously lost, and very hesitant to ask anybody for directions. (You know how tourists are, never wanting help from the natives) Meeting a semi-short boy, with vibrant blue hair, and a large instrument case on his back probably didn’t help much. When Ni had walked up to him, he looked genuinely freaked out. He had stared at the soft cello case that hung like a backpack from Ni’s shoulders, as if it was a weapon of mass destruction. Ni had smiled, been polite, and even helped him out with his map. (the man had it upside-down, which made Ni question his intelligence.) The man had been trying to go to a show, but had gotten lost on the way there. Ni had been happy to help a traveler get to his destination, even if it meant he would be late getting to his.

The man turned and waved to Ni, who waved back, then walked off. He had to get there and set up, which meant a cramped and crowded subway ride, and an 8 block walk. He had about an hour and a half to get there, and he would make it on time damnit! He adjusted the cello case, took a deep breath, sighed, and began to walk.

The Be-Goths club was a bit strange. No one used their real name there, and it wasn’t just for adults, teenagers could go there, there was no (believe it or not) alcohol served there. That was what drew Ni to it first. It was great way to meet other people like him. You know, people who liked the same music, dressed the same way, (basically) had the same taste in books and comic books, and artwork as Ni. He had gone there in his freshmen year by recommendation of a senior who had had the same goth tenancies as Ni. Ni had taken his advice, and gone one night. He immediately liked it. Twice a month they had live music, but it was not the normal music. It inspired Ni to get off his ass and actually do something with his cello. (and various other instruments he played) He had gone into the owner’s office during the off hours one day, with his cello, and played a few songs. The owner applauded, and immediately gave Ni a trial. Ni couldn’t believe it, but he showed up the next weekend with his cello, and went to town. The other kids thought “The Ghastly Cello Society” was a hit, and Ni had been asked back once a month since then. He got about 150 bucks each time, and was pretty much a regular there now.

He pushed his way through the gate to the subway, parting the crowd like the red sea with his cello case on his back. Several people stared at him, but he was used to it. It wasn’t just the way he looked, he knew that. It was the fact that he was carrying an instrument case that was practically taller than he was. He shuffled through the metal detectors, which consequently went off. A security guard came over, and made him take off his spiked collar, spiked wristband, and his black belt. (the belt buckle was what caused that one to be removed.) Five minutes later, the guard said ‘Well, you’re not carrying any weapons, though good God kid, you look like you could be.’ Ni just smiled, saluted, and walked through the gate. He held his ticket tightly in his right hand, and onto one of the cellos straps with the other. Slowly he shifted his cello case, and rotated his shoulders. The subway train came, the door opened, and Ni pushed his way through the oncoming crowd of people who were going the opposite direction.

In the train, Ni didn’t have a seat. He stood up, arm above his head, grasping the metal bars that went above. The people did that sideways glance thing, or at least some of them did. You know the one where they pretend not to look at you head on, but really look out of the corner of their eyes to see if you’re going to make someone spontaneously combust with your evil death stare. Ni didn’t smile, and didn’t laugh. He knew his style made people stare at him, but he somehow was under the delusion that maybe some people out there wouldn’t stare. He looked down at his large steel toed boots. They were black and went up to his knees. There were large buckles on them, and the steel part, which is normally on the inside of boots, were on the outside. He studied them, and came to the conclusion that they looked like army boots to a certain degree, but weren’t the most comfortable pair that he had had over the years. The train slammed to a stop, and he jumped off, pushing through the crowd, and running up the stairs to the outside world.

The cello bashed against his back as he took off at a sprint towards Be-Goths. The 8 blocks were busy, and he had to stop at nearly every crosswalk. He wouldn’t dare run through one of the crosswalks, he didn’t care about getting hit himself, he could shift in time before it would hurt him, but his cello would be smashed into a million pieces. He couldn’t stand that thought. His cello was so important.
“Move it you little bastard!” Somebody yelled at him. Ni didn’t pay any attention, he just kept walking forwards. Be-Goths was only a couple hundred feet away. He saw an opening through the crowd of people, and began to run. Hey, if the bike messengers could do it, so could he. He pushed his way through the few people, and stood outside Be-Goths. His destination at last.

He walked around through an alley way to the back. He knocked three times on the door, and Mervyn let him in. ‘Hello Morpheus, here to serenade us with more of your screeching cello?’

“Haha Mervyn.” Ni muttered. “You’re just jealous because you wouldn’t know the neck of the cello from the body.”

‘What’s that Morpheus?”

“Nothing. Just let me in alright?” Meryvn nodded and held open the door to allow Ni to push his way in. ‘Better get the paint on your face, they expect it you know.’ Mervyn said.

“I know…” Ni muttered. “They don’t pay me enough to wear that junk, it always makes my face burn.” ‘I know what you mean man…Other people don’t have to deal with that crap. Too bad all us workers do, right?’ Ni laughed. You see, another weird thing about this place was the face paint. All the employees (which Ni was considered) had to wear facepaint. It could be any color that they wanted, any design, just as long as it was on their face. No one had the same color. Ni had wanted blue, but it had been taken before he got there. His first color had been lime green, but when Blastphomey had quit, she had left the blood red color wide open. Ni had snagged it quick, and now wore blood red facepaint.

He went over to the paint bucket, and selected his color. His name was scrawled over the label, and his paintbrush was taped to the container. He peeled the tape off, and dipped the paintbrush in the paint. After doing so, his paintbrush was raised up to his left eye. Quickly, he outlined his eye, and allowed the paint to run down his cheek. The effect was an eye outlined in blood with about three blood drips running down his face. He did the same with his right eye. As he stared into the mirror, he smiled. The paint running down his face had dried; he was ready to set up.

It took about a half an hour to get set up, and do a sound check. His cello sat on its stand, and a marimba (which was owned by Be-Goths) was set up behind him. Ni warmed up with the marimba for a minute, pounding the mallets onto the sleek wooden keys. Then he moved to his cello, tuning it. A few people wandered in. Ni recognized Tension, but wasn’t about to wave. He hated Tension…He drew his bow across the strings, and pulled out the music from the movie ‘Psycho’ though it was for violin, he transposed it for cello a while ago. Tension shot him a dirty look, and flipped him off.

Ni just smirked.

The place filled up fairly quickly, and Ni sat patiently on the stage, waiting for his cue to start. Some people waved, and he waved back. He saw Nightshayd, and Shok sitting together, and grimaced. Shok was some sort of crazy, poor Nightshayd….Still, he smiled. The dim lights flashed twice, and he raised his bow.

‘Might I present…’ The soundmaster’s voice came blaring over the loudspeakers darkly. ‘The monthly occurrence of The Ghastly Cello Society!’

Ni bowed, and pulled the bow across the strings, drawing out the opening song.

“Momma was an opium smoker…”

[Hadley Chase]

Will post later tonight hopefully love.
Let's just say he gave her directions in case she decided to come.
-Nod-

[Ni Gustov]

-nifty-
alright
-he gave her directions-

[Hadley Chase]

Trains were like time. They moved with a certain smoothness for such a high speed, hurtling through the city or the country, past trees and cattle or nothing by the outline of tall buildings at dusk, scenery chased past the windows at a blur. Time was somewhat similar. There was no true measure of time, there were minutes and seconds, days and years but to measure a lifetime fell not on the hours but the moments. Some moments lasted so much longer and registered as so much more than the few seconds they were credited as. Time was a slippery thing, it moved so smoothly and yet everything evolved around it. We are constantly surrounded by time and its concepts, time is constantly moving and although we know it, it passes by as a blur, just like the images smeared like paint pressed against the trains windows. Time waited for nothing, nor did a train.

Hadley’s grandad had died of a heart attack before she was sixth birthday. It had been prolonged and awaited. Everyone knew he was going to die, and soon. His heart was failing, giving up on his body like a captain abandoning his ship. It wasn’t right, but she couldn’t pretend it wasn’t happening. Hadley always crept towards his bed, swamped by silence and death that clung to the air, hesitant besides his old figure, red curls falling onto delicate shoulders, his own grey shade of hair scarce and looking paler against the starch of the pillow case. He looked washed out in comparison, more sick against the starling white. The contrast between his skin and that shocking white made him look as though he were fading. And as she stood there, eyes pressed to the floor, he would reach a delicate hand out towards her and she would take it in her smaller one, asking ‘How much time left grandpa.’ And to that he would reply ‘All the time in the world chickpea.’ Every single time the same question and every single time the same response. She had not wanted him to go but with the innocence of a child she had prompted him with the only question that scurried through her mind. Death was beyond a child. The concept of being there and then nothing was beyond even the wisest of adults. No one prepares for death.

But it seemed, some welcomed it.

They called themselves Goths, or perhaps it were others that had labelled them. They were religious in a form that they worshipped the dead, worshipped the concept of pain and torture and surrounded themselves in a blanket of misery. They payed attention to the details of darkness where others though it best forgotten. They wore black and chains and studs against their skin. Some painted their skin a sickly shade of white, black smeared across their lips and surrounding their eyes. They bore crosses around their necks and their hair shone shades of black. In some ways they resembled vampires, in some ways their resembled a visual ideal of death. Hadley had always found them beyond words and had left them to their own opinions. So why was she on a train, dressed in black skinny leg jeans and shirt, on the way to something Ni had called the Be-Goths club?

She hadn’t known when she had pulled her black clothes from her suitcase, nor when she had outlined her eyes in kohl. She hadn’t known when she had picked up the directions Ni had slipped under her door in case. She hadn’t known when she had bought her train ticket. And now, as the train pulled to a stop, several meters from the described location, Hadley sill found herself completely confused as to her choice.

Why was she doing this?

Hadley was a colour child. A girl who evolved her world around laughter and games, of fun. She found talks of death ridiculous. We were all going to die, why waste life waiting for that moment? And yet, there she was, weaving her way through the churning bodies that exited the station. Flattening the scrunched paper in her hand Hadley squinted under the dim light of a street lamp at the directions. She was close. Taking a turn she found herself swallowed in a crowd of people she recognised only because they resembled an appearance close to that of Ni’s. Giving up on her own directions she followed them and was soon pleased to have done so.

Be-Goth’s club.

Entering in the small crowd she watched the several people disperse through the tables and chairs and taking up separate seats. Hadley blinked. Everywhere she looked she saw people with black hair and chains, their eyes manipulated into a pronounced death stare. Her arms found their way to her stomach and wrapped around it. She felt like a misplaced puzzle piece. She did not belong here.

Taking a seat at the very back Hadley fastened her eyes on the stage. It was then a voice sounded overhead, the introduction of a song and a title she was familiar to. Ni? Was it really? Her eyes traced over the boy sitting on the stage, dwarfed by his instrument. His face was a blur of what she hoped was red paint. Memories of blood filled her mind but were quickly blinked away. The music of an unfamiliar song flooded the room.

Leaning back in her chair Hadley tilted her head, Wow, he was good.

[Hadley Chase]

It's terrible. I know!
I'm sorry.
-Pouts-
-Pokes-
xx

[Ni Gustov]

-not so-
I liked it
-my post wasn't the easiest to reply too-
-but i go to post now-
-nodnodnod-

[Ni Gustov]

“Johnny was bad, even as a child. Everybody could tell. They said “Johnny, if you don’t get straight, you’ll surely go to hell.”

Ni’s arm pulled the bow across the strings of his cello for a good hour. Every time he stopped playing, he had to take a deep breath, just to take it all in. The music he played tonight wasn’t his best, it wasn’t hard. There was only one song in the program tonight that he himself had written. It was last on the program, which was rapidly coming to an end. There was only about an hour of time cut out for the Ghastly Cello Society, the rest of the night more famous bands (not just a short guy and his cello) and their music would blast through the speakers. The bright blue light that washed over the stage made it hard to see into the crowd, but he tried anyway. He was playing “Only a Lad.” It wasn’t really a Goth favorite, but he happened to like it. It had his name in it, it had a darkly funny message, and it was by Oingo Boingo. He had a hell of a time transposing it, seeing as it was for many instruments.

“Only a lad, You really can't blame him. Only a lad, Society made him. Only a lad, He's our responsibility. Only a lad, He really couldn't help it. Only a lad, He didn't want to do it. Only a lad. He's underprivileged and abused, Perhaps a little bit confused.”

He went into the bridge. It was supposed to be all horns, trombones, trumpets, but he didn’t bring his trombone, only his cello. It sounded strange, haunting even, as he drew the bow rapidly against the strings, his hands flying up and down the fretless neck. Grinning, he ran back to the chorus. He sang out as loud as he could, always projecting. His eyes scanned the area again, and he lost concentration for a moment. A squeak, and an out of tune note later, he was back on track.

“Hey there Johnny-boy! I hope you FRY!”

The song was over. He took a deep breath, and grinned. The crowd clapped. Ni would have bowed, but he had one more song, the last one. The grand finale. He had been waiting to play it all night. He had been ready to play it for weeks. As he leaned his cello against his shoulder, he cracked his knuckles. One last scan of the area. Was she here?

He didn’t know why he had invited her. It really was spur of the moment when he had told her about his performances. She didn’t seem the type to want to come to a Goth club, even to hear a live performance. His bright green eyes looked slowly across the sea of blacks and grays, looking for the splash of red. Why had he asked? He hadn’t wanted to force her to do something she didn’t want to do, or feel like doing. It wasn’t he easiest of places to be in if you loved color. She had always seemed to love color. There was a part of him that felt terrible for even offering for her to come, and the other half that was excited to give a good performance for someone he considered a friend. No one from Hawthorn had ever come to one of his gigs. In fact, most people didn’t want to hear him practice back at the school. ‘Well Ni,’ he thought, as he picked up his bow for the final time. ‘here’s to hoping she showed up.’

The notes he played sounded as if they belonged on a synth. They were higher in pitch, a melodic set of arpeggios, set in a minor key. The introduction went on for about thirty seconds, until finely Ni opened his mouth, and sang again.

“Going Over the Stars” was a song he had written after reading one of his comic books. The main character was always talking about ‘going over the stars.’ It had gotten Ni thinking, where was that? Why would you want to go there? He took a deep breath and continued with the song’s chorus.

“Tonight I’m going over the stars. I don’t know where that is, maybe nowhere. Tonight I’m going over the stars. Make sure I get there.”

His eyes stared out ahead, and he caught the glimpse of red. She looked uncomfortable, and he felt badly about that. He shouldn’t have asked her to come. He shouldn’t have slipped the directions under the door. Too late now, but he was so glad she had come. It made him feel happy to know that she would go out of her comfort zone to hear a bit of his music.

The song was five minutes, thirty seconds. He had timed it, and now it was done. He lowered his bow, and stood up. The applause made him feel good, a bit taller, if that was possible. He bowed, and grinned. “Thank you.” He shouted, and then walked off the stage. Ni needed to be quick, he wanted to catch Hadley before she left. He ripped off his ear mic, and passed it to the sound designer. He unzipped the soft cello case, but carefully placed his cello inside. “Gotta pick up the speed.” Ni muttered. ‘What?’ Antonee, one of the workers said. “Nothing.” Ni replied. “Just talking to myself.” ‘You’re crazy Morpheus, you know that right?’ “Haha. Yeah.”

It was only as an afterthought that he went to pick up his money. As usual, it was 150 bucks. It immediately went into his wallet, he might end up buying Hadley some food or a drink later. The cello wouldn’t be safe outside in the main part of the building, so he put it in his locker. Not that he felt safe leaving it there, it was just safer than out there.

No one noticed as Ni, or as they knew him ‘Morpheus,’ walked out from the back. His eyes scanned the area again, this time picking up on Hadley’s red hair quicker. The stupid smile was back on his face, his sharp teeth once again adding a maniacal intensity to it. Ni pushed his way through the bodies of his peers, and to the back of the main area. She looked so uncomfortable. Ni felt really bad about that, maybe he just should have played cello for her back at the school, instead of making her come here.

Finally, he was at her table.

“Well, hello ma’am. What is someone like you doing sitting all by your lonesome?” He smiled, and some of the red paint on his face cracked, and flaked off. A hand went up to scratch at the paint, it was so annoying. “Damn stuff.” Ni laughed. “I don’t know why they make us wear it.” Another smile, and another question. “Would you like something to drink Hadley? We don’t serve booze here, but we don’t serve blood either, contrary to popular belief.” Without asking, he pulled out a chair, and sat down next to her.

“Thanks for coming.”

-bwa-
-that was bad-
I think my writing was all over the place there
-ah well-
-I’ll do better next time-

[Hadley Chase]

It was a choice for people as to whether they dwelt on the concept of death or left it to the rot in the depths of their mind. The majority of the human race preferred to not think about it settling on the agreement that it was best to leave the unknown unknown. Why would any person wish to ponder as to his or her own demise? But there were a few people that lingered on the whispered promise. It was them who saw the birth of a new child as yet another promised death. It was them who looked at the world through black and white glasses, everything constantly a shadow across the mind, a torment. To those people there was no happiness only the misleading hope that triggered a cave in or a rock fall. Things that other took for good signs they read as lies. With the good comes the bad and many people lived under the misconception that life was all sunshine and rainbows and puppies liking kittens la da da da. What these selected individual dwellers saw in the world was one single promise. That all that went up came down and that death was the one thing certain.

Hadely had thanatophobia. It was a natural fear, to be afraid of the unknown concept of death. But to spend hours thinking about it only to hype yourself up into a panic attack was not normally a good thing. Another think that worked her into an equal frenzy was the idea of outer space. The bigger picture to life shocked the teen. Yes she knew that was more than just Earth, they’d sent people to moon for gods sakes but the whole idea just blew her mind.

And now she was paranoid.

Twisting her hands in her lap, Hadley began to peel the polish off her fingernails. Ni’s music churned in the background, a beautiful tune that again she did not know the name of. Hadley looked upwards at the ceiling. Why did it feel like she was drowning?

Hedley’s first memory was that she was four and drowning in the backyard pool. Her parents had sworn black and blue that it wasn’t a natural memory, that she had in fact convinced herself that she could remember only because it had found itself the topic of discussion so many times in her life but Hadley was certain. How could she have imagined that feeling that burned in her chest? How could she have described in such detail the way the water rippled above her head as she had slipped from the step into the depths below? Bubbles had frothed overhead, a rush of escaping pearls blossoming around her skin and heading in the one direction she could not go. She was four years old and without one lesson of swimming under her belt. She was four years old and she was sinking, pulled by gravity her red hair had streamed dark in the water above her like a flag. She could remember the arms that had reached in and snatched her up, the tears that streamed down two cheeks pressed together, a promise without words. Her mother had clutched her sobbing daughter, blinded by her own relief that streamed down her face. Her clothes were saturated and her husband stood behind her, two towels in his hands. Hadley had never felt safer.

What is it about a rescue that makes you feel so safe? Is it just the fact that you will live another moment, putting a stopper in the jaws of death? Or the fact that you experienced a moment where everything came crashing down into what it was, leaving you defenceless and being able to build everything back up again created the type of security that only after a reminder that you weren’t elusive could bring? Hadley knew she wasn’t untouchable, she’d live long enough sharing needs and wants, the bathroom and the refrigerator to realise that what she was going to get in life was going to be earned straight off her own back.

It was after the drowning instant that she had realised at the young age of four that terrible things happened without the influence of a witch or under –the-bed-monster. It was at the age of four that she realised she could scream and no one could hear her. She wasn’t the be-all-to-end-all and she wasn’t that great. She was her, Hadley Chase and since then just being that had been enough.

There were perhaps three good things that had come out of tonight.
1. Hadley had exited her comfort zone.
2. She had done so for what she hoped, was a friend.
3. She had learnt that being goth wasn’t all black and chains and slitting your wrists over a sink, there was a stronger power behind it than that. There was music and passion and a ferocity, there was a battling fight, a glint of humanity in the eyes so darkly ringed.

It was then, with new meaning and the sound of applause that Hadley raised her eyes from the table. She clapped along too as he began what would be his final song. She listened and she heard. Two very different concepts. And as the song came to an end she clapped along with everyone else, smiling wide. A few moments later a voice rose up from behind her and she tensed, a comeback on her lips, her feet ready to move, to leave but as she turned her head with a swish of loose red curls she saw him. For a moment she was startled then she smiled.

“Waiting for some dashing musician to come and buy her a drink I s’pose.”

A grin, she reached out and flicked the paint on his cheek. It didn’t look quite so scary up close. Neither did he.

“And you’re most welcome. You play well even though I am what some might call music illiterate.”

Hadley leant back in her own chair as he pulled up one for himself and took a seat. This was nice, no pretending, no shows, no twisted games or lies. Just friends. In a weird building severely lacking in light surrounded by people who blended in black and studs.

Waving, not drowning.