Chapter Text
Jago POV.
TW// small mention of vomiting
It had been a long, sweaty, exhilarating night. We’d been fighting for so long to get to this spot. The final round. I screamed my heart out, Saph exploded everyone’s ear drums with their killer solo, Mayhem’s hand flew across the keys, Albie ran their fingers ragged on their strings, Leon blistered his fingers on the strings of his guitar and Match had to quickly run to get first aid after the performance to take care of her bleeding fingers after her banjo solo. All in all, it had been the best night of my life so far. ‘The Drug Giraffes’ had never had so many people singing, or should I say shouting along, and I’d never had so much fun performing it. I hadn’t even thought that we might lose, cocky as that may seem. The Feral Boys were really good, I'm not gonna lie, but we had been
living
for this moment since we first started our band, way back when I was 16, still living in England. This had been my dream since I was 5, to make music with my best friends and win a competition that would allow us to travel the world. With judges who hadn’t been bribed and had years of experience with these comps, there was no way we could end up wrong.
Until the judges’ votes tied.
Until the audience, the fucking audience, was voting on the tie breaker.
Untill, the Feral Boys won, with 16969 votes to our 16967.
Two. Fucking. Votes.
I don’t think I’ve ever cried so angrily before.
Which is why you could say I was pretty fucking surprised, and I’ll admit, pretty hyped but still pissed off, when a month later, out of the blue, Wilby said they’d offered for us to go on the tour with them. Spend the next year in a tour bus with those dickheads, listening to everyone say that we were only invited out of pity? Yeah right.
… So why was I now squashed between my giant red suitcase and a bag full of monster at 4am driving to *insert airport here*, to go on what would surely be the worst tour of my life?
*Flash back to the performance*
We had just finished, and my voice was now fucking gone. I gave Albie a weak nod when they asked if I was ok, and I headed to our backstage room. I was almost at the door when I bumped into someone exiting our room. I looked up and realised it was Karl, from the feral boys. I didn't know him well, but he seemed sus, considering he was exiting our room. He hastily blurted out that he'd gone into the wrong room and then disappeared down the corridor. Weirdo.
I got inside and rifled through our mini fridge for a can of monster to soothe my throat. I came up empty, only water and the shitty sodas Wilbur liked left in there. Where the fuck were my monsters, I had at least five in here before hand! I even wrote my name on sticky notes and stuck it on the cans so Albie or someone didn't try to take it. Did a janitor clean them out? No, that's stupid, they would have gotten rid of everything in there if that was the case-
Karl, that dick. He had looked sus, and was keeping his hands out of view. And he was also a monster fanatic, Albie always complained that they knew when the feral boys had been over because along with weed their house smelt like monster and anxiety.
If I hadn't then so tired I would have chased that fucker down and bitten his arm off. I grinded my teeth, and thought about all the pranks I'd play on the Feral Boys whenever I was at Albie's house. Karl Jacobs will rue the day he ever stole from me.
The rest of the band returned to the break room to find me vomiting in the bin. I had chugged down all of Wilbur's sodas in a fit of rage, and was now regretting it.
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Match POV
( blood warning)
Battle of the bands: where bands go head to head competing for the chance of a worldwide or international tour. My dream since I was a little kid. I practiced my instruments for hours at a time, pissing off my brother in the process, and went as hard as I could during my banjo solo. I remember a sharp pain as I smiled out to the audience and I looked down to see my finger protectors had worn through and I was now bleeding. I kept playing though. I needed to. My band is my family and I couldn’t let them down. After my solo I nodded to Leon, indicating I needed to leave. I glared at Nick and Karl as I passed them in the wings on the way to the first aid kit. The entire Feral Boys band was watching me as I tried not to wince as I pulled off the trashed finger protectors. The blood started to drip down my hand so I hurried to find something to stop it before I made a mess on the floor. Then Alex rocked up. He looked at me funny and I was about to cuss him out but he handed me his bandana and went back to his band. I didn’t know what he wanted me to do with it so I just stared at the back of his head until he turned and glanced at me. He looked at me like I was stupid. I’m not stupid. Then he looked at the bandana then my bleeding fingers. I figured it out then and began to clean up my fingers.
As I was finishing up, my best friend Saph came and grabbed my elbow.
“Are you good?” she asked me. I nodded and she smiled at me, pushing me towards the shared mini-fridge between our rehearsal room and that of the Feral Boys. I decided to check if Jago had any good Monsters that could mysteriously disappear from the fridge but there were none. So I stole someone’s ice tea and grabbed my chocolate biscuits. Saph shot me a look, probably telling me I shouldn’t have stolen the ice tea but ah well. I only grinned at her, offering a biscuit. Saph rolled her eyes at me but took one anyway. As I turned around to shut the door, I spotted Alex. Unfortunately he looked up and we made eye contact. I held up my now bandaid ridden hand and smiled, mouthing the words “Thank you” at him. He nodded and smiled back. I felt heat rise to my face and shut the door hurriedly. Nope. Unfortunately, Saph caught my blush and raised an eyebrow at me. I shook my head and dug around my pile of various types of guitars until I found my acoustic one. I started to strum it as Jago threw up in the bin again.
If I could tell the younger me that we would be here, not stuck on Hawaii with our parents, she probably would have passed out.
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Ghost, Albie ,pov
(Dream smokes weed in twt comic so I’ll just go with it)
Beginning/botb
Oh shit, here we go again with Clay’s whiny ass bickering me to hurry up or we’ll be late to the Battle of the bands. I’m surprised he’s taking me seeing as he’s in the rival band. I still can’t believe he had a band under mine and Drista’s nose. Anyway I packed my bass into the van and got in the passenger seat. God why does it smell like fucking weed in here? I knew him and his little friends/band members like getting high but really, in here? Let it be known to the world my brother smokes weed like there’s no tomorrow.
We pulled up to the gig as the weed smell lingers on my hoodie I stole from Clay this morning, I hope to shit there’s no cops here. There were flashing lights and shit music echoing in my head, lord knows where the rest of the band is. We walked until my idiot brother found his gang of idiots who all decided as a group to ditch me as a “joke”. This loud, smelly, dingy grotto of losers, there’s nowhere else I’d like to be.
I walked around for about a half hour before I found my group of stingy bottom feeders, sitting in a corner, drinking and practicing. Why didn’t I think to look in corners earlier? Could have saved me so much time. Anyway, the gig’s about two hours away, so better begin practicing. I swear to shit if my BROTHER of all people wins this gig, not only will I never like it down, but I think I might just have to kill him and his moronic friends.
time skip to after the gig
Fucking shit, mother of all things crappy, of COURSE he has to win and by what? Two points, I call bullshit absolute bullshit now how will I ever live it down? At least Drista’s on my side on this one. Why is it always that I come second to him, second to a weed smoking, bottom feeder who lives with his parents and brings home a British fuck boy who hangs around his band like the fucking weed smell in his car. Whatever I do, I always come second, it’s not fair but I have plans, good ones, ones that’ll make sure he never makes fun of me. All it’s gonna take is some time and some of Dream’s clothes.
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Leon’s POV:
So everyone is nervous when they perform right? Well lets just say i was beyond nervous for this. Everyone in GGT has dreamed of being here and i could not let them down, there my friends who feel like family. So with all my strength i hold down the feeling of throwing up and walk with pride and fidgeting fingers.
I walk to the corner and wait for everyone to arrive. The corner was quiet and relaxing from all the bands practicing, or the fans yelling till they had no voice, or the managers running from place to place to make everything perfect.
*time skip to when albie arrives*
I see Albie walking towards us. He looked rather annoyed yet relieved and upon closer inspection smelled like weed? I guess it had to be Clay who smoked the weed since it is his sweater that Albie was wearing.
We all prepared for our performance.
The time had come, we all got our final touches to our instruments and walked on stage.
We play to our very best, having that feeling of music run through us made this performance our best yet. Well until I look over to see Match’s fingers covered in blood. I flinched at first but then took over Match’s part while she went and recovered.
As we finished our performance I felt proud of how we did. But all of this excitement faded when it was announced that The feral Boys won by 2 points. BY 2 FUCKING POINTS.
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Misery (Mayhem) POV:
Losing the competition was the least of Mis’ worries at the moment, for now, they worried about the fact that they couldn't move their fingers. Their hands felt heavy and dragged them down. Their fingers were stiff and cramped, almost completely unable to move. Their fingertips burned hot with rushing blood and stung at every subtle touch of air.
They were currently backstage and leaning against a busted air conditioner, allowing it to slowly dry the sweat trickling down their neck.
Time passed quickly backstage, and before they knew it half an hour had passed and the rest of the band was nowhere to be seen. The crowd's cheers slowly died down as more people made their way backstage, quickly recognized as the Feral Boys. Their footsteps were heavy and their voices muffled.
Mis let a subtle groan escape their parted lips before they approached a shared mini-fridge that both bands used. Grabbing a chilled Red Bull they popped it open with a satisfying crack, guzzling half of it down in mere seconds. They were dehydrated and tired. It was hot and they burnt out their social battery ages ago after the vote. Tonight they would either sleep like a baby or get absolutely wasted.
Pinching their nose bridge they left the mini-fridge, attracting the attention of a few of the Feral Boys.
To be fair they did slam the door enough that some of the stage rafters shook, but they didn't like the attention either way. Why can't they just, you know, mind their business? Just stop staring, it's annoying and weird.
Shooting a glare at the ones staring, Bad and George, they made their way over to a sofa and flopped down on it. All they could do now is stare at the ceiling and drink their Red Bull, and maybe pull an all-nighter.
Turns out the all-nighter was not happening, as their eyes were forced to shut after a few minutes of laying down. But they needed it. They were overworked and exhausted, and definitely overheating.
Sweat trickled down Mis’ forehead onto their cheek, before dribbling down their chin and down to their neck. Their breaths were shallow as the heat slowly overtook their body, enveloping them in an uncomfortable warmth.
They'll catch up with the rest of the GGT later, but for now, it was time to rest. No more sudden rap lines or freestyles. No more fast tempos or solos. No more head throbbing screaming and music.
Just a few minutes of rest while the backstage crew packs up.
Just a few… Minutes...
After an hour passed, their lovely manager Wilbur picked them up and brought them back to the tour bus to have a proper rest. Everyone was fatigued and mentally drained from the performance, the only ones smiling being buzzed and tipsy off of some random alcohol they managed to get their hands on.
Where did it come from?
Probably the Feral Boys. They reeked of weed and liquor, cigarette smoke clung to their clothes and hair. The whites of their eyes constantly in an agitated red state, as their breath reeked of the sour stench of cheap booze and pot.
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Sapphire POV
The band before us were playing their song as I paced around our band room holding a bottle of beer. "Shit shit shit shit shit, what if we lose! I can fucking lose to them. I swear to GOD if I fucking lose I will murder them." Wilbur was sitting on the couch just observing me. I tend to freak out like this before we go onstage. The echo of the drums carried on into the room and filled my head. I set the bottle down and grabbed my drumsticks. When we go out there, I was going to give the best performance I ever fucking give.
Leilani walked in and placed their hands on my shoulder. "Listen, you're gonna do great ok? We’re on in 4 minutes so hurry up ok?" She gave me a hug and thumbs up then left. Wilbur gave me a tight hug and held my hand as we walked out. "You're going to do amazing Saph." He told me quickly before I ran up to meet with the rest of my band.
"Alright guys, we are going to win this!" I screamed before the band left the stage and we went on. Time to give them the shoe of their lives.
Later
We lost. We fucking lost. By two goddamn points. Two! I was sitting on the floor of our band room angry and sad. The rest of the band were off doing god knows what. Wilbur just told me that the Feral Boys offered us to go on tour with them. Like hell I was. But, the rest of the band was probably going so I couldn't just stay here. Hopefully I can sit next to Leilani, she's the only one who really gets me. Besides maybe Albie. Whatever, who knows it might be fun.