Chapter Text
The age-old joke of the bassist and the drummer.
Light-hearted and humorous, but scarcely real.
Rocket knows all about it, because he’s a drummer, so he hears this joke all the time. With a grumble, he reaches up to the side of his head, fingers brushing past the pointy liberty spikes on his scalp to scratch at the base of one of his four blue horns. While his hand is up there, Rocket checks to ensure the presence of his numerous horn and ear piercings, before his hand falls back down to lift a drumstick off the snare of his drumkit that he was currently seated at. He readjusts his shoe on the pedal, clears his throat, and lets out a shout.
“Ready!”
Standing a bit ahead of him on the small and scuffed-up wooden stage, an inphernal by the name of Boombox threw him a grin. Boombox, nicknamed “BB” or “Double B”, had two curving green horns, a backwards baseball cap, and a very unique visor that covered his eyes, and displayed simple LED versions as a replacement. In his palm, the body of a microphone, removed from its stand. The chord coming from the mic’s base tumbled and curled at the base of Boombox’s feet, then trailed off towards one of the many speakers in the small room.
Boombox turned to his right, one foot tapping out a rhythm on the surface beneath. “And you, Vine?”
Startled at the mention of her name, Vine Staff hurriedly plugged an amp into her electric guitar, before straightening to her full, towering height.
“Almost ready!” She chirped as she clamped a tuner onto the head of her instrument, tuning all six strings in rapid succession, before moving to adjust her amp. “I’m so sorry for taking so long, I just got this one brand new and I haven’t tried it out yet.”
Boombox chuckled, unbothered, but Rocket let out a sigh, his annoyance obvious.
Vine Staff, with her earthy-pink horns and her slightly dirt-stained headband, fumbled around with the many twisting knobs until the sound of her strings was just right. Then she hopped back into position and gave a thumbs-up.
Rocket raised his sticks.
Boombox gave the grille of his mic a few taps.
Vinestaff pinched her pick.
That brief moment before a song always made Rocket’s skin prickle with excitement, and it blew his eyes wide with focus. The anticipation— it made his muscles tense, ready to beat and slam, to pour every last drop of energy and rage into his performance, to be left drenched in the sweat of sweet success-
The door of the small room suddenly swung open, slamming against the wall. Rocket’s eyes flicked up from his drumkit to the newcomer, all of the enthusiasm draining from his body. In but an instant he flew from his stool to the door, latching onto the new inphernal’s shirt, giving them a rough and furious shake.
“You fucking idiot! What the hell are you doing Sword?!” He snapped, teeth bared. His tone left his victim, Sword, currently out of breath, stumbling for a satisfactory reply.
“I’m sorry!” He squeaked, clutching onto the strap of a fabric case that cut across his chest. The pair of wings that sprouted from the edge of his jawbone flared out. “My mentor had me run a bunch of errands and- and I lost track of time and-”
Rocket gave Sword another angry shake, growling, interrupting his excuse. “Not good enough! You should’ve told him you had practice!”
Behind the two arguing inphernals, Vine Staff and Boombox uncomfortably shuffled, exchanging wide-eyed glances, both fidgeting with their instruments, before the pink-horned inphernal finally piped up.
“W-Well he’s here now! We should start practicing now so we don’t lose any more time!”
Despite her massive stature, one glare from a bristling Rocket made her shrink.
“Fine. Whatever. Just let him be late again,” Rocket snarled, storming back to his seat and taking up his drumsticks again, tapping out a quiet tune to himself as Sword hurried into his spot at Boombox’s left. The green-horned inphernal, the shortest of the four, gave Sword a sympathetic grin and a high-five as he passed, and Vine Staff waved happily at him. In the corner of Rocket’s vision, Sword produced an electric bass from the case previously slung over his back, before following a routine similar to Vine Staff’s. Then he fell into position, hands at the ready, all four strings of his bass perfectly in-tune. When Sword swiveled his head to toss Rocket an apologetic pout, the blue-horned inphernal just scowled back.
He was finally going to get to play. Little in the Inpherno could beat the feeling of cracking his drumsticks against his kit in sync with his bandmates, despite the fact he could barely hear them over his own noise, and with Sword’s late arrival providing him another burst of ferocious energy, Rocket had a feeling he’d be having an even better time letting everything out.
Boombox tapped out a tempo with the tip of his shoe, making eye contact with the other three briefly, before he gave the countdown to Rocket’s heaven.
…
It started off so well. Rocket was nothing short of perfection, falling into his own world of crashing and thumping and speed, when one wrong note at his right pierced his fantasy, and then three more at his left shattered it completely. With a gravely shout, Rocket threw his drumsticks against the kit, where they both hit the metal rims and loudly splintered into fragments, flying up in the air, raining down in wooden pieces around him. The other three had halted in place at his cry, each slowly turning to spy Rocket, forehead glistening with sweat, eyes shadowed. There was a long and tense pause, before his gaze traveled over to the right, where Vinestaff was quick to defend herself, clutching her guitar to her chest.
“I swear my finger just slipped! It won’t happen again!”
Rocket clicked his tongue at her, then ever so gradually shifted over to the other side. Sword, the larger offender of the two, with his dual round red horns and the scar that cut under his right eye, wouldn’t be escaping so easily. Rocket watched in sick pleasure as the red-horned inphernal’s freckled face turned from shocked to terrified. He too held his instrument tight against his body, falling a step back as Rocket rose up. Sword was also much taller than Rocket, a bit shy of Vine Staff’s height, but when had that ever deterred him?
“My fingers slipped too! It’s hot in here!” Sword tried, his chin tucked in submission, as Rocket thundered slowly over to stand before him. In less than a heartbeat he struck out at Sword’s shoulder with his right arm, which was made of scuffed metal and wires and whatnot, fingers curling into the skin beneath the taller inphernal’s t-shirt.
“First you’re late, and now you’re missing notes,” Rocket hissed low, before a giggle broke out of him. To Sword’s visible dismay, it was absent of any humor. “You are damn lucky I had a decent day at my dad’s shop.”
He didn’t let go of Sword’s shoulder until he saw the other’s throat bob. Rocket then retracted his mechanical hand, and without another word, stalked back to his drumkit. Just barely Rocket could hear Boombox let out a sigh of relief. The band’s vocalist was fortunate he hadn’t slipped up as well, otherwise he’d also be receiving a talking to.
After Rocket had yanked two brand new sticks from his massive stash, the four inphernal’s hesitantly started their practice performance from the top. At one point, Vine Staff played another singular wrong note, and even Rocket missed a beat, which he prayed no one noticed, but they managed to finish the song without another hitch.
After their first successful playthrough, and a small celebration, Boombox ordered three more repetitions before they all took a break and moved on to a different song. Rocket had different plans however.
“No way!” He protested, crossing his arms. “We’re gonna play until we miss not a single note, three times in a row! I didn’t put all that work into getting us a spot in the opening act for nothing!”
“Now that’s a little extreme,” Boombox retorted while massaging his neck, before gesturing at the other two. “What do you fellas think?”
Vine Staff just stared, fidgeting with the bottom of her brown jacket, but Sword had the confidence to speak up.
“I mean- I like both but, well, I was the one who was late, and I messed up the most so…” he paused, glancing around. “If you guys want a break that’s reasonable I think, but I wanna keep practicing until I don’t make any more mistakes. If that’s okay.”
Boombox nodded, and Vinestaff gave a word of agreement, but then everyone peered at Rocket.
Especially Sword, almost resembling a sad puppy. Rocket didn’t like the way it made him feel.
“Don’t give me that look.” He kept his arms crossed, features stern, unmoving in his declaration. The whole band needed some shaping up, in his opinion. Sword was just the worst of the bunch.
That he stood firm on, until three more repetitions had completed, and Sword was trying to usher them all out of the room.
“Go get something to eat. You all look hungry,” the red-horned inphernal coaxed. “And don’t worry about rushing yourself. In fact, take as long as you want! It’ll give me more time to practice.”
Rocket had to admit, he was pretty famished, so with a groan of defeat, he followed Boombox and Vine Staff out of the small padded room into the rest of Boombox’s first-floor apartment. After the green-horned inphernal had informed the other two that his fridge was just about completely barren, the three settled on going out for lunch to some fast food joint they all liked.
While Rocket munched on a carton of crunchy and salty waffle fries, Vine Staff and Boombox cheerily conversed.
“I’m a little disappointed it's just another basement performance. I was hoping we’d moved up in the world,” Vine Staff confessed, taking a sip of whatever drink she’d filled her cup with and pushing a misbehaving curl away from her eye. Boombox nodded along, but Rocket was in disagreement.
“Just because we got to open in a real venue once doesn’t mean we’re above basement performances yet. You’ve gotta take what you can get, y’know bro?”
Boombox nodded at that too. Rocket arched a pierced brow at him.
“How badly did your eyebrow piercing hurt?” Vine Staff suddenly questioned, wiggling a finger at Rocket, who sat across the table from her.
With a dismissive wave of his prosthetic hand, Rocket rolled his eyes. “Oh I barely felt anything. Almost fell asleep. It's seriously overstressed.”
“You know you’re lying!” Boombox interjected, jabbing a finger right at Rocket’s face, exclamation marks lighting up on his visor. “Skate told me all about how you came out looking pale as a ghost! He also told me you told him you felt like vomiting!”
Rocket just chuckled, chowing down on yet another fry.
“Deities above, you are so much more pleasant to be around when you ain’t in drum-playing mode,” Boombox abruptly told him, leaning back with his arms tucked behind his head. “I wish Sword came so he could see that you ain’t such a grouch twenty-four seven!”
Vine Staff at his side stiffened.
“BB!” She hissed, grabbing the sleeve of his shirt in alarm. “You can’t say that!”
The short inphernal huffed back. “But it’s true!”
Rocket just watched them for a moment as they devolved into quick bickering, thinking. If he was being honest, Boombox was right. Rocket did get extra nasty when it came to rehearsal, and perhaps he might sometimes take the whole thing too seriously.
But then what was that Boombox had said about Sword?
Seriously, who cared about what that moron thought of him? Sword was a recent addition Boombox had brought on after the loss of their last bassist, and in Rocket’s opinion, he was a total downgrade, with a lower skill level and an obnoxious tendency to be late. To top it all off, the guy never seemed to stop trying to be all buddy-buddy with Rocket. It really pissed him off!
Honestly, if Sword was around, Rocket had a feeling he’d still be in a bad mood despite not being in this so-called drum-playing mode.
Boombox had reminded him of something else, however. As discreetly as he could, Rocket scooted toward the edge of the booth he was seated at, keeping an eye on the two others, until they both noticed his inching away at the same time.
“And where’re you off to?” Vine Staff inquired, the sudden question freezing Rocket in his tracks.
“You reminded me that I should be practicin’ right now,” Rocket informed her, reaching over to snatch up a piece of fried chicken and toss it into his mouth. Then he flashed her a shark-toothed grin. “You’ll both be surprised to hear, but I actually missed a beat or two earlier.”
The sound of a very exaggerated gasp redirected his attention, and Rocket spied Boombox gawking at him. “No way. You? You missed somethin’? Unbelievable!”
Rocket threw him an annoyed smile. “Yes. I did. Now, if you’ll excuse me—” and with that he stood, bidding them both farewell, which was little more than a raise of his hand, before darting out of the fast food establishment. He was lucky Boombox had an apartment in the city, so everything was within walking distance. It only took him twenty minutes of retracing his steps, taking turns, wrapping around twists, and getting lost a few times to arrive at the short inphernal’s front door, where he planted a very loud set of knocks.
“Sword sure is taking her sweet time,” Rocket mumbled under his breath as he waited, switching to leaning on his left leg, which like his right arm was constructed of mechanics and cold metal. He had to hammer against the door twice more before those round auburn eyes peered out at him, followed by the rest of the other’s body when she undid the chain and pulled the door fully open.
“Oh, Rocket, hi. You’re back early,” Sword greeted him with a smile, although he appeared a little reserved. Even his head-wings seemed to droop. Rocket was starting to feel somewhat guilty about earlier, but he didn’t let that show. He still did not like Sword.
“Hey dude,” he began, pushing past Sword through the doorway. “Were you plannin’ to mope around the whole time we were gone?”
Sword shook his head in reply. “No! I’ve been practicing while you were out; look at my fingers!”
The hand excitedly shoved in Rocket’s face wiggled calloused and indented digits at him.
“Look how red my fingertips are! Playing on metal strings really hurts. I miss my nylon guitar,” Sword sulked, slumping forward. Rocket made an effort to shoulder check her as he moved by towards the practice room.
“Well you better find a way to power through. I wanna play some more.”
The sound of Sword whining in defeat almost made him feel bad. The red-horned inphernal still obediently followed behind him as Rocket trudged back towards the practice room. He still lifted up his bass when Rocket gave the countdown, and still played through the entire song before he finally gave out, slumping against the wall with a long groan, collapsing onto his rear.
Rocket had to admit it. Even though Sword wasn’t the greatest bassist, he was motivated to learn, and weirdly obedient,
“I’m tired,” he moaned. “And hungry. I’m really hungry.”
Rocket just smirked. “Maybe BB and Vine are still sitting around eating. Ask them if they can bring ya somethin’”
“Ohh but my fingers hurt so bad!” Sword whimpered. “Can you call them for me?”
With a most displeased expression, Rocket gave in and dialed Vine Staff’s number, putting the call on speaker at Sword’s request.
If there was one other thing he knew about Sword, it was that she didn’t like to take ‘no’ for an answer.
After a few rings, Vine Staff picked up. “Hey Rocket! What’s up?”
“Someone’s regretting not coming out to get lunch with us,” Rocket told her, winking at Sword. The red-horned inphernal frowned back.
“Oh well that’s okay! Me and Boom were just about to leave— we’ll get him something! Do you know what Sword wants?”
Kneeling down to hold his phone closer to Sword’s face, Rocket gave him a chance to answer for himself. The taller inphernal gave him a grateful smile that made something in Rocket go all fuzzy for a breath.
“Nuggets!” Sword commanded. “And a lemonade! Large! No ice!”
Boombox could be heard laughing over the line before Vine Staff acknowledged Sword’s answer, giving them both a good-bye and then hanging up. Rocket and Sword settled into silence for a moment, with the taller suckling on his sore fingers, and the shorter scrolling away on his phone.
“...Thank you, Rocket.”
The inphernal in question looked up to spot Sword staring at him. Sword’s mouth worked for a few seconds before he continued.
“I-I really am sorry for messing up. I know how you get in your flow and- and I know you worked really hard to get this opening act spot,” Sword bubbled out, staring down at his still-red fingertips. “My mentor’s had me really busy lately. I don’t want to be late but… it keeps happening, and I don’t have as much time to practice as usual with this new training routine he’s given me.”
He lifted his chin to meet Rocket’s golden eyes with his own. “You don’t have to forgive me, but I swear to the Heights I’ll do better.”
Rocket just studied Sword for some time, from his regretful expression, to his swollen fingertips, to the wings on the sides of his head that were tucked in.
“Don’t worry about it,” Rocket finally replied, rising to his full height again with an exhale. “I’m gonna practice some more, but you shouldn’t feel pressured to if it hurts ya. I won’t be upset.”
A small nod was all Rocket received.
The blue-horned inphernal proceeded to hammer away on his drumkit for the next fifteen minutes, utterly lost in his own sound, dripping sweat, each beat like the rhythm of his restless soul. Since no one else was playing, there was no need for Rocket to balance out his cacophony, so he really let loose, going over and over and over again, pushing his volume to the max, until his arms started to give out, and he raised his head to re-register to space around him, panting.
Sword was watching from his spot on the floor, knees at his chest, eyes round and pupils large. For a moment, Rocket thought he was staring straight into an inky abyss, except it was a strangely warm and comforting abyss, and it was also not an abyss at all. Sword’s blinking pulled Rocket from his trance.
“You’re really good, Rocket.”
“Oh- uhm, thanks.”
The way Sword’s words made Rocket’s face heat up was not something he wanted to dwell on. Despite his embarrassment, however, Rocket could not seem to pull his gaze away from Sword’s. He stayed locked in place, shoulders deflating, breathing heavy from exertion, examining every ounce of Sword he could. Beneath his off-white graphic tee was a visible, tanned build. Broad shoulders and a defined chest, and a bit of pudge around his waist and stomach. Large, calloused hands connected to feathered wrists that bled into thick arms. Rocket couldn’t help his staring, slightly enamored, until he heard the front door creak open, and his head snapped away, realizing exactly what he had been doing.
Sword, who had been watching him back, was also distracted by the arrival of their bandmates, because he instantly sprung up and dashed away to meet them. Rocket was in no hurry to follow.
He wasn’t sure how to mentally or emotionally unpack what had just transpired.
It was only when Boombox called out his name that Rocket emerged into the rest of the apartment, where Vine Staff and Boombox watched Sword dig into what they’d brought back for him. Sword thanked them, and continued to thank them as he shoveled fried junk food into his maw, beaming at his two saviors in between bites. Rocket let out a silent chuckle as he approached.
“Thanks for feeding her,” Rocket smirked. “She looked so hungry I thought she was gonna eat me.”
Vine Staff looked proud of herself, but Boombox gave him a weird, questioning sort-of look.
“Woah. If I were you, I’d keep my romantic business to myself.”
Rocket sputtered, choking on air momentarily. “It’s not like that dude! What’s wrong with you!?”
“How do we know?” Boombox pressed, narrowing one orb. “You two were here all by your lonesomes. No witnesses.”
“I’m serious!” Rocket snarled back, throwing his hands up. He went to nudge Sword for backup, but being the clueless idiot that he was, Sword just hummed in unaware confusion, cheeks stuffed full of chicken.
That just irritated Rocket even more.
With a very loud groan, Rocket marched back to his drums and took up his sticks, already fueled up with more frustration to vent out again.