InsaneJournal

Current mood:	determined
Current music:	Alice Cooper - Run Down The Devil
Entry tags:	btvs: faith, btvs: tara mcclay, btvs: the dingoes, btvs: xander harris, buffy the vampire slayer, hellfire tales, mcr: brian schechter, mcr: matt cortez, my chemical romance

FIC: Hellfire Tales: Down The Rabbit Hole- 15, gen. MCR/BtVS 1/2
title: Down the Rabbit Hole
author: lisa roquin
rating: 15 (gen)
fandom: MCR/30stm/BtVS
series/sequel: Hellfire Tales
characters/pairings: Matt Cortez, Brian Schechter, Tyson O'Neill, Xander Harris, Faith Lehane, Wesley Wyndham Price, Tara McClay, Spike, The Dingoes Ate My Baby (Oz/Devon, Mitch, Keith), Whisky Rose
disclaimer: all copyrighted characters and their "universes" belong to their respective authors, writers, creators, production companies, producers and long lists of people that are so very much not me. Quite simply, if you recognize it, it isn't mine. No profit made, no harm intended, just having fun.
summary: Brian's latest obsession—The Dingoes Ate My Baby—has Matt along for the ride to Hellfire, Nevada. The town and it's residents are unique to say the least.
Warning: ~throws hands up in the air~ I have no idea. There's absolutely nothing that would upset me as a reader not being warned for, but I admittedly don't have any real fic triggers or squicks. If anyone thinks it needs a warning I'll stick it on here. There is nothing more than passing mention/roundabout implied.
author's note: Happy Birthday Wolfenverde
word count: 13,000+



Brian really really wanted the Dingoes on Riot Squad. He'd become nearly as obsessed with them as he had been My Chemical Romance. Matt had been there even then, helping them out with their equipment and their sole tech, or anything else really, back when Bri had been flat out stalking them trying to convince the guys that he was the best choice to be their manager.

He was almost stalking the Dingoes.

Almost.

He had a lot more on his plate than trying to make sure whoever Bert screwed was over eighteen these days.

James knew the Dingoes from a Reggie and the Full Effect bar tour a few years back. Brian was all over James like white on rice when he found that one out. Actually so was Brian's “office wizard” Tyson who'd started the whole damn obsession coming into the office wearing a Dingoes Ate My Baby T-shirt and stuck the CD in to listen to while sorting the daily mountain of mail.

Matt had ended up better versed in the Dingoes than he had been the two bands Brian was sending out with him, or hoping too if this tour worked out. And actually—Matt was rooting for the Dingoes to hold out and not sign even if Brian might drive everyone absolutely nuts in that case.

The Dingoes had eight albums. Three released in the late nineties—97, 98 and 99—and then a four year gap with the last five put out one a year from 2004 onward. All self-produced, all sold pretty much exclusively from their website with a mailing address in the middle of nowhere in the desert along the Nevada/California border, or just over it into Nevada which was...a ghost town. A ghost town that had, at best, had a population of about eighty. The town itself seemed to be owned by a woman named Faith Lehane Wilkins, she'd inherited it from her adoptive father Richard Wilkins III. The Dingoes had a liftime lease—on a saloon in a ghost town. The three albums from the late 90s sounded really freaking young and raw. The talent was there, each progressively better, but all young. The lyrics were—well they lived in a ghost town now. Dark, frightening, desperate, kind of strange lyrics full of monsters and wars of good and evil and epic mythological nightmarish shit. Definitely heavy influences of classic metal in their music.


The newer stuff, they could be on their pick of major labels and write their own ticket if they really worked at it, pushed and marketed and put themselves further out there. It was amazing. Just truly epic lyrically, tight and powerful musically. That four year gap between late 99 and early 04 had changed something even if it didn't look like the lineup of the Dingoes had changed at all, ever. The same guys that had started the band in something like 95 were the same guys still in the band now.

James said the guys were really young, like thirteen or fourteen, screwing around in the garage when they started the band and the first three albums they'd made in one of their basements with equipment they'd patched together themselves while still in high school.

The guitarist went and...studied in Tibet with monks and the lead singer had some sort of breakdown along with the onset of an inherited condition that he wouldn't talk about. The bassist had gotten married and divorced in the four year hiatus in album production.

The drummer was a real quiet guy that tended to jump at shadows and stay close to one of the other three at all times. The other three were just kinda weird. Sometimes they had crew. Sometimes they didn't. Crew tended to be non-talkative and even stranger than the band.

“You don't want me to get them,” Brian looked over at him.

Matt shrugged. He'd been around the edges of the business for too long not to root for the Dingoes making it, not big time, but making it without getting anywhere near the industry machine.

“Yeah, yeah I don't know if I want me to get them either. But Damn I gotta try.”

Tyson sat in the backseat looking almost scared as the town came into view. He jerked and twitched not too long after that. “Shit.” he whispered.

Brian looked over his shoulder at Tyson. The kid was barely twenty-one and in the five months he'd been working at Riot Squad had managed to make himself pretty invaluable as general office support for the three assistants Brian had. He managed to get the daily mail dump sorted in record time without fail, even prioritized the business related mail, he made damned good coffee and had a knack for finding shit—whether it be something lost in the office or some batshit lunacy of a bad B horror movie that went straight to VHS and sold all of thirty copies in 1987 and was never re-released but Mikey or Gerard, more likely Mikey, had to get their hands on right now. “You okay?”

Tyson nodded.

Matt really wasn't too sure about that. The kid was ashen, his grey eyes bugging out big as any anime characters.

“Shit, I shouldn't've come,” Tyson muttered under his breath as they pulled into the town itself.

For all the town had exactly thirty five houses—most of them small rough looking one-story built of adobe, four nice two story frame houses and one that looked like a miniature Victorian mansion. Those five buildings were all off to the east of the main part of the town on a bit of a bluff like an attempt to be a rich suburb overlooking the town. Main street was a surprising long with massive adobe buildings three and four stories high. Two boarding houses, three whore houses, a sheriff's office and jail, a lawyer's, a general store, a post office/telegraph office, a newspaper, a bank, a doctor's, a tailor's,and ten saloons. There was a massive livery stable with corrals and a blacksmith's next to it. Two large sprawling adobe buildings on the western edge of the town were bizarre, almost out of town, well past the houses. One had rows of swings from wooden frames and what looked like an approximation of a tree house built about eight feet in the air on posts. There was what looked to be couple slides too. Weird.

That it wasn't a complete ghost town was evidenced by window unit air conditioners visible on a few of the adobe houses and Matt counted maybe all of fifteen vehicles.

The Full Moon Saloon was where they were told. It was on the southern end of main street, the last building really just before the livery stable and blacksmith which were off on their own a bit, not a part of the towns two wide thoroughfares that made a perfect intersection in the center of town and the smaller narrow almost alleys off the east-west main road which had the houses and led to the two large buildings. The north-south maid road had all the businesses.

Four people came out of the Full Moon, no five, the fifth hung back in the doorway but there.

Matt was certain this welcoming committee wasn't the band. Maybe the three guys could be but...he just didn't think so.

The one that stood in front just a bit, just gone a step further than the other three, was probably late thirties with neatly cut short dark brown hair and glasses, lean but well enough built and probably about six-one or six-two. Matt was putting him about Toro's height and size at any rate. He was dressed in khakis and a crisp white button down shirt open at the throat, reavealing one wicked, wicked fucking scar.

The kid next to him was probably only about five seven or eight and skinny as Mikey used to be, not that Mikey was all that big these days he had filled out a bit—all the way from frail to plain old skinny looking. He had sandy blonde hair sticking up every which way—hard to tell if it was a hair style or bedhead—and wary eyes. There was a determined set to him that kind of gave Matt the impression the kid would rather be hiding some where but wasn't.

Next to him was a woman just a couple inches shorter, long dishwater blonde hair and in her early twenties probably. Pretty in a quiet sort of way, dressed like something for a Renn Faire almost with a white peasant blouse with long pouffy sleeves, a navy corset and a loose kind of flowing wine colored skirt that brushed the ground and had a bit of dust along the hem from walking through the dirt streets of the town no doubt. She looked...so very sad. Worn and tired, betrayed, broken, lost, and just so...sad. Matt's heart kind of broke for her and he didn't even know her name or what the hell her story was as to why she looked like that but a single glance at her kind of set off every protective instinct he had.

The man next to her kept an almost respectful distance even as he hovered and his hand was on the small over her back. The message was clear: look at her wrong even accidentally, he'd kill you as slowly and painfully as he could. Something about his stance, the way he hovered and the way she was broken, it wasn't she was his woman but something special and important to him in a platonic sense. He was about six foot, maybe an inch shorter than the first guy if that bit broader of shoulder, bit more muscularly built. Curly, shaggy, a half-shade off true black hair, dressed in worn jeans and plain gray t-shirt that was tight enough to give pause. He wasn't huge, or body builder ripped but he was definitely in shape, combined with the dangerous way he was standing by the broken woman and...yeah, the missing eye.

The woman by the door couldn't be more than five three. Long dark hair loose and hanging past her shoulders, a skimpy little camisole-style shirt, low riding jeans and boots.

“You're the gentlemen from Riot Squad, I presume?” The first man asked. His voice was wheezy and croaky and almost hard to understand but that scar on his throat? Matt kind of thought that he was damn lucky to be alive never mind speaking.

The dark haired woman leaning kind of sideways in the doorway moved, the hand hidden by the way she was standing appeared with a goddamned pistol in it...the sound of the shot about gave Matt a heart attack, out of the corner of his eye he noticed Brian jerking and Tyson nearly jumping a foot in the air.

“Snake,” she said, giving them a wicked grin and pointed—with the fucking gun!

Matt looked down, heart hammering in his chest and a headless rattlesnake that had apparently come out to sunbathe was maybe two foot from him. Shit. Yeah. Tennis shoes and jeans were better than nothing, but the dead snake really did explain heavy boots of one sort or another they all seemed to be wearing. Matt would bet the broken woman as well, though you couldn't see her feet with her skirt.

The broken woman swallowed, her gaze lingered on him a second, she tilted her head a little and drew a sharp breath. Her eyes barely flickered over Brian on the way to Tyson. She stared at the kid hard for a long while, it almost seemed like the world stood still. Tyson looked well, Matt couldn't make up his mind if the boy looked like he was going to cry, piss his pants or run. Maybe all three.

She swallowed again and screwed up her face. “C-c-c-c,” she stuttered looking almost pained. “Come in.” she breathed out in a rush. Her breathing fast and almost a little panicked as if she was scared she'd said that much. Something had really, really, destroyed her.

“Oz and the guys are inside. I'm Xander, this is Tara, Andrew, Wes, and Quickdraw back there is Faith.”

“You live here?” Brian blurted out.

The town was really weird, almost pristine even with all the dust, and was very much like falling through some sort of freaky time warp except for the cars.

“Yeah. A few of us keep the ghosts company. It's all pretty much restored to authentic, except for little details like electricity and plumbing and satellite tv and internet, so the historical society nuts can't come and try to raise hell over ruining history with developing the place or something.” Xander gave them a goofy smile, relaxing and looking harmless, except for the part where it was still very clear that upsetting Tara meant slow and painful death. “Gotta live somewhere, and all things considered, Hellfire's better than a lot of places.”

“That's the name of the town,” the dark haired woman, Faith, laughed. “Hellfire.”

The group turned and went into the Full Moon Saloon without a backward glance, Xander putting his arm around protectively Tara's waist and moving close to her side, her flowing skirt kind of spilling over to his leg as they walked. As easily in step as Mikey and Gerard could be from time to time. His head was bent down and she seemed to whisper something in his ear.

“The fuck,” Matt hissed at Brian, his voice a little high and his heart hadn't stopped trying to pound its way right out of his chest yet. He was still shaky, but it wasn't every day you got a gun levelled in your direction and a goddamned rattlesnake get it's head blown off a foot or so from where you were standing.

Brian didn't seem to be faring that much better. Matt hadn't seen that level of mostly terrified disbelief on Brian's face since the first time Gee and Frank groped and made out on stage to piss off the asshole contingent of the crowds drawn by Projekt Rev.

*

“Who the bloody hell pissed in yer 'air gel, pouf?”

“Yeah, and when are you leaving, Angel?” Xander demanded.

“Tonight, Harris,” was growled out dangerously.

“Aw, I'd enjoy it better if you left now. All that nice sunshine,” Xander mocked with a cruel looking grin.

The dark haired guy in tailored black slacks and a maroon silk shirt snarled almost sounding like an animal.

“Need to get your panties unbunched there, Fang,” Faith shook her head.

“Z-z-Xander, F-faith, b-b-be n-nice!” Tara stuttered out and leveled a very disappointed look on the guy with hair bleached white blond and razor-blade sharp cheekbones in wearing motorcycle boots, faded black jeans and a tight black t-shirt. He might only be about five-nine and lean but every bit of him was well defined lean muscle. Predator was the only word Matt could come up to describe him. That and fucking bizarre--Billy Idol look and Cockney accent in a Nevada ghost town that looked like you fell down the rabbit hole to the 1880s. Yeah. Bizarre.

The bigger guy, probably six two and broader than any of the others though not built like oh, Mehdi or Worm or anything, well...asshole came to mind.

“WHAT!” the bleached blond yelped. Then wheedled “He started it!”

Tara turned a baleful angry look at the big guy.

The look she got back in return was almost comical, completely petulant three year old not getting their way.

The blue haired guy was really pale with strawberry blonde eyebrows and freckles he shook his head at the big guy. “Sunset's not hitting soon enough,” he muttered and started toward Brian. “I'm Oz.”

Brian started trying his spiel, Matt was too busy trying to take in the whole of the interior of the bar. It was huge...not surprising because the buildings were massive. There was a stage area toward the back of the bar set up with what had to be the Dingoes equipment.

The long bar looked like restored original? Gorgeous polished wood and the same for the line of stools along it, solid wood stools not metal stands and padded swivelling seats. Matt really didn't know true craftsmanship from looking pretty but, those were really kinda cool. The wall behind the bar was paneled with a long counter and alternating four feet of shelving from the counter up to the high high ceiling four foot of blank wall space and so on for...five rounds of blank wall and six of shelving. The 'blank wall' was inaccurate really. The stained wood of the blank wall each decorated with a different wolf scene kinda burned into the wood.

A lot of the tables and chairs were heavy, beautifully carved wood. A couple pool tables that had to be custom made, the wood matching everything else and wolf scenes burnt onto the side. Dingoes playbills—some nothing more than a normal sized piece of colored paper others actual posters. There was one from the bar tour they'd done with Reggie and the Full Effect. Some old ones that were in an 8x10 frame looking rumpled and weathered...


Matt wandered a little closer to get a better look at the posters not like Brian brought him for anything more than they wanted to meet the guy who'd be in charge of Brian's bands on the three week tour they'd agreed to. Matt really didn't want to tour manage the two groups of little drunk asses but it was a paycheck until the guys hit back out on the road for the Riot Festival tour. The Dingoes Ate My Baby evidently made their debut opening for an act with the bizarre name of Barbecue Forks July 3rd, 1996 at the Bronze in a town called Sunnydale.

Barbecue Forks was opening for the Dingoes at the Bronze six months later according to another playbill. A few bills from some really freaking scary dives in Los Angeles, at least the three that Matt recognized the names of, horror stories of those clubs had made their way as far as Jersey bar tours with comparisons to hellhole bars in New York City. He'd heard some stories of those clubs on Warped and Taste of Chaos and even Projekt Rev.

“CORTEZ!” Brian snapped.

Matt wasn't sure what the hell he'd missed. Brian seemed unnerved almost by the little guy. Tyson looked like he was ready to faint or run screaming.

The big guy that really struck Matt as an asshole was gone. The bleached blond guy sitting on the bar with a cigarette dangling from his mouth, which earned him a slightly reproachful look from the broken Tara.

“Wot? I'm not putting it out, so you just save your doe eyes, Glinda! Bloody bad as the whelp and his puppy eye business.” Booted feet swung like a damned antsy kid and he took a defiant drag off his cigarette.

The dark haired woman had racked up a game of pool, bent over the table lining up a shot, gun stuffed in the waist of her pants at the small of her back—how the hell she managed that with the jeans as tight as they were was almost puzzling enough to distract from the fact the crazy bitch had a fucking gun in the back of her pants. Nice view, her bent over the pool table like that to get her shot, but still—GUN.

“Faith, I'm not interested in looking down your shirt, will you please stop your posturing and make the shot?” the guy with the scarred throat croaked out.

“HAH! Knew you were a ponce, watcher! You owe me twenty bucks, whelp!”

“A girl's gotta keep in practice, Wes,” Faith shot back in a sultry voice and a little arch in her back that—might have been interesting enough without the gun in the back of her pants

“Yes, of course, one mustn't let one's pool hustling skills become rusty,” Wes rolled his eyes. “And really, Spike, there are entire volumes of Diaries about your sexual escapades with Angel, you sound like an idiot crowing like that.”

Matt finally noticed Wes had a British accent as well, more refined probably than the blond guy's. Really, it took a bit to catch around the rough, really kind of mangled sound of his voice, more in what he said and how he said it.

“Sorry—just lookin' quite a collection there...” Matt smiled nervously giving Faith's backside a wary glance. She was good. Sank the shot with ease and sauntered around the table in a way that would gain a lot of attention in a bar or pool hall somewhere actually populated, somehow blatant without being contrived. Predator kinda summed her up too.

“Yeah,” Oz nodded with a little quirk of his lips that might be a smile. “No worries.” He turned his attention over to the blonde woman. “DEV, STAY!” he snapped, the words obviously not directed at the broken Tara but...the one guy sitting in the booth by the stage maybe, he kind of slumped back with a huff and a roll of his eyes. “I saw that, Devon.”

“No, you didn't,” the guy shot back. “You haven't grown eyes in the back of your head yet, puppy, you just know me too well.”

One of the two sitting with Devon burst out laughing, the other sort of twitched with a smile. Matt got the impression he was maybe laughing just as hard as the one braying like a jackass, just quietly judging by the matching kinda indulgent grins both Oz and Devon, half a room apart, were both trying to hide.

“Whatcha think, Tara?” Oz asked quietly.

Tara was looking at him. Matt found himself kind of unnerved at the intensity of how she was just looking and it was almost as if she could see what he was thinking or feeling or something.

She smiled. Matt kind of felt like he won the fucking lottery or something. Tara's smile was so...so something. Pure? Real? Kind of the sweetest and most beautiful thing he'd seen in a long time, maybe ever. She had an absolutely amazing smile, that turned her broken quiet kind of pretty into beautiful, even more so since she was so obviously completely fucking broken and wrecked by something.

Just by as strange as everything was—the freaking ghost town of Hellfire, Wes with his scarred throat and equally scarred voice, Xander with his missing eye, the crazy bitch with the gun in her pants—he wasn't dumb enough to consider betting against the fact there weren't just a lot of long stories with these guys but freaking massive sets of encyclopedias style long stories. They knew Tara was something special though, and treated her that way—careful and protective.

“Okay cool,” Oz nodded with a turn up of the corner of his mouth, reassuring-not-quite-a-smile.

She screwed up her face, almost like she was in pain, stuttering out sounds that made no sense. Stuck, caught on what she was trying to get out, tears of frustration shining in her eyes. “Xander” was finally spat out from a painful couple minutes of strangled incomprehensible sounds which left her face bright red with frustration and embarrassment. She kind of looked like she just wanted to collapse and sob, stubbornly fighting out words that didn't want to cooperate at all. “G-goes t-t-t-t-too.”

“Be like old times, huh, Xan?” Oz gave a half smile.

Xander snorted. “Just as long as you don't try throwing me on your soundboard. You guys sounded like shit every time you tried that back in high school.”

“Does this mean we have to listen to Patsy Cline on never ending repeat every time you get in funk?” Devon whined out loudly from back by the stage.

“Yep,” Xander nodded barely sparing a glance back in Devon's direction eyes—eye--intent on Tara. “You sure, Tare? You need me to stay with you, no questions--”

She gave him an annoyed determined look. Telling him off soundly without a word. She wasn't stupid. She wasn't helpless and if he didn't stop he was going to be in a world of hurt.

“Okay, okay,” he held up his hands in surrender, one hand almost immediately returning to the small of her back. Matt didn't think he was all that happy about being told he was going, or maybe more leaving her? He really couldn't see her on a tour. She was too...something even without being broken. Stuck in small places with a lot of people, mostly guys, really really didn't seem like something she'd tolerate well. Probably her definition hell.

“R-rrrrrrr-Riot.” She spat out in a single almost violent burst Oz.

Oz shrugged and turned his head just a bit, not looking back at the three guys Matt presumed were the other members of his band in the booth back by the stage, but turned his head just enough his ear was in their direction. One eye on Tara and Xander, the other eye kinda watching Tyson suspiciously.

“Why not? Got nothin' better to do.” Oz shrugged at long last.

The one, Dev, sauntered up toward them. Matt had never seen anyone just...ooze sex like Devon did. It wasn't appealing it was—just disturbing. Brian gulped. Tyson whimpered and as far as Matt knew the kid was straighter than...Ray. Devon just seemed to ooze sex all that much more as he draped himself against Oz's back.

“You've got me to do. That's better.”

“I do you every day. That's more like brushing my teeth.” Oz shot back.

Devon pouted and seemed to ooze even more. And ooze even more.

Tara gave Devon a dirty look.

“Bloody sex fiend. Turn it down a notch.”

“Yeah, before I take your fiend for a ride there, Dog Boy.”

Oz reached and flicked Devon on the nose with his fingernail. “Behave.”

“One of these days I'm gonna get you, Xander.” Devon shook his head.

“If you haven't yet I doubt you will.” Xander snorted.

Brian was dazed and bug eyed trying to figure out what the hell had just happened and not-so-discretely adjusting himself, the expression on his face when he realized what he was doing had Matt swallowing back a choked sound.

Tyson looked...really wrecked. Like just fucked through next week wrecked and maybe ready to have a nervous breakdown.

Tara turned her eyes back to Tyson, the struggle to get words to cooperate just fucking heartbreaking even if she hadn't so much as moved her lips or tried to make a sound yet, it was in her eyes, on her face. Xander leaned down, his ear almost against her lips. The stutter was in the whisper too, even if Xander's face blocked hers from his view—the tension in her body, the hand clenching her skirt with a white knuckled fist. Matt bet the stutter was a lot better when it was just one or two people she knew very well, but never really went away.

“They'll do your Riot whatever the hell it is if we get Neville out here. You get him Monday through Thursday. Friday Saturday and Sunday his ass is out here.”

“WHAT?” Brian stared, spluttering and looking ready to blow a few blood vessels

Matt looked from Tara, to Tyson. “Neville?” Matt frowned.

“Longbottom.” Xander replied with a shrug.

“What?” Brian repeated.

“Gryffindor—totally screwed shit up right and left but turned out pretty kick ass in the last book. Harry Potter.”

“Are you on drugs?” Brian gaped.

“Answers that one.” Devon snorted.

“Weekends?” Tyson squeaked.

“Hang out with Tara and Andrew, learn a thing or two, Wes has a few tricks up his sleeve too.” Xander offered. “We've had enough of nosediving off into the dark side around here.”

“Dark side?” Brian repeated.

“Star Wars,” Oz offered.

“Luke I'm your father?” Devon snorted.

“The original trilogy is good!” Andrew pouted.

“Better than the prequels,” Spike snorted. “Bloody hell. I swear that JarJar cheats at poker in Santo Domingo.”

“JarJar Binks is evil. And needs to be—just demolecularized.” Andrew declared.

“At least stick his tongue in a light socket,” Faith shrugged and sauntered around the table, Matt noted she was pretty impressively running the board on Wes...and paying scary close attention to what else was going on.

And something completely shifted in their attitude. They let their guards down? Something decided that the three of them weren't some kind of threat.

Brian looked ready to explode.

Andrew seemed to spook, or maybe run out of the last of his resolve, and scooted closer and closer to Xander. Xander simply held out his arm. One hand rested protective and reassuring on the small of Tara's back, the other was soon on Andrew's shoulder, the kid wrapped protectively under Xander's arm.

Tyson—

Matt barely knew the kid, mostly from Brian's mentioning of him when they'd talked or the guys going on about “Tyson found—” whatever whim/obsession of the moment was when Brian or Jeff had told them to fuck off and pretend to be sane or there was no way in hell they were going to find whatever or just flat out no. Even barely knowing the kid, Matt thought he was going to just...fucking break or something.

Matt moved around Brian, ignoring him. The vien in Brian's temple was starting to throb. Weird limit hit for Brian.

He put his arm around Tyson's waist and hauled the kid tight to his side, protectively. And shit, kid had a nice wet spot on his jeans—Matt knew that was from the oozing Devon had done. He wasn't sure what the hell he was all missing but he thought there kinda was a lot. A whole fucking lot. He spent too much time with crazies and the occasional sociopath or predator asshole that got a job setting up equipment or driving trucks for the crazies. People didn't lose eyes or have scars that looked like they'd nearly been decapitated or wind up as just broken as Tara seemed with out really, really, long ugly stories. And a long story involving the crazy bitch with the gun in the back of her pants would probably be better than a short story—short story would add up to a summary of about three words, namely crazy dangerous bitch. That oozing sex bit was something else again. He was really wanting to put that in the file of 'I'm still drunk from last night or so freaking tired I'm imagining things' with a handful of other really crazy shit he'd stumbled across on tour and really did his best to forget about.

The corners of Tara's lips curled up in a shy sweet ghost of a smile directly at him. Yeah, her smiles really were like winning the lottery, and that's with just a few minutes seeing her, not knowing any of her story. He bet they were that much more to the ones that knew her.

“Dude, you don't make deals for people,” Matt finally blurted because no one other than Brian or himself seemed all that shocked that the offer of the Dingoes on the Riot Tour was conditional to them getting Tyson on the weekends.

Xander shrugged. “Bought a dozen little girls for twenty grand, a couple dozen cases of bullets and a grenade launcher in Somalia a few months back. Gotten in the habit of strange deals for the big picture. Three of the girls are with a foster family in Cairo. Two are in Kent at a private school there. The rest are in Cleveland at an Academy there—only one of those seven qualifies to be there really but best place we could find to put 'em. So they're all there. Oldest one of the girls was all of thirteen, the youngest was eight. Taken to pay off debts or revenge, most of 'em didn't have family living after the debt and revenge part. No one gave a damn what I was going to do with those girls. The one that did asked laughed at me and called me a fool because a couple of them were really good at giving head and one screamed real nice when you nailed her.”

“I—weekends yeah.” Tyson spoke up, all big eyes and completely freaked out.

Matt gaped at Xander.

“He's not making any more little girls scream,” Xander said tightly.

Matt nodded slowly and managed a shaky. “Cool.”

“Cortez, have you lost your fucking mind?” Brian yelled at him.

Matt bit his lip as he studied Xander.

Devon whined from where he was still plastered to Oz' back, Oz whacked him on the leg.

“Good,” Matt nodded.

Matt was pretty damned sure Brian was going to lose his mind.

“So this Riot tour,” Oz spoke up.

“You work Fridays. Weekends are your own time but you work Fridays,” Brian glared at Tyson and in typical Brian fashion, ignored the batshit and went straight for business. It was practically reflex. Musicians were freaking insane, it was almost a rule of the universe. Brian had worked with plenty of crazies as a tech, tour-managed the Used, and the guys were at times almost the sanest of the bands Brian managed. He had to ignore the batshit; it would have driven him crazy long before he'd even convinced the guys that he was meant to be their manager.

Andrew asked Tyson to go talk with him and Tara off in the far corner.

Wes rolled his eyes and declared he had paperwork to take care of Faith could practice her wiles on Spike. Spike hopped off the bar and sauntered back to the pool table.

“You planning on killing anybody if you're going out with these guys on the bar tour and then Riot over the summer?” Brian demanded.

“Not planning on it. Killing people is a bad habit,” Xander replied.

“Good. Remember that,” Brian snapped.

Matt shook his head a little as Brian moved off with the band, trying to pitch being their manager as well as get them on the Riot tour which he'd about risked his entire savings on again, and called in every favor and hit every single person he knew and begged. My Chem was going to headline the main stage. Avenged Sevenfold was headlining the second stage. 30 Seconds to Mars was going to headline the third stage, still going it on their own mostly without a label after all the chaos with the lawsuit—hell he wasn't even sure if the lawsuit was settled yet or just hanging around in limbo in court like that sort of shit did keeping the band hanging with no way to sign anywhere else or really do shit until it was all settled, which at this point kind of seemed to be the deal. The rest of the line ups were filling in well enough. Brian was still going to give himself another ulcer or maybe an anuerism before it was through.

He wondered if Brian registered what he'd asked and what Xander had replied at all.

Xander looked over to where Brian sat with Oz. The other three members of the Dingoes slinked back to the pool table.

“NOT LOUD!” Oz shouted as one of them went for a panel in the wall that slid back to reveal sound system controls.

“Oh goddess, I'm not in the mood to watch the fully clothed menage a trois again,” Xander rolled his eye.

Two of the Dingoes, the two Matt had no clue what their names were, racked the balls for another game of pool. The music was kept toward the back corner where they were. Loud enough but only a couple speakers back where they were. The crazy woman set her gun aside on one of the tables and started dancing with Devon and Spike. More slithering and grinding and groping through clothes.

Yeah. Fully clothed menage a trois was...maybe the politest thing to call the “dancing” and probably grounds for arrest in any respectable club in LA, possibly some of the seedier ones.

“I'm tour manager and maybe all there is for a crew for the Fallen Saints and Landmine for the bar tour.” Matt offered, tearing his eyes away from the three.

“Cool. I need to go check on Clem. Want to walk along? Clem's—shy. He's not likely to let you see him...He's got a skin condition that kinda makes him look freaky and he was jumped a couple weeks ago in LA. That's why he's out here at the moment. Give ya a tour of the town once I check on him.”

Matt nodded.

He really should be more freaked. There was a gun laying on the table, and the three having fully dressed sex standing upright supposedly dancing, and the snake that got it's head shot off. Why not take a walk with a guy who—didn't think nothing of trying to bargain time share of Tyson and basically admitted he'd bought a bunch of little girls from some kind of criminal/pirate/drug/what the hell ever group, bullets and a fucking grenade launcher in the payment, and then killed one of the guys. Granted the guy sounded like he really deserved whatever he got but...

Brian, well, Brian not noticing wasn't a shock. He was too focused on touring deals at the moment. And trying to convince the Dingoes to sign on to Riot Squad.

“Gonna tell Tara I'm goin' for a minute, hang on.”

There. That was why he wasn't...well, yeah, freaking but not running screaming for the car and dragging Brian and Tyson with him. Xander leaned over and whispered in Tara's ear. One hand resting on the back of her chair, the other just barely touching her hand. Crazy and dangerous maybe...but the way he acted toward her. And her obvious absolute trust of him. He wasn't running screaming. Maybe he probably should because, goddamn, talk about falling down the fucking rabbit hole.

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