Who: Mao and Jack and Corporate Lobotomy members. What: Audition time! When: Thursday night. Where: Jack Patel's garage. Rating: Medium for Mao's potty mouth?
Tetsuo was always saying he needed to apply himself if he wanted a good future. He meant school, of course, but Mao didn't see that happening. Him, going to college? Working in an office? Living the 9 to 5 life? It just wasn't going to happen. He'd end up some crazy hobo-man before that shit. But there might be another way. When Mao saw that post online looking for drummers it came to him. Rockstars were successful. And they never had brains or finished school or any of that stuff. All he had to do was play drums, how easy was that? Super easy! He spent the night before watching about a million videos online of drum players so he was more than ready to blow these band guys away.
The address he was given was simple to find, Mao knew his way around, and even if he didn't, the sound of guitar strumming and the occasional blat of feedback would have led him to the right garage anyway. Mao strolled up the driveway, a short Asian kid in a too big army jacket covered in doodles and paint. His hair tiptoed the line between being a mohawk and something else entirely, streaks of color standing out brightly on a black background. His ears were heavily pierced, as well as his lip, nose, and eyebrow. The boy had yet to play a note but he had already gotten the punkish rocker look down pat.
"Hey, hey!?" Mao called out, picking up his pace to a trot. "You guys the ones needing a drummer!?" A sharp, toothy grin fixed itself on the boy's sly fox's face and he boldly eyed those gathered in the garage, mentally appraising their potential.