At first, I was excited for this challenge. Well, not excited, I don’t get excited, but slightly uplifted I suppose. I would finally get the chance to show off my singing skills, which were once known to enrapture a crowd, and the only thing I had to worry about was finding a band. No problem.
But where was I to find a band? I flipped through my trusty book of acquaintances, and landed on the page labeled ROCK STARS. I called up the first 5 names I could find, hoping they were each a guitarist, bassist, drummer, backup singer, and keyboardist, and set off to meet them in a recording studio downtown.
When I saw them, all gimpy and rheumatic, strumming their guitar strings with their arthritic fingers and croaking the classics, I had to let a slight shudder of my own perfect shoulders betray my revulsion. I had forgotten the toll age would have taken on my former acquaintances, that my acquaintance book dates back before my attempt to take over the world using the Shanti virus. A stupid mistake that would not be made again.
But now I was struck with insecurities, as I wandered the streets leading away from the studio, striking lonely poses. Remembering the horrifying incident of the gray hair I found on my fabulously coiffed head, I wondered if my true age revealed itself in other ways, such as senility and incompetence. On the inside, perhaps I was no different than those decrepit men still practicing at the recording studio. Perhaps I was old. Was I old?
“Am I old?” I spoke aloud, tragically.
“Well, you’re not getting any younger!” Replied an uncouth voice from behind me, interrupting my reverie.
I turned to face the group of young men I had stumbled upon, who were practicing their musical instruments in the street.
“Good one, man,” one said to the other, high-fiving him.
“Yeah, you should write that down,” said another.
“Hey,” I said. “Do you want to be in my band?”
“Uh, sure. Who are you?”
“I’m your new lead singer.”
“Oh. Really?”
The heavily eyelinered blonde to whom I was currently speaking looked unsure of himself.
“I thought Dave was our lead singer. He just stepped around the corner to take a leak…”
“One moment,” I said. I stepped around the corner, intercepted the man who was presumably Dave, and snapped his neck.
“Nope, I’m definitely in,” I told my new band when I got back.
“All right dude,” said the dark-haired one unperturbedly. “Let’s rock!”
Soon after our black-copter arrival at Sylar’s mansion, we found ourselves ushered onto a brightly lit stage. The crowd was screaming.
I opened my mouth to sing, but then I saw him…the servant who had eluded me countless times since I tried to kill him my first day here! He grinned at me from backstage. I could see the grenade he held in his hand and the hate he held in his eyes, and I knew right then that I had to end it.
“You can handle yourself for five minutes, right?” I asked eyeliner blondie, and leaped after the servant. It didn’t take me long to catch him, and at long last, dispose of him for good. I’m sure he won’t be found where I hid him…Elle has such a big closet, after all…
When I got back to the stage, I could only stand agape in horror. They were plunking away at their instruments aimlessly, and the back up singer appeared to be useless without me. The crowd was losing its enthusiasm, and quickly. I had to do something. I jumped up on stage and all fell silent.
I sang the first thing that came to mind…
Well, I didn’t sing the entire aria. Just the most difficult part. In Italian. Everyone was still silent, and I couldn’t tell what Sylar was thinking. He was probably wondering what the hell that just was, at least, that’s what I was thinking. Just then, as my cool and calculating mind was determining my next move, the stage exploded. I had forgotten about the grenade, but talk about perfect timing! The sprinklers came on, and the band members who weren’t dead found their momentum.
“My love for you is like the rain,
Tears fall down and soothe the pain,
Please don’t tear my love in two,
I have a rock stuck in my shoe.”
I suppose it all came together quite nicely in the end, despite the screaming and running going on in the crowd.
After the show, the 2 surviving band members and I sat backstage, toweling our hair. The bassist took out some white powder and passed it to the guitarist.
“Hey, can I have some of that?” I asked.
::NOTE: THIS BLOG ENTRY DOES NOT IN ANY WAY PROMOTE DRUG ABUSE.::