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Old 06-22-2006, 02:08 AM   #1
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A History of Fly: Beginnings

Just something silly I was fiddling around with while talking with a friend earlier. The Fly is such an under-developed character unlike his devilish counterpart, so here's a made up history of Clarence (with a name like THAT you wouldn't protest to being called "The Fly", would you? So...should I continue or no? Hope you like it!

Rated PG for some scruffy humor...nothing horrible :P

Of Firemen and Rock Stars

Mrs. Keating’s class: a typical primary school setting. March 15, 1968, 10 AM, sun shining through the scattered windows and lighting up the mucus-colored wallpaper while toys lay strewn about the rather anticlimactic gray carpet along with discarded letter books. A bright and smiling woman all dolled up in a green turtleneck and far too much blush stood in front of a group of disenchanted seven year olds, half of whom had their fingers lodged appropriately in their right nostril.

Oh, but their eyes shone so brightly after the teacher explained the activity so their pea-brains could comprehend the actual question, the big enchilada that haunted the recesses of every child’s mind on occasion: what would life be like after primary school?

“Cindy, what would you like to do when you grow up?” A nice starter, Mrs. Keating told herself, and offered a gentle grin to the freckled girl with her brown curls all done up in lace.

“I’m going to be a mummy because my mummy says it’s the best job in the world!” cheered the poor, deluded Cindy, who ended up becoming a mommy before she anticipated to. That was when she became frighteningly aware that parents, too, could lie.

“And you, James? What do you want to do when you grow up?” Mrs. Keating asked sweetly of the fair-skinned, blonde boy who found a friend in everyone.

“I’m going to be a policeman because I don’t like it when kids pick on other kids,” James grinned from ear-to-ear. In fact, James (later known as “Jimbo the Gun”) enjoyed great success as a bank robber that plagued the West-side from the early 80’s until he was caught and put away in 1998.

So the antics went on and children flashed their rosy-cheeked teacher grins accompanied by words like “doctor”, “vet”, “fireman”, “parent”, or “movie star”. In reality a whole slew of drug addicts, criminals, alcoholic lawyers, strippers, and miserable divorcees sat before her. Perhaps two doctors and a teacher existed out of the pack…then there was the other.

“How about you, Clarence? What are you going to do when you’re all grown up?”

The dark-haired boy had anticipated this moment his whole life. He quivered in his sitting position for a moment, unable to muster up the strength to come to his feet. His bright and promising blue eyes darted between his peers and the stuffed animals scattered about: it was his show now. As if he were empowered by the eyes, the boy known as Clarence sprang to his feet in an impressive display. He tilted his head back and spoke as loud as possible not bothering to even take a breath much less think of pausing.

“When I grow up I’m going to be a big rock star and I’m going to get all the girls I can because I’m going to be rich and famous and happy and better than everyone else!”

Dead silence except for the boy’s heart thumping so loud it might have burst out of his chest right then and there; he still looked quite smug without a hint of regret. The notion of sitting again was out of the question; in fact Clarence stood there in the same position as if he were soaking up the stares.

He was beaming.

Quite a shame that he got a paddle from the teacher out of it and a bit of roughing up and home for such honesty, but all stories of such “epic proportions” must start with some sort of tragedy on the hero’s part.

Then again Clarence was never much of a hero except to himself. This is a story about him, both true and false. How should it be both? Nothing is definite in a life of stardom and Clarence was aware of this from an early age. There are many gaps to be filled yet, but some are better insinuated with such a man of mystery despite having his life (mostly, he’s hardly dead and gone) chronicles. This is real. This is false. This is a lie. This is the truth. This is a biography. This is an autobiography. This is about every other contradiction you could find. Almost lastly, this is amusing and both subject and author would greatly appreciate tips.

This is the Fly.

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Old 10-24-2006, 11:49 PM   #2
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“Get off the stage, wanker!”

“Yeah, sod off! Bloody grease ball!”

A beer bottle sailed onto the stage and collided with the drum kit. The vocalist whose talent was in question shot up towards the edge of the stage. His blue eyes glimmered something fierce under the disheveled mat of sweaty hair that he slicked back in one angry motion.

Open mic night at Mr. Pussy’s was definitely not for the faint or heart nor the weak of stomach.

“What do you want, huh? You want that stream of bullshit they’re feeding you that they call rock and roll?” The thin boy in the patched brown jacket and worn pair of leather pants retorted. He kicked and squirmed against the muscular set of men that guided him off the stage before being thrown out flat on his behind. The worn pair of pants did nothing to aid the ache in his bum or the bitter swelling of his sore ego despite leather pants being the key to every wannabe’s plight to fame.

No sooner had he managed to pick himself up did the house band grind out their cigarettes and make back for the stage. The Virgin Prunes. Clarence watched them pass with a bitter gaze of envy and a slight wince for the pain in his hip. He started to turn away just as the bitter cackling of a short and cretonnes hit his ears but was caught by the firm hand of the lead singer.

“We’d like to thank you, mate. Never imagined a success like this cleanin’ up after you every Thursday. Same time tomorrow, huh?” he chuckled and quickly hopped inside and within moments the joint was back to bouncing and erupting with the things all rock and rollers crave: roars and applause.

An unfortunate can in the path of a wannabe with a wounded ego suffered a rough kick from a pair of sharp-looking boots; Clarence hadn’t counted on the upright can of cola being half full and getting its last revenge in spilling its sticky contents onto his luxury boots. With a cry he picked up the can and went to throw it before the curious label caught his eye. His brow furrowed.

Zoo Cola. What kind of dime store shit was that?

“PopMart’s doing, actually. Absolutely repulsive by any standards,” came a slow and slightly shaky voice; surprisingly enough it that still held some powerful and forbidden aura to it.

Clarence glanced over his shoulder slowly to the source of the voice and found the path behind him littered and barren. With a dismissive grunt he turned around and was met by a piercingly white face and a set of violently scarlet grinning lips. His gaze widening, Clarence took the stranger in from his slicked back hair to his garish, gold platform shoes.

“Hello, Clarence. My name is Mr. Macphisto and you seem to have hit a rough patch.”

An effort to speak on Clarence’s part was silenced by a mere lifting of a finger on Macphisto’s part.

“And have I got a deal for you.”

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Old 10-25-2006, 03:10 PM   #3
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oooh what happens next?
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Old 10-25-2006, 04:39 PM   #4
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I LOVE it!!!!!!

Ok what is the deal? lol
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Old 11-05-2006, 06:28 PM   #5
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Macphisto strode smoothly towards Clarence and paced around him as he spoke with a nasal British accent.

Clearly he liked the sound of his own voice.

“I’ve always been a fan of the underdog- the struggling rockers who can’t quite break the surface. It’s a life of tragedy…consumes a whole existence. There’s absolutely no life outside of booking yourself humiliating gigs in the gutter and perhaps scrounging up the odd meal. But fear not,” he smiled fondly towards Clarence and let his hand hover over Clarence’s shoulder as if he couldn’t quite bring himself to touch the cheap shirt, “because I help people get on their feet. For a price, of course.”

For the first time Clarence was able to work his tongue out of a knot and speak. He stepped away carefully and kept his eyes locked on this Macphisto, regarding him with nothing but suspicion.

“Look, I might not be the brightest crayon in the box, but I know you should never trust a guy with horns,” muttered Clarence.

Macphisto returned a blank look and remained silent for only a split second before grinning, “A man of business .My, you’re a natural. Think of the places you could go, the people you could meet…pretty girls, Clarence. Just aching for you backstage…”

“How did you know my name?” he interjected, choking slightly at the prospect of lusty women.

“Oh everyone could know your name. You’ve got the potential; these old eyes can see it. Imagine, your name in lights! Clarence!” Macphisto paused in the process of an extravagant hand gesture, “Well, it’s not exactly Elvis, but we’ll work something out.”

“Yeah?” Clarence replied, his tone peaked with interest, before leaning back against the nearest wall and searching for the packet of toothpicks in his pockets. Cigarettes didn’t come cheap enough.

At that moment, something clicked in his mind.

“Wait a minute…Macphisto, right? I’ve heard of you. Aren’t you old news or something of a wash-up yourself?” Clarence asked quite bluntly.

Rather than react rashly, Macphisto stared for only a moment before the cool smile returned to his features. “Well, I’ve been around since the beginning, you see. I’ve seen rock and roll through from the very beginning. Now I work more behind the scenes and on occasion I play a Vegas gig or two.”

“No, seriously…I think my old man listened to you on vinyl or something. You’re old,” Clarence continued on and allowed the toothpick to drop from his mouth and he ground it into the concrete with his boot.

“Yes, yes, very well. Just acknowledge the fact I have experience and know a star when I see one! Now, did you want to go along with his deal or not? You’ll be an international sensation. You’ll have it all: Glamour, girls, and gusto! All you need is what I’m willing to offer you: a band, a makeover and a little direction.”

Clarence shifted away from the wall. Anticipation danced in his eyes and immediately he thrust out his hand to seal the deal, “I’ll do it.”

“Wonderful!” Before Clarence had a chance to meet with Macphisto’s hand a piece of parchment written in the traditional blood-red ink (of course it was ink, or so Clarence convinced himself). Accompanying the floating document was a rather lethal-looking pen that more resembled a knife than anything.

“All I need is you to prick your finger and put your autograph right on that line there,” Macphisto said in a systematic tone and inspected his nails.

Clarence hesitantly moved the sharp edge of the pen to his finger before pausing and squinting at the tiny text, “What’s this say? You get my soul?” He started to hand the pen back before finding he wasn’t able to.

“Do you find yourself using your soul on a daily basis? Take it for a walk or feed it?” The horned man waved a dismissive hand, “It’s perfectly flexible! I won’t go into all the legal mumbo-jumbo of it, but trust me…things are going to work out beautifully. I have no reasons to lead you astray because it’s partially my profit too.”

The contract was signed. Clarence found himself not feeling any less of a person, in fact, as the contract vanished in a puff he felt even fuller than before.

“Excellent! Now the band!” Macphisto said with vigor. Not a second later did the pub erupt with another roar of discontentment. “Right on cue,” Macphisto guided Clarence towards the exit.

The Prunes had taken another one of their casual drinking breaks and decided to let someone else at the mic- they needed their amusement too. A sad looking band shuffled off the stage, each member in a different direction. Still they wore ill-stitched black jackets that read “The Hype”.

“You’ll get along with these fellows perfectly,” Macphisto said in some tone of reassurance or another.

First he pointed out a sharp-featured man that went and sat down in a secluded corner. He wore a beanie and sported a goatee that even the Devil himself approved, “Your guitarist. He’s a reserved fellow, very smart…name’s Evan. The good old boy of your band.”

Next he gestured to the bleach-blonde bassist who had settled down next to a crowd of girls. They wandered off as quickly as he came and he gave a nonchalant shrug as he was left alone with his table of drinks. “Your bassist, Clayton. He’s a bit of a womanizer, that one, and an excellent drinking buddy.”

Finally he just nodded to the rather annoyed looking drummer as though he’d prefer not to attract the boy’s attention. The drummer gripped his sticks in a menacing way and stepped out the front door that was always ajar and stood by his motorcycle, kicking at the curb and seemed to be muttering a slew of curses. “Your drummer will take a little time to come around…a bit of a temper but it’s mostly no tolerance for nonsense. He goes by Junior.”

Clarence gritted his teeth slightly, “They don’t look like much; I mean they just got booed off the stage. Can’t you find something better?”

“It’s all part of the deal. With a flick of my wrist it will be just like you’ve always been a group and they’ll get better…so much better. Now. For that makeover.”

The Prunes had their fill of booze and stood up, giddily wobbly-legged and headed for the stage. They stumbled to a pause and realized they had been beaten back…but who the hell were they?

The lead singer’s eyes wandered up from a pair of sleek, black boots, up the short legs cloaked in authentic rock-star leather pants to the matching leather jacket. These guys meant business.

“Oy! This is the same band from a couple of minutes ago, isn’t it? Who the bloody hell’s the wanker in the leather suit, then?” questioned the tipsy Prunes drummer.

The lead singer stepped to the very edge of the stage and spoke straight into the mic, confident, a sleek strand of black hair falling stylishly over a face half covered by over-sized black sunglasses. His voice was raspy, but unnaturally enticing, “It’s my show now. Why don’t you sit back down and listen to how it’s done?”

“Did you hear that, mates?” the lead singer barked to the whole bar, “ Why are you wearing those damn glasses inside anyway? Are you, blind or are you just hiding? You look the fucking Human Fly! Stupid bastard.” He muttered before slouching into his seat.

“Does look like a fly a bit, doesn’t he?” a woman piped in.

The singer stood firm. He didn’t move save for a curl of his lip into a smirk and then he finally raised his hand signaling for the band to prepare.

“Yeah, alright. This fly’s gonna give you an absolute buzz then.”

A suave devil smiled knowingly as he stood comfortably in the doorway of the bar, watching.
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Old 12-13-2006, 01:07 AM   #6
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I like.
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Old 12-17-2006, 04:45 PM   #7
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The Discotheque- the hottest club in all of Zootopia. A place where the rich and famous made their nightly appearances in a dazzling show of lights and sound. Clarence knew as soon as he walked through the doors he had officially made the big time and he wasn’t shy of reminding anyone about it.

Once more he looked at the invitation printed on paper with bright red highlights and text with smooth print with perhaps a whiff of a rich cigar. It was the sort of invitation that you dream about that may or may not truly exist. He eyed the signature through his glasses…Bobby Joe. No last name, almost as if it was just understood.

Of course he had to take the band with him; whoever this Bobby Joe guy was he was definitely interested in the up and coming band. They hadn’t grown any closer in the time they had been together, a purely silent and business relationship. Clarence found they usually tailed him wherever he went anyway.

The atmosphere of the club was a blur between reality and fiction. The bass shook the whole club and multi-colored lights flared from every direction. Everyone seemed too caught up in a trance of rocking out to acknowledge anyone else. Clarence sidestepped a waitress with a pointed huff and weaved his way through the intoxicated dancers with Evan, Clayton and Junior in tow.

An unbeaten path across the lighted floor led them to a white staircase. Loud whooping and various soulful yelling could be heard from the platform above. They ascended nonetheless and found their path blocked by a gruff-looking set of men clad in cowboy hats and boots: a typical country western band. Both bands halted on the stairway, looking one another down before one of the cowboy-hatted men scowled and pushed the path clear. He descended down the stairs, muttering.

“Doesn’t make any damn sense that Betty would sit there and listen to the nerve of that guy! Luke, Alton, let’s wet our whistle.”

“Don’t understand it much either, Duke, but we’ve gotta trust this guy. He can get us a real break,” another man, more rational, soft-spoken and rather thick-browed said as he walked in tow, leaving the last of the group still staring Clarence down. He smirked a little bit.

“Shoot- they’ve sure got some goofy costumes going on,” he said, eyeing Clarence. “We’re the Dalton Brothers, here to make connections and get signed. If you’re here for the same I’d watch out for this guy- he’s already got our sister, Betty. Keep an eye on her for us, huh? We’re going to the bar.”

He descended without another word, but Duke stopped at the foot of the stairs and called back up, “And if you make any moves on her, screwball, we’ll break your legs!”

“Hallelujah!” the other brothers chimed in.

“Bumpkins,” Clarence sniffed while adjusting the collar of his jacket.

Already things were looking grim for this Bobby Joe guy…signing country bands? Clarence dreaded his name on the same label as something so trashy as “The Dalton Brothers”. As they reached the top of the stairs he changed his mind.

The balcony room was brighter than the main floor. It was white with random, bright paintings strewn about the walls and comfy bleach-white couches and armchairs scattered about. A man in a glimmering, silver suit with complimenting hat sat on the sofa with a broad grin: the source of the whooping and soulful wailing. “Well, there’s a devil in you!”

Clarence looked away swiftly for a moment, shocked, before catching sight of the person to whom the comment was really directed- a tall woman with short brown hair strewn about her face was moving towards the couch. She draped herself across it and stretched her skinny legs across the man’s sparkling lap with a small titter.

“I can get that out of you, real quick,” he grinned and ran a finger up her neck and along the underside of her chin.

Excuse me,” Clarence interjected. He didn’t sound as if he was looking to be pardoned at all, but more miffed he wasn’t the center of attention at the moment.

A frown spread slowly across the loud man’s face and he turned his head, taking in the sight of Clarence and his band over the rim of his glasses. A smile rekindled, but there was something unctuous about it, quite familiar even, “So, you’re Macphisto’s boy?”

“Er,” Clarence didn’t look eager, “Popular guy or are you just lucky?” His tone was drenched in sarcasm. He was still trying to place where he’d seen the man…

“Oh, we go way back,” Bobby Joe said knowingly and leaned back in his seat, hands wandering freely over Betty Dalton’s legs. “Don’t just stand there gaping like you’ve just seen a leper, sit down!”

His loud tone clicked, “You’re on TV!” Clarence pointed, piecing the puzzle together, “That religious bullshit. The guy the religious fanatics go nuts over: the Mirrorball Man!”

“Can I interest you in a cigar to keep that yap of yours quiet for a minute?” the televangelist retorted smoothly, extending a box.

“Nah. I’ve got my own smokes,” Clarence drew a pack of cigarettes and lit up while the other band members partook of a cigar as they continued to linger in the background.

The Mirroball Man settled comfortably in his seat paying no mind to the woman, “I’m no more the Mirrorball Man than you are The Fly. The only real difference is you know the name my mother blessed me with under the Good Lord’s Name.” He gestured extravagantly before continuing on, “There are all sorts of celebrities out there and they all end up here one way or another. This is fame- when you can piss around with assholes just like yourself. It’s fucking beautiful! It doesn’t always last, but places like this make it damn fine while you’ve got it. Piss around your money and get out of your pants- that’s fame!”

Clarence gave a small smile before exhaling some smoke. He looked ready to add something to the conversation.

“Now boy, you listen and you listen good,” Bobby Joe leaned forward a bit, “That devil Macphisto rang up just a few days ago and said I had to have a look at you and give you a push in,” he rolled his eyes as if it was all very familiar. “You certainly have a look about you, but I could help get any halfwit who gelled his hair and slipped into a pair of leather pants signed. Now I’m giving you a chance to tell me yourself why I should scratch your back.”

Clarence drew a smooth, calm drag from his cigarette, “Because I’m a rock star- always have been, and always will be.”

There followed a lapse of silence before the televangelist laughed, “You’re a little shit, but I like your attitude. Cocky- just the right kind of spice!” He extended a card towards Clarence, but it was clear his attentions were waning as the sweet Dalton girl had started shifting her legs restlessly across his lap, “You call me and I’ll think about picking up. Now if you’ll give Ms. Betty and me a moment…”

Clarence cringed. Now he knew exactly how it felt to be in the shoes of a roadie in his own band.

Back on the dance floor the band diffused into the crowd quickly. Clarence flashed a grin at every woman that brushed up against him and flashed him a lustful glance. He finally selected an eager redhead who was dancing near with intent purpose.

Within a matter of mere minutes she guided him out the back door of the club into an unsavory alley. He kissed her roughly and she giggled and smoothly moved her body against him.

“Oh baby,” she purred as her fingers ran through his hair and wandered slowly to his glasses. She started to lower them, “I want to see your eyes first.” Clarence allowed her to remove them. Her face looked a little fuzzy, but he dismissed it easily. It had to be from stepping out of the intoxicating atmosphere of the club. Or maybe he’d had a little too much to drink that night. “Mm, sexy brown,” the redhead said in a sultry manner.

Clarence continued to hold her hips possessively and kiss her. He did not pay much mind to her words, but as she noted the color of his eyes he held her at arm’s length, “You’re drunk. My eyes are fucking blue,”

“You don’t believe me? Look!” she produced a compact mirror from her purse without bothering his hold on her. Clarence held it up to his face and as he looked up into the mirror he was startled by a dull, brownish tinge overtaking his eyes. As if on cue, the color swirled and his entire iris was engulfed in black.”

“Uh,” a bit of concern crept into his eyes, but not enough to stop him from kissing the redhead and holding her closer. A cold trickle leaked down her eyes and as he pulled away he noticed a smear of blood on the girl’s cheek. He stared, puzzled, before finally touched his fingers to the area just under his eyes; his fingers drew back, coated in blood.

Clarence immediately shoved the girl away without concern. He thrust his palms against his eyes at the sudden cloudiness in his vision with a cry that drowned out the girl’s pleas for him to return.

He stumbled in from the alley and successfully collided with everyone in his path. His arms moved wildly ahead of him in an effort to find the wall and follow it along to the exit- he had certainly had enough for tonight…and that was saying something. When he finally reached the door he looked up through his thick glasses and found he could see just fine, well enough to see Clayton’s crowd of supermodels turning on him and one especially vengeful looking woman chasing him to the door with her cell phone.

It was definitely time to call it a night. He’d call Macphisto in the morning to sort everything out.
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Old 12-17-2006, 08:36 PM   #8
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this is really good, i like it alot

please post more soon
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Old 01-02-2007, 11:30 PM   #9
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The scent of cheap cigarettes and spilt beer hung in the air of Clarence’s old haunt, Mr. Pussy’s. It had been a long day and a brief withdrawal from the world of fame seemed in order. The night before still haunted him; his eyes were in even worse shape and he’d missed out on a good lay.

As soon as he left the club, Clarence fumbled through his wallet until he found Macphisto’s business card and dialed. The voice on the other side of the line reassured him it was merely an effect of the drinking and the stuffy air of the club. Clarence had accepted the explanation and now he could only brood. His eyes hadn’t cleared up one bit; in fact the black from his irises had started to spread so his entire eye adopted a dull shade of gray. Clarence was not satisfied…not to mention he wasn’t getting laid.

He turned away from his reflection in the dirty bar glass and moved his glasses up quickly to disguise his grotesque features. As he looked up through his shades he spotted a belly dancer across the room in full costume and showing off all the right accents. A thin smirk rekindled on his lips and he strutted up behind the woman as she slouched over her drink at the other end of the bar.

“Hi,” Clarence said over the woman’s shoulder over her bushy mane of hair.

“Hi,” she replied. She had only given Clarence a glance-over and then turned around to stare at the much more-enticing wall of liquor

Clarence never wavered, taking the seat next to her and leaning over the counter just enough to come back into her line of vision, “So, you’re the weekend act, right? Or are you just looking for some attention?”

The woman scrunched up her nose in distaste, but rather than walk away she confronted him head-on, eyes flashing, “Yeah, I’m the weekend act. My name’s Diane.” She thrust her hand out and Clarence gave it a shake, “And I know exactly who you are. You’re that singer every one's talking about- the Fly.”
“The one and only,” Clarence said proudly prepared to go off on an artistic prattle.

“I think you’re an egotistical bastard who sings for the nihilists,” she interjected. “It’s no secret that a conscience can sometimes be a pest’? You sing about the worst in people. My view of the world isn’t quite as bleak.”

The air suddenly grew a little colder. Clarence let his jaw hang open for a second before raising his brows, “Well-“

“That could be taken a little harshly,” Diane cut him off once more, rueful, “I have to admit your background music isn’t shabby. I mean it would have to be to get you out of this shitty joint”

If he was going to get any sort of compliment out of her that was it. Clarence grinned once more, “Well, if you like the music, having a dancer to showcase in the band isn’t such a bad idea.”

“What?!” Diane gave him a calculating look, “Look, I’m sure you’re a nice guy and all, but I don’t want to be full-time eye candy. I want pay.”

“And the pay will come!” Clarence said quickly in an effort to persuade her. In time she could, and would, come around and give into his charms. All he needed to do was throw a little money her way as she shook her body around the stage- the deal was sweet.

She maintained a skeptical look, “I’ve heard that one before. Call it woman’s intuition, but I can’t count on someone who preaches anarchy for pay.” She stood up and went for her coat hanging on the wall.

“Hey, now, come on,” Clarence blocked her path. His tone adopted a more serious tone for the sake of persuasion, “This place isn’t offering you much. It didn’t give two shits about me. If you want to make money you’ve got to get out of the bars and into the spotlight.”

Diane listened to him, brows furrowed lightly. Clarence could tell she recognized his point, but she was fully aware of any of his secret motives. “Yes, you’re right,” she finally admitted with a nod and crossed her arms.

“Look, if you like the music and nothing else, then I can introduce you to the band and they can vouch for themselves. They get paid and everything,” he pitched an offer that was bound to snag her.

Half an hour later in another smoky bar, the band looked up from a game of cards to see their lead singer escorting an attractive belly dancer through the door. She had donned a long coat over her costume, but the jingling of her tassels and trinkets could still be heard. Evan couldn’t mask a direct stare at the woman. She eyed him back openly, lips curling into a small smile.

“Hello, I’m Diane, the new addition to the act.”

Clarence looked silently surprised. That didn’t take much convincing at all.
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Old 02-09-2007, 12:48 AM   #10
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“She’s seems nice. She’s smart and she’s not bad looking! Not to mention she’d be heartbroken if I turned her down. Why can’t she be in the show?”

“Because, Clarence,” Macphisto retorted venomously, “show business doesn’t call for a woman’s intelligence- just her looks.”

“So she won’t make a deal with you,” Clarence said absently as he glanced out the crack in the door leading to the living room of the hotel suit. Everyone in there was tuning out the heated debate with a little television. “I think that she’d do a lot of good.”

“Oh, really,” the old devil drew a few steps closer. Clarence countered by stepping back and soon found his back pressed against the wall, the snarling demon only a hair’s breadth away. “You have no idea, no concept, not one damned clue about what it TAKES to have a successful rock band. I made you what you are and I won’t have a grease ball like you second-guessing me!”

“Uh,” Clarence stopped, searching for words.

Macphisto’s eyes glinted for a moment and he turned away from Clarence and started to pace. The thin smirk returned to Macphisto’s face just as quickly as the rage that overtook him had come on. “If it’s your wish to have her in the band then fine. Dandy. It’ll be your own mistake. Just remember we have a deal and nothing’s going to change that.”

Clarence leaned up from the wall and adjusted his shirt collar, “Right,” he muttered through his teeth.

The door flew open and Diane, who had been standing nearby, jumped slightly. Macphisto gave her a quick glance over before sniffing the air curtly and walking straight past her. “She’s your problem now, boys! I say good day.”

Diane uncrossed her arms and approached Clarence from the side. Even dressed in street clothes she still moved with grace. “So, it looks like we’re partners, Clarence.”

She smiled. He didn’t.

“Oh. So you heard that,” he said with a bit of caution in his voice.

She continued without letting a single beat of silence ensue, “Well, I thought it went really well. He didn’t walk all over you and you stood up for me. Thank you. This is a lot better than most of the gigs I’ve worked. The company is at least marginally cleaner.”

Clarence smiled confidently and looked ready to add in some base innuendo or another cheap pick up line. Diane had already learned to skillfully interject without phasing him.

“Well, since we’re working together I figured that we should call each other by our real names and not our silly stage names,” she explained smoothly. “And the costumes…those ridiculous costumes. If we’re in this together can I at least see what you look like without those silly things?” She reached for his glasses.

Clarence caught her wrist and retreated back a few steps, “I don’t see why that’s important, babe. Every girl I’ve slept with didn’t have a problem with them.”

Diane gave him a stern look. Her features softened and she spoke persuasively to him in barely a whisper, “My mother used to always tell me that a person’s eyes are the windows into the soul. You can tell a lot about a person just by looking into their eyes.”

Clarence stared back at her through his shades silently for a long moment. In a flash he turned away and darted for the restroom, shutting the door behind him and locking it.

Hesitantly he approached the mirror and started to lower his glasses. Instantly the world grew duller, gray tones sapping the color from everything and the very objects around him shifted into nightmarish shapes He could see enough to make out his eyes or what was left of them .The blackness that had lingered in his iris had spread throughout the rest of his eye so it was a single glassy black void.

Out in the living room the band failed to notice anything out of the ordinary. If their lead singer disappeared out of the blue or dove off suddenly into the bathroom is was better not to ask questions. Clayton reclined back into an armchair in front of the television comfortably while flipping through the channels. He finally stopped upon seeing Clarence’s face posted next to a fiery televangelist.

“…for he is the symbol of misguided youth! He leads the youth of America, nay, the World into sin!” A powerful organ blast, “Vice and sin!”

“We’re on television!” Evan exclaimed.” Well, sort of. He’s really taking the brunt of it, but it’s still publicity!”

The comment hung dead in the air as if everyone in the room were thinking it over. The man on the television continued to protest.

“And this rock and roller- this execrable example of a human being- with his flashy show of lights and tight pants, always hiding behind those sunglasses…I condemn him! Keep him out of your sweet children’s ears!”

The moment of silence quickly turned into an uproar of laughter.

“Hey, Diane, why don’t you coax the execrable example of a human being out of the bathroom so he can see this?” Junior chuckled.

Clarence jumped slightly as Diane knocked on the door. He started to fumble with his shades.

“Hey, Clarence! Get out here! You’re on TV,” she said quickly.

He reacted in a fraction of a second, hurling the door open and darting straight past her. She was stunned. She could have sworn that she saw something very peculiar past those askew glasses. Now they were placed perfectly and she had no way of telling.

Clarence stopped straight in Clayton’s line of vision in order to get a good glimpse of himself on the screen. His smile dissipated after a moment as he realized who was talking and more importantly what he was inferring about his glorious self.

“That fucking-!”

Clarence’s rant was cut short as something came back to him: a snippet of a conversation he had had with Macphisto one day. The reality of it was strange, almost as if the devil was standing straight behind him and holding him by the shoulders and whispering in his ear.

“No publicity is bad publicity.”

Clarence smiled slowly, too absorbed to notice the band’s cry of protest that they couldn’t see the screen and Diane’s scolding. He turned around to face them.

“Someone send an invite to that guy for the show tomorrow night. This is perfect.”
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Old 03-22-2007, 06:59 PM   #11
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The sweaty rocker emerged from the dark corridor connecting the stage to the backstage lounge. There was no excitable grin about him, just the smug aura of a man who had thousands eating out of the palm of his hand and knew it.

The first sight Clarence came upon was the silver-clad Mirrorball Man with a dolled up Betty Dalton at his side. She had traded in a flannel shirt and skirt for an icy gown and a dazzling pair of reflective earrings. They both rested easily on the plush couch near a large coffee table.

“You got a nice set going there, Kid,” the Mirrorball Man offered as he tipped his hat. It was more a matter of cooling his brow than giving any compliment away, but Clarence failed to catch it. He was beaming now but was cut off.

“But your act is missing something. Life. You’ve got that girl up there shaking her hips and you’re strutting across the stage but strutting isn’t always enough,” the man in the cowboy hat said in sagely manner.

“Yeah? What do you know? Aren’t you on the public access channel or something? I can’t imagine your show going out on the ZooTV satellite.”

“Come here,” the Mirrorball Man replied, undaunted, gesturing to the armchair just off to the side of the table. Clarence took it. He had already made a pact with the Devil- listening to this guy was harmless.

On the large wooden table, Clarence saw a mirror covered with intricate lines of a powdery substance. Clarence recognized it immediately. It made his nostrils flare just thinking about it.

“You know exactly what that is, don’t you?” the Mirrorball Man chuckled and paused for a moment to indulge in a puff of a cigarette offered by the Dalton girl’s carelessly limp hand. “But I bet what you’ve seen has never come close to this. This is premium. The good shit.”

By now Clarence was practically salivating. He could hear the band winding down their long wrap-up of the concert. He had dabbled before, but small-time stuff. Cocaine was the real deal: expensive. It was what he couldn’t have had. Now he wanted it more than ever.

He finally looked up, thoughts broken by a playful set of giggles. The Dalton girl was holding a thick clip of bills. As delicately as one would pluck petals off of a rose, one right after the other, she picked off the dollar bills and laid them out flat on the table. She finally took one, rolling it, and extended it to Clarence. She smiled and looked at him over the rim of her glasses.

“Go on. Take it. He wants you to have some.”

Clarence snatched the dollar bill. He didn’t dive in immediately, studying the stuff before lowering his face closer and, with the aid of the rolled up currency, took a line. He leaned back with a jolt.

That was when the world started spinning. That was what it was like to be a rock star.

Sitting didn’t suffice anymore. Clarence leaped to his feet and rolled his shoulders anxiously. Then it hit him.

One encore? They still had the people screaming. Why not another?

The people who worshiped the ground beneath his feet deserved something more. To hell with being tired! Clarence dashed back through the corridor and practically bumped into Evan and Diane who were leading the band backstage.

“What’s going on?” Diane studied the suddenly rejuvenated singer, brow furrowed.

“We’re going for another encore! Come on! Move!”


The second encore had caught the audience by surprise. People had scurried back to their seat but one girl had been waiting diligently. One girl would be pulled up onstage to dance. One girl would get an exclusive ride in the band’s limo after the show.

She was bubbly to be sure, but nothing special. Clearly she was trying to look special: bleached hair, heavy makeup and a low neckline. Her hoop earrings swung and clanked when she walked alongside the band out towards the car. It reminded the irate belly dancer of a cowbell.

“Clarence!” she said sharply, entirely fed up with the pair giggling and snorting lines in the seat across from her and the rest of the band in the limousine.

He ignored her cleverly, indulging in the groupie. Diane would have none of it. She had danced the whole night and an encore. She hadn’t seen a bit of pay for the previous shows and this one was no more lucrative. The limo finally halted in front of the hotel. Diane wouldn’t allow him to escape without him hearing her out.

“Listen to me! Who do you think you are anyway? Are you trying to look like even more of a jerk because you’re doing a great job.” She evoked no response from him. Swiftly, she snagged him by the collar and pulled him away from the groupie. He yelped before turning towards her, irritated.

“Get off her for a second and listen! If I don’t get my money I’m leaving! Do you hear me? This is ridiculous!”

“Yeah, well go,” Clarence spat in return, “The only thing that matters about a girl in this business is her body.” He got up and took the groupie’s hand, stepping out of the car, “And you haven’t been holding up that part of the bargain for me. You’re replaceable.”

He stepped out of the limo leaving Diane dumbfounded. The rest of the band, trying their best to ignore the scene, filed out. Her narrow eyes glassed, lip trembling. Diane’s fist clenched tightly on the folds of her skirt before she threw herself across the seat. Evan apprehensively stepped back into the car.


Clarence led his groupie up to the suite. He laid her down and made quick work of his plastic pants and her clothes. She laid on her back, giggling up at him, arms waving freely.

“Can you take those off already? Please? You can do whatever you want if you do.”

“Back off!” Clarence did his best to turn his head away from her while still trying to get her out of that tricky underwear.


“You shouldn’t let him talk to you like that,” Even replied almost shyly. He had coaxed Diane to sit up and now embraced her in a comforting manner.

She sniffed but she did not shed one tear. After a moment she nodded stiffly and stood up. “You’re right. Excuse me.”


Within five minutes there was knock on the door to the suite. Clarence didn’t hear it, too busy grasping one of the groupie’s hands and trying to catch the other.

“I told you to quit it!” he barked.

“I want to see your face!” she whined.

“You can see it just fine!”

The knock grew louder, more incessant, and finally into a heavy pounding.

“Stay the hell away from me!” Clarence cried.

It all happened in one moment. Clarence finally shoved her away. She snagged the glasses and ripped them from his face. Diane burst through the door. She stared, frightened, at the shrieking man kneeling, half-naked on a bed with eyes entirely void of expression, color and soul. Nothing remained except for the haunting sockets.

No one moved for a while. Clarence’s palms shot up to his eyes. Finally the groupie tossed the glasses aside and propelled herself off the bed, darting out of the trailer in her lingerie.

“You’re a FREAK!”

The glasses landed with a soft ‘chink’ at the belly dancer’s feet. Slowly Clarence removed one hand from his face and groped blindly for his glasses. Diane was still shaking, terrified, but finally she picked them up and moved to the bed. She sat on the edge, staring at Clarence’s back, sunglasses extended to him. She inhaled deeply, pushing aside her fears.

“You’re going to tell me everything,” Diane said firmly.
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Old 03-29-2007, 03:04 PM   #12
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And I just wanted to say, thanks out there to all of you who left comments or are just reading on and off for kicks.

Hope you're liking it.
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Old 03-30-2007, 12:00 PM   #13
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This is damn good. Seriously. It's really quite different to any other fan fictions I've read, and it's just... well, it's great! It's so... dark and bleak, but brilliantly so. Well done!
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Old 03-30-2007, 08:17 PM   #14
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Yeah, it is different. Makes me want to stretch the limits. Very, very creative.
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Old 07-01-2007, 05:36 AM   #15
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“Well it sounds like we’re in over our heads, here,” Junior commented bleakly while flicking a piece of lint off the couch. Obviously he wasn’t very interested in all this serious discussion.

“When one man has a debt to the Devil the rest aren’t too far behind,” Diane said, her tone on the verge of sounding threatening.

The group was seated in the lounge of the hotel suite. The band kept their heads lowered without bothering to look up at Diane. In the back of their minds they knew something was fiendish about this Macphisto character, but never would anyone come right out and say that he was the Devil. Clarence sat with his back sunken deeply to the couch, arms crossed over his chest defensively. His gaze was hidden behind the enormous shades that he seemed adamant about keeping on his face.

“Well there’s not much more to be done about it, is there?” Clayton spoke up, “The deal is made and as long as we’re not in the fine print I don’t see what else there is to do unless you want to renegotiate it.” His last comment carried an ominous tone.

“Jesus,” Clarence was up from his seat in a flash. He stalked straight out of the lounge and shut the door to his room. Nobody in the lounge moved or followed him with their gaze. There were no reassuring words to be spoken.

“Renegotiations?” a familiar voice interrupted the silence. Macphisto was now standing in the lounge, cigarette pursed between his grinning lips. “What’s all this talk about negotiations?”

Diane narrowed her eyes towards the devil. Before she had the chance to stand up and get a word in, Macphisto leaned into the room and was inspecting things carefully. “And where’s the star of the show?” He didn’t wait for a reply and headed straight for Clarence’s room and opened the door. Clarence was strewn across the bed with his back to the door and his face half buried into a pillow.

“Ready for the last show, darling? This one is going all over the world on the ZooTV satellite!”

Where there would have normally been a stream of bullshit and smugness from Clarence there was only silence.

“I’m kinda tired. Can you go?” he muttered.

Macphisto pursed his lips but chose to disregard the arrogance. After all this was going to be a big night. Everyone would be watching. Literally everyone worth noting. “Nonsense. Get up. You have to be a lively little bastard in a few hours.”

“I’m not going,” Clarence muttered again

“…What did you just say?” the devil responded in a dangerously low tone.

“I’m. Not. Going,” Clarence leaned up and spoke slowly. After a minute he settled back down, ”Christ, are you so old that you’re going deaf?”

In a blink of an eye the devil was standing in front of him and yelling with such ferocity that he scrambled back and tumbled off the bed.


“Look,” Clarence’s voice cracked a little as he came to his knees, “I don’t want to do it anymore. People know.”

“People know?” Macphisto spat impatiently, demanding that he go on.

“Well what do you expect? I’ve got to take these things off sometime!” Clarence reached for his glasses and Macphisto snapped at him again.

“Leave them! I know what’s behind them: don’t be so naïve. They’re part of your persona, you shouldn’t risk losing them anyway, you fool.”

“Can we quit with the name calling?” Clarence stood back up and made an attempt to look more formidable. “I wasn’t born with them on, you know! You gave them to me with the deal!”

“Yes, I believe we’ve covered that,” the devil responded bitterly.

“Well, you said they were part of my person…” Clarence sniffed as he snubbed Macphisto.

The entity in the gold lame laughed coldly and quite loudly. “You really are an idiot, Clarence. I knew it was going to be easy to catch the attention of so many souls and lead them astray but I just needed a dim bulb to help me out. But you…I overestimated you. You are making this child’s play!”

Clarence leered, furious with the way he was being talked to. “Oh yeah? Then do it yourself, man. I’m not taking this bullshit anymore. I quit!”

Macphisto promptly stopped laughing and his face once again went cold. His lips narrowed and he arched a delicate brow. “Do you think you’re in charge here? I think you’ve forgotten your place and it’s time I taught you the meaning of respect, you pathetic little man.”

The devil’s gaze made Clarence uneasy and he slowly backed away until he felt the wall firmly pressed up against his back. He swallowed hard and found he could not break his gaze despite the wild urge he had to just run for his life. Macphisto’s pale hand drew close to his face and Clarence could feel an unnatural heat radiating from it. It was the coldest, cruelest heat he had ever felt.

Effortlessly the hand fell upon his cheek and Clarence blinked. This was showing him his place? He opened his mouth to speak but was cut off by a sudden violent screeching in his head and a searing pain burning through his chest. While he felt like he was being burnt through alive there was no hole…nothing was out of the ordinary. Macphisto even managed a smile before clamping down on Clarence’s throat and finally disappeared.


Outside in the lounge the lingering band members and Diane heard a terrible scream of agony and then an uneasy hush. Some eyes widened in horror, others averted their gaze pretending none of this was happening at all. Diane shot to her feet with Evan in tow and headed for the door. She laid her hand on the doorknob and retracted it instantly with a cry. Evan, frightened, took her hand and noticed it was warm to the touch….steaming in fact.

“It burned me…” she said in a panicked whisper.

A hot gust of air sent them back a few inches and the door to Clarence’s room flew open. There he stood, alone and in once piece. His stance, however, was different…almost empty entirely. Where there had once been a lively strut and arrogantly set shoulders there was now a slump to the man like a defeated rag doll.

There was an uneasy silence.

“We’ve got one hell of a show,” Clarence said monotonously.


Nope! Haven't fallen off the world just yet...sorry about the chapter delay. Only a couple of more installments for Clarence! Still hope you are all enjoying the story and thank you very much for the comments!
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Old 07-14-2007, 10:44 PM   #16
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SCARY!!!! I love it hope you make a new chapter soon, I wanna see how it ends

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