There's a Starman

For Nexus Prompt 3. Small rituals, whether by compulsion or for luck.

Dressing rooms were always crazy and with three bands plus a few additional musicians and friends the chaos was a fever pitch. Dressing, make up, tuning instruments and talking to stage crew sent hours by quickly in a flurry of activity. No one was immune to it as everyone needed to give input on the stage, whether it was whose mic was whose or where exactly a drum pedal needed to be to feel natural. Musicians came and went from the dressing room to the stage for a check and then back to finish up.

After the madness of activity a sudden calm would settle about a half hour before stage time for the first band. The talking stopped, the visits from crew stopped, and each one went into their own minds to prepare for the stage. It was a preparation of the whole self, the voice, body, emotions, mind. Meditation barely got to all the nooks of a person that needed to be on to perform but each musician had a ritual and they all knew them and ignored the rituals of their companions.

This was the private time and not to be bothered. Some, like Ziggy sat quietly while staring into the mirror at himself, centering his emotions against the onslaught the stage would bring after the crowd was wound up by two previous bands. The Anthean needed a moment of isolation like he was wrapping himself in a coccoon. Others were noisy. Aarne paced and drummed on every surface available, songs but often simply random beats that ran through his head. Some nights he broke drumsticks on the wall or found himself drumming wildly on the back of Joe's chair while he watched his partner do his make up.

Vars was formal and set out in a full Norse offering to Fenrir for energy and the chaos that drove him on stage. Sometimes, Rik sat with him, quietly playing on his guitar or actively taking part which left offerings to two very divergent dieties. Usually Vars was alone and his rituals to the stage started earlier than any other. Going into the shower or beginning to dress started a cascade of practiced motions. Every piece of religious jewelry kissed and praised before it was put back into place on his body after a shower. When the venue had no shower, Vars would start back at the hotel and ride alone to the venue. He was formal and staunch in the way things must go, demanding that they proceed as always.

Rik had a looser interpretation of these rituals before the stage. Most musicians left their instruments on the stage but Rik always sat with the guitar he intended to play while the others went into their quiet space. There wasn't a specific thing in mind but it was a communion with the instrument. A moment to feel it there until it was again part of his body, an extension of his mind and emotions. He would sometimes hide away on some back stairwell or room away from everyone else; in the solitude and sometimes the dark.

Robert's brother Rekker was now with them and he was precise and manic over things. He wasn't usually on stage but worked on preparations on the stage, mostly tuning and sound check. He grated on things until he sometimes drifted near losing his temper. A solid tuning with a device was never enough. He relied on his instincts to tweak even the digital tuning to a more authentic and perfect note. Used to the stage himself, he zoned out with the others, checking and rechecking equipment. Often enough it left him still standing on the stage, staring at the equipment when the crowds came in. The lone man with flame red hair eyeing every piece of the stage. He knew the quirks of the other musicians and their equipment but it was no less a ritual than those in the dressing room.

Robert and Damien had a rhythm of walking the building while the others dressed, first on their own and then together. They watched for any weaknesses, noted escape routes and discussed placement of security. It was a walking meditation like old buddhist monks. Slow, observant and with few words. The two had settled in together. Damien the eyes and Robert the one who parsed the data like this was a combat zone. Both men were used to that exact scenario and pre-show was a traditional meditation on battle plans they hoped they would never have to implement. They too knew the quirks of the musicians, where they hid out for isolation before a show and in the cool down after a performance. Their time in quiet lasted longer than the others and demanded a hyper focus rather than zoning out. No less a compulsion after so many shows together.

The other band members had their own ways too. Preshow gear up was as individual as personalities, private and neceassary. The whole ordeal ventured close to superstitious for everyone in the production but this was how every show felt like the peak of performance for the bands. A matter of luck and tradition that had built up over months and even years.

[Continued from here]

It was late in the evening when Tony finally sent a message back. Ziggy didn't mind. He didn't sleep and even if he did, right now he probably wouldn't. They talk records mostly as they walk the short distance toward his home which is on the very outskirts of the plaza but not as far as his parents live from the center. The The first floor townhouse he lives in, which is a converted office space, is easy to spot with its teal facade and golden disk over the gold framed door. The inside is very Ziggy with tall the bright colors and open layout.

There are two cats that come running. One is a pretty normal black cat with white paws. The other is orange with teal tabby stripes and red wings. Ziggy greets both of them before turning to Tony.

"Make yourself at home." He smiles and sets the vinyls down to put away soon. "Do you want a drink?"

He didn't necessarily mean alcoholic since he knew Tony was recovering. "The vinyls are in the living room if you want to put something on."

In the area where most people would have a TV, Ziggy has a record player with nice speakers. A side cabinet, almost like a kitchen pantry, with a glass door holds the several hundred records Ziggy has with him. There are a wide variety of genres; rock, soul, blues, disco, punk, early new wave. From Tony's perspective there's nothing in the collection past his own 1983 and some of the dates don't make sense. Records he knows from the 70s have recorded dates in the 80s or even early 90s.

It had been a few days since the encounter with Lotor and the witch. Aletayria and Ziggy were still mostly laid up from wounds and exhaustion. It left Tom livid and he insisted the entire family be in one place. Ziggy's townhouse was the larger dwelling, so that is where the family and all eighteen of their cats have been residing for the past few days. There were arrangements to be made and knowledge to be shared and they all waited.

Tom could barely leave Aletayria's side. Her prior pregnancies had been so difficult that the human stressed now. The witch dared to attack her like this and the human would not have it. He was hovering around where she rested on the couch with a mind firmly fixed on a thousand different ways he could end the witch's life for this offense. He paced and would have been chain smoking if the Antheans weren't in the vicinity.

Ziggy lay on the opposite end of the L-shaped couch from his mother. He was worse off than she was, broken ribs and utterly exhausted the rockstar could barely stay awake for any length of time. This was the kind of exhaustion even the cocaine and caffeine couldn't interrupt. However, it was nearly time for people to show up so he made the effort to remain conscious for a time. Hiroki was somewhere in the townhouse. Ziggy could feel his presence and imagined he was making meal number 20 in his incessant protest that Ziggy needed to eat more.

Tommy though was unscathed and sitting in a soft chair halfway between the living room and the front door. Several of the cats sat in the chair with him purring contently though, like their master, they also watched the door with indifferent interest. Tommy was going to be the gatekeeper and make sure nothing unwanted entered the house. Everyone stepping through the door was going to get scanned for the darkness and the witch. If they wanted to refuse they could deal with the surly, old Anthean that didn't care what they said. He would be unswayed.

This is how the family waited; anxious, exhausted, and despite their inherent pacifism... pissed off.

[Feel free to handwave Tommy scanning your character. However, if they would refuse write it in and Tommy will have some words for them. Tommy iamjustvisiting, Aletayria sordiddetails, Tom hellomajortom, and Ziggy ziggyplayedguitar are all present. If your character is approaching any of them specifically feel free to write that into a tag.]