Heya guys! Another fic to terrorize you poor souls with! :teehee: Dice
Disclaimer: Donât own it. Never have, never will.
Summary: Sydney Bristow is far from normal. So is Michael Vaughn. That doesnât mean theyâre friends.
Sydneyâs seventeen, Michaelâs nineteen, and Bill and âLauraâ are alive. *runs around AU land, frolicking with the flutterbys and pollylops*
Okay, well⌠this whole scenario happened when I had three different fic ideas but was too lazy to write them each individually. So, what does Greer do? She combines them⌠lazy ass. And her muse, Gruggles is also a lazy ass. We have a passport to there, you see. We also have a visa in Juju-land, which we adore to go hyper in, AU land⌠where we visit quite often and finally, our primary residence, Lazyassland. But Perthâs pretty cool too!
Shall we begin? *puts on her ruby slippers (because having glass ones are just damn stupid) and clicks her heels three times*
Sydney Bristow was bored. Generally, she couldnât be dragged out at no notice, not in her⌠position. But alas, Francie had played the one card that no girl should ever reject: the best friend card. Fran had dragged Sydney out to see her significant other, Charlie make his stage debut with his band, the ârotten fordâsâ. How Fran had ever managed to snag Charlie was anyoneâs guess, with the pair attending the most prestigious girlâs school in the tri state area. Sydney knew that her father would be livid with her for deciding to do something completely out of character, like go out on a Friday night. She had played her parentâs perfect daughter for far too long, sheâd decided earlier that evening that perhaps once in a while she could actually let her hair down and try to be someone other then Jack and Laura Bristowâs daughter. The problem with rebelling was the fact that her shadow had to rebel as well. Poor Marcus, Sydney said to herself, imagining how little fun he was having about now. Francie was weaving her way through the crowd, trying to reach the front of the mass, Sydney followed. So did her shadow.
âCHARLIE!â Francie screamed, when she saw him come out to check on the microphones. Dixon looked quite pained, with Francie being loud, and Dixon being a soft spoken modern gentleman, their personalities often clashed.
âFrancie, could you keep it down? Some of us are hoping to keep their hearing past the age of thirty two,â Dixon quietly asked. Francie rolled her eyes.
âRelax, Dixie chick! When the band starts, you wonât be able to hear yourself think, let alone hear me!â Dixonâs pained expression deepened.
Ladies and gentlemen, would you please welcome Rotten Fordâs! The announcement was loud and clear, and Sydneyâs mind was still on the chemistry homework, sitting neglected on her mahogany desk. The band began to crank, and she was dragged back into the very harsh and very loud reality. Francie was waving her arms frantically, screaming her beauâs name. The attempt it seemed was in vain; Charlieâs attention was fixed on the Tyra Banks look-alike standing at the opposite end of the hall.
âIâm sure he just hasnât seen me yet, Iâm just gonna have to make some more NOISE!!!â Francie screamed, obviously in denial over her boyfriendâs lack of public acknowledgment of her. Dixon was now in a depressed stupor. Sydney felt the same. Bored senseless, she stared to take stock of Charlieâs comrades. Charlie was lead vocals⌠he sang well, just too different for the Rotten Fordâs. Heâd suit a jazz club, Sydney thought. He attention was next diverted the Bassist. Tall, large, like Jack Black playing wise. He looked⌠funny. He also looked like he was trying to pick up all the chicks, quite unsuccessfully. Then the Drummer; who looked like he was having quite a time dealing with all the attention diverted in his direction. He plays well though, Sydney said to herself. The guitarist on the other hand⌠Her thoughts were interrupted by Dixon.
âFrancie, did you even tell him you were coming?â He asked her. Fran shook her head.
âI called his place yesterday and his little sister told me he was here prepping for his big gig. I just asked around and his roommate told me what was going on tonight,â Sydneyâs ears perked up.
âHe goes to COLLEGE?! Fran, you never told me that!â
âWell, you never asked!â Dixon looked at Francie.
âWhy did you call his house?â She blushed.
âIcalledhismumtofindoutwhathisstarsignwas.â Sydney shook her head.
âOh, honey⌠you didnât?!â She looked at her vans and blushed. Sydney went back to looking at the guitarist. Tall, sandy haired, she couldnât see his eyes because he was so into playing his fender. He looked up, surveyed the crowd and their eyes connected. Sydney still bore her discontented expression.
The song wound to a close and the Bassist stepped forward. âAlright! We wanna thank you guys for being here tonight! And Mikeâs gonna take it away with our final song and for the main attraction of the night: TOWN HALL STEPS!â A wave of applause went through the club and the guitarist stepped forward.
âHey, This last song is called âClaude Monetâ and I wanna dedicate it to the girl in that corner there who looks like sheâs having no fun⌠hopefully youâll enjoy this one.â Dixon was preparing for crowd control, but the crowd didnât take any notice of Sydney; they were distracted by him stepping towards the mike.
âIf I had to give your love a name,
I think I'd call it something close to a flame.
Because it burns me when I talk to you,
and you really like to cook me through.
If I had to give your eyes a taste,
I think I'd kiss you up around your waist.
And I'd kiss you from the inside out,
'Cos you spin me like a roundabout.
Well that's you that's me that's Claude Monet
I just wanna get you in my life someday
I know you'll be a shining star
There's something 'bout the way you are.
If I had to give your love a time,
I think I'd call you at the hour of nine.
Because at nine the night is still ahead,
But it's late enough to go to bed.
And if I had to give your love a feel,
I think I'd simply say it's real.
Because you're deeper than the ....
And I'm proud to be an honest boy.
Well that's you that's me that's Claude Monet
I just wanna get you in my life someday.
I know you'll be a shining star
There's something 'bout the way you are.
Well that's you that's me that's Claude Monet
I just wanna get you in my life someday.
I know you'll be a shining star
There's something 'bout the way you are.
Colour, time
I just wanna get you in my arms.
Time, space
I just wanna get you in my arms.
If I had to give you love away,
I think I'd give it to the milky way.
And if I had to get a one night stand,
I'd signal taxis with my left hand.
If I had to give you love away,
I think I'd give it to the milky way.
And if I had to get a one night stand,
I'd signal taxis with my left hand.
My left hand.
Well that's you that's me that's Claude Monet
I just wanna get you in my life someday.
I know you'll be a shining star
There's something 'bout the way you are.
Well that's you that's me that's Claude Monet
I just wanna get you in my life someday.
I know you'll be a shining star
There's something 'bout the way you are.
Well that's you, that's me, that's Claude Monet.
Well that's you, that's me.
There's something 'bout the way you are.â
A/N: Just wanna tell everyone that I wrote that songâŚ
*cough*
No⌠Thirsty Merc, from their debut self titled album
Sydney stared at the guitarist in horror; she didnât think that she looked that bored. And she thought that she was wearing her well practiced poker-face. Two years of delegations had taught her that in order to make a good impression, one must look absolutely interested at all times. This was the one time she had slipped up. And he had noticed. âMarcus, lets go. I have a chemistry assignment I should do before tomorrow nightâs function.â Dixon caught the hint. Sydney offered Francie a lift, which she denied.
As Dixon drove through Washington's streets, Sydney couldnât help but wonder about the handsome guitarist.
