``baby does her dance in the dark`` M A R C O

[jenna]

if you wanna sing out, sing out
and if you wanna be free, be free
there's a million things to be

There's the tooth fairy. There's Santa. There's the Easter Bunny. What do they all have in common? Well, yes, they're cute little stories your mother told you to get you to be good and brush your teeth. But what else? That's right, they left ~presents~! This was the part of the story Jenna'd always identified with. Her parents hadn't exactly been keen on all that--religious holidays were kept just that, strictly religious, with a birthday cake for Jesus and extra church services--but she'd always loved that idea. And so, here on tour, she'd clung to it. It was just her thing, she chose to cheer other people up like she'd always wished somebody had done for her. Give a smile, and sometimes you're lucky enough to get one back. People didn't believe she was genuine with this, real sweetness wasn't really appreciated now-a-days. She'd leave notes around--things like "you are beautiful" and "smile, life is great!"--but they were recieved with mixed feelings. The same thing went with her trademark bag of candy that she always had on hand, usually in some cartoony, rather geekalicious mini-backpack. But, then again, most people didn't turn down a free piece of candy, right? As long as they liked that type, weren't allergic to it, and it wasn't melted or smooshed, of course.

and if you wanna live high, live high
and if you wanna live low, live low

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And so, our adorable heroine-for-the-moment had left her bus that morning, with no work on the lot to do, with the full intention of spreading some cheer. She'd started at the park, enjoying the dogs and children and fluffy white clouds, before bebopping (as only Jenna could bebop, seemingly without destination or a care in the world) down the sidewalk past shops and stalls, the scent of the California ocean foreign and ticklish in her nostrils. She'd gotten some cotton candy, she'd helped rescue a stuffed animal from a horrible death tumbling from the pier, she'd given away half of her day's worth of cheer-you-up candy, and so she felt it was time to enjoy some shopping. But first, she grabbed an Icee. Then it was down to business.

The inside of the music shop was balmy, air conditioned to peak conditions, and surprisingly empty. There was something Jenna had always loved about places like this. Back home, she'd befriended all the staff at the nearest music store (a place called Drastic Plastic) and it was pretty much assumed that if you couldn't find her, to check Drastic Plastic's listening booths, crosslegged and utterly serene with eyes closed and huge headphones on. It was a place of calm, of escaping her home, where her "devil music" wasn't allowed anyway. So she'd always gotten her fix there, and as a direct result...well, she had a definite affinity for the rows and rows of titles. For someone who'd grown up without the luxury of choice in her music, seeing all of them out there like that, for the choosing of anyone who had the cash to do so....well, it was a little slice of "heaven", were the girl to believe in anything mildly religious anymore. There'd always been irony there too, that such an optimist couldn't believe in Heaven or God. But, some things just got beat into you...or out of you, rather.

well if you want to say yes, say yes
and if you want to say no, say no

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Finding a nice spot in the back between the 'M's and 'N's, the girl tucked her iPod (something carefully earned for and looked after more than any other possessions she had combined) headphones into her ears, let her eyes slide closed, and felt herself relax, content to just sit here all day....even if she was kind of blocking the aisle, she had tried to make herself as compact as she could and just stay out of the way...she was good at that.

and if you want to be me, be me
and if you want to be you, be you
there's a million things to do
you know that there are

oi! this post is 629 words short, and it's for Marco. jenna's in this and you can thank Cat Stevens for the lyrics. now go go go! reply!

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[marco]

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For Marco, music was no foreign language. The way it felt as though the melody encircled your body, and made dancers dance, or the way it was a voice for all those who were left unheard, it was the greatest feeling of all. The way there was any song out there that you could relate to, or maybe if you were good enough, write and perform your own songs, the way it made people connect was unbelievable. But Marco wasn't into that shit. 
Marco liked to prove himself through his music. He liked to be the mind to have that secret message through his lyrics, that took the analyzing kind to uncrack the code. He loved using sentences that worked beautifully together, but underneath meant something so ugly. It was art, to him. His paint brush was his mind, and his colors were his words. Whether it were in rap or he were singing it, he'd make sure it worked right. Often, though, his lyrics had some sexual meaning. If not that, then drug use, or something that angers him, or any amount of fame he may have. 
Marco was sure that was pretty much how everyone escaped their hectic lives. Music was just something that flowed through everyone. It was always there, and it always will be. People didn't have to be musically talented to absolutely love it, they just needed to love the beat, the style and the message. If not those, then they loved the band members. It wasn't rare to get fans like that. The ones that would go to the end of the earth for you because you were absolutely gorgeous, but had no interest in your music. Then they went ahead and named themselves the band member's biggest fan. Some fan girls were just so predictable. Most people on the tour would complain about how much they detested it, but Marco enjoyed it. It was something that came with fame, and you had to deal with it. 
Marco walked his usual confident walk as he walked amoungst the streets of the California town, headphones in his ears, and his blue eyes hiden behind a pair of dark tinted aviaters. His hair was a bleach blonde mess, looking almost as if he had recently just rolled out of bed. He wasn't the kind to sleep in, mostly because he had all this energy to use, but he knew it was like a never ending flow of water that came out of a broken faucet. Marco hated sleeping, it was such a waste of time when you could be doing something exciting like walking around, or singing, or meeting people, or something. Marco went to bed late, and woke up early, it's just how he was. 
Hollywood Undead blasted loudly in his ears, and he wouldn't if he were to be deff when he was older. There was something about Hollywood Undead that he loved. It was probably the fact that they were so open when it came to expressing themselves, and Marco couldn't help but respect. They talked about the rough times, the parties, and the sex. Marco loved it. Although Marco was more of the guy to cover everything up and act innocent.
Marco found himself at a music store, not really thinking much of it until he had to stop to get a second look at something he thought he saw. More like someone. He glanced inside the window, eyes landing on who he thought it was. Jenna. A playful grin appeared on the tall boy's face, stripping his headphones from his ears and entering the shop. He entered the shop like any other costumer, starting off with the CDs at the front of the shop, the ones that were always on sale. He skimmed through them, to the point he realized they were either old and crappy, or country. He gave a disatisfied frown, walking away, pretending to be a bit disappointed.
Marco began looking through the CDs that were under alphabetic order. He had his hands behind his hands, eyes searching carefully through the music selections, pretending to mind his own buisiness, until he reached the spot where Jenna stood, 'accidently' bumping into her. He gasped, stepping back. " Oh, I'm so sorry. " he apologized. It was then he realized she was listening to music, and he gave her a wide smile and waved childishly.

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WORD COUNT: 728
STATUS: Done!
SONG: The Diary - Hollywood Undead
NOTES (: