I do not own Penguins of Madagascar and its affiliates. James Hetfield, Kirk Hammet, Robert Trujillo, and Lars Ulrich belong to Metallica. Brandon DeOtter and Ariana belong to Metallica1147. I only own a part of the plot.
Brandon stood on the umbrella table. His manchot, pingouin friends, the chimps, Marlene, and his girlfriend, Ariana, all sat around conversing. The conversation turned to talk of Music, and The question was brought up. par one of the Chimps, as it were.
“Brandon, how was it that toi learned to like this – Metal? Surely, toi must have found it somehow.” a dit Mason
“Yeah,” Brandon smiled “I sort of did. I knew of the musique before I played back up, but it was always like how other animaux liked musique – just to confiture along to. After that day, I found meaning in the words and guitare solos.”
“What day? Back-up for what?” Marlene asked. How had she not known of this, had they not shared everything with each other? “Hey, it’s cool Marlene. I was just waiting for a time like this. It’s not much, but it’s a part of me.” Brandon assured her, as if lire her very thoughts. Which he wasn’t, he could just tell what she was thinking. Months of living together did that.
“It all started back in California…”
FLASHBACK
Younger Brandon, California, 2008. Two brown, beady eyes looked over the brick and metal that held back the zoo animals. Sure the coast was clear, he leapt over. A red and white fender guitare was slung over his shoulder par a brown shoulder holster. A tiny portable amp was wrapped around his neck like a necklace. He ran to one tree, then to another, each time making sure it was sûr, sans danger before moving on. Finally, when he was well away from the Zoo, he set down the amp.
He plugged the guitare in, moving it down and around his chest. He strummed a few notes to make sure it was well tuned. Satisfied, he began belting out a tune none in his accueil could understand, would want to try and understand. He was used to it, their distrust and their fear. Change, especially change like this, was not pleasantly viewed in his home. But enough of such negative thoughts!! The musique filled him, and he was content.
ELSEWHERE…
Meanwhile, a black tour bus slowed to a halt outside the park. “The Tank’s Empty!” came the voice of the driver, Lars. “I told toi we should have filled up at the last truck stop!” he complained
“Ah, quit yer whining.” a dit a tall, buff man. He had muscles from obvious well use, and his hair was blond against his pale white skin. He wore a black chemise that was looked one size too small. “We got extra gas in the cans. Robert, can toi do that?” A large, heavy-set man with long black dreadlocks looked up from his position on the couch.
“Sure, James.” He rose out of the couch, stretching his arms, and walked outside into the park. Robert, as his name was, walked around to the back of the bus. He opened a door on the side of the bus, taking out a large gas can. He whistled a soft tune to himself, walking over to the gas tank on the bus. Suddenly, he heard something on the wind – a melody, guitare riffs. Their instrumental, the guitare riffs from Suicide and Redemption. Could it be?
Rob set down the can, leaving the bus. He followed the noise to its point of origin – a small brown otter, jamming on a miniature red guitar. He gasped. This was a miracle - He sounded just like Kirk! If the loutre could understand guitare notes, surely it could understand him! He stepped into the Otter’s view, getting down on the ground. The loutre looked frightened, about to run away. Robert quickly put up his hands, montrer he wasn’t a threat.
“Now, hold on, little fella. That’s a pretty nifty guitare toi got there. Do toi like playing for people?” The otter, Brandon, shook his head no. People made fun of him; of course he wouldn’t like that!
“Well, one of our band members is sick, and I was wondering if toi might like to play with us for the night. Suddenly, the little otter’s eyes seemed to widen, and a great light entered them. A smile – was it possible that the animal was grinning? The loutre squeaked, grabbing his amps and jumping onto Robert.
“Hahahaha! That tickles! Now come on, I’ve got to montrer toi to the guys.” He stood up, and started walking back towards the bus, the little loutre on his shoulder.
Brandon PoV
Brandon couldn’t believe it. He was actually going to play musique he LIKED for a band! Where people would like the music, and not make fun of him! He had never been so happy in his life. (Although in a few years, he would be even happier when a certain manchot, pingouin a dit she would go out with him.) The man, Robert, finished filling up the tank and walked back up on to the bus. James looked up from the newspaper he was reading.
“Rob, are toi – what is that?” he pointed to Brandon
“This, James, is our guitarist for the night.”
“A replacement Kirk? You’ve got to be kidding me! That thing’s smaller than my forearm!”
“Well, yeah, but he’s really good. And we need him - without Kirk, we don’t play. Trust me, he’s good. Great, even!”
James hesitated. “Okay, montrer me what toi got!” Brandon looked at both of them, and then ran down Rob’s arm. He set up the amps and the guitar, and continued to ceinture out S&R. He was about halfway through when James held up his hands. “Alright, that’s very nice. But can toi play… Master of Puppets?”
Brandon looked nervous. That was one of the hardest songs he had ever played. He’d be able to, but just barely. He played a good two minutes of the heaviest section.
“Wow, he is good. Okay, he got the gig. Just don’t poop all over the carpet, it was just refurbished.”
Brandon grinned. This was the moment of a lifetime…
They managed to get to the stadium in time to practice for a few hours. Kirk, who was lying sick with the flu on their bed, sat up a few times to watch them out the window. He smiled, watching the little loutre play. He WAS good, he’d give him that. A few times, Brandon caught him watching, and he grinned in return.
Tonight will be a night to remember, he thought to himself, strumming along to Welcome accueil (Sanitarium). No one back accueil will believe this!
Finally, the moment came. The stage was lit, the fires blew. Sweat poured out their bodies, like the musique that they played [1]. They opened with ‘The Ecstasy of Gold’, a song that was relatively easy par Brandon’s standards. The night wore on, with familiar and unfamiliar tunes. Most held meaning and resonance in the crowd, and the musique just kept going on.
This was what he was meant to play. This was the musique of his very soul. He let it take him away; far beyond the call of those he called neighbors in the California Zoo. He was elated, and it felt as if nothing could bring him down from such joy.
Eventually, the concert was over. The stage was drenched in Sweat, and not a single drop of it was from playing too slow. The roadies were putting away their gear, as carefully and gently as they could. One of them went up to Brandon to take his guitar. He held the guitare closer to his chest. The night was over, and he loved this work, but it just didn’t feel right. He had to go back home. Nodding to himself, he a dit “Alright.”
They all got back in the bus, and got ready for a good night’s sleep.
They didn’t wake up until the suivant afternoon. par then, Kirk was feeling much, much better. Brandon stood on a table, tableau in the middle of the RV, and watched as Kirk showed him a few pointers. “You have talent, I’ll give toi that. And now, toi have a bit of experience. toi should do good back home.” They smiled. Kirk held out a sharpie. “May I?” he asked. Brandon nodded, handing him the guitar.
Kirk signed it, being sure to get the tiny signature right on the guitar. “Wow !” a dit Brandon.
“I don’t know what toi just squeaked, but toi sure sound excited. Now – we got to get toi home.”
The trip seemed to last minutes, although it was a mere few short hours. Brandon gave them all a firm fist bump goodbye (as much as a small loutre can to four large men). Brandon scampered off the bus, and walked all the way back through the park to his accueil in the zoo.
No one would believe this, he thought to himself.
“…And nobody did. They had all made fun of me, like they always did. Nothing changed on the outside, just on the inside.” He thumped his chest, right above his tiny heart.
“Wow. That’s a lot to swallow,” a dit Ariana. Everyone seemed to agree, but they also believed him. He had never donné them reason to doubt him. Marlene was the only one who looked nervous, out of place.
“So, um, the smudge on the back of your guitare – was Kirk’s Autograph?”
“Yeah! I’ve never washed it. Wiped down the front a little bit, but other than that, the back hasn’t been touched.”
“Uh, yeah about that… that’s not entirely true.” Marlene rubbed the back of her neck in nervousness.
“See, I kind of cleaned it…”
Brandon twitched. “Y-y-y-y-you did w-what?”
“I thought it was a stain! It looked like a black smudge; I couldn’t tell it was handwriting! I can’t read!” Marlene was seriously panicking now.
Brandon made a déplacer towards Marlene. Ariana jumped in front of him. “Now, hold on, Brandon, let’s not do anything rash. Marlene meant well.” Marlene nodded over Ariana’s shoulder.
“We-elllll…” Brandon smiled. “Alright. I forgive you.”
“After all,” Private perked up “You can’t erase the memory of it!”
“I might be able to, donné time…” Kowalski muttered. “No thank you!” everybody shouted at the same time.
“Jinx!” Shouted Mort.
“Ahahahahaha!” Everybody laughed. A happy memory for all. Brandon pulled Ariana into a one-armed hug. A very happy memory for all of them, indeed.
