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The joke's on you	By : luna65 Category: Singers/Bands/Musicians > Pink Floyd Views: 811 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. I do not know the members of Pink Floyd. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1-The joke's on you
- 1
Five young men sat ensconced in a haze of illicit smoke in a control room at Abbey Road, listening to the rough mix of a soundtrack album. Four of the men were somewhat nervous, as the process had turned out to be nothing like they imagined it would be. The other man was merely hoping the album might be more successful than the film it was made to accompany.

He bobbed his head along with a few of the tracks, smiling. Some of the material was decidedly different than previous, a little more heavy and straightforward. He never admitted to his charges that sometimes he just didn’t understand what they were up to, but it was his job to promote it all the same.

Roger Waters passed a joint to the Floyd’s manager with a grin. “So you’re liking it, then?”

Steve O’Rourke took a thoughtful inhale and nodded happily. When he listened to “Cymbaline,” for example, he had a fantasy of hearing it on Radio 1 every hour. He was amazed Roger could write such a pretty song, even if it did have some weird simile involving the Underground.

Roger and his bandmates were trying to listen to the record in a different way, hence the use of marijuana. They had spent so much time dissecting the work as a whole they could no longer hear anything but the mistakes. David Gilmour was nearly horizontal in his chair, eyes closed, letting the sound wash over him.

“You still with us, Dave?” their keyboard player asked. Rick Wright was seated next to him and reached over to nudge the nearest limb.

“You don’t think the chorus is too loud?” he responded, but not to anyone in particular.

The other three let out sounds of exasperation.

“The verdict is in, Dave,” Roger proclaimed. “Leave it.”

“Do let it go, old chap,” Rick chided. “Let’s just enjoy this stuff, eh?”

David took a toke, his eyes watering from the effort of holding the smoke in his lungs. Upon exhaling he coughed loudly, and the others laughed at him.

“Good shit,” he opined, and they all agreed.

When the playback reached a “A Spanish Piece,” Steve thought it was fitting, since part of the film takes place in Spain, but as soon as he heard the vocal he became confused. The band, on the other hand, were laughing hysterically. All except David, who had just returned with a bag of crisps and stood leaning against the console, smirking. Their drummer put his hand out and David favored him with a sneer.

“You can bloody well get your own packet,” he snapped.

“Do they have cheese and onion?” Nick asked. “I only like the cheese and onion.”

David waved the bag. “Last one, mate.”

He sighed and slumped, a sight his bandmates had become accustomed to whenever Nick Mason and food were involved.

“So who does that ridiculous voice?” Steve inquired.

This caused them all to laugh louder.

“It’s brill, don’t you think?” Roger asked.

“I suppose,” Steve replied, but he looked rather doubtful.

“Our David did that, in one take,” Roger informed him.

“I see.”

“Y’see, there was this American who used to come into the bar where I played in Marbella. He was always trying to pull the birds in there, but he had this horrible lisp-“

The others dissolved into giggles yet again.

“ – and he never succeeded with anyone. Very tragic.”

“You sure it wasn’t that mouse?” Nick suddenly asked.

“What?!”

“You know, there was a cartoon mouse, and he was Spanish or something. He could run very fast and after every sentence he would say, 'I theenk.'”

He set them all off again, except of course for David who was glaring at him.

“I should bloody well know what inspired me!”

Roger gave him a look that was half mockery, half inquiry. “One would assume.”

“I can’t remember the name, though,” Nick continued.

“Oh yes, I know who you’re talking about!” Rick exclaimed. “He’s in those Looney Tunes shorts.”

“Hmm,” Roger said, exhaling the smoke of his last hit. “So the canteen’s open then?”

“Yeah,” David replied, looking daggers at their drummer.

“Oi I’m famished!” Steve exclaimed.

“Are you?” Roger teased. “I wonder why.”

They all began chuckling as they left the room, but David and Nick remained. David was scowling at Nick and Nick was looking quite mournfully at the packet of crisps in the other’s hand. David reached over and cuffed Nick on the side of the head – not enough to hurt but seemingly enough to express his annoyance.

“Thanks ever so much, genius,” he sniped.

“Speedy Gonzales!” Nick exclaimed, snapping his fingers. “That’s who it is!”

“Perhaps I should hit you more often, you seem to make more sense,” David muttered as he opened the bag and dumped half the contents into his mouth.

“You’re a right bastard when you’re stoned, Dave,” Nick said, in a voice reminiscent of a pouting child. “Selfish thing.” He got up, ducking before David could smack him again.

“I hope there’s no pie left, you sodding killjoy!” And he smiled thinly when he heard Nick’s footsteps in the corridor break into a run.
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The joke's on you