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Götterfunken	By : SolusNemo Category: Singers/Bands/Musicians > Good Charlotte Views: 844 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. I do not know the members of Good Charlotte. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1-One
- 2-Two
- 3-Three
- 4-Four
- 1
- 2
- 3
Chapter Two

It never ceased to frighten any member of the band when so many early birds showed up at any event they were going to participate in. From overhead the scene always seemed like the streets were crawling with the reptilian creatures found in most horror movies, holding colorful signs above their heads and screaming incoherent words until their throats went raw.

The children were worse the closer one got to them.

Screams loud enough to wake the dead, love trinkets thrown to the band members nearly giving them serious injuries, hands reaching out over the blockades trying to get a piece of rock star clothing or at least just to touch one of them. All over the world these death pits were all the same, the only difference was the language in which the “I love you!”s were cloaked in.

Joel sometimes hoped that there was a mad scientist located somewhere on the earth, creating a remote control that could be used to dominate time. He’d give said mad scientist even last dime he had just to be able to hit the mute button, quell the teenagers pissing their pants just at the sight of him. A good man would share the instrument with his fellow humans, but Joel wouldn’t do that. Actually, he would only ever use it to instill some silence in moments like these. Mouths forming and speaking hushed words.

Of course, he had to make do without a giant remote control.

Joel told himself that it could be worse, that he might find himself in the middle of one of these crowds with no way out. Many a time he had been convinced that that would be his own personal hell. Locked in a black room of unknown size, no doors and no windows, just a sea of endlessly screaming fans he was stuck in the middle of.

Luckily for him Joel wasn’t paying attention to any of the women and few men surrounding him. In his mind’s eye all he could see was Angelina Marino, her features going from shy and calm to aggressive and heated. Most likely even if Joel hadn’t been so angry over his recent break-up, he would have screwed up the encounter anyway. It was in his nature, burned onto his forehead the second he was born: major fuck up.

He had talked about her with Benji in the car on the drive over, lashing out at the woman he hardly knew for the sake of not skewering himself who was really at fault. After all, he was the one who had to destroy a nice question with horrible attitude. Angelina was only being a kind person, she could have easily never stopped to ask him for permission to use the photographs and let him have the shock of seeing them in an art gallery some time later. There was really no use in blaming the sourness of the confrontation on her, but Joel did it regardless of how idiotic it was.

“Just forget about it okay?” Paul yelled as they were walking into the MTV Studios building, his voice going back to its normal pitch when he was on the other side of the doors that the many teenage girls were located. “You’re never going to see her again, so shut up already.”

Having been in the building so many times, Joel didn’t need to be aware of where his feet were taking him as he strolled down the halls. He frowned briefly at his friend’s statement.

“I know I won’t run into her again, that’s just portrayed in those stupid teen movies, but still…. I have a name. Maybe I can go to one of her showings sometime?” he replied, his voice drenched in both hope and self-loathing.

Benji laughed and slapped his brother’s shoulder. “Yeah, Joely, stalk her. I’m sure she’ll love that.”

“It works for you, doesn’t it?” Joel quipped.

“Joel, I’m being serious here,” Paul said harshly. “We all know you’re still shaken up about the whole Stacey wreck, but you shouldn’t get hung up on some girl you only know – what? – two things about.”

The singer ran a hand through his hair, puffing out his cheeks in efforts not to sigh.

“Let’s just get this show done and move on with our day. I promise you if you concentrate on your work you’ll forget all about what’s-her-name.” Even Paul doubted his own words.

Silently agreeing with his friend’s suggestion, Joel lifted his head from the floor and waved at the many workers around him, running to and fro with batteries for microphones or coffee for the people higher up in the rankings. It was like a bee hive, millions of minions buzzing around trying to get things done or else their world would come to an end.

Though he hated them, businesses like this one fascinated Joel. If he didn’t have to be connected with one in any form, he would have gladly sat in some shadowy corner and observe everything that went on until his eyes rotted out of the sockets.

If he could get rid of Damien Fahey it would be a little piece of heaven, but that wasn’t going to happen any time soon.

The annoying kid with that stupid smile walked right up to the group and shook their hands, his grin only fading when he spoke and even then hints of it still remained.

“Made it here alive I see,” Damien joked weakly.

He was named after the antichrist, you’d think he’d be a little less…happy. “Yeah,” Joel replied flatly.

The VJ showed them to the greenroom when he didn’t have to. That always made Joel a little more irked, the fact that his hack went so far out of his way to make the celebrities comfortable. Joel always thought about saying something like “don’t touch me, I bite” to the fraud, but he could never find the right moment.

They never spoke of it, but Joel would have liked to guess that his bandmates felt the same dislike for Damien that the singer felt. It made the experience with the video jockey a little more bearable.

“Someone’ll come get you when it’s time,” the kid explained even though the band had heard the guidelines many a time. “Feel free to watch the show on the TV and have some snacks.” Maybe if he was a pretty boy like the young Axl Rose he’d have an excuse to be so uppity, but even Axl could be an asshole when he wanted to be. Sadly, Damien didn’t have a mean bone in his body.

Eventually Damien left and Good Charlotte sat around the room waiting for the inevitable to happen. The waiting part was the actual killer. The fans drooling on them when they got out to the shooting space didn’t hold enough deadly force to stop the heart. Slow it down and dull it, yes, but not throw a wrench in the works.

So Joel sprawled himself out on one of the two ratty couches in the room and watched the cutsie Vjs do their stuff on the television screen, updating the millions of people who watched the horrible show – Joel never watched it unless he had to in times like these – and ticked off the music videos, wondering if Avril Lavigne stayed in the number three spot or not.

Whether from lack of sleep or sheer boredom from the show, Joel must have fallen asleep because someone hit his leg to wake him. He blinked his eyes open and met Billy’s face staring down at him.

“Come on or we’re going to miss our cue,” the youngest member of the band demanded.

Nodding Joel swung his feet onto the floor and sat up, rubbing the back of his neck before standing. He followed Billy out into the hall and through several corridors before stopping by the TRL entrance, taking the microphone that he was given.

-

In the CD player of her mind Angelina Marino changed hands to some Queens of the Stone Age, her eyes scanning the area of park in front of her.

She had come to Central Park almost every day of her life, even thought about living in it when she had no money to her name, but she never tired of it. As long as people kept coming to the park to walk the trails, play with their children or dogs, feed to wildlife she’d continue to observe them through the lens of her camera.

Grace, named after Grace Kelley the actress, had been a gift from her Uncle Carmine when she was nine, a good-luck present. That was the time she and her parents had left Sicily to pursue the American dream. Angelina still didn’t understand what dream that was, but she had been too young to say no and since she had built her career in America, she didn’t have the heart to leave.

Angelina’s mother owned an Italian bakery near the heart of the city, her father was a school teacher. They had had a decent living, one full of love and annual trips across the ocean to visit the family. She was a healthy child from a healthy family. No murdered parents, divorce or drunkards had ever tarnished her years growing up. Like most children, Angelina had many dreams and her parents supported her, even offering to give her a leg to stand on when she was first starting out – though Angelina never took their money, more out of a van Gogh quote than pride.

In fact, when she had the extra money to spend, Angelina went to a nice tattoo parlor and had “I consciously choose the dog’s path through life. I shall be poor; I shall be a painter” permanently placed across her lower abdomen. She wasn’t a painter, but she loved the quote dearly in spite of that.

She was twenty-two when she had gotten tattooed, running headlong into the oncoming wave of her unknown future, eight years ago. To Angelina, she wasn’t even at the top yet, she still had a long way to go before ever considering herself to be at her peak. Though her line of work was ongoing, never stopping unless she was asleep, she loved every second of it.

Unless she encountered bad people on her daily routes.

The run-in with Joel Madden had been a good two or three hours ago, but Angelina still couldn’t get her mind off of him. She was fuming over his sour temper, the way he treated her after asking nicely if it was all right to use the pictures of him she had taken. If she was that kind of person, Angelina would have used them even if he had said no.

That was why she was at the park risking hypothermia. She wanted to forget about the man who had ruined her day by finding some nice shots. So far her unyielding thoughts had prevented good chances to be seized. This mad her even more angry.

Angelina had never in her life liked people like Joel Madden, the men and women who drove a stake in the heart of her good day and made the gray clouds roll in. She was normally an upbeat spirit, so when something came along to disturb that she easily became upset.

A deep sigh escaped her parted lips and she patted Grace lightly. She was infamous for carrying on conversations with her camera and was about to start one when a familiar voice broke the cold silence around the young woman.

“What’s gotten you so upset, dear?” The kindly words knitted a warm blanket, tightly wrapping itself around the photographer.

Angelina didn’t need to look to find out who had spoken, but she did anyway and smiled. “Carrie, ciao. I wasn’t expecting you here so soon.”

For a woman of sixty, Carrie Anderson was healthier than any ox in any country. She had few wrinkles on her face, the white hair framing it making her look many years younger than she actually was. Given the chance, she would most likely outrun the best Olympian runner. Angelina had met her when she first started coming to Central Park to take photographs, the women become fast friends.

“I’m right on time, actually,” Carrie pointed out as she took a seat next to her young friend on the park bench.

Angelina frowned, looking down at her wrist watch. “I guess I wasn’t paying attention to the time. My whole day’s thrown off kilter now.”

“What’s wrong?” Carrie reworded her initial question.

“Just some jerk I took a few pictures of earlier this morning. I tell you, famous people think they’re so much better than the rest of us. They think they can treat people anyway they want to treat them. They’re horrible!” Angelina huffed.

Carrie nodded her head in understanding. “You’re famous in case you haven’t noticed.”

“Not really, no. I just click a button on Grace, that’s nothing to be famous for.”

“So modest,” Carrie observed with a soft smile. “Go on.”

Angelina didn’t need to be told to continue with her story, the more she thought about the events of the day the more she needed to speak about them. “So I go up to this guy and ask as politely as humanly possible if I could use the three pictures I took of him, right? And he bites my head off! I mean, he was so rude I wanted to hit him. I told him that I didn’t work for any tabloid magazine, but he was still so horrid. Is it wrong that I wanted him to be murdered by one of this obsessive fans when he finally left?”

“Brutally?” the older woman asked.

“No. Just attacked by a handful of teenage girls and have every article of clothing ripped from him, killed by a strong blow to the back of the head when he fell down onto the pavement. Maybe raped as well just because it happens.”

“Well, as long as it isn’t savage…,” Carrie replied slyly. “Do you think he was just having a bad day and took it out on you?”

Angelina shrugged one shoulder. “It’s possible, I suppose. You should have seen how he treated his poor fans, though, Carrie. They were so happy to even lay eyes on him and he put on this act. If they had seen his face when they had their backs turned I think it would’ve literally died.”

Carrie, knowing that her friend was going to say more, remained in silence.

“I understand that it must be hard for him, to have to live up to this ideal that everyone’s created, believe me I do. But does he need to treat people like that? There’s a difference between being fed up and being arrogant. It’s such a shame too, he’s an insanely handsome guy.”

-

Hundreds of eyes bored into him as he stood there, smiling like an idiot and counting the seconds until he could run out of that building at break-neck speed. To Joel it seemed as though the clock had frozen in place, like the cold from outside the walls had somehow gotten in and worked it’s magic on every time piece he could see.

It was a question and answer segment that made him pray for some kind of poison to use on himself. The fans could ask any question their tiny minds could come up with and Joel had to answer. If there was a loop hole he couldn’t find one.

At the moment a red-head was standing up, taking the microphone from Hilarie. She looked directly at Joel, a strange fire in her eyes, and opened her mouth to speak. “Hey, I’m Tessa. This one’s for Joel: do you have a girlfriend?”

He was ready for this one, had known it was coming the second this game was mentioned. He knew to smile sadly and put his head down slightly, bring it back up and look right back at this Tessa. “No,” he said like a hurt dog.

Tessa was a feisty one. She wouldn’t let Hilarie have the microphone back. “So what do you look for in a girl, then?”

Until that second Paul’s advice had actually helped the situation. Not once since diving into the work before him had Joel thought about Angelina. That was until he found himself describing her without knowing it.

“I like dark features and a unique style right off the bat. If she looks like she just crawled out of a silent movie from the 1920s I’m instantly hooked. Intelligence is good too and she has to be fun. I don’t like really prissy girls, but I don’t like complete tomboys either.”

Joel watched as many of the girls in the room looked like someone they loved had just died, their fair skinned shoulders dropping and their contemporary style going dull even under the bright lights of the studio. This made Joel’s smile become a sincere grin. Well, if he was going to become a sadist, he’d better be a good one.
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