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Adjusting	By : Bia Category: Singers/Bands/Musicians > Eminem/Marshall Mathers Views: 7351 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. I do not know Eminem (Marshall Mathers). I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

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Some months later...

He was fucking bored. Generally, a bored Eminem was the first sign of trouble. But not tonight. No there was to be no trouble. Dre had threatened to beat his lily white ass if he so much as breathed wrong tonight. So he was on his best behavior. Which meant he hadn't cursed anyone out, or smoked more than one joint. And as long as no one started shit with him, he wouldn't have to finish it.

Em didn't even know why he was here. It was typical industry shit. Which meant people who normally wouldn't get within spitting distance, were making like they were each other's nigga. He was too tired, and not high enough to deal with that shit. Kim was up to her usual tricks. It was December and did he have his baby girl? Fuck no, cause the bitch wouldn't let him take her out of state. Em stamped down on the rage he could feel bubbling up at the thought of his wife, if he kept up that train of thought he was bound to start some shit. He looked around itching for something to do.

A sly grin settled on his face as he spotted the boy-bander. Now, here was an opportunity for a little entertainment. Dre couldn't blame him for this. The guy was asking to be fucked with. Really, what kinda pompous shit wore sunglasses in a club? Answer a boy-bander whose night was about to go to shit. Maybe he could get the punk to throw the first blow? Nah, the little bitch wouldn't have the nerve. Still, he'd be fun to scare, torment some. Em slunk over to the bar; eyes lit with an unholy glee, he dropped onto the stool next to the boy-bander. Catching the bartender's eye he ordered a draft of whatever was on tap. Then turned to the guy. It was the tall, scrawny one with all the hair. He couldn't remember his name. He eyed him for a long moment. He was slouched forward, elbows up on the bar toying with his shot glass. A half empty bottle of J.D. sat on the bar in front of him. After a few seconds of silent staring the guy looked up.

The club lights glinted of the opaque lenses as the guy glanced his way, snorted softly then went back to his brooding. Oh, no the little shit didn't just dismiss him. He could not let that go. "What kinda faggot wears shades in a bar? Some fucked up pop version of trying to be hard?"

The guy's head shot up, and the glasses slid down an inch. "Do not even start shit with me now," growled the kid. Blue eyes, blazing despite the swelling he could see around the right eye.

Surprised by the sight of a punk boy-bander marked up like he'd been in a dust-up, Eminem didn't bother to take offense. Instead wincing in sympathy at what looked to be a helluva shiner. Still, he couldn't help making a crack at the kid's expense. "What happened," he asked, tipping his glass toward his face. "One of the teenies get a little rowdy? Always said you were a buncha pansies." He snickered at the affronted look on the punk's face. Typical boy band pussy. Let a bitch get you. The faggot growled but didn't say anything else, just poured himself another shot.

Em watched as he downed the next three shots like a pro. He was surprised the boy-bander wasn't drinking some fruity ass mixed drink. He was now openly studying the guy. It wasn't a well known fact but Em liked mysteries. At one point before things had gotten so bad, he'd even considered being a cop. Not like those punkass one's though. Somebody like Shaft or the Equalizer. Didn't take shit from nobody. Kicked ass and took names. Knew what was real.

And this boy-bander whether he knew it or not was presenting him with one. Here the kid sat in a dark club, wearing sunglasses. Evidence of a brawl on his face. An empty bottle of J.D. hidden just behind his left arm, to go along with the half-empty he was steadily working his way through. Despite that the kid hadn't even slurred. His fingers were steady around the neck of the bottle, and he hadn't swayed once. Plus, he had the nerve to mouth off to Eminem. These were things he didn't attribute to the all american kiss assers that were the boy bands. Seeing as he had nothing better to do, Em intended to get to the bottom of this. "What really happened?" prompted Em.

The kid paused glass halfway to his mouth,"What the fuck is it to you?"

Em shrugged, ignoring the urge to smack the kid one for being so mouthy. It was just another piece of the puzzle. "Nothing, you little fag. Just looking for a laugh. Can't imagine one of you little goody goodies actually throwing down. I figure whatever happened has to be worth at least one mocking verse."

The kid sighed, tossing back the next shot. "You're not going away are you?"

He smirked, hearing the growing irritation in the kid's voice. This was kinda fun, and he hadn't even resorted to violence. Yet. Either way he'd solve this little puzzle or he'd have a productive night of fucking with the guy's head. Silence fell as Em simply waited. He knew the guy would break first.

"Do you even know what my name is? Or does it not matter who it is, just so long as you can torture a boy-bander?"

Em shrugged. It really didn't matter to him. But he thought he at least vaguely recognized the kid. "Your an N'stinker. Right?"

The kid frowned. "It's N'sync. And my name is JC," snarled the kid. Em only sneered. Internally, grinning at the kid's...JC's frustration. Just as he got ready to start up again, someone came to a stop behind them.

He watched as the kid seemed to deflate. The lazy sprawl over the bar faded away. He sat up, body tensing. Hands sliding beneath the bar, as if going for a weapon. Em tensed hand easing down to the blade tucked into his back pocket. After a second, Em realized the thought was just his own paranoia showing itself. Like one of them would be carrying.

JC forced himself to relax, as Justin's arrival pricked along his spine. He took a steadying breath, wondering what the younger man wanted. Since Justin had decided they need a 'break', in other words he'd been dumped for Britney, his ex hadn't had more than a word for him in months. There wasn't any reason for Justin to start something here. Not that that had ever stopped him before. Wary, he eased back from the bar.

"JC, you all right?" asked Justin, moving until he was almost hovering over the older man.

JC shifted restlessly in his seat, Justin's nearness wrecking havoc on his nerves. "Fine, Jus," he answered, quietly. Voice barely carrying over the club sounds. He could feel the gaze burning into his back. Justin was upset. He didn't even have to look at him to know. Why he didn't know.

"You sure? He's not bothering you is he?"

Em snorted. Like the blond bitch had the balls to do something. His eyes narrowed as he watched the two converse. He could almost sense another conversation beneath the on-going one.

JC held back a sigh, he could hear the anger buried beneath the seemingly solicitous question. Apparently, Justin wasn't happy about him talking to another guy. Not that he'd been talking to Eminem. Of all people. The idea was ludicrous. Still, he didn't even want to get into this. He just wasn't in the mood to deal with Justin's shit. "Nah. I was just leaving anyway," he said, deferentially.

Justin nodded, drawing closer. JC couldn't stop the instinctive flinch, but he did stifle it. "I think that's a good idea. You've had a lot to drink. Wouldn't want you to do something you'd regert," he said, before disappearing back into the crowd.

JC sighed in relief as Justin took off. He'd smelled the liquor on his ex's breath. Knew he'd had to have enough to impair his thinking, if he actually thought Eminem was trying to pick up a 'diva boy band faggot'. EmfuckingEm, notorious boy band basher. Snatching up the bottle, he poured himself one last drink.

Em watched as he poured another drink. The liquor splashing over the sides. The first indication he'd seen that the kid might be drunk.

JC tossed back the shot, slamming the glass down on the bar. Before abruptly standing, the glasses slid down his nose again.

Em could see the barely banked anger, before he walked away. He snorted as the two boy-banders departed. Diva bitches. Mystery solved. To think he'd actually thought there might be substance behind all that glitter. Battling divas, probably pulled hair and scratched. Em snickered, then snagged the bottle of J.D. No sense letting the shit go to waste. He tipped the bottle back, finishing off the rest in a few quick belts. Pushed away from the bar, then groaned as the thought hit him. Fuck, he was back to being bored.
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