Outsider by W. Freedreamer Tinkanesh Page B

overwhelmed by the heavenly accent, an Irish-like
collection of rocks. She eventually gathered enough voice to give
out the proper answer:
    “Dan.”
    Dawn wrote a few words, signed and spoke
again:
    “Let me pass it on to Terri.”
    The wild-haired terror flashed her wildest
grin at Dan and added her piece of wits to Dawn’s. Baby Dyke felt
herself going pale.
     
    * * * * * * *
     
    When Second Look launched into the first song
of the second set, Sid was still at the busy bar collecting a
bucket load of schnapps to cultivate the degree of alcohol in her
blood. Good job she had left her bike at home. But by the end of
the song she was back, ready to offer a shot of tequila to the
singer. Terri grabbed the glass, swallowed the alcohol in one gulp
and threw the empty container against the wall. The glass crashed
satisfyingly. The drunken dancer gave her two thumbs up.
    During the next number Sid felt that the two
partners in crime were not at their best. Probably because they’d
been constantly on the go for a week. Three gigs in the States,
flying back to London, three gigs in the suburbs and now
Teddington. There was only so much energy they could muster. Terri
lacked her usual Scorpio sting. No jokes about fancy lingerie
tonight.
    When the singer stomped through Mercedes
Benz, she gave the audience only one go at the microphone, accused
them of being totally pissed and finished off the song, with her
own inimitable style.
    And now, Sid’s favourite song, a tune with a
dark atmosphere, something that seemed to have an increasingly wild
effect on her. She had eventually let go of her camera to give
herself totally to the music and jump even more all over the
place.
    Terri shouted in the mic:
    “She is a wild child of rock’n’roll! She
could out-dance the pants of every man, woman, and child!”
     
    * * * * * * *
     
    Sid was one of these shortsighted people who
couldn’t be bothered with contact lenses or spectacles. She thought
her eyes were even more misleading to people since she had twisted
her last frame out of shape in a fit of despair. She found her
eyesight disconcerting at times but had other ways to get
information about people. She would scan their auras, trying to
understand the energies she would sense, but never with words.
Words were deceptive, bringer of doubt. Written words were ok
because she controlled them. It was why she had no clue about the
colour of Terri’s eyes, the colour of Dawn’s eyes, and barely knew
the colour of their hair. She had a tendency to view the world in
black and white.
    She could sense there was something strange
about Joy. There was something in Joy’s aura that she had never
sensed with anyone else. But Sid couldn’t care less, Joy was too
feminine looking to really attract her attention.
    Really?
    So, when Baby Dyke got the song she had
waited for all along, Joy started to dance around Sid, swaying her
hips with all the languor she was used to, to Judy’s powerless
annoyance. Baby Dyke stepped back instinctively, her eyes riveted
to her idol. And Dawn was singing, singing:
    “ Track number five’s got the voice and the
smile/ And the matching grey eyes/ She’ll drive you round and round
the bend/Night after night, after night/ You will run the miles for
her //
    Track number five is the mystical siren/
Never, never calling your name/ You will run all the gauntlets for
her/ To look at you and smile/ You will fall blistering your
knees//
    Track number five, she is a total mystery/
Hovering on the edge of your dreams/ Never, never, never there for
you/ Who are you, who are you to her/ But just another dancer in
the crowd//
    And tomorrow will be another day/ with
sunshine in the blue sky/ You’ll be hiding in black velvet, of
course/ Waiting for destiny to knock your door down.”
    The Goddess reached the last verse, the verse
Baby Dyke was always waiting for, because the voice would turn into
a raspy sound, something grabbing her heart:
    “ Track number five/