Word Count: 514 [ Used for and be blue's alt Civi contest ]

Merric didn't go to clubs. Not in the way most people went to clubs. He went in through the back doors, climbed over ladders and wires and musical equipment with a fender bass, deep blue with silver detailing, black neck, silver frets, and clear white strings in his left hand.

Merric didn't get the chance to do the things most people did at clubs; he was usually up on the stage, index and middle finger strumming away on his strings as Greg belted out a song. It was different when you were the thing giving entertainment to a bunch of sweaty chicks (half of who were actually hot, he wasn't going to lie) and men (who weren't that hot and usually compensating for something), instead of being on the recieving end. For him, the bass player didn't exactly mind. Dancing had never really been his thing, and while he drank once or twice during the shows (usually just a beer, over a long period of time), he wasn't a heavy drinker.

The blue haired teen stood in the greenroom, tuning his bass. Merric was never one for flashy attire. An old beat up leather jacket, almost now dark grey instead of black it was so used, covered a dark blue t-shirt on which read "Moonlight Song" in flowing white letters. Behind the words was imprinted a grey crescent moon, a series of musical notes in a light blue hanging from the top corner of the crescent. The jacket was just slightly looser than form fitting; tight, but didn't constrict his arms. The zipper had long since broke off, and he'd (poorly) sewn on a series of snaps to hold it closed in the winter. The sleeves were perpetually rolled up to his elbows in wide cuffs that sometimes caught on the tuning nobbs.

A pair of equally as old jeans hugged his hips, a wide black belt holding them from sliding off. The buckle changed from time to time, but tonight it was a simple affair, nothing more than a silver half note. The jeans were a faded light blue color, one knee was almost missing, and the backs around his heels had been walked out long ago. Skater shoes, also simple in just black with white laces, poked out from under the ends of his jeans.

He placed his bass down, reaching for some hair gel on a table nearby. He only put a dime sized amount in his hand and then pulled it through his unruly hair, taming the strains into more defined spikes. As the rest of the band poured into the room, he replaced the silver A earring that was always a part of his outfit, no matter what, in his right ear lobe. He ran his fingers over it a few times, for good luck, and lifted the strap of his bass over his head and onto his shoulder.

With a crack of his knuckles, he nodded to his mates, and left the room to do one last sound check, and let his mind fall away to the music.