I do not own Penguins of Madagascar and its affiliates. James Hetfield, Kirk Hammet, Robert Trujillo, and Lars Ulrich belong to Metallica. Brandon DeOtter and Ariana belong to Metallica1147. I only own a part of the plot.
Brandon stood on the umbrella table. His pingüino, pingüino de friends, the chimps, Marlene, and his girlfriend, Ariana, all sat around conversing. The conversation turned to talk of Music, and The pregunta was brought up. por one of the Chimps, as it were.
“Brandon, how was it that tu learned to like this – Metal? Surely, tu must have found it somehow.” dicho Mason
“Yeah,” Brandon smiled “I sort of did. I knew of the música before I played back up, but it was always like how other animales liked música – just to mermelada along to. After that day, I found meaning in the words and guitarra solos.”
“What day? Back-up for what?” Marlene asked. How had she not known of this, had they not shared everything with each other? “Hey, it’s cool Marlene. I was just waiting for a time like this. It’s not much, but it’s a part of me.” Brandon assured her, as if lectura her very thoughts. Which he wasn’t, he could just tell what she was thinking. Months of living together did that.
“It all started back in California…”
FLASHBACK
Younger Brandon, California, 2008. Two brown, beady eyes looked over the brick and metal that held back the zoo animals. Sure the coast was clear, he leapt over. A red and white fender guitarra was slung over his shoulder por a brown shoulder holster. A tiny portable amp was wrapped around his neck like a necklace. He ran to one tree, then to another, each time making sure it was seguro before moving on. Finally, when he was well away from the Zoo, he set down the amp.
He plugged the guitarra in, moving it down and around his chest. He strummed a few notes to make sure it was well tuned. Satisfied, he began belting out a tune none in his inicial could understand, would want to try and understand. He was used to it, their distrust and their fear. Change, especially change like this, was not pleasantly viewed in his home. But enough of such negative thoughts!! The música filled him, and he was content.
ELSEWHERE…
Meanwhile, a black tour bus slowed to a halt outside the park. “The Tank’s Empty!” came the voice of the driver, Lars. “I told tu we should have filled up at the last truck stop!” he complained
“Ah, quit yer whining.” dicho a tall, buff man. He had muscles from obvious well use, and his hair was blond against his pale white skin. He wore a black camisa, camiseta that was looked one size too small. “We got extra gas in the cans. Robert, can tu do that?” A large, heavy-set man with long black dreadlocks looked up from his position on the couch.
“Sure, James.” He rose out of the couch, stretching his arms, and walked outside into the park. Robert, as his name was, walked around to the back of the bus. He opened a door on the side of the bus, taking out a large gas can. He whistled a soft tune to himself, walking over to the gas tank on the bus. Suddenly, he heard something on the wind – a melody, guitarra riffs. Their instrumental, the guitarra riffs from Suicide and Redemption. Could it be?
Rob set down the can, leaving the bus. He followed the noise to its point of origin – a small brown otter, jamming on a miniature red guitar. He gasped. This was a miracle - He sounded just like Kirk! If the nutria could understand guitarra notes, surely it could understand him! He stepped into the Otter’s view, getting down on the ground. The nutria looked frightened, about to run away. Robert quickly put up his hands, mostrando he wasn’t a threat.
“Now, hold on, little fella. That’s a pretty nifty guitarra tu got there. Do tu like playing for people?” The otter, Brandon, shook his head no. People made fun of him; of course he wouldn’t like that!
“Well, one of our band members is sick, and I was wondering if tu might like to play with us for the night. Suddenly, the little otter’s eyes seemed to widen, and a great light entered them. A smile – was it possible that the animal was grinning? The nutria squeaked, grabbing his amps and jumping onto Robert.
“Hahahaha! That tickles! Now come on, I’ve got to mostrar tu to the guys.” He stood up, and started walking back towards the bus, the little nutria on his shoulder.
Brandon PoV
Brandon couldn’t believe it. He was actually going to play música he LIKED for a band! Where people would like the music, and not make fun of him! He had never been so happy in his life. (Although in a few years, he would be even happier when a certain pingüino, pingüino de dicho she would go out with him.) The man, Robert, finished filling up the tank and walked back up on to the bus. James looked up from the newspaper he was reading.
“Rob, are tu – what is that?” he pointed to Brandon
“This, James, is our guitarist for the night.”
“A replacement Kirk? You’ve got to be kidding me! That thing’s smaller than my forearm!”
“Well, yeah, but he’s really good. And we need him - without Kirk, we don’t play. Trust me, he’s good. Great, even!”
James hesitated. “Okay, mostrar me what tu got!” Brandon looked at both of them, and then ran down Rob’s arm. He set up the amps and the guitar, and continued to cinturón, correa out S&R. He was about halfway through when James held up his hands. “Alright, that’s very nice. But can tu play… Master of Puppets?”
Brandon looked nervous. That was one of the hardest songs he had ever played. He’d be able to, but just barely. He played a good two minutos of the heaviest section.
“Wow, he is good. Okay, he got the gig. Just don’t poop all over the carpet, it was just refurbished.”
Brandon grinned. This was the moment of a lifetime…
They managed to get to the stadium in time to practice for a few hours. Kirk, who was lying sick with the flu on their bed, sat up a few times to watch them out the window. He smiled, watching the little nutria play. He WAS good, he’d give him that. A few times, Brandon caught him watching, and he grinned in return.
Tonight will be a night to remember, he thought to himself, strumming along to Welcome inicial (Sanitarium). No one back inicial will believe this!
Finally, the moment came. The stage was lit, the fires blew. Sweat poured out their bodies, like the música that they played [1]. They opened with ‘The Ecstasy of Gold’, a song that was relatively easy por Brandon’s standards. The night wore on, with familiar and unfamiliar tunes. Most held meaning and resonance in the crowd, and the música just kept going on.
This was what he was meant to play. This was the música of his very soul. He let it take him away; far beyond the call of those he called neighbors in the California Zoo. He was elated, and it felt as if nothing could bring him down from such joy.
Eventually, the concierto was over. The stage was drenched in Sweat, and not a single drop of it was from playing too slow. The roadies were putting away their gear, as carefully and gently as they could. One of them went up to Brandon to take his guitar. He held the guitarra closer to his chest. The night was over, and he loved this work, but it just didn’t feel right. He had to go back home. Nodding to himself, he dicho “Alright.”
They all got back in the bus, and got ready for a good night’s sleep.
They didn’t wake up until the siguiente afternoon. por then, Kirk was feeling much, much better. Brandon stood on a mesa, tabla in the middle of the RV, and watched as Kirk showed him a few pointers. “You have talent, I’ll give tu that. And now, tu have a bit of experience. tu should do good back home.” They smiled. Kirk held out a sharpie. “May I?” he asked. Brandon nodded, handing him the guitar.
Kirk signed it, being sure to get the tiny signature right on the guitar. “Wow !” dicho Brandon.
“I don’t know what tu just squeaked, but tu sure sound excited. Now – we got to get tu home.”
The trip seemed to last minutes, although it was a mere few short hours. Brandon gave them all a firm fist bump goodbye (as much as a small nutria can to four large men). Brandon scampered off the bus, and walked all the way back through the park to his inicial in the zoo.
No one would believe this, he thought to himself.
“…And nobody did. They had all made fun of me, like they always did. Nothing changed on the outside, just on the inside.” He thumped his chest, right above his tiny heart.
“Wow. That’s a lot to swallow,” dicho Ariana. Everyone seemed to agree, but they also believed him. He had never dado them reason to doubt him. Marlene was the only one who looked nervous, out of place.
“So, um, the smudge on the back of your guitarra – was Kirk’s Autograph?”
“Yeah! I’ve never washed it. Wiped down the front a little bit, but other than that, the back hasn’t been touched.”
“Uh, yeah about that… that’s not entirely true.” Marlene rubbed the back of her neck in nervousness.
“See, I kind of cleaned it…”
Brandon twitched. “Y-y-y-y-you did w-what?”
“I thought it was a stain! It looked like a black smudge; I couldn’t tell it was handwriting! I can’t read!” Marlene was seriously panicking now.
Brandon made a mover towards Marlene. Ariana jumped in front of him. “Now, hold on, Brandon, let’s not do anything rash. Marlene meant well.” Marlene nodded over Ariana’s shoulder.
“We-elllll…” Brandon smiled. “Alright. I forgive you.”
“After all,” Private perked up “You can’t erase the memory of it!”
“I might be able to, dado time…” Kowalski muttered. “No thank you!” everybody shouted at the same time.
“Jinx!” Shouted Mort.
“Ahahahahaha!” Everybody laughed. A happy memory for all. Brandon pulled Ariana into a one-armed hug. A very happy memory for all of them, indeed.
