all them fancy chords [closed]

Nothing felt right about this music class. Everything was so technical, and it was only the second day of the new semester. They hadn't even so much as touched the guitars lining the back wall yet. It was guitar class.. Not 'sit and discuss the parts for forty five minutes in unnecessarily intricate detail' class. Anthony would have gladly slept through the entire lecture, but the instructor hadn't allowed him to. A swift tap to the back end of Anthony's chair with a ruler had ensured that his eyes stayed open. The sound of the bell was a blessing when it filled the room, effectively cutting the instructor off and freeing Anthony from his mounting boredom. He sighed heftily and rolled his head back until it was hanging upside-down behind the back of the chair. He offered the face he was met with a cheesy grin. "Very informative, yeah?"

The girl behind him pursed her lips tightly and scoffed dryly, clearly unimpressed with what he'd just made her sit through. "That wasn't fun, that was a waste of time. You said this'd be a fun class." She pulled herself upwards and began marching towards the doorway, shoulders rigid.

"That's what I thought, I didn't know-- Hey, hey, wait up!" Anthony frowned, uncrossed his legs, and jumped out of his chair. He caught the girl by the shoulder just as she was exiting the room. She rolled her eyes and turned grudgingly back towards him, folding one arm over the other against her chest.

"I thought there'd be more guitar," she pouted. "That was all talk."

"I know, I know.. I thought it'd be different." He sighed and began chewing the inside of his cheek. How would he make up for this? Hs eyes wandered away from the girl and over the the guitars that were strung-up against the wall at the back of the studio. Oh. Right. He played guitar already. "You know.." His fingers crept further up along her shoulder, and he leaned in closer to her ear. In a lower voice, he went on, "I could just give you a private lesson. My 'pops taught me how to play.."

Slowly, the girl's disappointed pout twisted up into a grin, and she forgot all about the borefest she's endured. She's been at the devil's lettuce before class, so it was no wonder she was so forgivable. Thank God for weed. "Never was much of a school gal." She stroked his arm lightly before disengaging from him and the continued on her way, a somewhat dopey look on her face as she side-eyed him before disappearing.

Well, that had most likely been a yes. Anthony sniffed, somewhat pleased that he'd gotten himself out of being alone on a Friday night so easily, and then glanced back over at the guitars. He had nothing to do until lunch, and they were free to use, so it only seemed natural to pick one up and kill some time.

Within minutes, he was sitting on top of one of the amplifiers with a cream-coloured Strat in hand, tapping one foot to the bluesy tune of Since I've Been Lovin' You.

As the school bell rang, the tall boy rushed to gather his books and bolted out the door. His class selections hadn't gone as planned... after all, he was late handing in his form. While his initial page emphasised his desire to join the guitar class, many more students had the same idea. First come, first serve, it seemed. The calculus class he was placed in instead was enjoyable to a degree, but his mind was constantly directed to his sweet six string.

His grandfather had been obsessed with the instrument. When he wasn't working or sleeping, his fingers were flying across the fretboard. He had bought his own Martin as a young man in the 80s, which, once Farkas showed interest in at around the age of 5, was passed down to him. The pair spent any moment they could practising chords, picking, scales, strumming patterns, and any basic tools a guitarist would need to become professional.

It only made sense to carry on his nagypapa's teachings into his teens. The guitar was his own little escape. Music was a tool of communication that Farkas had mastered, unlike every other form. So why had he been so stupid in choosing his classes?

It took hours of quiet begging to secretaries and even the principle before a slot in the class opened up. His devotion and, well, slightly annoying whimpers towards the staff moved him up the waiting list. All that was left was to hand in any leftover forms to his new teacher. There was an obviously pleased look when he explained to the instructor about his previous experience with guitars and musical theory. Good, I don't have to teach him, was what the boy assumed was running through their mind as they directed him to wait while they fetched copies of whatever papers had been handed out in previous classes.

The green-haired teen took a seat close to the front of the room, ignoring the two wayward students behind him. He could hear their soft voices exchange tones not suited for a classroom setting and shivered at the thought of publicly flirting. Yet his interest was slightly peaked as the boy with fluffy hair stood and pulled one of the guitars from its perch. Within seconds he was pulling out an amp, plugging it in, and strumming against the strings.

The tune was all too familiar. His grandfather was an avid Led Zeppelin fan. He had always droned on about their guitarist during their sessions. What was his name again... Johnny? Timmy? Jimmy? Jimmy seemed right, although he still drew a blank with the last name.

While the strange plucked away at the guitar, ultimately impressing his female companion, the words began forming at Farkas' lips. "Working from seven to eleven every night, it really makes life a drag, I don't think that's right," he hummed quietly, fingers and feet tapping along with every beat.

Every great guitarist could improvise, so Anthony doodled around vaguely to the intro of the song, not giving mind to anything else happening in the room. Drugs had never been an interest of his - unlike his newest lady friend - because music was his escape from reality. When he got into it, all other sounds and sights were drowned out, and he could picture it, feel it.. The sweep of the starstruck crowd below him, the beating heat of the stage lights on his sweat-dappled neck, the tingle of his fingertips crawling up and down the fret-board.. If was a fantasy he'd longed for ever since his father had first sat him down to teach him his first chord.

Of course, it was just a fantasy, and it always would be. The one shot he'd had was seventy years behind him, now.

Hell, even that'd probably been a long-shot.

Just as the intro ground to a close and it came to where the vocals would have begun, Anthony parted his lips to mouth them, but a voice -someone else's - jumped in to sing it for him. Anthony's playing slowed a beat and he looked up. There, a little ways away speaking to the teacher, was an actual, living, breathing, goddamn potted plant.. And he was singing the part of Plant. Never before had Anthony seen hair on a man so long or so.. Green. Not even the den of hippies down the street from his uncle's house had ever sported such manes in their lifetimes, and that was saying something

"My god, man, do you need a lawnmower for that do, or something?" the Autumn called over to the boy, kicking his feet up on the amp in front of him and slumping against the wall. He plucked a few wayward notes and grinned.

Farkas' voice faded out slowly, but his singing didn't finish until the boy behind him spoke up, shaking him from his unconscious jamming. With a jump and a yelp the Spring cut his lyrics off and turned to face the poofy-haired student.

A lawnmower? It was too embarrassing to admit that the thought had once crossed his mind. His long, green hair had a life of its own and no matter how much effort he put into keeping it trimmed and short, it always grew back. Within a few weeks, nonetheless. So a loose ponytail was the only way to keep it somewhat neat. Although that didn't solve the problem of his obnoxiously long bangs.

His hand reached back to grab the mess that was his hair. "U-Uh... yeah... p-probably," he stuttered, skinny fingers combing through the thick strands. "S-Sorry f-f-for inter-rupting your pl-playing..."

"Jesus, garden-trimmings, take a breath before you tie your tongue in knots." Anthony snorted softly, eyes drifting back down to his fretboard. Who hurt this guy? He was stammering like a schoolgirl being asked to a dance. "You didn't interrupt anything good, no worries. I haven't played in a week, I'm sure I sound like hooey."

Back home, Anthony had made it a habit to ensure he played daily, whether it just be at home, or at the music store he'd snagged a job at. It hadn't been as easy here. He didn't have his guitar - the one his father had given him - and as it turned out, modern guitars didn't cost nearly what they had back during his childhood, and Rosebury didn't exactly have great job opportunities.. Or a guitar shop, for that matter. The only times he could play freely were during guitar class, or after classes on days when the band or choir weren't taking the room up. He'd managed to sneak a guitar outside of the room a couple of times, but it hadn't exactly gone unnoticed by the instructor.

"Sounds like you dig Zeppelin. Good stuff. You a choir kid, or do you play, too?" He jerked his shoulder in the direction of the other guitars strung up on the walls.