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Description

          The band practiced well into the early morning hours, squeaking and squawking on their instruments while Lonnie struggled to make percussionists out of Iggy and Brutus.

            For the first hour, the most horrendous music to ever grace their ears blared from their instruments to the point, Axl became concerned they would destroy the old building with their painful soundwaves.

            At one point, Rolf’s frustration drove him to throw his trumpet onto the ground. “THIS IS STUPID! We’ll NEVER get the hang of this!”

            “We play or we go to prison,” Axl reminded sternly.

            Rolf sighed as he reluctantly picked his trumpet back off the floor.

            Lonnie, on the other hand found himself at the mercy of Iggy not taking the practice session seriously.

            Iggy sang in the melody of The Little Drummer Boy as he banged his large bass drum. “Play drums in a marching band, parrr rump pum, pum, pummmmm!’

            Lonnie hit Iggy on the head with a drumstick out of frustration.

            “Ow!” cried Iggy rubbing his sore head.

            “We’re running out of time, Iggy!” scolded Lonnie. “You better cut the kidding and start trying!”

            Iggy sighed. “Fine, I’ll learn to be a, lame bass drummer boy.”

            Lonnie heard Brutus growl in frustration, throwing his drum sticks onto the ground. He looked over to see Brutus holding his third broken snare drum.

`           “Softer, Brutus!” scolded Lonnie. “You have to hit them softer!”

            “It’s not my fault they make these drums so weak!” grumbled Brutus.

            Lonnie handed over another snare drum to the large crocodile. “Remember, Brutus, you’re playing an instrument, not beating the lights out of an opponent in a wrestling ring.”

            “I’ve taken poundings in the ring that would have left these drums disintegrated,” muttered Brutus. “Wimpy drums. . .”

            Through setbacks and physical exhaustion, the band eventually found themselves beginning to make sounds that actually resembled music.

            Axl applauded after the band finished their piece. “I think we’re actually getting somewhere, guys!”

            “We just might pull this off!” chortled Lonnie.

            “I hope our audience is deaf or we’re doomed,” grumbled Rolf.

            “Think positive, bro!” said Axl, slapping Rolf on the back.

            “Fine,” muttered Rolf. “Let’s keep goin’ at it.”

            Axl smiled as he resumed playing his saxophone. He could not help but reminisce over his early days of performing music. He felt as though they were all kids once again, sitting in band class trying to please the teacher. He was now almost to the point of enjoying the situation were it not for the fact that their freedom was conditional on their performance being considered a success, by the populace.

            Once the band had reached the early morning hours, they found themselves unable to focus, due to exhaustion.

            Axl released a loud yawn as he set down his saxophone. “You think we should call it a night, guys?” After the sound of a loud thump of a drum, Axl looked over to find Iggy on the slumped over his drum, snoring. Rolf, Lonnie, and Brutus were all laying on the ground as well, sound asleep.

            Axl chuckled to himself as he sat down as well, stretching his arms. “I guess this will have to be good enough, won’t it?” In a matter of minutes, Axl joined his bandmates in drifting off to sleep. . .

            “Up and Adams, gentlemen!” ordered the stern military voice of Sergeant Baldwin, snapping the band out of their sleep. He grunted as he felt a club lightly bang on his head. “Up! Up!”

            “What’s the hurry?” mumbled Axl with a yawn. “I thought we had until the late afternoon?”

            “It is precisely, ten minutes after four in the afternoon, meaning you have less than an hour to be uniformed and ready.”

            “Uhh, uniforms?” asked Axl, his eyes shooting wide open.

            Axl flinched as Baldwin, plopped a shako hat onto his head. “Yes, uniforms.”

            Rolf growled, lowering his ears. “Whoa! Nobody said anything about ‘having to wear uniforms?”

            “In keeping with Brassland tradition, you are required to wear appropriate attire,” said Baldwin, tossing a pair of red pants onto Rolf’s head.”

            “I thought we were musicians, not circus clowns?” muttered Iggy gazing cringe fully at the red marching shirt.

            “We still have a vacancy in our prison,” said Baldwin, with a threatening smirk.

            Iggy nervously chuckled as he slipped the shirt over his upper body. “On second thought, red is my fourth favorite color.”

            Axl shook his head as began putting on the uniform. “Just do it, guys!”

            Brutus grunted as he struggled to slip on his uniform shirt over his upper body. “Don’t. . .these come any. . . larger?” Once having it over his chest, the buttons all began to pop off falling onto the floor. Grrahh!”

            “There’s larger one’s in the closet,” said Baldwin, rolling his eyes.

            When Rolf was completely dressed in uniform, Iggy and Lonnie began to snicker at the sight of him.

            “Wow, Rolf!’ said Lonnie.

            “What?” shouted Rolf irritably?

            Lonnie waved off the comment with his paw. “Oh, forget it.”
            Rolf grabbed Lonnie by the collar yanking him forward. “What’s so funny, Lonnie?”

            “He’s laughing because you look ridiculous,” jested Iggy, laughing.

            “Don’t push it today, Iggy,” warned Rolf. “I’ve had a heck of a week, and I’m getting very near to being in my unhappy place and you know you don’t want me to go there.”

            “Yeah, uh, no!” Iggy replied with a nervous gulp.

            Axl stood in the front of the mirror gazing at his uniform. He felt as though he were looking at a different person having shed all of his heavy metal attire. Still, the spiked collar remained as a reminder of who he was.

            “What is that?” snapped Baldwin, tapping his club against the collar.

            “The collar stays!” declared Axl looking intently into the eagle’s eyes.

            “You’re breaking the dress code!” scolded Baldwin.

            Axl snorted. “Listen, we’ve already gone well over and beyond for you guys. Spiked collar stays or you can kiss your marching band goodbye.”.

            “Are you threatening me, lizard?” snarled Baldwin.

            Axl flicked his tongue and shrugged. “Just telling you how it is.”

            “Excuse, me?” said Mayor Woodwind, peaking his head from behind the curtains.

            “Ah, good day, to you Mr. Mayor,” greeted Baldwin, his demeanor immediately transitioning from his stern military personality to that of a gentleman. “What brings you here?”

            Mayor Woodwind fidgeted with his eye monocle which again seemed to be constantly sliding off. “Yes, sergeant, I was just wanting to inspect the status of our marching band. Are they ready to go?”

            Baldwin’s stern personality immediately returned to his face. “Nearly, I would say mister mayor.”

            Mayor Woodwind began scanning Axl’s appearance with his monocle. “Well, apart from that spikey thing around the lizard’s neck, I would say they are.”

            “We were just discussing that,” said Baldwin haughtily. “He is being resistant to letting it go.”

            “With all due respect, mayor, the spiked collar never comes off,” said Axl. “It serves as a reminder of my roots.”

            “I see. . .” replied Mayor Woodwind appearing amused. “Well. . . in that case, I suppose we can make an exception. You may escort them at once, to where the parade will begin, Sergeant.”

            “As you wish, Mister Mayor,” answered Baldwin with a look of surprise. He then ruffled his feathers as he coughed into his clawed avian hands. “Let’s get a move on, men. The parade won’t start itself, will it?”

            “Time to get rocked, guys!” cheered Axl raising a fist to the air. His bandmates raised a fist back whooping and cheering with excitement. Rolf was the only one who remained stoic in his expression, which seemed comically out of place with his bright red marching band uniform. Axl knew as they exited the theater doors with their instruments, they were in for the performance of a lifetime.

*****

            “A one! A two! A one, two three FOUR!”

            The band burst into action, blowing and thumping on their instruments. The Nightriders were met with a refreshing warm reception by the citizens of Brassland who aligned the city streets as far as the eye could see. Avian and furred people were holding balloons and shooting guns of confetti into the air sprinkling the street with bright colors. Behind them trailed decorative floats, pulled by antique tractors. Children danced with excitement as candy was thrown into the streets, not wasting any time to fill their bags. For the first time since being in Brassland, Axl felt as though he were at a party, not a prison. His notes flew off his sax with relative ease, with his only struggle being to keep his attention on playing the song, not on the massive celebration taking place all around him. Every now and then he would glance at his bandmates to catch a glimpse of them playing their parts. Lonnie smashed his cymbals together creating a loud but joyous clash while Iggy thumped on the bass. Even Brutus appeared to be enjoying himself on his new found musical talent on the snare drum. Lonnie had indeed proven himself to be a talented teacher, Axl thought to himself. Rolf blurted on his trumpet, with a look of intense earnestness, birthed from his lifelong obsession of making every performance of his, “perfect.”

            The state of euphoria lasted until the band blasted their last note, followed by the loud cheering of the audience.

            The Nightriders stood together showing the metal horns and took a bow as they always did after one of their rock concerts.

            Mayor Woodwind approached the Nightriders with a look of glee on his face, clapping his hands. “My goodness gracious! In all my years of residing in Brassland, I have never experienced such a lively performance. Good show, my friends! Good show!”

            “Well, well. . .” said Sergeant Baldwin with amusement. “So you can play.”

            Axl flicked his tongue, giving the sergeant a wink. “We always aim to please.”

            To the surprise of Axl, a smile formed on the beak of Baldwin at his comment. Out of his pockets he pulled out five yellow plane tickets all having Beach City listed as their destination. “I suppose you don’t want to waste any time getting out of this place, am I right?”
          Axl looked over to see Rolf actually smiling while holding a small duck child over his back. Iggy was bouncing up and down with kids inside of a giant inflatable chamber. Lonnie was carrying a foot long multi flavored snow cone he had just purchased from a concessions booth. Brutus was pushing a young fawn on a swing in the nearby playground.

            Axl smiled. “You know, I think we might actually stay awhile, if you don’t mind.”

            “Just as long as you refrain from any more garbage street performances,” Baldwin replied. Axl looked up to see Baldwin smirking. He burst into laughter tapping Axl’s back lightly with his club. “Stay as long as you like.”

            Axl grinned. “Thanks, Sergeant.”

            With the tip of his helmet, Sergeant Baldwin moved on, patrolling the streets.

            Axl continued to smile as he began to approach the celebration.


            THE END!

Illustration by BlueMario1016

   Thanks for reading!

Nightriders: The Reluctant Marching Band Part 1

Artist's original Illustration Upload

Again, special thanks to BlueMario1016 for his inspiration and work on these illustrations. This was a lot of fun.

-Axl

Description

          The band practiced well into the early morning hours, squeaking and squawking on their instruments while Lonnie struggled to make percussionists out of Iggy and Brutus.

            For the first hour, the most horrendous music to ever grace their ears blared from their instruments to the point, Axl became concerned they would destroy the old building with their painful soundwaves.

            At one point, Rolf’s frustration drove him to throw his trumpet onto the ground. “THIS IS STUPID! We’ll NEVER get the hang of this!”

            “We play or we go to prison,” Axl reminded sternly.

            Rolf sighed as he reluctantly picked his trumpet back off the floor.

            Lonnie, on the other hand found himself at the mercy of Iggy not taking the practice session seriously.

            Iggy sang in the melody of The Little Drummer Boy as he banged his large bass drum. “Play drums in a marching band, parrr rump pum, pum, pummmmm!’

            Lonnie hit Iggy on the head with a drumstick out of frustration.

            “Ow!” cried Iggy rubbing his sore head.

            “We’re running out of time, Iggy!” scolded Lonnie. “You better cut the kidding and start trying!”

            Iggy sighed. “Fine, I’ll learn to be a, lame bass drummer boy.”

            Lonnie heard Brutus growl in frustration, throwing his drum sticks onto the ground. He looked over to see Brutus holding his third broken snare drum.

`           “Softer, Brutus!” scolded Lonnie. “You have to hit them softer!”

            “It’s not my fault they make these drums so weak!” grumbled Brutus.

            Lonnie handed over another snare drum to the large crocodile. “Remember, Brutus, you’re playing an instrument, not beating the lights out of an opponent in a wrestling ring.”

            “I’ve taken poundings in the ring that would have left these drums disintegrated,” muttered Brutus. “Wimpy drums. . .”

            Through setbacks and physical exhaustion, the band eventually found themselves beginning to make sounds that actually resembled music.

            Axl applauded after the band finished their piece. “I think we’re actually getting somewhere, guys!”

            “We just might pull this off!” chortled Lonnie.

            “I hope our audience is deaf or we’re doomed,” grumbled Rolf.

            “Think positive, bro!” said Axl, slapping Rolf on the back.

            “Fine,” muttered Rolf. “Let’s keep goin’ at it.”

            Axl smiled as he resumed playing his saxophone. He could not help but reminisce over his early days of performing music. He felt as though they were all kids once again, sitting in band class trying to please the teacher. He was now almost to the point of enjoying the situation were it not for the fact that their freedom was conditional on their performance being considered a success, by the populace.

            Once the band had reached the early morning hours, they found themselves unable to focus, due to exhaustion.

            Axl released a loud yawn as he set down his saxophone. “You think we should call it a night, guys?” After the sound of a loud thump of a drum, Axl looked over to find Iggy on the slumped over his drum, snoring. Rolf, Lonnie, and Brutus were all laying on the ground as well, sound asleep.

            Axl chuckled to himself as he sat down as well, stretching his arms. “I guess this will have to be good enough, won’t it?” In a matter of minutes, Axl joined his bandmates in drifting off to sleep. . .

            “Up and Adams, gentlemen!” ordered the stern military voice of Sergeant Baldwin, snapping the band out of their sleep. He grunted as he felt a club lightly bang on his head. “Up! Up!”

            “What’s the hurry?” mumbled Axl with a yawn. “I thought we had until the late afternoon?”

            “It is precisely, ten minutes after four in the afternoon, meaning you have less than an hour to be uniformed and ready.”

            “Uhh, uniforms?” asked Axl, his eyes shooting wide open.

            Axl flinched as Baldwin, plopped a shako hat onto his head. “Yes, uniforms.”

            Rolf growled, lowering his ears. “Whoa! Nobody said anything about ‘having to wear uniforms?”

            “In keeping with Brassland tradition, you are required to wear appropriate attire,” said Baldwin, tossing a pair of red pants onto Rolf’s head.”

            “I thought we were musicians, not circus clowns?” muttered Iggy gazing cringe fully at the red marching shirt.

            “We still have a vacancy in our prison,” said Baldwin, with a threatening smirk.

            Iggy nervously chuckled as he slipped the shirt over his upper body. “On second thought, red is my fourth favorite color.”

            Axl shook his head as began putting on the uniform. “Just do it, guys!”

            Brutus grunted as he struggled to slip on his uniform shirt over his upper body. “Don’t. . .these come any. . . larger?” Once having it over his chest, the buttons all began to pop off falling onto the floor. Grrahh!”

            “There’s larger one’s in the closet,” said Baldwin, rolling his eyes.

            When Rolf was completely dressed in uniform, Iggy and Lonnie began to snicker at the sight of him.

            “Wow, Rolf!’ said Lonnie.

            “What?” shouted Rolf irritably?

            Lonnie waved off the comment with his paw. “Oh, forget it.”
            Rolf grabbed Lonnie by the collar yanking him forward. “What’s so funny, Lonnie?”

            “He’s laughing because you look ridiculous,” jested Iggy, laughing.

            “Don’t push it today, Iggy,” warned Rolf. “I’ve had a heck of a week, and I’m getting very near to being in my unhappy place and you know you don’t want me to go there.”

            “Yeah, uh, no!” Iggy replied with a nervous gulp.

            Axl stood in the front of the mirror gazing at his uniform. He felt as though he were looking at a different person having shed all of his heavy metal attire. Still, the spiked collar remained as a reminder of who he was.

            “What is that?” snapped Baldwin, tapping his club against the collar.

            “The collar stays!” declared Axl looking intently into the eagle’s eyes.

            “You’re breaking the dress code!” scolded Baldwin.

            Axl snorted. “Listen, we’ve already gone well over and beyond for you guys. Spiked collar stays or you can kiss your marching band goodbye.”.

            “Are you threatening me, lizard?” snarled Baldwin.

            Axl flicked his tongue and shrugged. “Just telling you how it is.”

            “Excuse, me?” said Mayor Woodwind, peaking his head from behind the curtains.

            “Ah, good day, to you Mr. Mayor,” greeted Baldwin, his demeanor immediately transitioning from his stern military personality to that of a gentleman. “What brings you here?”

            Mayor Woodwind fidgeted with his eye monocle which again seemed to be constantly sliding off. “Yes, sergeant, I was just wanting to inspect the status of our marching band. Are they ready to go?”

            Baldwin’s stern personality immediately returned to his face. “Nearly, I would say mister mayor.”

            Mayor Woodwind began scanning Axl’s appearance with his monocle. “Well, apart from that spikey thing around the lizard’s neck, I would say they are.”

            “We were just discussing that,” said Baldwin haughtily. “He is being resistant to letting it go.”

            “With all due respect, mayor, the spiked collar never comes off,” said Axl. “It serves as a reminder of my roots.”

            “I see. . .” replied Mayor Woodwind appearing amused. “Well. . . in that case, I suppose we can make an exception. You may escort them at once, to where the parade will begin, Sergeant.”

            “As you wish, Mister Mayor,” answered Baldwin with a look of surprise. He then ruffled his feathers as he coughed into his clawed avian hands. “Let’s get a move on, men. The parade won’t start itself, will it?”

            “Time to get rocked, guys!” cheered Axl raising a fist to the air. His bandmates raised a fist back whooping and cheering with excitement. Rolf was the only one who remained stoic in his expression, which seemed comically out of place with his bright red marching band uniform. Axl knew as they exited the theater doors with their instruments, they were in for the performance of a lifetime.

*****

            “A one! A two! A one, two three FOUR!”

            The band burst into action, blowing and thumping on their instruments. The Nightriders were met with a refreshing warm reception by the citizens of Brassland who aligned the city streets as far as the eye could see. Avian and furred people were holding balloons and shooting guns of confetti into the air sprinkling the street with bright colors. Behind them trailed decorative floats, pulled by antique tractors. Children danced with excitement as candy was thrown into the streets, not wasting any time to fill their bags. For the first time since being in Brassland, Axl felt as though he were at a party, not a prison. His notes flew off his sax with relative ease, with his only struggle being to keep his attention on playing the song, not on the massive celebration taking place all around him. Every now and then he would glance at his bandmates to catch a glimpse of them playing their parts. Lonnie smashed his cymbals together creating a loud but joyous clash while Iggy thumped on the bass. Even Brutus appeared to be enjoying himself on his new found musical talent on the snare drum. Lonnie had indeed proven himself to be a talented teacher, Axl thought to himself. Rolf blurted on his trumpet, with a look of intense earnestness, birthed from his lifelong obsession of making every performance of his, “perfect.”

            The state of euphoria lasted until the band blasted their last note, followed by the loud cheering of the audience.

            The Nightriders stood together showing the metal horns and took a bow as they always did after one of their rock concerts.

            Mayor Woodwind approached the Nightriders with a look of glee on his face, clapping his hands. “My goodness gracious! In all my years of residing in Brassland, I have never experienced such a lively performance. Good show, my friends! Good show!”

            “Well, well. . .” said Sergeant Baldwin with amusement. “So you can play.”

            Axl flicked his tongue, giving the sergeant a wink. “We always aim to please.”

            To the surprise of Axl, a smile formed on the beak of Baldwin at his comment. Out of his pockets he pulled out five yellow plane tickets all having Beach City listed as their destination. “I suppose you don’t want to waste any time getting out of this place, am I right?”
          Axl looked over to see Rolf actually smiling while holding a small duck child over his back. Iggy was bouncing up and down with kids inside of a giant inflatable chamber. Lonnie was carrying a foot long multi flavored snow cone he had just purchased from a concessions booth. Brutus was pushing a young fawn on a swing in the nearby playground.

            Axl smiled. “You know, I think we might actually stay awhile, if you don’t mind.”

            “Just as long as you refrain from any more garbage street performances,” Baldwin replied. Axl looked up to see Baldwin smirking. He burst into laughter tapping Axl’s back lightly with his club. “Stay as long as you like.”

            Axl grinned. “Thanks, Sergeant.”

            With the tip of his helmet, Sergeant Baldwin moved on, patrolling the streets.

            Axl continued to smile as he began to approach the celebration.


            THE END!

Illustration by BlueMario1016

   Thanks for reading!

Nightriders: The Reluctant Marching Band Part 1

Artist's original Illustration Upload

Again, special thanks to BlueMario1016 for his inspiration and work on these illustrations. This was a lot of fun.

-Axl