•••

Billy stubbed out his cigarette and pushed off the wall. Somewhere in the bowels of this godforsaken club was Joe, doing god-knows-what with god-knows-whom. That wasn't what had Billy steamed, though. See, they were supposed to be on the road, heading for a gig in... Moosejaw? Tuktoyaktuk? Polar Bear's Butt? Fuck if he knew, but no matter where it was, there was better than here. Here, piss competed with beer as the prevalent liquid refreshment. And, regardless of what Joe said about the unsung glories of their punk lifestyle, Billy was not into water sports. Thusly unhappy with his current situation, Billy grabbed the least stoned-looking person he saw.

"You seen Joe?" Billy growled, shaking the glassy-eyed girl's arm.

The girl frowned. "Joe? Coffee? Cuppa Joe?"

Billy blinked. "No, Joe as in Joe DICK. J-o-e D-i-c-k."

"Do I want dick? What the fuck kinda question is that?"

"Fuck off," Billy snarled, letting the girl go, "and thank you kindly for fucking nothing, bitch." He looked around but saw no one any more likely to be able to help. That meant that he'd have to find Joe the old fashioned way--toss the joint til his asshole fuck buddy turned up.

Half an hour of nosing around turned up a shitload of garbage, what looked like a mound of human waste, enough junkies to populate a large prison, and a strange dude with long blonde hair. The kid was whimpering in a corner, hands cupped over his crotch. Billy wouldn't have noticed him at all except he stuck out so much--who the fuck wore Rennaisance Festival shit to a punk club? Yeah, leather was cool... but that was just... wrong. Way wrong.

And his hair was braided funny too.

Shrugging off the sight, Billy turned the corner and pushed at the first door he saw--and found Joe, sitting on a disgustingly filthy mattress.

"Where the fuck have you been?" Billy shouted at the distracted singer. Joe glanced up at him before returning to... well, it looked a lot like Joe was attaching some sort of...fresh meat to an earring. One ear already sported a bloody, roundish glob and the other was quickly festooned in a similar manner.

Then Billy noticed Joe's hair. It was...

"Are those fucking braids?"

Joe nodded absently, fingers flickering over the intricate pattern of plaits that had transformed his mohawk into a sort of spiky-knotted work of abstract art. What looked to be hair extensions--in blonde and red, no less--added length to the back, flowing over Joe's shoulders in a loose fall. Billy checked his arms for needle tracks. He had to be tripping his ass off. No way this was real, right?

"Joe?" Billy whispered, eyes wide and scared. "What the fuck happened here?

Joe shrugged, standing up to join Billy at the door. Billy followed Joe down the hall, wondering if he was about to die. This had to be a sign of the apocalypse. Or maybe not... Billy couldn't tell. He really wanted to be somewhere else right now. Somewhere else with a beer and Joe's ass and Joe's hair back to normal. And maybe no weird shit hanging off Joe's ears.

Joe noticed Billy's unease and scowled, grabbing the guitarist by the arm and dragging him through the halls. Billy relaxed; a pissed and violent Joe was a normal Joe.

As the pair rounded a corner, Joe paused to glance down at the whimpering blonde kid. "Fuckin' fairies."