Warlord Metal by D Jordan Redhawk

Author:D Jordan Redhawk [Redhawk, D Jordan]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
ISBN: 9780971815025
Publisher: P.D. Publishing, Inc.
Published: 2002-06-15T03:00:00+00:00

Jordan stepped off the bus, a fresh cigarette hanging from her lips. She moved out of the way of the other people boarding and unboarding the public transport, setting the McDonald's cup down on the wide trash can lid. Digging out her lighter, the redhead lit up before retrieving her soda and walking away from the stop.

Paper cup in one hand, smoke in the other, her guitar was strapped comfortably to her back. The neck swayed back and forth over her right shoulder as she sidled along in the industrial area of southeast Portland. In six blocks, she arrived at the warehouse. It was late afternoon and the clouds remained in the sky. Jordan fished her keys out of her shorts pocket just as she heard a familiar motor.

A beat up, rust brown panel van pulled into a parking spot on the side of the street. The engine was cut off and Hampton hopped out. "Hi," he called, opening the side door and retrieving his bass.

"Hey," Jordan responded. She unlocked the warehouse and waited for him to join her.

As they entered together, the bald man glanced at her. "Have a good night?"

The woman glanced sharply at him. Innocent curiosity met her intent gaze and she mentally kicked herself in the pants. Chill, Jordie! It ain't common knowledge. Pause. Yet. She shrugged and said, "Yeah, it was okay. You?"

"Pretty good." No complaints about her lady friend pulling a disappearing act. In-ter-est-ing... "You must have gone to bed early. I didn't see you after we all went inside." He jumped up onto the stage and began setting up his instrument.

Jordan colored so slightly, it was hardly noticeable. "Yeah. Well, I was tired," she offered, putting her cigarette out in a nearby ashtray. She took a long swallow of her soda, enjoying the bite of Johnny Walker within before pulling her guitar from her shoulder and taking off her jacket.

"So, you were doing a lot of writing yesterday...?" Hampton hinted, deciding to drop the subject for now.

Back in her element, the guitarist chuckled. "Yeah, I got some stuff. Hold on." She unzipped the case and pulled her instrument out. She then pulled out the pad of paper with her scribblings, handing them over to the eager man. "No guarantee that they're legible," she warned. "I haven't looked at them since last night."

"S'okay," the bassist shrugged. "I've got you here to translate."

About half an hour went by. The band mates looked over the songs, deciding which seemed the most workable. The lyrics had been cleaned up and now they were working on the melody.

"I dunno," Jordan said. "We could speed it up a bit. Maybe make it a little rougher." She sang out a line, keeping time by tapping on her guitar. "*I'm standing on a ledge, cold and naked. / Will someone come and offer me their help?"

The bald man nodded in agreement. "Yeah. That'd work." Hampton turned when the door slammed. "Cool, Tom's here. We can see what kind of rhythm to put on it.

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