"Give it up for Skunk!"

"What kind of name is that?" It seemed a few audience members didn't appreciate the name of your band and felt the need to comment. A few empty beer cans came flying your direction and you ducked to avoid getting hit. The rest of your band went running backstage and you tagged after them, narrowly missing a pair of airborne boxers.

"Eugh!" you yelled, disgusted by what had happened. "Don't tell me those are used!"

"Face it, Y/N," your band mate Christine said. "It's obvious no one wants to listen to us." You were about to interrupt when she went on. "Clearly we're not as good as we thought we were and we're all tired of getting thrown offstage." You looked from one band member to the next who all silently agreed. 

"I really don't like having stuff thrown at us either," David said. You noticed his guitar was dripping wet from beer and his face sported a new cut from the thrown can. Your heart cracked and you looked for anyone else to step in and defend the band. 

"We can't just give up," you said and scoffed when no one responded. Christine was already removing her bass and returning it to the case on the table. "Where are you going, Chrissy?"

"Home," she said over her shoulder. David and Josie seemed to think that was best and left you standing there. 

"You can't go home yet!" you called. "We still have another chance! I'll call the owner of the place, he'll give us another spot! We'll come another day when the audience isn't so-"

"It's not just the audience, Y/N!" Josie spoke up. She looked ready to snap her drumsticks in half. You took a step back as she advanced on you, her black hair falling in her face. "It's this whole lifestyle! It's the fame, it's the traveling, it's the hoards of fans coming to rip your clothes off, it's everything!"

"Y-yeah," you whimpered. "I know it's hard now, but-"

"Face it, this is what you wanted," Christine said. "It's not what we wanted. We just went along with it because we thought it would make you happy." You couldn't believe what you were hearing. This whole time you were in a band with people who didn't even want to be there. Christine closed her case and shrugged her jacket on. Josie left her sticks on the table, apparently done with drums forever. Both of them left without goodbye; only you and David were left to settle this. 

"David...?" you said, praying to whatever god was out there that he would stay in the band. Whatever you had to do to get him to stay you would. "Come on...we can...we can change the name," you said as David sighed. "If the name 'Skunk' blows, we'll change it. We'll change our songs. We'll change our look! Whatever needs to happen-"

"I'm sorry, Y/N," David said, grabbing his guitar case off the table. You could feel tears sting in your eyes as he made to leave the building. "This kind of thing just isn't for us. Maybe....maybe when we were in high school the idea of a band sounded good but....we're not kids anymore. Maybe it's time we gave up a kid's dream and moved on with our lives."

"David, please," you said, a few tears spilling. This was all you had ever wanted to do in life. Play rock and roll music in a band with your friends. No band ever became famous overnight, you knew it would take a lot of hard work. But as your friends left the venue one by one, you knew this was the end. They weren't coming back.

Another band walked past you with their instruments, getting ready to take the stage. Normally you would have wished them luck but today was not your day. Kicking the pair of stained boxers out of your way, you grabbed the nearest bottle of beer and stormed outside through the backstage door, feeling a hint of satisfaction as it slammed shut. 

Standing in the cold October night as a few drops of rain started to fall, you let the tears fall too.

"You alright?"

On instinct you wiped your face with your hand and turned away from where the voice came from. "I'm fine," you mumbled.

"Saw you up onstage earlier," the voice said, getting closer. You could have sworn you recognized it from somewhere. "You're not half bad."

"Tell that to the audience," you said, laughing without humor. Taking a long drink of beer, you forgot to care and burped. "Sorry."

"Ya' know, I'll be honest," the voice said. "I think your singin' is too good for the band you're in." Finally turning around to see who your company was, you almost fainted on the spot when you saw Malcolm Young himself smoking a cigarette. You weren't sure if the band was touring at the minute and you didn't get your hopes up that the rest of AC/DC would appear out of nowhere. But standing in front of you was the reason you wanted to join a band in the first place. At first you tried to be a guitarist like him but after jamming around during rehearsals and switching roles, you realized singing was your real talent. And now your talent would go to waste as you stood in the unemployment line waiting for a nine to five job like your parents wanted. "Their playin'-don't mind my sayin' this-is a bit stiff, ya' know?"

"You're...you're-"

"Hi," Malcolm said, holding his hand out for you to shake. A bit of rain coated his face and hair. You took his hand and tried to keep your breathing steady. It would do you no good to pass out or vomit in front of the man. "Surprised ya' recognized me. I usually go unscathed."

"How could I not know who you are?" you blurted out and he laughed, looking down at his shoes. You quickly cleared your throat and regained composure. "Sorry."

"Nah, I don't mind," he said. He looked around and smoked his cigarette. "Jus' makin' sure your band wasn't around to hear me."

"Don't worry about them," you muttered. "They all just quit on me. They don't want to be in a band anymore." The tears were quickly replaced by anger and annoyance. 

"Not for them, I take it?" Malcolm asked. 

"Guess not," you said. "But it's for me." Malcolm nodded. "I don't want to work at some regular job with regular hours. I want excitement! I want adventure!" You took another long drink of beer and didn't feel so cold anymore. "I want free drinks."

"Hey, I understand," Malcolm said. "My brothers an' I all wanted to play music an' what have you. It's what we do, ya' know?" Oh you knew, alright. "An' I understand it's not to everyone's taste, either. Ya' got your interviews, ya' got your studio sessions, ya' got your feisty managers sometimes...the list goes on."

"Yeah, but it's all worth it, isn't it?" you asked, feeling a lot more comfortable around him. Malcolm must have had that kind of calming presence. Or it could have been the alcohol. 

"Sure. For some," he said. "Sure worth it to me. I get to play rock an' roll an' since no one else is doin' it...."

"So....you saw us play?" you asked, feeling hopeful. Perhaps he thought you had potential.

"I did," he said. "Jus' for a bit, then I needed a smoke break."

"You...didn't see the end of the show?" He shook his head and you sighed. "We got thrown offstage," you said. "My friends thought we weren't that good and they quit."

"Well I can't say their playin' was too good," Malcolm said. "Pardon my sayin' so."

"But was I good?" you asked. That was really all that mattered to you. As bad as you felt that your friends weren't happy in a band, the idea that you could make it big still gave you hope. 

Malcolm shrugged. "Sure," he said. "I think with a little tunin' up you could get up there." You could feel your cheeks turn bright red. Malcolm may as well have said he was your biggest fan. Which, considering the opinion of everyone else in the world, he practically was. "Ya' say your band quit?"

"Yeah," you said. "Now I'll have to scout for new players."

"Hey, that's an opportunity," Malcolm said. "Skip that nepotism shit an' find the best of the best an' start a new band. An' don't look at me like that," he added, pointing a finger. "Angus is one of the best players I've ever worked with, he earned his place."

"You know where I can find any good musicians?" you asked. Talent scouting wasn't exactly where you thought you'd end up but if it was a necessary step, you'd take it. 

Malcolm shook the rain out of his face and gestured toward the building. "Could always start in there," he said. "Bars an' clubs have people play all the time. Hold auditions an' always make it real clear what you want. Filter out any jazz players or bubblegum hoppers if that isn't what ya' want."

"Bubblegum...hoppers?" you giggled, hiccuping. Malcolm shrugged. 

"Whatever they're called. Ya' know what I mean." He let his cigarette fall to the street and stomped it out. "I should get goin'. An' I didn't catch your name?"

"Y/N," you said, shaking his hand again. The giddy feeling started coming back. The real Malcolm Young was still standing in front of you. Giving you advice!

"Well, Y/N, good luck," he said, turning to go. "An' go easy on those friends of yours, it ain't their fault if a band's not their thing." The anger you felt towards your friends for quitting began to fade. Maybe Malcolm was right. You did kind of coerce them into joining. The idea of being in a band and playing music blinded you to what your friends wanted. All you cared about in that moment was yourself. You looked up to say goodbye to Malcolm but he was already gone. 

It was decided then. After finding your friends and making things right, you'd go to every bar in town and get your new band together. Even if it took a little longer than you had hoped. 

Skunk wasn't finished yet.