The Punk Composer (prog/punk fanfiction)

"In 1977... "

March 11th 1977.

Eleanor'd assist another concert of the Clash, with no surprise. It was just one more performance of theirs she assisted of a long list.
This time, she'd been invited by Paul himself.
In fact, without minding about Gilbert's opinion, the girl began to build the friendship she had with the blonde bassist all over again.
They'd decided to leave the past behind, for that's what punk does: looking forward, never looking back.
That night, the band would perform at the London Coliseum.

"What are you doing here?!" the bassist exclaimed with wary eyes, as soon as he spotted Eleanor in front of the building.
She called her from afar, urging her to approach to him and get away from that crowd.

She rushed to him, yet trying to be discrete while sneaking through a passage on the side of the club.
She avoided a few drunk punks who were sitting along the alley and reached for Paul, who was waiting for her at the bottom of that corridor.

"What's the matter?" she panted.
The boy grabbed her wrist and dragged her inside of a room in the back of the structure.
"You're crazy El! You'd really think I'd meet you right in front of the club? They'll assault me! And you too!"
"I thought you Clash members enjoyed big crowds" she protested.
"Well, not when they barely let you breathe and walk, aha!"
"Oh, poor kid..." she replied in irony.
Paul rolled his eyes.
"Anyway, follow me, come on!"
"Wait, where are we...?"
"What do you think? Heck! To the backstage area, of course!" he scoffed.
Eleanor flinched. Backstage? That meant having to face Mick and Keith. Certainly not two people she felt sympathy for. Nor they did, towards her.

"W-wait!" she gasped, trying to stick her feet to the ground and oppose to Paul's grip.
"What the hell, what's the problem?" he snorted, turning his head to look at her with an annoyed and confused expression.
"Paul, I... there's some bad blood running between me and Mick... and Keith..."
"Uh, I may recall... however, you don't need to worry about Keith, he's no longer with us..."
"Oh my goodness, did he die?!" Eleanor gasped.
"Haha! No, he simply left the band... he'd become a pain in the ass, to be honest..." he chuckled, showing that tooth gap that made his smile even friendlier and - in a way - more "punk" and messy.
"Oh, fair enough then... but Mick..."
"Stop it, El, just avoid him, for fuck's sake! If you can bear Gilbert, you can bear Mick too... or better, Mick's not even half annoying and stupid as that criminal of your boyfriend is" he huffed, holding her wrist again and carrying her to the backstage with firm steps.

The girl timidly stepped in, standing right behind Paul's tall back and with quite an uneasy expression on her face.

"Nice one Simmo! Who's this chick you brought here, eh?" Terry shouted as soon as he saw the two kids entering the room.
"Hey I saw her first" Joe echoed, showing his yellowish and ruined teeth in a malicious, but also amused smirk.
"Hands off, boys, she's taken... and her boyfriend's quite a dangerous individual so y'all better behave... Understood, JOE?!" Paul sighed, sitting next to Terry and opening a can of beer. Obviously, Joe was the womanizer of the group, so he'd better warned him before he could harass Eleanor.
"Pity" Joe commented, shaking his head in disappointment "What's your name girl, by the way? I love your style" he smiled, extending his hand to wave hers, yet without rising his back from the sofa.

Indeed, Eleanor looked beautiful that night: atleast, according to the punk fashion: black eyeshadow and a dark lipstick embellished her face, along with a haircut consisting of long, straight black bottoms, with shorter hair on top of her head, whereas her fringe still survived the years and covered her forehead in quite a more messy way, compared to the neat skinhead cut she used to wear; on her body, she had one of her white shirts, a tie adorned with spray paint and a few pins; a square-patterned red miniskirt and fishnet stockings covered her thighs and legs; at her feet, a pair of classic leather and worn out shoes. A black, velvet collar adorned her neck and safety pins'd become her earrings, following the Pistols' fashion.