Editing Getting the Band Together (section)

==='''The Ugly Ferret - Used Gear'''===
The garage of the Ugly Ferret smelled like motor oil, old leather, and stale beer. Fluorescent lights buzzed above, casting a sickly glow over a collection of battered equipment: Marshall stacks with torn grille cloth, Peavey and Fender amps that had seen better days, a tangled mess of cables, and microphones with dented grilles. It was a graveyard of rock and roll relics.

Gadget, her electric blue hair tied back, crossed her arms and surveyed the lineup. She stepped over a coiled snake of dusty XLR cables and knelt by a beaten-up Ampeg SVT bass amp. She tapped the side, and a loose panel rattled. “This thing gonna hold up, or is it gonna catch fire the second I plug in?”

Reggy, a thick-built man with sleeves of faded tattoos, grinned around a toothpick. “Ah, don’t be a wuss. It’s just a little character.”

Wrecker, his wiry counterpart with a permanent scowl, ran a hand over the torn tolex of a Marshall JCM800 half-stack. “Most of this stuff’s better than what you’ve been using,” he pointed out. “We can get better, sure, but it’ll cost, and kinda break character for us, wouldn’t it?”

Gadget sighed and rolled her shoulders before slinging her six-string bass over her shoulder. “Let’s see if this junk actually works.” She plugged in, twisting the worn-out input jack until it settled in place with a crackle. The amp gave a brief hum of protest before Reggy stepped in, adjusting the settings. He turned a few dials, knocked the casing, and muttered something under his breath.

She played a few deep, resonant notes, testing for dead spots. The sound was rough, but not completely unusable. “Eh,” she grumbled. “I’ve played worse.”

Reggy nodded, stepping back with his arms crossed. “I’ll clean up the electrical. Most of it’s just buzz and loose connections. The rest—well, looks are just vanity at this point.”

Gadget exhaled sharply, rubbing the back of her neck. “Fine. But buy two small, inexpensive amps—one dedicated for Tiffy’s electric violin and the uke, another for Eddie’s mic. The rest of our mics can pop off occasionally, but lead vocals have to be dependable.” She gave him a pointed look. “And get a good mic. None of this garage sale shit.”

Reggy smirked. “Demanding, huh?”

“Just making sure we don’t sound like total garbage.”

She looked around, thoughtful. “Also—get a couple outside security cameras in here. I’ll put one of my great cameras up, but the security cams are for show and B-roll. We’ll throw some video clips on the CD. Never can tell.”

Wrecker nodded. “Yeah, not a bad idea. Might as well milk this gig for all it’s worth.”

Gadget slung her bass back over her shoulder and narrowed her eyes at Wrecker. “And while we’re at it—talk to Lucky. Tell him to water down the band’s booze. Especially Eddie’s. He’s getting too much of a habit, and I don’t need him falling off the damn stage.”

Wrecker sighed, rubbing a calloused hand over his face. “Yeah, I figured. I’ll have Lucky keep an eye on him.”
Reggy clapped his hands together. “Alright then, sounds like we got ourselves a damn plan.”

Gadget gave the amp one last skeptical look before finally nodding. “Let’s hope it doesn’t blow up in our faces.”
Wrecker grinned. “Wouldn’t be rock and roll if it didn’t.”

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