July 5th, 1986

Life was dramatically changing for everyone. It was such a shock to see The Watchmen crammed in their small apartment, working on songs together. But now? They had their own studio and it was beautiful. Whether she wanted to admit it or not, Drusilla had teared up—they were so much closer to their dreams now.

Henry Stone, the representative of Prism Records, ended up becoming The Watchmen's new manager. Currently, Stone was working his ass off trying to find a band that was willing to have The Watchmen open for them.

But in the meantime, the record company had urged the band to start recording their first single. It was a new environment for Drusilla and her boys. The band wasn't used to the sound technicians and the state-of-the-art technology they're now exposed to. It was a big change, but the band welcomed it with opened arms.

"Another glorious day of recording!" Chris dramatically announced before collapsing on the blue velvet couch behind him.

"You're such a drama queen," Ricky replied, grinning at the blond.

"Oh yeah? But you can't even deny it, you love it!" Chris rejoined.

"I do not!" Ricky spluttered, crossing his arms.

"Guys, save the arguments for the bedroom. I have a stinkin' headache from hell," Jeremy interrupted the two.

The three men began arguing, but it was nothing serious. It was all child's play with those three but Drusilla didn't mind at all. Instead, she sat back and relaxed on the matching blue velvet loveseat, an amused expression on her face.

Drusilla's mind wandered back to Slash, the curly-haired guitarist she had met days before. She never ended up making it to his band's show, and she was quite sure she was long gone out of his mind. Drusilla needed to get legal stuff done with Prism Records the day of the show, so it definitely had changed her game plan.

But she was determined to catch the next showing of the mysterious Guns N' Roses, and nothing could stop (maybe except for Stone).

"Drusilla, are you ready?" Jeremy asks. His eyes are bloodshot and dark circles surrounded his eyes, but somehow Jeremy made the look appealing.

Drusilla gives a smirk, "Dude, I've been ready!"

Jeremy smirks back, ruffling Drusilla's thick black locks, much to her dismay. Drusilla squeaked, causing Chris to bark out laughing as she slapped Jeremy's hands away.

"No touching!" Drusilla retorts, eagerly fixing her straight locks.

"So harsh, Dru! We can't have an injured frontman!" Ricky melodramatically exclaims, but Drusilla simply rolls her brown eyes.

"All he does is sing! Chris and I actually need our hands!" Drusilla answers back, pointing at Chris as she makes her point.

"What about me?" Ricky cried out, waving his drumsticks around to prove his hands, in fact, did matter.

"I mean...if you really had to, you could play the drums with your feet." Chris pointed out, with Drusilla nodding in agreement.

The banter went back and forth until Stone intervened and actually got the band to work. They spent a few hours recording or redoing certain segments of songs. It was safe to say, the band was exhausted when they were done.

"Fuck, I'm tired," Jeremy mutters, rubbing his lower back after sitting for awhile.

"I'll say. I think my bed is calling my name!" Chris moans, thinking of the plush cushions of his new bed. The record deal had definitely improved everyone's quality of life—or at least their beds.

Drusilla shrugged, "I feel pumped still. I'm in the mood to go clubbing."

Chris's eyes widen in excitement, "Clubbing? Can I come?"

Drusilla snorted at that statement, "I thought you were tired, blondie!"

"Not tired enough to deny booze and cute babes!" Chris buoyantly replied back.

Ricky smirked, "I'm down! We've haven't been out together for a while."

Jeremy sleepily sighed, "Well fuck, I guess I'm going then."

This club wasn't any different than the rest on the Sunset Strip. There was rock n' roll booming from all corners of the stuffed and crowded building. Loud chatter had filled the air, and from the distance, Drusilla could make out the couples making out or dancing.

Drusilla wore a simple spaghetti-strapped red dress with her usual black leather jacket and chunky black heels. Her makeup was still in great shape, so she barely made many touch-ups on it.

Chris made his way down to the bar, seeing an attractive brunette. Jeremy lingered behind Drusilla, seeming as if he was ready to pass out any moment.

Ricky had similar plans to Chris, soon blending in with the crowd on the dance floor, looking for a groupie.

"Well, I guess it's just us. We'll take it easy since you're tired." Drusilla spoke loudly over the background noise, giving a small smile to Jeremy.

"You don't have to, Dru," Jeremy replied, following the tanned girl to an empty booth.

"I want to! I gotta look after my boys!" Drusilla cheerfully riposted, wrapping an arm around Jeremy's broad shoulders.

The two sat down in the cramped and narrow booth, watching as the stage lights in the club turn on.

"Oh, is there a band playing a gig tonight? We didn't even pay!" Drusilla questioned, noticing people beginning to crowd around the stage.

"Let's be happy we no one stopped us! As for the actual band...I think I saw a flyer at the entrance. The band is called Guns N' Roses and I've heard they're becoming huge on the strip." Jeremy answered, quickly recalling what he saw outside.

If Drusilla actually had an alcoholic beverage, she was sure she would've spat it out in shock. It must have been a coincidence that she would've run into Slash and his band. At least this time, she'll actually see them perform.

"I know the guitarist! I met him at our gig before joining Prism. His name is uh...Slash!" Drusilla revealed, acting as if she hadn't had Slash's name memorized.

"That's his real name?" Jeremy questioned, raising an eyebrow in skepticism.

"I don't know—I doubt it. I've only met him once." Drusilla timidly responded, running her fingers through her black hair.

"Sounds like you like him." Jeremy teased, poking Drusilla. Drusilla yelped, smacking his hands away.

"I do not! He's just hot! You think Cindy Crawford is hot! That doesn't mean you want to marry her!" Drusilla retorted back, crossing her arms. Despite the fiery attitude, Jeremy could see Drusilla turn red under the neon lights.

"But I do want to marry Cindy Crawford!" Jeremy exclaimed back, waving his arms around. It was a funny sight, meanwhile, half the band was getting shitfaced, this half was discussing crushes!

But before the two could continue their banter, a deep voice rumbled through the microphone. From the distance, Drusilla did see Slash on stage with his guitar. Beside him, talking on the microphone, was a red-headed man—and he was quite easy on the eyes.

There was also another guitarist, dressed more like a hippie, with black messy locks and a snazzy hat to top off his look. Besides the hippie was a tall blond, wearing leather pants and a Ramones t-shirt. He was the bassist.

Behind the rest of the band was another blond, but with fluffy and wild hair and he had a smile that could light up a city. He was the drummer.

So, this was Guns N' Roses? Drusilla had drowned out all sound, simply focused on the appearance of Slash's band.

It wasn't until the frontman started belting out, singing to his heart's content, did Drusilla realize how amazing they were. The energy and vibe produced by the band on stage had truly lit the crowd on fire. If the club wasn't rowdy and energized before, it definitely was now.

As the gig progressed, Drusilla left the booth, inching closer and closer to the front of the stage. It was hard. Drusilla was sure she felt a grubby hand touch her butt and an elbow jabbing her side before she reached closer.

'They're going to rock the world!' Drusilla thought to herself, realizing the massive potential this band held. She swore, perhaps for a moment, she saw green eyes lingering on her. Then again, the frontman could've been staring at the bleached blonde groupie beside her.

For once in a few months, Drusilla had fun without even getting drunk. Fuck, if they played like this at a dingy bar, then Drusilla couldn't even imagine how they'd sound in an arena of thousands of people.

The gig lasted a while. It was already almost 2:30 AM when Guns N' Roses had finished their set list, but the club was wilder than ever. Drusilla hasn't even seen Chris or Ricky in the last few hours.

"Slash!" Drusilla called out, dodging people left and right as she followed the curly-haired guitarist to the bar. He was shirtless, left in his boots and leather pants, and incredibly sweaty. Frankly, it would be a lie to say he didn't look good.

After a few more calls, Slash did end up turning around. It had taken a few moments, gazing at Drusilla up and down, before he had recognized her.

"Hey, you made it!" Slash bellowed out over the loud voices and booming tunes. There was no way he'd forget Drusilla's face, especially after her band starting popping up on magazines as newcomers to check out.

"I wouldn't want to miss it for the world," Drusilla coyly answers, batting her long lashes. Some would say she's flirting, she'd say fuck off.

"Oh yeah?" Slash teases, a grin already forming on his face. It was always so much more fun when the flirting was mutual.

"Slasher, who's this?" A familiar deep voice questions and Drusilla turns around to see the ginger frontman from before.

But before Slash could tell Axl to buzz off, Drusilla decides to take control of the situation, "I'm Drusilla Mortimer. You are?"

"Axl Rose—frontman of Guns N' Roses—nice to meet you." Axl proudly introduces himself, lending a hand out to shake. Drusilla takes his hand, doing a polite businesslike shake to show she isn't fucking around. She's always prided herself on having a firm and strong grip, after all, she's a guitarist. But something about Axl's grip on her made her knees feeling wobbly, and she was a bit saddened to let him go.

Fuck, if Drusilla has only talked to two members of the band, she couldn't imagine how she'd react with the rest of them.

"Hey Dru, how about I get you another 'sex on the beach'?" Slash offers, breaking whatever spell Axl laid on Drusilla. Whatever happened to dibs first?

"You remembered? How sweet!" Drusilla cooed, turning her attention away from Axl and back to Slash, rubbing his arm slightly. Honestly, it was like the two boys were fighting over the last slice of pizza.

Axl realized this was the girl Slash was infatuated with—the guitarist girl for The Watchmen—and he could definitely see the appeal. Drusilla literally oozed with sex appeal, her voice soft and raspy, and her lips seemed so plump. For only knowing what Slash had said about her and his first impression off of her, Drusilla wasn't just a bimbo.

She was a league of her own, a femme fatale in the making, and she was clearly wicked with a guitar in her grasp. She had to be because it wasn't every day when a girl was the rockstar rather than the groupie.

"How's the record deal going? I read you guys signed with Prism Records," Axl questions, eager to keep the conversation going.

"It's been rad. It's surreal to imagine that I and the guys are where we're at. For almost two years, we were busting our asses on these lame jobs, earning the bare minimum to buy equipment and keep a roof over our heads. But to be honest, the goal was never to get record deal—it was to play music. With the deal or not, I'd still strum my guitar,y'know?" Drusilla rambled, a spark shining in her eyes. There was a distinct change in Drusilla's attitude. She dropped the femme fatale persona and shined her true self—the musician.

"I feel you," Slash says, understanding Drusilla's sentiment about music. He couldn't imagine himself anything but a guitarist. It was simple, playing the guitar was intertwined with him.

"I'm going to blunt, I think you guys are going be the best out band out there. You guys are really good," Drusilla reveals, taking a sip of her drink.

The two men smirked in response, feeling a bit elated yet prideful at the statement. Sure, they don't have the glamorous record deal yet but everything will fall into place—it has to.

The conversation bounced back and forth between the trio at the bar. It was slightly flirtatious at first, but the drunker Drusilla got, the less she cared about being sexy. Instead, her odd humor came out and her out passions like comic books!

"Woo! Look at the time, boys! I think I need to find Jeremy and head out," Drusilla slurs, looking sleepy. It was almost 3:00 AM and the bartenders looked just about ready to kick people out the building.

"Wait! Can we have your number?" Slash blurted out. Drusilla sluggishly nodded, grabbing a pen from the counter and quickly writing on Slash's arm.

"There! Call me whenever I'm not hungover. I'd like to meet the rest of your band." Drusilla says with, placing the pen on the counter.

"Will do," Axl answers back, and with that, Drusilla drifts off into the crowd.

"Fuck, she's amazing," Slash mumbles to himself yet Axl couldn't help but agree.

July 6th, 1986

"Drusilla!" Jeremy shouts, opening the blinds of Drusilla's bedroom, the sunlight instantly hitting her face.

Drusilla groans, muttering cuss words, "Jeremy, fucking fuck off, you piece of shit. Lemme sleep!"

And with that Drusilla buries herself within the cushions of her bed, but the relief is short lived as Jeremy rips the sheets off.

"No way, my bitch. We have a promotional photoshoot today, so get up beauty queen!"  Jeremy happily announces, basking in the girl's displeasure.

"Dude, remind me to never fucking get wasted," Drusilla mutters, feeling her head pound. She was going to be sick.

"I would but like Chris and Ricky, you probably won't listen either, babe!" Jeremy replied, leaving her room.

Well shit, he did have a good point.

Author's Note:
Word Count: 2426
I hoped you enjoyed this chapter. I really like bars lmao. Anyways, I apologize for any grammar, spelling, or punctuation errors! I'm extra sorry for those who are totally OOC.

Lastly, what other bands should join the story? ;)