"No,"
"But –"
"No,"
"Guys –!"
"Zac! No!"
"Just one song!"
"No!"
"In case you haven't noticed Tay, I'm not eleven years old anymore,"
"I know that,"
"Then why don't you stop treating me like I am!"
"We don't mean it like that Zac –"
"Tell that to the judge and jury,"
Isaac and Taylor glanced at one another in despair; this could go on for hours. As much as they loved him, Zac's mulelike stubborness really grated across the nerves.
"Zac, please –"
"It's not like I'm asking for all of Kuwait! One song, just one lousy song, that's all. Come on, it's our last show, I think we've earned the right to bend the programme a bit," and when had he suddenly become the negotiator of the family? That honour usually went to Jessie. Tay sighed, arguing with Zac always gave him a headache. The kid was just far too good. The kid, who turned seventeen in a few months; maybe Zac had a point there.
"What song do you want to sing?" and yet the grin was still as young and impish as ever; whatever it was he'd dug up, they'd probably get in a lot of trouble for it.
"Here," a few seconds of shuffling through the hundred papers on their table turned up a slightly rumpled few pages of hand-written music and a lyric sheet. Zac gave it to them with a smug grin. He expected the businessman in Tay to flip, and the comedian in Ike to burst out laughing. Did they realise just how predictable they were?
Probably not.
"What the –?" already, Taylor's eyes were wide, and Isaac was having trouble trying to keep the chuckles at bay.


"Pretty good huh?"
"We can't sing that!" any wider and Tay's eyes would have been rolling around on the floor.
"Why not?"
"Ike! Do you get what this is saying?"
"Yeah, it's paying out the record company, so what?"
" ‘So what'?! Do you know what'll happen if we sing this?"
"No, what?"
"I –" (Zac grinned inwardly, poor Tay) "Uh . . . Island'll sue us, or something. . . ." or not. They'd managed to settle the contract out of court, surprisingly amicably, just before the show in Phoenix. As expected, one of the terms of the agreement was that they weren't allowed to discuss it with anyone, especially the press. On that point both parties had agreed out of hand.
"You're problem is ethical, not legal. Island can't sue us unless we say their name, and none of us are that stupid," Ike finished with a shrug, Taylor'd get no support from that corner. Since when had ethics become such a bad thing? God pray he could talk some sense into his younger brother.
"Zac, as you said, it's our last show –"
"And I intend to go out with a bang, whether you're squirming or not,"
"He's got a point Tay. You've read the letters, the fans are still asking why, at least this way we can tell them. Sort of,"
"But . . . how are we going to learn it? Curtain's in six hours!"
"Do I even need to mention the week between getting instruments and the first gig we played them?" and the fact that they could write full songs in half-an-hour on a good day. Couldn't they see what a risk this was? Of all the bands to cover, Zac had to pick Pink Floyd. Pink Floyd for Pete's sake!
"That's different!"
"How so?"
"Well . . . I. . . ."
"Tay come on, last show, no strings. Why do we have to protect Island?"
"I. . . ."
"And if they do come knocking, you can say it's all my fault. I hypnotised you or something, blame it on me; God knows Island does,"
"Does what?" he pounced on the change of subject like a hungry cat on a mouse.
"Blames me,"
"Why would they blame you?"
"Nice try Tay. Please? We've got nothing to be thanking them for. Island, I mean"
"Alright, alright," he could argue till he was blue in the face, it wouldn't do him any good, "But don't say I didn't warn you, I'm doing this under protest. Here," resigned, he took the sheet music – already photocopied, damn Zac, "I'll give this to everyone,"
The younger Hanson smiled at his brother's back. He'd known he could talk them round. The funniest thing in his mind was that Taylor hadn't even picked up on the slightly insinuating line ‘which one's Pink?'. The band had always played up the imaginary character of Pink Floyd, he'd heard enough Pink Floyd albums to know, and that's where the reference had come from. But the audience wouldn't know it was pink with a capital P. Tay in particular had been – and still was – particularly sensitive to anything that could be construed as a ‘gay' reference. Not that it mattered. The way Zac saw it, that line was probably the most sarcastic of the whole song; the long hair had led so many people to assume that at least one of them had to be queer. How many rotten cynics, people not too much unlike himself, had asked themselves which one of them was ‘pink'? This was as close as he would ever get to slapping them all across the face. There was a big difference between a laughing, good-natured cynic and a sneering one.
Good thing the show was in Tulsa. The second it was over, they could go home. For good.

~ * ~
Brodie had deliberately waited for the weekend. Any other time and her mother'd be too exhausted to do anything but refuse and go back to dozing.
"Mum?" even now, Mrs. Palin was napping in front of the TV, all the housework finally done (except the pile of ironing sitting on the dining room table, which didn't count). Holding down a job plus looking after two children, a house and a husband didn't make for much free time.
"Yes sweetheart?" she had to force her eyes open; a few more minutes and she's need match-sticks to prop up her eyelids. Weekends were supposed to be for doing fun things, taking the kids to the movies or the beach, going out for dinner, getting together with friends for a barbecue on Sunday. By the time Friday afternoon rolled around, the only thing she had energy for was sleep. Heaven forbid Brodie end up like herself. Both she and Mr. Palin had already given up on Daniel, the elder child, the young man they hardly ever saw except of a morning, before he dragged himself out of bed (usually around two or three p.m.). Daniel was the rebel child who liked to shock. At least, he shocked other people, the family had long since gotten used to it. Brodie liked to tease him about the time when he'd move to the seventies and hang out with the Sex Pistols. Little Brodie; she was a good kid, if not exactly the academic Mrs. Palin had hoped for after the trail of C's and D's Daniel constantly brought home. Still, ‘disappointment' was never a word she'd use in the same sentence as her daughter's name. Daniel's maybe, if she was angry enough, but never Brodie's. It was hard not to have a favourite with only two children, and one that she was lucky to see more than once every day or two. Her baby girl helped around the house, she kept her room relatively tidy considering the amount of study she did – or was supposed to do; the time she was starting to clock up on the computer was getting a little worrying – and she didn't have any desire to dye her hair black or green or purple or some other ridiculous colour; unlike her brother, she seemed content with the warm brown God had decided suited her best. Still, Mrs. Palin worried about her. The girl wasn't an intellectual, and judging by the amount of friends she had (Deyana was the only one Mrs. Palin knew of), she'd never make it into the society columns of the newspaper. What the girl did all day was a mystery, they never talked at all. In all honesty, Brodie was as much of an enigma as Daniel.
"I need to talk to you," her mother's eyes opening so quickly couldn't be a good sign.
"What about?"
"Well . . . it's a long story," she could see the suspicion in Mrs. Palin's eyes. Great, she hadn't even asked the question and she'd already screwed it up! "You know how I've been lately, what with Hanson retiring and all, and so . . . uh, a few friends of mine online and I wanted to do something to . . . well, thank them for everything they've done over the years, you know?"
All the reply she got was a guarded stare.
"What we've done, we're organising like a get-together for us and them as our way of saying ‘thank-you',"
"And where might I ask is this little get-together being held? I doubt Hanson'll fly all the way to Sydney just for a picnic,"
"Uh, well, that's the thing,"
" ‘The thing'?"
"It's in Tulsa," Brodie could almost see the red anger rising in her mother's cheeks, "I kinda wanted to ask if it's okay with you if I fly out there for a week at the end of August?"
Ding, round one.

_Hydra_:	Are you kidding?!
Ankhesamen:	Nope.
_Hydra_:	She was serious and everything?
Ankhesamen:	Yeah! I'm as amazed as you!
PryderiC:	Your mum actually said we could crash at your place to wait for the plane?
Ankhesamen:	I'm surprised she even approved of me going. I dunno what she's on, I'm not that good a debater.
PryderiC:	You've gotta be pretty good to get her to say that. My mum wouldn't do it in a million years. Of course considering I don't live with her anymore :-)
_Hydra_:	Quit rubbing it in! I'd give anything to live on my own.
PryderiC:	Sorry. *chuckles* You can come back and live with me if you're desperate.
_Hydra_:	Not that desperate.
Ankhesamen:	*laughs* I reckon Mum'd pay you to let my brother live up there, but I wouldn't wish Daniel on anyone.
_Hydra_:	That'd be a fate worse than death, your brother's even worse than mine!
PryderiC:	As much as I hate to give you another reason to want me dead Maddy, I wouldn't know. I'm an only child.
_Hydra_:	*screams and stabs Dylan to death*
Ankhesamen:	Maddy! Don't do that, he's supposed to be helping me!
PryderiC:	*dead*
Ankhesamen:	Now look what you've done! ;-)
_Hydra_:	Oops, sorry.
PryderiC:	*dead*
Ankhesamen:	*chuckles* You better come back to life Dylan, I ain't giving you CPR
PryderiC:	Aww, why not?
Ankhesamen:	*laughs* Because I've known you what, a total of two weeks?
_Hydra_:	Technically you've known him longer.
Ankhesamen:	Reading his stories doesn't count!
PryderiC:	Which ones did you read?
Ankhesamen:	Uh uh, no way. You're not dragging me into another slinging match just because I haven't read the one you like the best! How many stories do you have anyway?
PryderiC:	Lots. Hey, a bored uni student's gotta have something to pass the time.
_Hydra_:	You know there is such a thing as a girlfriend, ever thought about getting one of those?
PryderiC:	Trust me, I've got enough trouble keeping my Muse happy. She gets rather jealous.
Ankhesamen:	*laughs* A Muse? How art-y.
PryderiC:	Why do you think I'm taking a Creative Arts degree?
_Hydra_:	You're not one of the drop-outs that just smoke grass all day and never go to class?
PryderiC:	There's only fifty or so people in first-year, they weed out (excuse the pun) the addicts at the interviews. They could be the next Sam Beckett or Sylvia Plath and it wouldn't make a difference.
Ankhesamen:	How did we get onto this?
_Hydra_:	Um . . . I have no idea.
PryderiC:	Wouldn't have a clue. The wonderful art of collective consciousness.
Ankhesamen:	Excuse me?
PryderiC:	Sorry, in-joke.
_Hydra_:	I hate in-jokes, don't you Bro?
Ankhesamen:	Yep.
PryderiC:	Uh . . . sorry?
Ankhesamen:	Not good enough.
PryderiC:	Should I grovel or beg?
_Hydra_:	Beg. Grovel and you'll get drool on my shoes.
Ankhesamen:	Eww! Maddy! Forget the begging, what's up with T-Town?
_Hydra_:	I still can't believe you called it Operation T-Town. How fricking MASH is that?
PryderiC:	Shut-up.
Ankhesamen:	Seconded      (to quote Mr. Romantic Poets)
_Hydra_:	Why couldn't I have a name like Bysshe-Shelley?
PryderiC:	Because your Dad's name is Renfield?
_Hydra_:	Take your own advice *throws a stuffed wombat at Dylan*
Ankhesamen:	Hey, watch it! You'll hurt the wombat!
PryderiC:	Damn the wombat, what about me?
Ankhesamen:	It's stuffed, it won't hurt you.
PryderiC:	Thanks a lot!
Ankhesamen:	*chuckles* You're welcome. Now, T-Town?
_Hydra_:	*hands around the biscuit tin* Okay, who's first?
Ankhesamen:	Any takers?
_Hydra_:	Fine, I'll go. Please don't interrupt unless it's important, there's a bit to get through. Right. Byron got back to me, Tracey isn't 100% sure if she can come, but she told Byron and she emailed me as well, that we should include her in everything and she'll pay us back any money if it turns out she can't come. Also turns out that she's got some friend in Tulsa, whose cousin knows Jessica's ballet teacher or something. Question number one, Tracey's not exactly known for being reliable, but she's the only one with anything like a connection to the guys, do we let her handle getting them to come or not?
Ankhesamen:	Had to be Tracey didn't it?
PryderiC:	Still, doesn't look like you've got much of a choice.
_Hydra_:	I could always email Chris Sabec. I mean, I know technically Hanson doesn't need a manager anymore, but they'll probably keep in contact.
Ankhesamen:	You've got his email address?
_Hydra_:	No, but a friend of a friend does.
PryderiC:	Tenuous.
_Hydra_:	Yeah I know, but it'll probably be somewhere on the Triune site. Anyway, we include Tracey in everything then harrass her for money if she doesn't show. Next point. Votes are in, it looks like nobody else had a better idea Bro, we're throwing a bbq. *chuckles* Almost everyone said that you have to cook it though.
Ankhesamen:	Why?
_Hydra_:	Well, Andrea wants to know the difference between an American bbq and an Australian one.
Ankhesamen:	Is there one?
PryderiC:	In the amount of flies yeah.
Ankhesamen:	Nice.
PryderiC:	Ever tasted bbq'd flies Maddy?
_Hydra_:	You're a sick man Platagenet
PryderiC:	Forgot the ‘n', it's PlaNtagenet
_Hydra_:	Whatever. Why do you and Byron get the cool names?
Ankhesamen:	We think they're cool, you and Byron probably hate them, right Dylan?
PryderiC:	I still have nightmares from my 9th grade history teacher who fawned all over me because I have the same last name as Richard the Lionheart. She tried to brainwash me into leading another Crusade! The woman should have been institutionalised!
Ankhesamen:	*laughs* I'll bet that was fun!
_Hydra_:	Ahem! Who has the floor right now?
PryderiC:	Sorry.
_Hydra_:	Thank-you Richard, with Your Majesty's permission I shall proceed.
PryderiC:	(bitch)
_Hydra_:	And proud of it!
Ankhesamen:	Children!
PryderiC:	Sorry Mummy!
Ankhesamen:	*chuckles* Please get on with it.
_Hydra_:	Yes Mom. We'll be staying in the Normandie motel; it's 3–5 people per room, TVs and showers in each room, a communal dining room and laundry etc etc. I've already rung them and tentatively booked three rooms, each for four people, for the week, which works out to be around $350 per room, or $87.50 per person. The Adam Marks worked out a hell of a lot more than that!
Ankhesamen:	So much for Kellie's fifty extra dollars.
_Hydra_:	I've left it up to everyone individually to work out who they want to share with and to ring the place and tell them when they'll be arriving. I'm assuming the Oz contingent'll want to stay together?
Ankhesamen:	Probably, but I wouldn't bank on it.
_Hydra_:	Can I leave that with you?
Ankhesamen:	Sure.
_Hydra_:	I need to know asap.
Ankhesamen:	K
_Hydra_:	I've emailed the tourist info center, they're getting back to me about where we can hold this thing and whether it's going to cost anything. We pretty much already agreed the first person who gets there starts organising food, we all pay it back later.
PryderiC:	That's dangerous.
_Hydra_:	Pardon?
PryderiC:	You want this all to run smoothly, but trust me, when it comes to money, you're better off ordering and getting the prices now. Somebody's bound to not have enough, and then you have to trust them to pay it back later and you get a whole lot of other hassles that are just going to basically screw everything.
Ankhesamen:	True true. Could you offload that on someone Maddy?
_Hydra_:	Sure. If I can't do it online I'll get Tracey's cousin to. I probably should be asking her where to hold it, not the tourist center.
Ankhesamen:	Just do what you can :-). Anything else?
_Hydra_:	Not really. I'm thinking about the road trip now; it's going to take us a few days to drive there.
Ankhesamen:	Trust me Maddy, if I could afford to fly that much further, I would.
PryderiC:	Hey, if I had the money I'd lend it to you.
Ankhesamen:	But since you don't *chuckles* thanks anyway.
PryderiC:	You're welcome :-)
_Hydra_:	I'm thinking a bus might be the best option. Anyway, what about the Oz side of T-Town?
Ankhesamen:	Good thing Dad's a travel agent. He's gotten the four of us – me, Dylan, Kellie and Misty – relatively cheap tickets. At least we can afford them, barely. Everyone's crashing at my place on the 25th, we fly out around lunchtime on the 26th, we arrive in LA around the same time with severe cases of jetlag in tow, we crash at your place for the night then we set off, however we decide to get there.
_Hydra_:	Damn, you got off easy!
PryderiC:	Not when you look at the price-tag! I mean, I feel sorry for Misty. She has to fly down to Sydney just to catch the plane to LA!
Ankhesamen:	Kellie's getting the train up, I know that. What about you?
PryderiC:	Yeah, I'll probably get the train too.
Ankhesamen:	Cool.
_Hydra_:	Does anyone else have anything to say? *yawns* Coz I'm about to fall asleep over my keyboard.
PryderiC:	You too?
Ankhesamen:	Don't tell me you're tired Dylan!
PryderiC:	Hey, it's early for me!
Ankhesamen:	Lazy uni student
PryderiC:	What?
Ankhesamen:	*chuckles* Go to bed, both of you. You're making me yawn!
_Hydra_:	Yes Mommy.
SYSTEM	_Hydra_ has left the chatroom
PryderiC:	Do I get a kiss goodnight? ;-)
Ankhesamen:	*laughs* Don't push your luck.
PryderiC:	Night.
Ankhesamen:	How can it be night when the sun's shining?! Have you even opened your curtains?
PryderiC:	*chuckles* Leave me alone. Bye :-)
SYSTEM	PryderiC has left the chatroom
Ankhesamen:	Bye.
Ankhesamen:	So nice of you to stick around.
Ankhesamen:	You know, I really hate it when this happens. It's just like talking to yourself in a mirror, and I'm not waiting to see that.
SYSTEM	Ankhesamen has left the chatroom