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By far the most toned down of the three bandmates, Ragnar was still unmistakably a metalhead, in his Chuck Taylors, black jeans and sleeveless shirt.
Interestingly enough, though, not everything was positive. There were several news articles calling the group a menace, and I dove deeper. Something to do with a church burning down. I vaguely remembered hearing something about it, with Jonna getting into a shouting match with my dad about how it was all media bullshit, and it was just music.
Actually, hearing some if the apparently “accursed” tunes, I had to side with my baby sister. It certainly didn’t sound evil. Very gloomy and extremely intense, by hardly music to summon the devil by. Something our parents were positively certain most metal heads were doing in their free time. Apparently, they’d long forgotten what the adults of their day had to say about their own music choices.
Going back to the original search, I chose a video at random to try and see what Loki’s Laugh were really all about. I’d heard them at the wedding but, going by the wardrobe change, had the sneaking suspicion that it might have been a defanged version that I was hearing. I wanted the real deal.
Pressing the play icon, I closed my eyes, and awaited enlightenment. It was quick in coming, the sound that filled my earbuds unlike anything I’d ever heard. It wasn’t the deep, heavy black metal I was expecting, at least based on my limited experience, and it also bore a slight resemblance to the stripped-down version in the bandstand. Louder for sure, there was also an increased energy and spirit.
And Ragnar sounded even better with a full kit. The guitar soared with surprising melody over the rock-solid foundation laid down by the bass. Everything Jonna had ever told me about music came flooding back, and I found myself understanding more than I ever thought I would.
I didn’t listen to music much. I liked it as much as the next girl, but mostly in the background while driving, or trying to go to sleep. For Jonna it was a major part of her existence, like she would cry for days if ever deprived of the thing she loved most. I honestly envied her, I’d never had anything that I was so passionate about, most things feeling like they were happening to me and I was along for the ride. There were plenty of things I liked, and was even good at, but I wouldn’t call any of them a ‘passion.’
My phone pinged, bringing me back to reality. It was a text from Seth.
Seth: Loki’s Laugh gig tonight, coming?
Me: Yeah.
I didn’t even need to think about it. The chance to see them again, only really being themselves, was not something I was going to give up. Even if I ended up regretting it, at least I tried.
When I got home and threw open my closet, I was met with an instant flood of frustration. It was like a line of soldiers. All of my outfits nearly identical, none at all right for the evening. I believed very much in dressing for the occasion, and I seriously doubted that a skirt-suit and heels would cut it at a metal show. I needed something tough, something sexy. Only problem was. I really didn’t know that might be and was pretty sure I wouldn’t have it if I did.
Jeans and a sweater were as close as I could get. Except the jeans were a light blue and the sweater was pink with a floral design embroidered onto it. Not exactly tough.
A knock at my door made me jump. Still in my dork-wear, I went to answer the door, idly wondering who would be coming by so late.
“Hey, sis!”
“Jonna?”
My baby sister enveloped me in an attack hug, despite the bag she was carrying.
“What are you doing here? Not that I mind at all.”
“Seth said you might need some help.”
“Help?” I furrowed my brow in confusion.
“With the show. You’re still going right?”
“Yes.”
“Right, and I assume you’re not going like that?”
She scanned me up and down, taking in the full impact of the ensemble. To be fair, it wasn’t a train wreck or anything, it was cute, but still, not quite appropriate for where I was going.
“Do you have any better suggestions?”
“Absolutely! Come with me, well get you sorted out.”
Taking my hand, Jonna led me, bags, and all, back to the bedroom where she lay four pre-arranged outfits made out of her own clothes.
“This could work,” she said, picking up a nice, but very short, skirt.
“Maybe, with tights.”
“No tights, I’ll keep looking.”
Picking up a pair of black jeans, Jonna came around behind me, and held them to my hips.
“Definitely,” she concluded, hanging them over my shoulder.
Before I could object, she went back over to the collection and got a baggy band shirt, bearing the name of one of Jonna’s favorite bands that I’d never heard of. The shirt was oversized, went down well past my hips, and would cover my ass.
