02-27-2016, 09:01 PM
Grundy got off the bus and filed past the watchful eye of Ganondorf. Towering over the flood of students rushing into the school, he trudged slowly onwards to his first period class. Music. Hmmm...the zombie was not by any means naturally musical, but there was one certain style that got his blood pumping. The crashing, smashing heavy drumbeats and lightning fast squeedly guitar of Heavy Metal made him want to break stuff. Or rather, people. Which was encouraged on the football field.
He remembered the last time he had gotten a really good workout session in, blasting Pantera and Slayer. Muscles bulging with effort, Grundy had managed to benchpress almost four hundred fifty pounds for fifteen straight minutes. A final thrust back up to the weight rack and the bench had collapsed amid shrieks of "RAINING BLOOOOOOOD!!!! RAINING BLOOOOOOOOOOD!!". Now that was music.
Sauntering into Music Class, the first thing he noticed was the teacher, Miss...Pasta? He forgot, although the name was probably printed on his schedule. She was seated on her desk, picking at an acoustic guitar and playing a slow, groovy melody. Not at all what Grundy had in mind, although the hulking teen wasn't rude. He listened somewhat halfheartedly to the song, while his burning eyes scanned the room for his chosen instrument.
A-ha.
There is was. A black drumkit, missing a few accoutrements but comprised of all the essential bits. Namely a bass drum, a hihat, a couple toms, a snare, and finally what looked like a beaten up Zildjian. He took a seat on the tiny stool placed in front of the kit, his huge body perched on the round seat like a mountain on a dinner plate. Picking up the two sticks in between a finger each like chopsticks, he waited for the teacher to finish her song before posing a question.
"can grundy learn how to drum like black sabbath here?"
He remembered the last time he had gotten a really good workout session in, blasting Pantera and Slayer. Muscles bulging with effort, Grundy had managed to benchpress almost four hundred fifty pounds for fifteen straight minutes. A final thrust back up to the weight rack and the bench had collapsed amid shrieks of "RAINING BLOOOOOOOD!!!! RAINING BLOOOOOOOOOOD!!". Now that was music.
Sauntering into Music Class, the first thing he noticed was the teacher, Miss...Pasta? He forgot, although the name was probably printed on his schedule. She was seated on her desk, picking at an acoustic guitar and playing a slow, groovy melody. Not at all what Grundy had in mind, although the hulking teen wasn't rude. He listened somewhat halfheartedly to the song, while his burning eyes scanned the room for his chosen instrument.
A-ha.
There is was. A black drumkit, missing a few accoutrements but comprised of all the essential bits. Namely a bass drum, a hihat, a couple toms, a snare, and finally what looked like a beaten up Zildjian. He took a seat on the tiny stool placed in front of the kit, his huge body perched on the round seat like a mountain on a dinner plate. Picking up the two sticks in between a finger each like chopsticks, he waited for the teacher to finish her song before posing a question.
"can grundy learn how to drum like black sabbath here?"
“I don’t wanna be a product of my environment. I want my environment to be a product of me.”