WELCOME

[Jasper Tagg]

"Cor, I thought they were gone,"
Jasper said with a puzzled expression as he peered out the window of the bus
at the mob of groupies flocking Mick Jagger and Keith Richards. "They never give
up, do they?" he muttered to himself, relaxing and leaning back against his bed.

The tour hadn't even officially started yet, and already he was restless. Why was it
that every time he was about to take a long trip he was more tired beforehand than
he was when it ended? There was something wrong there. This was boring. There
should be something to do to get his mind off the three month long trip they were
about to take. Perhaps, he thought, recalling Ray Davies' advice from the day
before, he should get off his lazy ass and do something. Maybe that would
give him something better to so than to lie here and stare at the ceiling of the bus.

With an obnoxious groan, Jasper sat up, scratching his head. It was a beautiful day,
why was he dreading going outside so much? This was ridiculous. He stood, holding
onto the counter of support and made his way to the front of the bus. His hand
landed on a small, rectangular box and he grabbed it by instinct, knowing that the
smokes were probably Charlie's, but he didn't care. He pulled one out of the box and
stuck it in his mouth just as he was pushing the door open.

The light was blinding. He squinted and turned away, back towards the bus. It was
early afternoon and the sun was high in the sky. He looked around, seeing lots of
familiar face and even more unfamiliar ones. Everyone was completely hyper - they
wanted to get the show on the road, literally. He knew exactly how they felt. Jasper
pulled a match from his pocket and lit it on the side of the trailer, bringing it to the
end of his cigarette and lighting the tip. He exhaled and dropped the match smoothly,
letting it burn out on the concrete.

He walked around the back, out of the way of the sun, and sat contently on the
bumper, looking around again. There were loads of reporters and groupies and
musicians wandering aimlessly around. Band managers were running around like
chickens with their heads cut off trying to find their bands and get everyone in an
organized fashion. It was chaos. And it smelled so familiar.

[Sylvia Dixon]

Looking back, going out with some of the other press crew last night for drinks and dancing hadn't been the best idea. In fact, it had been a pretty bad idea, for although Sylvia had had enough sense to limit her drinking to an amount small enough to not cause a hangover, she had stayed out pretty late, and was quite tired. Getting out of bed had been a struggle, and her hair and makeup had been done as minimally as they possibly could while still remaining presentable. As for clothing, she had tugged on a black skirt and a blue and green patterned blouse along with a pair of black flats--standard reporter's wear, but with a bit more youthful of a twist than many of her colleagues back in Boston had had.

However, aside from the few she had gone out with the previous night, Sylvia hadn't met any of the other reporters yet, and she had no idea what to expect. They could be more professional suits with their immaculate white shirts and pressed black pants, but they could also be young and modern, hipper and more knowledgeable about the music industry than she was. As much as she was hoping for some reporters close to her age, who she could hang out with in her downtime, that option also scared her. Another opportunity this big might never come along for her, so she had to take advantage of it now if she wanted to have any chance of achieving her dreams, and if she was always at the edge of the crowd, that wouldn't happen.

The crowd of people surrounding the tour buses was certainly a site to see. She had covered concerts before, so she had had a bit of an idea of what to expect, but the sheer number of people still astounded her. Flipping open the notebook she had tucked in her skirt pocket, Sylvia began scribbling observations about the crowd, making note of the famous faces she could see, what they were doing, and the great swirl of color that it all seemed to be.

After getting a few quick quotes from the rare groupies that weren't clustered around one musician or another, she began searching through the crowd for a subject to interview. She planned on talking to some of the roadies later on to get a behind the scenes type perspective on things, but to start everything off, she wanted somebody big and well known; if not a musician, then at least one of the managers. "Mr. Tagg?" she called out, noticing that the bassist of Harlem and Crawford didn't seem to be doing much of anything. "I don't suppose I could bother you for a quick interview?" Perhaps he would just blow her off, say he was too busy or some such thing, but if she never took any risks, she'd never get any gains.

[Jasper Tagg]

"Mr. Tagg?"

Jasper turned slowly to see a young girl walking quickly towards him. In her blouse
and dress pants, with her hair done and her makeup perfect, she looked very
professional. A reporter.

If he were Charlie, he would have soaked it up - flirting and laughing with her and
answering all her questions with the greatest exaggerations. If he were Rabbit he
would have held his breath and played dead. And if he were Sam he would have run
for cover. But Jasper felt a small pang of sympathy for the girl as she made her way
towards him. Her job was tough, probably much harder than his. She had to really
work to get people to listen to her and to get good enough stories that her boss
wouldn't bite he head off. By the looks of her, her age and fashion sense, and
listening to her accent, Jassy came to the conclusion she was a young,
fresh-out-of-school girl with the determination level of a football player and the ego
of a snail. Right off the boat sailed across the Atlantic too. Jasper grinned. He could
spare a few minutes right?

"I don't suppose I could bother you for a quick interview?"

"I do actually," he answered smoothly, flicking the cigarette to the ground and
stomping it out. "How can I help you?" he asked with a slight smile. Now that she was
closer up, he could see her features clearly and the first thing he noticed were her
eyes. They were beautiful - a deep gray colour. He examined her face - he was right
she was young, though not as young as he was. He was probably the youngest one
there or close to it. All the other musicians treated him like the 'baby brother'.
Entwistle had told him this was a relief for Keith Moon because he'd always been the
youngest. Well, good for Keith.

"So," he said, moving over on the bumper to allow her a seat if she wanted it. "How
did you manage to find me in all of this?" He waved his hand in reference to the
chaos happening around them. "To be honest, I'm surprised you got here in one
piece," he said with a laugh.

[Sylvia Dixon]

To say Sylvia was nervous was putting it lightly. She had covered big-name concerts before, but always from the press section of the audience or the middle of a big crowd at a press conference. Perhaps she would be able to ask one or two questions if she shouted loud enough, but that was it. With smaller, less famous groups--ones from around Boston and the like--it was different. Sylvia had spoken with some of them one on one, but it was never anything important, just a small article that would be stuck somewhere in the middle of the entertainment pages. However, they were all the experience she had, so she would have to make do. During her few years of work, she had learned that being able to make do with what she had was one of the most important skills she could have; if she paused for anything, she would be left in the dust. Opportunities were available for only a moment, and then they were gone.

"I do actually. How can I help you?

So far, so good, Sylvia thought as she scribbled his name at the top of the page. "Thank you so much," she replied in a tone that was meant to be warm yet professional but in reality showed more of her enthusiasm and relief than she would have liked. "...For taking some time out to speak with me." This time, her words were more measured and careful, lest he think her 'Sylvia Dixon, girl reporter.' Which reminded her, she hadn't introduced herself yet. "I'm Sylvia Dixon from the Boston Globe," she said, switching her pen to her left hand so that she could extend her right.

Chuckling as she sat down and neatly crossed her legs, it took her a few seconds to come up with a response. "To be honest myself, I found you by not looking for you." Her eyes scanned the crowd again, still finding all manner of new things to look at. "Not to devalue you in any way," she hastily added once she realized how her words could have been taken. "I decided I would see what all was going on down here, saw you, and figured you would make a good interview. I think it's the anonymity that got me in here. Nobody I have to talk to, nothing I have to do." As she was talking, Sylvia found herself beginning to relax. At least at first meeting, Jasper seemed like a friendly enough guy.

"So, what do you expect to get out of the tour?" she asked, slipping back into reporter mode, her pen and paper at the ready. "And what can the audiences expect from Harlem and Crawford?"

[Jasper Tagg]

"I'm Sylvia Dixon from
the Boston Globe."

"Boston! Massachusetts. Very nice city. We played there a couple months ago. It was
great fun. We stayed in Beacon Hill in an Inn, which was strange cause we're used
to hotels. It was like...walking back to 1776 with all the gas lamps and iron fences
and brick houses and stuff." He laughed at himself. This was no way to conduct an
interview! Why was he so eager?

He wasn't surprised that she found him by accident. It was just luck on her part that
she'd found anyone at all. If he were looking for someone right then, he probably
would have had to call them over the PA system. "I'm not surprised," he told her.
"At least you found someone right? It's a shame you're on your own though,
right? You look pretty young, how old are you?" Maybe that wasn't the right question
to ask. "You don' look a day over twenty one," he added with a grin. "It must be
overwhelming to go in on this on your own. I feel for ya..." He absentmindedly took
the cigarettes out of his pocket, sticking one in his mouth and lighting it again.

"So, what do you expect to get out of the tour? And what can the
audiences expect from Harlem and Crawford?"

"I think the tour is great, you know," he took a drag from his cigarette. "It's cool
they got all of us together. It's nice to see me friends again too. Personally, I prefer
stayin' home - I'm not one for traveling much - but it's cool to see Harrison and
Lennon and them, cause we never get to see them anymore. It gets us together and
off our asses, you know?" He laughed seeing Charlie walked by with a huge mob of
underage girls surrounding him.

"And H&C, yeah...we've been working on our act. It's cool, I think. But the bands are
only doing short shows, right? So I figured, alright, the twenty minutes we're on
stage we're not gonna cram in all the explosives and destruction. We'll leave that to
the later acts. We're...I think, third in line. After Davies' band and the Who." He
nodded. The Kinks certainly had not been happy about being the first band, but they
had agreed nonetheless.

"So, are you coming on the tour with us?" he asked. "I know some reporters
are just here to get the scoop before we leave."