Title: Live Seeds
Author: Lydia Petze
Webpage: Nope, but Livejournal here: 
http://www.livejournal.com/users/lydia_petze/
Fandom: Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds, RPS
Pairing: Nick Cave/Blixa Bargeld
Status: Complete, but you never know...
Archive: Sure, but ask first, eh?
Feedback: Not necessary but always welcome at lydia-@hotmail.com , 
or onlist if that's allowed.
Credits: Thanks go to Sinistral for sterling beta duties. And to the 
dudes for putting on such ripper shows ;-)
Discalaimer: Not true. Don't sue. 


Nick is howling out "Jack the Ripper", his voice clear over the roaring 
crowd and the squalling guitars. Conway's over there bashing at his 
keyboard like he's got a grudge against the thing. Mick eyes the sad git 
in the front row with the hair done like Nick's - or what would have 
been done like Nick's if it was still fucking 1984. What'd this guy do, 
stick his finger in a light socket? Point of fact, Mick thinks he 
recognises the bloke. Fuck, is it a good thing that the old crowd are 
still turning up? he wonders. Those were the mad years. It’s in his 
head: a dusty white haze of lucid moments and too many blank spots. 
Mick sighs inwardly, glad those days are more or less over. 

Nick's yowls get louder, and Mick joins in for the chorus, such as it is 
-a wordless "eh-eh-eh" from the band backing up Nick's strong, 
tobacco-rasping voice. Nick drops to his knees, mic cord flailing, body 
arching back in his black suit, wailing a last few "oh yeahs" before 
raising his sweat-soaked head and looking out over the crowd, which is 
going off its collective brain. Oh yeah, Mick thinks. Another one down. 
Another success - one more for the punters to take home.

Mick watches Nick climb to his feet, snag a drink from the small table 
in front of Tom, then take the towel and mop off the worst of the sweat. 
He glances at the playlist taped to the floor in front of him - "Wild 
Roses". Another crowd-pleaser, especially these days, when it can be 
kept in-house. Kylie did a great job, but the duet is a standard form 
with the Bad Seeds, and really, there is only one partner for Nick. 

"...they called me the Wild Rose..." Blixa sings, his voice just as 
rasping and even lower than Nick's more celebrated one. The crowd yells 
and stomps its approval.

"...but my name was Eliza Day..." His distinctive German accent adds a 
touch of comedy to the tragic ballad, keeping up the Bad Seeds' long 
tradition of sly, dark humour that still, unfortunately, goes over a lot 
of the fans’ heads.

Nick circles Blixa in an odd back and forth orbit; brought up short by 
the mic cord, he keeps to Blixa’s left. Mick grins a little as he 
watches Nick - with Blixa's hands busy, Nick is free to ham it up and he 
does, laying his head on Blixa's shoulder, sliding an arm around his 
waist as the one sings about lost virginity, confusion and tears, while 
the other sings about doing bludgeoning murder among the wildflowers. 
Mick wonders if Nick thought of the live performance angle when he wrote 
the song, and figures the sneaky bastard probably did. The crowd always 
goes nuts for that other famous Cave/Bargeld duet, "The Weeping Song", 
and Nick probably figured another one would go down just as well, 
sliding a bit of subtext under the average fan's radar while he was at 
it.

Blixa nudges Nick with his hip, and takes advantage of a short break in 
the guitar rhythm to slide his arm around Nick's waist, encircling it 
easily. Nick is a skinny prick - always was, even back in high school. 
Mick sees Blixa tighten his hold very slightly, sliding his hand 
downward a fraction to caress Nick’s hip, and wonders if those two are 
at it again - their flings tend to coincide with Nick's marital 
difficulties, so the timing is right. Nick leans into the one-armed 
embrace for a bare second before pulling away to finish the number.

Oh yeah, thinks Mick. Definitely on. He grins a little, too old this 
time around to be annoyed, and makes a mental note to give them some 
stick after the show. What are friends for, anyway?

The End