Bring in Trish after the concert

"After the concert," you say, grappling 'Nessa's breasts into place under the tight confines of the tiger print. "What, you think I'm just going to walk incognito into a room of Ani-E fans, pluck a girl out of the audience, lead 'em backstage?"

"Course not," Jimmy, adopting Riley's flirtatious nature, slides over to you, tracing her hand along your arm. "I'm the only one in the band who's plucking a girl tonight." You make a mental decision to stop thinking about Riley as Jimmy: her figure is too womanly, her face too stunning, to contemplate the reality that your male friend lies beneath in a masquerade. Besides, that's such a Riley thing to say; of the three female members of the band she's the only one attracted to women, and Matt the bassist is happily married with a wife in San Diego. Your delicate fingers gracefully sweep up to lift her hand away.

"So how exactly are we getting Trish back here?" You cock your head, adopting 'Nessa's quizzical face, pouting your red-stained lips and raising one of your sublime eyebrows. It feels so natural to be her, think like her, act like her. It sends another involuntary shudder down your spine.

"Oh, someone's enjoying themselves," Riley coos. " But to answer your question, I was thinking we take her back at the first break, pick her for the cover guest."

The band's set list is carefully organized. Riley usually gets someone up from the crowd for a close-up serenade of a particularly slow, dirty cover of a popular tune. It's a cheesy trick countless bands do, and Riley usually tops it off with a backstage pass for the lucky concert-goer, before heading off to make her first costume change. You, or rather 'Nessa, then duels Matt with the sickest riffs you can invent to keep the crowd eager for more.

Once more, your golden skin blanches a little as you think beyond that. 'Nessa doesn't invite anyone on stage, but she's always happy to find someone eager for no-strings fun after the gig is over. Her parents are strict Chinese-Americans who still seem to hope she'll grow out of her rockstar phase and settle down with some nice, wealthy boy. 'Nessa knows it's never going to happen. While 'Nessa likes guys, you're still a little uncomfortable with it. It's the only downside of this magnificent body you now wear; 'Nessa may not be a classic beauty, but the more you shoulder her personality, the more attractive she becomes, and the more you feel almost perfect in her life.

"You OK, 'Nessa? You look like you're going to puke." It's a Jimmy observation, masked as a Riley one.

"This band doesn't need two Cassies," you chide. Cassie Lewinski is the band's drummer, who, despite her tough appearance, has long made a habit of throwing up before every gig. It was her dashing out to vomit that prompted 'Nessa to leave their shared dressing room, grab a lollipop, and see what was cooking with Riley.

"True enough. Well, if you're OK, let's do this, huh?"

"What about the security guard?"

"Relax, I'll deal with it, restore him and come up with some bullshit story. You go get Cassie and Matt. It's showtime."

You ease into 'Nessa's lithe pose, grateful she'd already taken the edge off the nerves with a joint. It's time to be magnificent.

*****

This has to be the greatest thrill in the world, you imagine, as you arch your back and send Vanessa's fingers flying across the fret in an ornate, precise dance, catching the strings to perfection as her other hand rides the plectrum's rhythm, letting it do all the hard work as it darts across the strings. The crowd are screaming, the show's lights cast sensational bursts of color across the stage, the noise is frenetic, loud, joyous. 'Nessa, you know, organizes the band's set pieces: she takes inspiration from Kandinksy, letting the band burst from shocking colors and pyrotechnic explosions. Right now you've succumbed utterly to her mind, enjoying the wild, exuberant ride of being Ani-E's lead guitarist. The crowd lift your performance to greater heights, the response to each song fueling the set with its energy. You finish your solo and rush across the stage, contorting your body to windmill your head in time to the Cassie's furious tempo, your elaborate weave like a hypnotic whirlpool for the crowd to gaze upon. You stop, staggering a little, as the song ends, and stride over to the amp to seize an open, ice-cold beer. Your tiny chest heaves, your tight costume is soaked with sweat, and a sweet sensation of pure, unadulterated euphoria shivers down your spine. There's no escaping it: you love being Vanessa.

"You know," Riley Lovelace says to the crowd, toying with the mic, catching her breath from under the tight confines of her corset, "we've done a lot of shows. Been to a lot of places. But you know the best show I've ever done?" She pauses for effect, teasing the crowd, flicking back that magnificent cascade of raven hair. "It's this one. This one right... fucking... here... tonight!"

The crowd goes wild - it's like a wave of sound breaking against the stage. Riley Lovelace throws her arms open, basking in the adoration. You have to hand it to Jimmy, his impersonation so far has been flawless. With his Riley memories he's hit the notes perfectly on every song, all the while being the consummate showwoman. People have come for Analytical Engine, and the band are putting on the show of their careers. Your 'Nessa memories can't recall a time when everything just felt so... perfect.

"Now, this next song is a little favorite of mine," Riley says, walking over to you. You grin, offer a fake attempt at a bite as she gets near. The band's lead laughs, and begins to sing unaccompanied, sliding her body against yours in an achingly slow cover from another artist. 'Nessa's memories tell you to let Riley have her fun, while your own memories tell you Jimmy's ready to pluck Trish from the crowd.

On cue, Riley stops. "Whoa...hold on. Sorry... sorry, 'Nessa. Hold on. Before we do this, I think we need another band member. Who's up for it?"

A sea of hands rise up. You wonder how Riley/Jimmy plans on spotting Jessica/Trish. Or if he's got something else up his sleeve...