"And now," Eric yelled into his mircophone, "we're going to sing a new song-one we just wrote. This one's for my girlfriend. We've been going out for three weeks, and, damn, our love is true. We're gonna be together forever, baby. This one's called 'Bang You Like a Drum." --
"It was Eric's voice not Simon's, on the recorded message. "Ladies, ladies " he said. Though it was the millionth time she'd heard the recording, Clary couldn't help rolling her eyes. "If you've reached this message that means our boy Simon is out partying. But please don't fight among yourselves. There's always enough Simon to go around." There was a muffled yell, some laughter, and then the long sound of the beep."
Simon's band never actually produced any music. Mostly they sat around in Simon's living room, fighting about potential names and band logos. She sometimes wondered if any of them could actually play an instrument. 'What's on the table?' 'We're choosing between Sea Vegetable Conspiracy and Rock Solid Panda.' Clary shook her head. 'Those are both terrible.' 'Eric suggested Lawn Chair Crisis.' 'Maybe Eric should stick to gaming.' 'But then we'd have to find a new drummer.' 'Oh, is what Eric does?...
"Sebastian looked alarmed at her stiffness, but Eric took it in and chuckled. "Riding astride would have been easier," he said. "You put twice the strain on yourself with that unnatural position." "Oh, I know," she replied with a grimace. "Every muscle told me about it this morning, and I actually DID have a hot soak before I went to bed." Sebastian looked blankly at the two of them for a moment, then blinked and looked relieved. "Oh, you're saddle sore! I'm sorry--"