For the first time in as long as he could remember (in an incident that didn't involve their beautiful guitarist), Parker was basically speechless, before he had even made his first trip into the studio, compliments of his best friends' assistance. Around the time of their first or second practice, Søren had made it clear that his priority was his bass and his bass alone. Parker, and presumably the others, wanted to object and call him out on his bullshit, but Parker knew his best friend would come through if absolutely necessary. Besides, it was just a drum set, and it was Søren's job to deal with most things advertisement, spreading their name, and most things album related so as long as he was taking on certain jobs of the bands "producer", moving a drum set indoors was very trivial.
"Still having trouble with it, huh?" Parker questioned Matt, turning to him with genuine concern. Their vocalist was a very talented one - hence why Parker sought him out for the Harbingers so relentlessly - so when Matt had confided in the drummer about this particularly difficult tune that was haunting him, it was certainly a little more than odd. "Don't worry," he added with his signature crooked smile. "You'll get it -- you're a Harbinger, after all." He very much believed those words, and was certain the others would as well.
After the familiar studio was now one drum kit and four band members fuller, the band had very little setup left to do thanks to their vocalist. With that, practice began, and as Parker's drumsticks rhythmically collided to signal the beginning of their first song, the familiar feelings pulsed through the room... the feeling of purpose. The feeling of band becoming a single entity, fueled by rhythm and melody. The feeling of the rest of the rest of the world becoming inferior... irrelevant. This was the feeling of being unstoppable, and the Harbingers embodied this feeling well. The absolute sensation, while indescribable, was defined by the pulse of the drums, synchronizing the thoughts and heartbeats of the band, allowing them to feel each strike and kick with every fiber of their beings as they moved in rhythm with the drummer's thoughts translated into beats. This was the only time, as he was behind the others, that he allowed his eyes to linger upon Lucy, rarely running his eyes anywhere but over her being. Her technique melodically washed over the room, masterfully using the fretboard to create things of incredible beauty; to be expected from such a woman. These creations following the pulse were all held together by the warmth that emanated from the almost surreal tones produced by Nete, which became more of an extension of Søren at times like these, as if there were nickel wound nerves of his running from base to headstock rather than strings. And yet, even with such a flawlessly woven symphony behind him, Matt's voice was far from overshadowed, controlling the collective melody with the powerful weapon that resonated from deep within his chest. This was the sound of euphoria itself, and it was what Parker imagined perfection would be perceived as.
"So, you guys have any plans for the rest of the night?" Parker asked behind him through Jill's open rear double-doors, his back to the band as he finished strapping in the individual pieces of his kit. They all knew Parker hated being alone, so it was obvious that he was asking because parting with the group for the evening was at the bottom of the drummer's 'to-do' list. "Actually, I don't even know what time it is. Whose got it?" He added, clearly referring to the time. The manager of Revelation Studios had become a friend overtime - even going as far as letting them keep their equipment trailer they brought to gigs behind the studio - and never bothered to enforce the end-time of the Harbingers' rehearsals, so a not-so-sober Parker easily lost track of time, not to mention depth perception, evident by the many times the click of plastic could be heard, per strap, before the loudest and final one that indicated the strap's locked position as he spoke. After finally finishing, Parker slid into a sitting position with a sigh, legs hanging out of the van as he looked between the members, expertly weaving a drumstick between his fingers, expecting someone to take a seat next to him (if no one already had) as he waited for answers to his questions.