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Musicians/Music Groups Fan Fiction >> Avenged Sevenfold >> Sick and Tired of Being the Good Guy

The following is a work of fiction. Any statements regarding any person, place, or other entity (real or imaginary) is the sole responibility of the author of this work of fiction. Fan Works Inc. takes no responsibility for the content of user submitted stories. All stories based on real people are works of fiction and do not necessarily reflect on the nature of the individuals featured. All stories based on other copyrighted works are written with authors knowing that these works violate copyright laws.

Please see the Terms of Service for more information.


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Zacky Baker
By Fearing Syn


The male with emerald green eyes felt out of place, even more than he did at the office. After all, he has never been to something like this and the mere thought of the possibility if someone from work saw him, it would destroy his reputation and along with it, his career. But when he thought about it he realized the fact was no one from work would show up to this. He was unsure what made him decide to even come after that outrageous invitation.

The invitation left on his doorstep the morning was a complete surprise to say the least. It was addressed to a certain Zacky Baker, not to him, Max Donahue. However the cursive written invitation had him curious. He simply had to know where the invitation would take him, or at least Zacky Baker.

He knew nothing about Zacky Baker, but as soon as he left work in order to get home and ready for the event as written on the invitation, he tried to imagine what Zacky's character is like. He had no idea what to wear and now knew how women felt before their big first date. None of his clothes seemed suited for his idea of the character of Zacky Baker. Practically his entire closet was spread out on his bed and he still had no clue what to wear. Aggravated, he ended the routine of covering his bed with every piece of clothing he owned, and decided on a pair of jeans, sneakers - the most casual pair of shoes he owned- a white shirt and a black jacket. It was the best he could do.

He decided earlier the day at work that if he were to go as Zacky Baker, he would definitely arrive late. Max was punctual, but he decided that Zacky wouldn't be. Zacky believed in being fashionably late and attract as much attention to himself by doing so. He also decided that Zacky would be selfish and couldn't be bothered by other people's emotions.

Max knew the odds weren't in his favor and someone was bound to realize this wasn't Zacky Baker, but he had to take a chance, no matter the consequences.

Surely to impersonate Zacky Baker would be a much better way to spend his Friday night than to sit on the couch with a bowl of butter-flavored popcorn and watch an episode of Fear Factor. He still found it hard to believe that people were so desperate for money that they would consume all sorts of insects, but he much rather preferred the desperation and desire for money above The Bachelorette.

Safe, boring and predictable Max Donahue was left at home as `Zacky Baker' stood at the front door of the Venue.

The Venue, which from outside was a two-storey mansion a few miles outside of Los Angeles, had a stone driveway that led to the front door. Lights lit up the garden and showed how it was kept in excellent condition - the grass green at a perfect height, the roses a spectacular red and the fountain with its crystal clear blue water. The fountain stood right in front of the house with the driveway curving through the space between it and the front door. The stone walls were roughly seven feet high with its wrought iron gates. The mansion had large windows and in the day would let in a great amount of light. The flat roof was the perfect place for an afternoon cocktail party with the sunset as the view. In the back, underneath an old weeping willow tree, there was a duck pond with the finest swans and expensive stone benches as well.

It was perfect, even without the helicopter pad, tennis court and swimming pool.

Max, being an accountant, could only imagine how expensive the uptake of a place like this must be, the estimate value of the property and all his calculations excluded the furniture.

As Max stood on the steps, he only now realized it hadn't occurred to him to consider what Zacky would do this particular situation.

Zacky craves attention - not quite like the high school cheerleader who thinks little of herself- but he isn't going to be obnoxious in order to get it.

Max knocked on the door once and waited, not so patiently. The door opened and to Max it was finally show time.

A beautiful woman of about 5'7 had opened the door. Her raven hair was up in a ponytail and the tips reached her shoulders. Her beauty resembled that of a model. Her makeup was done by a professional - mascara, eyeliner, blusher, jungle red lipstick. She wore a simple yet elegant black leather dress, black stilettos and black gloves that stopped at her wrists.

A door opened and Max, or rather Zacky, looked past the beauty in the black leather dress to see who came into the room.

The door had barely closed and the beauty in the black leather dress had hardly moved to the side when the guy who had entered took any notice of Zacky.

The broad-shouldered male's mouth slightly hung open in confusion as he looked Zacky up and down. He regained his posture, pursed his lips and looked down at the drink of whiskey in his hand. He wore a black suit and placed his glass down on a glass table beside a vase that contained white roses. He glanced briefly at Zacky before he made tut-tut sounds. Max thought those hazel eyes would stare into his very soul, but Zacky had to remain his confident self.

The male took a step closer to the girl in the black leather dress, did not take his eyes off of Zacky, and whispered something in her ear. The beauty nodded - not that it had mattered because the hazel-eyed male had not glanced at her once, not even when he spoke to her - and she went to the door where he had came in.

Max felt stupid as he stood there in his jeans when he was clearly supposed to be dressed formally. Of course, who would send out cursive written invitations in order to have their guests show up in jeans?

The girl in the black leather dress didn't come back, but in her place came a girl in a cute royal blue cocktail dress. Max could tell she wasn't pleased with the idea of being pulled from the event because there was a problem that needed to be dealt with.

Her silver wedges added a few inches to her height of 5'6. Her chocolate-brown hair was straight; the front pinned back and the rest hung down to her shoulders.

Eyebrows raised, she looked questioningly at the hazel-eyed male. He opened his mouth to say something, but seemed to be speechless and tilted his head in Max's direction. The beauty frowned, rolled her eyes and glanced at Zacky. She placed a hand on her hip and fixed her eyes on the ceiling.

“Can you fix it?” The broad-shouldered male asked, picked up his glass and took a swig.

Neither Max nor Zacky appreciated being referred to as `it'. It made him irrelevant and unimportant.

“Who are you?” The brunette asked, but never once made eye-contact with him. She lifted her index finger and quickly added, “On second thought, doesn't matter.”

She headed through the front door and the hazel-eyed male shook his head with a sigh, “Go with her.”

Max quickly followed after the beauty and walked with her around the house - in an awkward and unbearable silence - towards the back door of the house.

“So, we've established my name is not of importance, but what about yours?” Zacky wanted to know and the beauty stopped dead in her tracks. Zacky walked one step ahead and turned to face her.

“Sabrina,” She said and went to open the door, “And I don't have all night to waste on you.”

Once inside, Zacky waited for the beauty to lead the way and she took him to a bedroom. Her brown eyes scanned the closet and finally she pulled out a black suit, looked at it once more and handed it to Zacky.

“Should fit,” Sabrina forced a smile that left her lips as quickly as it had appeared.

Before Zacky could even utter a word of gratitude, Sabrina turned on her heel and walked away. But he was relieved she had left so quickly, because Zacky would not say thanks to a girl easily. He changed and walked around the house to get a clue where the party was. He rounded a corner and there stood a girl, who looked the same as the girl in the black leather dress. She opened the door and he slowly entered the room, amazed.

In the center of the room a pianist took his seat at the grand black piano.

This action announced the night's festivities were about to start and also took a hold of the attention of everyone present in the room; the guests - who were restless up until now - waited quietly in anticipation for him to play. The man in the black tuxedo had a small appreciative smile form on his face as he sat upright and placed his fingers on the piano. The lights dimmed and the pianist, on cue, started to play the song. The guests were awed by the beautiful sounds that reached their ears as the pianist played the song by heart.

Zacky saw Sabrina sit in the corner of the room and ran the tip of her finger on the edge of the champagne glass on her table as she listened contently to the music and for a second was completely unaware of her surroundings.

The photographer slowly moved through the crowd with camera in hand and took pictures of the glamorous event per the host's request.

The pianist had played for about a minute when the spotlight - and everyone's attention - focused on her. She sat on the edge of the piano, with one leg crossed over the other underneath her elegant red dress. Her silver high heels, along with a thin silver bracelet, glinted in the spotlight. Her dark chocolate-brown hair was pinned back in a low bun.

Zacky couldn't have a care with the singer, but Max was unable to tear his eyes off of her. She put a part of her in the music and stirred up emotion in almost everyone in the room. When she finally finished the song, Max saw one person who couldn't be less interested in the beauty's performance. Max made his way past everyone towards the bar and ordered himself a glass of champagne.

The male beside him - the one who showed no interest in the music - moved his glass of whiskey around in circular motions. Zacky wanted to create trouble, but Max ignored the urge and very politely started a conversation, “I hope everyone here appreciates the music. I know I do.”

The male with jet-black hair showed no sign that he was even aware of Max. His chocolate-brown orbs remained fixed on the glass.

“When it comes to good music, it is quite the shame that taste differs.” Max made his next attempt. “Of course people have very different definitions of good music, right?”

The brown-eyed male finished his drink, stood up and walked away.

“What is that guy's problem?” Max asked himself, but shrugged.

“I'm Matt,” The hazel-eyed male from earlier introduced himself and took a seat next to Max. “And to answer your question,” he looked at the guy that had just left. “You bored him.”

“I spoke like three sentences to him.” Max quickly, too quickly in his opinion, defended. “He's anti-social if you ask me.”

“I didn't,” Matt said and showed the bartender to pour him another drink. “He, apparently, has high standards. So I've been told at least. But what do you care what one guy thinks?”

“He didn't like the music,” Max shrugged and wished Matt would just leave him to be alone.

Matt's hazel eyes wandered to the beautiful brunette who had just begun the next song, “Correct me if I'm wrong, but last time I checked, the beauty of the one uttering the lyrics is not the music.”

Max did not like being put on the spot like this. He should never have come to this party.

“So what's his name? Mr. High Standards?” Zacky took over the situation and changed the topic.

Matt chuckled and lifted his glass to his lips, “Don't let him hear you. His name is Brian and according to rumors, he's plenty fucked up. But what about you?”

“I'm not plenty messed up,” Max's mind had automatically replaced the profanity with a word more appropriate.

“Good for you, but I mean what is your name?”

The male considered to introduce himself as Max Donahue, the boring accountant, but decided against it.

“I'm Zacky Baker.”


The preceeding was a work of fiction. Any statements regarding any person, place, or other entity (real or imaginary) is the sole responibility of the author of this work of fiction. Fan Works Inc. takes no responsibility for the content of user submitted stories. All stories based on real people are works of fiction and do not necessarily reflect on the nature of the individuals featured. All stories based on other copyrighted works are written with authors knowing that these works violate copyright laws.

Please see the Terms of Service for more information.

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