Chapter One

It was a quiet, breezy, Summer morning. The pink sun was gleaming in the windows of the train station.
Two young girls felt the soft, timid wind caress their faces (as if they were amaranths, only sexier). Inside, they felt all but quietude.
- Aaah, the fresh morning air, Amy said.
Tweedle smiled and picked up her little suitcase.
- So, on y va, she laughed. I have no idea where are we going to stay, and that is just great.
Amy laughed silently, like a mime.
- I’m sure we can find a place. – she said – What matters is that today will be a very important day for us.
- Nightwish, Tweedle giggled.
And they started walking down the narrow street, without knowing where they were heading. They looked at the confusing signs all around the Parisian streets, trying to find something that hinted towards a hotel or inn. Hostels were out of the question, since Europe already had bad fame regarding those. And torture, blood, pain and death were not their main interest on that day. Unless they had something to do with Nightwish’s lyrics. Little did they know.
- It’s like a jungle in here! – Tweedle remarked. – We’ll never find a place to stay!
- Absolutely. And a very French one. – Amy replied -I don’t care if we don’t find a place to stay, Nightwish is…Oh, Look!
Amy pointed to a strange looking building in the street ahead. The Olzon Inn! Is it me, or that sounds… Swedish? Oh well, who cares?
Outside the Olzon Inn, a strange looking woman, stranger than the building, held a broomstick. The broomstick did not have any llama-like beings engraved in it. Amy and Tweedle were suspicious, but approached the woman.
- Bonjour, Amy muttered, trying to reproduce the local accent.
- Well hello there, strangers! – the woman replied. There was a strange light in her eyes. She spoke good english, despite the fact that she was munching on a hay straw.
- Redneck, Tweedle said, smiling blankly.
The woman frowned, but let them in. The Olzon Inn stenched of tabbaco and chickens. They made their way to the small room which was going to be theirs. The atmosphere was dense, but the room seemed clean. Although gloomy. There were two single beds and one table. No TV. No phone. No…
- Llamas?
The strange looking woman replied negatively. “We’re not in Spain.”, she said.
- Where rain falls mainly in the plain, Tweedle added.
The woman ignored her.
- My name is Anette, by the way. Anette Olzon. Enjoy your staying, she said, and handed them the keys. She left.
Amy and Tweedle looked at one another.
- She’s strange – Amy said.
- And certainly not empathic. – Tweedle replied.
- Like I am. Oh My God! Are those Llamas on the doorknobs?
- I think they’re alpacas. They’re fluffy. Like that guy’s hair… the Nightwish guy.
- Tuomas, Amy said, frowning.
- Whatever. We should get ready for the concert tonight.
- Pfft! It’s still early. Let’s go for a walk instead.
And they did. Stepping out into a Parisian daydream, the two girls walked the streets, poking fun at the frenchies running arround with baguettes and driving bicycles. They could see the Eiffel Tower, filling the summer sky with its dark silhouette. Amy was taking pictures of everything around her, enchanted by the beauty of the place. Tweedle was humming a song from the last Nightwish album, Wishmaster. It was something about lust for life, the wish for travelling…
- Is…that… what I think it is?
- Uh?
- It’s Tarja, Tarja Turunen, Amy whispered, excited. The Nightwish singer!!!
- WHAT?! WHERE?!
Amy’s trembling finger pointed at a street corner. It was indeed Tarja, Tarja Turunen, the Nightwish singer. And she was…
- Making out! With a guy!
She started taking pictures frantically. It all seemed so unreal. Tarja, in front of her. Only a few meters away.
Tweedle squeed loudly. And then, Tarja turned her head.
- Papparazzi?! – Tarja exclaimed. – We’re not even famous yet!
Her straight black hair was shining in the afternoon sun. She looked worried.
- We’re not papparazzi… We’re just tourists. And, well, Nightwish fans.
- Really? So you’re seeing us tonight? – Tarja asked, making conversation. She was always so kind towards her fans, and so uninterested in material rewards. The boy near her looked like in his early twenties. He was a bit nervous about all the fuss. They were still holding hands.
- Yes, we are, Amy said, jumping up and down.
Tarja smiled. “Should we take a picture together?”
- Of course!
The two girls immediately got next to Tarja and posed. The young man that was with Tarja held up the camera and took the picture.
- Thank you soooo much! Kiitos, that’s how you say it in Finnish, right?
- Yes, Tarja smiled.
- I’m Ray, by the way, the YOUNG MAN said. You know, tonight isn’t actually a Nightwish concert. They’re just opening for this big American band, Guns N’Roses. Do you know them?
- Nope, not really. I heard of them before, but I never listened to their songs.
- She just came here to see that hot guy who plays the keyboards.
Tarja’s eyes narrowed. Ray rolled his eyes.
- We’ll probably stay only for the Nightwish part, though, Amy sighed. We bought our tickets pretty late and got some bad seats.
Tarja, always nice, prontified herself to be of assistance.
- Ray, I think we can help them out, can’t we?
- Yes, I think we can, he laughed.
Amy and Tweedle gasped. Smiling, Ray took two tickets out of his pockets and handed them to the girls.
- I’m with the Nightwish crew – Ray said – They’re VIP tickets. With backstage access.
The girls stared at the little pieces of paper. Yes. They were VIP tickets indeed. Sheer luck. France was a magic place.
Tweedle let out a happy “squee” which Tarja thought was unappropriate. Amy just couldn’t stop smiling.
- So we’ll see each other later tonight? – Tarja announced.
- Sure! We’ll certainly be there! Thank you so much, so, so much!
Tarja and Ray went away, holding hands, and the two girls saw them meeting up ahead with two guys, one short, the other tall and wolf-ish. Amy’s eyes sparkled and she made the gesture of running in their direction, but Tweedle stopped her.
- We’ll see them tonight, anyway. Let’s go back to the Olzon Inn and get ready for later. We have to look VIP for the concert, you know.

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Welcome to When Llamas Meet The Guns!

This particular blog is about a very interesting fan fiction about Guns N’ Roses and Nightwish, in an imaginary analepsis-anacronic universe, where the real and the surreal meet.

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