A/N: So, wow. I was listening to my Lynyrd Skynyrd hits CD today and just got SLAMMED with inspiration for crazy Roddy, Ric, and Ricky. (Otherwise known as The 3 Musketeers—coined by the wonderful Moussy.) So before you read, let me give a little explanation. There are four parts and they're based on different songs (see titles) of Lynyrd Skynyrd, but they go together to make a complete story. PLEASE you should listen to these songs either before, as, or after you read. They're all great songs and it'll be a lot of fun. Songs used: Gimme Three Steps, Saturday Night Special, Simple Man, and Call Me The Breeze. Thanks for reading :-) Sorry for lag in updates, lots of things going on. Enjoy!

A Flair For Rowdiness: Saturday Night


*Gimme Three Steps*


Music drifted out from the honkytonk, it was Saturday night and it was the perfect place to be, full of some liquor, need, and meanness. Outside the broken neon sign read simply 'The Jug' and outside in the gravel parking lot, gaggles of big, beat-up, pick-ups crammed the lot, and in among them like the proverbial rose among thorns, was a shiny, burnt orange Caddy, the chrome winking like glimmering eyeballs in the night. Inside the jukebox was loud, the floor and walls vibrating with the likes of Johnny Cash, Willie Nelson, Jerry Lewis, Elvis, Charlie Daniels, Hank Williams Jr., had been popular selections of song that night, some of them more fit for drowning in a tall glass of beer, and some more fit for dancing on tables. The song currently rattling the walls was lively and hot, and had nearly everyone who could still stand (and many who couldn't) up to their feet and moving.

In the crowd of Southerners—big men with tight jeans, large arms, and even larger cowboy hats—just like in the parking lot, was one man who stood out from the others. It might have been the baby blue suit with the wide collar that was so out of place, or maybe it was the pretty bleached hair, or the way this man looked a lot more like a woman than like one of the men in those parts. It didn't seem to bother the ladies, though, who might have enjoyed for once seeing something that wasn't streaked with dirt and smelling like tobacco juice. Women had been clinging to him all night, cute little brunettes, fiery red heads, buxom blondes, as if he was the prize to be won at the county fair. He took it all with a smug smile and a rambunctious conversation, and he bought them all drinks as if he own the bar, and one-hundred more just like it. At that moment, however, he was up from his stool having left behind a group of pouting females and more than a few empty bottles and shot glasses. He'd taken one of the ladies out to the floor to dance, one who'd said her name was Linda, and damn could she dance.

Her dancing was more like vertical sex, and it almost made Ric blush to have her rubbing and rolling against him the way she was. Almost. He watched her with lustful eyes her body undulated, her hips rolling and snapping, her ample chest heaving and bobbing, her long, beautiful legs shimmying and swaying her ass when she turned. Damn, just damn this woman was fine. Ric moved closer to her, still keeping the beat of the fast-paced song himself, and their bodies melded together, her ass pressed up into his fiery groin. He let out a low moan as she moved it against him, the firm globes through her tight dress pressing and sweeping against the hardness that was steadily growing and tightening his pants. He gripped her hips, and pressed into her, only to have her push back just as hard, still moving, still rubbing, still making him sweat and curse and fit to explode.

"Je-zus!" Ric panted, he was almost ready to just plant her on a table, wrap her long, gorgeous legs around his waist, and have his way with her right there. No one, no one ever danced like this, it was far too risqué and racy, and Ric decided in the back of his sex-fogged mind, that there needed to be more of it. People were just too damn straight-laced. "Fuck, baby you keep on goin' much longer and—woo…you're gonna get a ride on Space Mountain." He hands moved up and down her thighs, one sneaking up her short dress, pushing it up on her hot legs. He let his hand rest beneath the tight, stretchy fabric, against her curvy hip, the tips of his fingers just brushing against the thin band of her panties.

Suddenly, Ric's beautiful world was interrupted by a tap to his shoulder. Annoyed, he simply shrugged it away. No doubt some other man wanted to cut in and get a piece of the action, and Ric was just not having it. This hot little number was his for the night. His fingertips wrapped around the band he'd been toying with and slipped it down just a little, hearing the low, saucy, giggle from the dancing goddess as he did so.

The tap on his shoulder came again, harder this time. Aggravated, Ric spun around, ready to do battle over this woman and kick some ass…but he stopped. He was looking dead center into the wide, heaving chest of a man. He tilted his face upwards, and paled. This man was fucking huge. Ric gulped, if possible going even paler, when the man drew a gun from his side and made sure that Ric saw it.

"Hey there fella." The enormous, corn-fed, man drawled. He smiled, but not happily, revealing rows of dingy teeth, the crevasses dark brown with tobacco juice. "You uh, tryin' to prove somethin' here, 'cause I dunno if you know it or not, but this here's my woman, and I don't see fit to sharin' her with no one."

As if he needed to make his point any clearer, he cocked the gun with a click that seemed to be the only sound in the room. Even though the jukebox still blared, it seemed a million miles away, the lively warbles and twangs muffled by thick wads of cotton.

Ric tried not to show his fear, but it was hard to do when he was shaking. This man could easily take him without aid of weapon, but the fact that he was looking at the shiny barrel of his gun as though he was ready to have a love affair with it, made Ric feel like whimpering and begging at his booted feet for mercy. Instead, he was frozen there like an idiot, eyes wide, quivering like a rubber band stretched too tight and ready to pop.

The crowd had cleared away from the dance floor, and someone had turned the music down. There was a new form of entertainment all of a sudden; the city boy was about to get his ass shot full of holes for rubbing up against the wrong gal.

"Listen sir, I was just about to hit the door, anyway." Ric said, his feet still failing to move. He chewed at his lip as the big ape moved the gun way to close to Ric's face, his sickish grin growing wider.

"Oh, I know'd you was son, you just ain't movin' there quite fast enough."

"I'm going!" Ric shrieked.

"Then fuckin' MOVE!"

"Bubba, don't hurt 'em!" The woman pleaded, just as 'Bubba' had wrapped his hand around Ric's neck. As soon as she whined, his hand uncoiled from Ric's throat and he turned to his woman brandishing the gun and yelling at her. That was Ric's chance, and his feet decided it was time to work. He turned on his heels and all but flew from the bar as the crowd behind him burst out into gales of laughter. His heart pounded up into his ears as his feet skidded and flew over the loose gravel outside. He dove for his Caddy and sped it out of the lot, throwing bits of rock and kicking up a cloud of dust as he left, thanking anything that would listen for sparing his pretty self from becoming target practice. A bit down the road, he dared to glance in his rearview mirror. There was a pick-up speeding after him, quickly closing the gap of distance between them.

"Shit!" Ric cursed, and stepped on the accelerator.


*Saturday Night Special*


On the other side of town, Roddy found himself a bit of his own trouble. Normally he and Ric would be out together raising ten kinds of hell, but that night Ric had decided to go off on his own. Sometimes Ric just got that way, and Roddy understood. Even between the two of them and their similar high-octane personalities, even they needed the occasional break from one another. Of course, when they got back they would spend what little night was left telling stories of whatever insanities they'd drummed up for the evening. Each would go on trying to outdo the other, both complete drama queens, as Ricky would be grumbling and stuffing a pillow over his head in attempts to drown out the two boisterous voices shouting in competition to be heard over one another.

As for right now though, the night was still young.

Roddy had spent the night downtown flitting from one dark, crowded bar, to the next. Each journey seemed to be just a bit more stable than the last, and he was glad when he found himself in bed with a pretty woman. They'd walked to her place as he'd told her all sorts of stories about his adventures—some real and some complete yarns—(although it would have been hard to tell a difference in which was which) as he stole kisses and copped generous feels of her curvy body. They were tangled up in bed, panting and groaning, exploring each others sticky, hot, bodies, when the bedroom door creaked open. Roddy didn't notice, but the woman on top of him did and with an 'oh fuck!' she rolled off of him and grabbed a sheet from the bed to cover herself with. Roddy sat up quickly, his eyes going wide when they landed on the man filling the doorframe. In his hand was a .38 and it was pointed at you know who.

Roddy fell out of bed and fumbled on the floor for his pants, cursing and offering up stuttered apologies. He didn't remember seeing any gold on that woman's finger and she'd just failed to mention that she was married or living with someone, wasn't that convenient? He scrambled into his jeans, stumbling and tripping towards the door as the man moved over to the woman crouched in the shadowy corner of the room. He turned back to Roddy, and growled over his shoulders.

"Get the fuck outta my house, 'fore I put you six feet in a hole!"

Roddy dashed out of the house, holding his undone jeans in one fist to keep them from piling around his ankles. His bare feet cut throw the lawn and over the rough street. He wasn't sure where he was running to, but it was far from there. He ran until he couldn't breathe any longer, until the bottoms of his feet burned, and his knees ached. He doubled over against a brick building pulling in gasps of air, his hands shaking as he tried to fix up his pants, the memory of that gun flashing in the eager hand only moments ago still too fresh for his liking.

He leaned up against the wall and glanced at his other hand. Balled up in the fist was his t-shirt, which he hadn't even remembered grabbing off the floor. After he'd caught his breath and calmed down, he slipped it on over his head and ran a hand through his mussed, sweat-slick hair. He rounded the corner to find that the building he'd been leaning up against was a bar—and hell, did he need a drink! He padded into the place, and no one seemed to notice or care that he was mysteriously barefooted. He parked himself on a stool at the bar and ordered a tall beer, in an icy glass mug, and drank most of it down on the first go. After a couple more he was calmed and back to himself, the incident with the woman put to the back of his mind for a tale to tell Ric later.

As the night wore on, he got himself into a game of poker, and put away a few more drinks. Despite the way things had started out for him, luck seemed to have turned to his side and he cleaning house, each hand seeming to be better than the last. He was wrapped up in what he was doing, grinning, and bragging about it in a way that showed he was truly deserving of the 'Rowdy' tacked onto his name. He didn't notice that the big man sitting across from him at the table was getting agitated as his constant losses. The guy had been drinking whisky all night, and when he growled out angrily in Roddy's direction, the waft of strong liquor flooded Roddy's senses and he made it into a big joke. The joked however only lasted a few moments, as the huge, dark hand, knotted his shirt up and jerked him up from his chair.

"Cheat!" The giant man bellowed, the whisky hitting Roddy enough to make his eyes cross.

"Nah, now wait a minute here, King Kong…ha, I may be a lot a' things but a cheat ain't one of 'em!"
The man shook Roddy like a doll and Roddy tried to struggle away, thinking sincerely about biting the meaty arm, but he stopped cold when something hard poked into his belly. He laughed nervously, his quick wit being too stupid to shut up as it had a habit of doing.

"Ha, well either you're ah…see gettin' a real thrill outta this, or you're maybe 'bout to make the ol' Piper into some Swiss cheese there, pal." Roddy grinned at him, and he wasn't sure why, because he felt like screaming inside.

"What I'm 'bout to make you into, is a dead fucking smart-ass fag!"

The man cocked his pistol and Roddy raked at his eyes, in a last ditch effort to survive yet another attempt on his life in the same night. A howl came from the big man and miraculously, Roddy was dropped to his feet. He quickly swiped some of his winning from the table and darted for the door, finding himself once again on the run. He should have grabbed his beer, and taken that with him too.


*Simple Man*


Ricky leaned back against the pillows that he'd propped up against the headboard of his bed. It was another quiet night, and he relished the time alone that he had. He loved his friends, but they clashed against him like cymbals sometimes. He was a quiet, laid back, sort of guy who wasn't looking for any adventures, just a peaceful path in life that would lead him to happiness; a common mans sort of image for his life.

He didn't want to spend his nights out in loud clubs, stinking bars, and rough honkytonks. They were too noisy, too crowded, and too apt for trouble. He didn't want to push the speed limit, or have to worry about the baggies of weed stuffed under the seats in the car, or find himself laid out on a thin mattress in a jail cell at night. Those just weren't his ways, and for his conservative manner he was ribbed and called straight-laced, wet-blanket, killjoy, spoilsport, and Roddy's personal favorite 'Grandma Ricky'. He let them all roll of his shoulders, letting Ric and Roddy and anyone else have their fun. He could bear their teasing, it didn't bother him one bit. He would rather be thought of as boring than to end up burned out and broke down like many of his constantly partying friends. It was a common practice in the business, and his lack of partaking in the activities often left him to spend quiet, solitary nights in hotel rooms across the country. That was just fine with Ricky, he'd rather just sip a soda and watch the t.v., or maybe read a good book by Tolkien or C.S. Lewis. Both of those were popular authors, so he couldn't be that much of a square, right? Well, maybe he was but it didn't matter.

He swirled his grape Nehi and watched the purple liquid cascade and swoosh around the glass bottle. The second book in the Lord of The Rings series sat on his knee, holding his place just as the Ents of Fangorn were gathering for their counsel. If he wanted adventures, then he could have them this way. He could get lost in these fantasy worlds, and see through the eyes of Frodo, or Pippin, or Gandalf. He could trek though the thick, dark, trees of Mirkwood, pick his way carefully through the deep and ghostly Mines of Moria, and ride with the Rohirrim over the grassy planes of Rohan. That was enough for Ricky.

Ricky stopped to smell the roses that Ric and Roddy trampled on in their haste to get to the next crazy scene in their play of never ending insanity. His mother had always told her son, when he was young, that he ought to aspire to be a simple kind of man. She was fond of saying "Take your time, don't live too fast. Troubles will come, and troubles will pass". As he grew older and became a man, she assured him with the same smile and gentle touches that she always had, that he would find himself love, and that he ought not to set his eyes on the rich things of the world. Everything he needed, she said, was already in his soul, and that's all he needed to be satisfied.

He closed his eyes just then, rested up against the headboard of the bed, and he could hear as though she was speaking with him on the phone sat next to his bed. No, as if she was sat on the bed with him. It was good to recall her voice when he was alone like this, taking a break from his book and his silly grape soda, to question himself about the things he desired from life.

Boy, don't you worry, you'll find yourself.
Follow your heart, and nothing else.
And you can do this, oh baby, if you try.
All that I want for you my son,
Is to be satisfied.

And be a simple kind of man.
Be something you love and understand.
Baby be a simple, kind of man.
Oh, won't you do this for me son,
If you can.

It was good advice, and whether it was due to her words or not, it had become the kind of life that he led. Ricky yawned, and swallowed down the last of his Nehi. He placed the empty bottle next to the phone on the nightstand and he glanced over at the t.v. He thought about getting up to turn it on, and see if Three's Company or The Love Boat was on. After a moment of consideration, he decided that he would rather go back to the Ents, than take a visit with Jack, Chrissy, and Janet at the Regal Beagle. He'd just gotten back into the fantasy of Middle Earth, spelled out so beautifully on the pages of the book, when he was startled back out of it.


*They Call Me The Breeze*


Roddy bounded into the room, nearly tripping over his own naked feet as he did so. Ricky regarded him wide-eyed, almost afraid to know what had happened this time. Perhaps the FBI was after him for impersonating the president; Jimmy Carter. Then again, maybe a lion was chasing him, or maybe he'd been abducted by a UFO and anal probed. The last thought—all of them ridiculously outlandish—almost sent Ricky into a fit of giggles. Had Roddy not looked so frantic, he would have at least chuckled, but the gravity on Roddy's face was too heavy and canceled out any shred of amusement Ricky might have been able to have. He let out a long sigh, his eyes closed, feeling a headache coming on.

"Ricky, come on man, we gotta go!" Roddy tugged on Ricky's wrist, but the dark-haired man made no move to get up.

"What is it now Roddy? Are the police after you? Don't tell me-"

"No, it ain't the cops. Just come on!" Roddy gave Ricky's wrist another tug, but seeing he was getting nowhere, he abandoned it. He sped around the room quickly grabbing up his clothes from the various places he'd flung them and stuffed them wrinkled and wadded—to Ricky's annoyance—into his suitcase.

"That's shirt belongs to Ric…" Ricky started, waving his finger at one of the pieces.

"Ah, well, we'll get it sorted later." Roddy shrugged, and stuffed a few more things into the suitcase. Ricky blinked, moving towards the foot of the bed to get a closer look at Roddy's feet.

"Where are your shoes?"

"In some lady's bedroom." He said, matter of factly.


Ricky was interrupted this time by their third counterpart barging into the room, in a manner not too dissimilar from Roddy's, though Ric still had his shoes on.

"Oh god, oh Roddy, oh Ricky!" Ric went straight to Roddy. "Fuck Pipes, come on we gotta go!"

"You too?" Roddy asked, with a little laugh, and he sat on his suitcase in an effort to get it zipped up all the way.

Ricky rubbed at his temples.

"Would anyone mind telling me-"

"No!" Roddy shouted, bouncing on his suitcase and throwing curses at it.

"No time, Steamy." Ric added, dragging his own luggage to the door. "We gotta hit the road. I don't know about you Pipes, but I wore out my welcome in this one-horse town."

Roddy nodded in agreement with Ric and grabbed Ricky, dragging him towards the door. Ricky sputtered, unbelieving what these two men could have possibly done.

"We've only been here a few hours!" Ricky nearly shrieked, as Roddy shoved him out the door, followed by Ricky's suitcase. "Hey, wait, my book is still in there!"

"Aw, don't worry kid." Ric patted Ricky's shoulder. "I'll get you a new one, I promise. But really, we have to go. I've got a man with gun after me!" Ric took off down the hallway, followed on his heels by Roddy.

"A gun!" Ricky hollered, lugging his suitcase after the other two.

Roddy turned to Ric, as Ric grabbed a wad of cash from his pocket and dumped it onto the front desk.

"What a coincidence, Ric." Roddy laughed, turning his own pockets inside out and leaving his share of the room bill in crumpled money and lint. He and Ric headed for the doors as Ricky called after them.

"What in the—what did you two do! You weren't even together!" Ricky yelled after them, grumbling as he stopped at the desk to give his third of the payment. He opened his wallet and counted the bills, then laid them neatly on the desk next to the two sloppy, crinkled, piles. "I'm so sorry about this, ma'am." He assured the annoyed looking woman at the desk. "My friends, you see, they're idiots." He grabbed some of the money from Roddy's pile and began to straighten it, attempting to smooth it out.

"Where's Ricky?" Roddy asked, as he tossed his suitcase in the trunk of the Caddy, after Ric's three.

"Shit, he's still in there. What in the hell is he doing? I've got a man after me that wants make me into-"

"Swiss cheese." Roddy finished, as he and Ric dashed back into the hotel lobby.

"Ricky, what the fuck man?" Ric grabbed Ricky's wrist, and Roddy grabbed his suitcase, and both were tossed into the backseat.

Ric stepped on the gas, as Ricky protested and demanded to know just what was going on and why they were letting out of town like bats out of hell. It was well past midnight and Ricky was tired, without a pillow, and also without his book, he reminded them.

"Ric's gonna get you a new one." Roddy reminded him. "Don't ya worry your pretty little head over it." He smiled back at Ricky, and Ricky shook his head and lay over against his suitcase, wondering if he'd ever get the stories from either one of them. Ric careened onto the interstate, and turned on the radio. Lynyrd Skynyrd came over the radio with a fast tempo song that followed the car on its late night escape.

They call me the breeze,
I keep blowin' down the road.
Well now they call me the breeze,
I keep blowin' down the road.
I ain't got me nobody,
I don't carry me no load.

Ain't no change in the weather,
Ain't no changes in me.
Well there ain't no change in the weather,
Ain't no changes in me.