Post by Beowulf Keyes on Aug 14, 2014 22:24:26 GMT -5
Beowulf knew this moment would come someday. It had been over a year, but the thoughts had just now hit him. The Wolfpack had broken up, and there was nothing he could do about it. Stephen had a heart condition now, so beating on the drums made it palpitate weirdly, Joe had lung cancer from smoking all of his life, and now his voice just wasn't the same, and Beowulf was an up and coming member of Kast Korp, simply not having the time to really dedicate to it. The thought that it was coming to an end was just too much for him though. Sentimentality was not a common trait of the wolf anthro, but when it did strike, he could pine for days.
He sat in his office in Kast Hotel, absently picking out a solemn tune he had written a decade ago, trying not to let the sadness overwhelm him. The tune was accompanied by a soft howling in the back of Beowulf's throat. He never could sing, but sometimes it just came out anyway. Suddenly, his office phone rang on the appointment line, violently jerking Beo out of his revere. How the hell did he have an appointment at almost midnight?
Beo pressed the speaker and answer buttons, hoping that something had not come up. Sulking seemed like a very attractive prospect. He might have been rather irked if he had not been left to be broody.
"What" Beowulf said over the speaker-phone "I'm in the middle a' sumthin'"
"Mr. Keyes, you have a visitor in the lobby," said a cool female voice, with the slightest edge of distaste. Some of the Kast Korp employees still didn't like having to treat Beowulf like management personnel.
"Who the hell is it, I said I was busy" Beo snapped, taking the women's tone far too personally.
There was a brief pause before the women answered again. "The man says his name is Lester, and he has a package for you."
Lester? Beowulf hadn't seen Les in over a year, the last time the Wolfpack played at his bar's stage. Beo hadn't known it would be the last time, but something about that night seemed off even then. Shit, he hadn't even called Les for info since that night. Beo debated on whether he really wanted to see Lester right now, but gave in. Maybe seeing an old friend would make him feel a little better.
"Send him up"
A few moments later, the greasy, bald bartender opened Beowulf office door, and slithered inside. He was holding a long and wide wrapped package of some kind. Beo's first thought was that it was a gun, but the security personnel would have caught that right away. Lester approached the large maple desk, and laid it across the top carefully.
"Ya haven't come ta visit me Beo. Been worried ya died er got married," Lester said with a sly smile.
Beowulf shrugged, trying to be nonchalant. "Been busy," he said gruffly.
Lester shook his head. "Nah come on, I know ya better than that. If you was too busy ta come see ol' Lester, you'da called at least. Shit, ya haven't even been by ta squeeze me for info."
The truth was, there had been several times that Beowulf could have used the source, but had not. It just seemed too difficult after what had happened to the band. The bar just seemed like a place with too many memories.
Beowulf simply shook his head.
"Anyway," Lester continued "I gotcha a present" Les gestured at the package laying on the desk. "Open'er"
Beowulf slit the packaging open with an absent talon, and pealed the brown paper wrapping back. Inside was a polished guitar body, with s finished and straight neck. Beowulf had never seen anything like it. Every guitar he had ever scavenged had a warped neck, and water damaged body. Nothing in the wasteland of Neo-Tokyo was preserved like this.
"Where did you get this Les" Beo asked in oblivious awe.
"I found an ol' wood worker down Osaka way. Figured you had made me so much money with tat lil' band a yours, I should give ya back sumthin."
Beowulf chuckled, he knew that the revenue the band brought in was worth way more then the pack of cloves Lester used to give him at closing time.
"And one more thing." Lester coughed a bit, looking slightly nervous, "I got the ol' croud back tagether for one last show."
"No way," Beowulf gasped, "they ain't in any shape to be playing."
"'s true, Stephen's on the way to the grave, and Joe ent too far behind. They can't take leavin' it like that though. They need one more go, 'smuch as you do." It was oblivious Lester already knew how Beo felt about it...
"Alright," Beowulf said, "one last go."
--------
It was a hit, and Beowulf had never had more fun. The band sat at the bar after three sets, giddy with the surge of post-show adrenaline. Lester had given Beowulf a pack of cloves for the trouble, just like old times. The band talked well after last call, and even Lester had gone into the back of the bar to sleep before they had left.
This time, everyone had said their proper goodbyes, and no one would die unrequited.
Beowulf walked absently back to the hotel, thinking of everything the Wolfpack had done together, and what it meant that it was finally over. Instead of the empty sadness that ate at him before, a quiet nostalgia now pitted his stomach. His best memories were with those old slimy shits, and his future would go on without them.
It was better this way, and with his new guitar, Beowulf was ready to tackle whatever the harsh wasteland could throw at him.
He sat in his office in Kast Hotel, absently picking out a solemn tune he had written a decade ago, trying not to let the sadness overwhelm him. The tune was accompanied by a soft howling in the back of Beowulf's throat. He never could sing, but sometimes it just came out anyway. Suddenly, his office phone rang on the appointment line, violently jerking Beo out of his revere. How the hell did he have an appointment at almost midnight?
Beo pressed the speaker and answer buttons, hoping that something had not come up. Sulking seemed like a very attractive prospect. He might have been rather irked if he had not been left to be broody.
"What" Beowulf said over the speaker-phone "I'm in the middle a' sumthin'"
"Mr. Keyes, you have a visitor in the lobby," said a cool female voice, with the slightest edge of distaste. Some of the Kast Korp employees still didn't like having to treat Beowulf like management personnel.
"Who the hell is it, I said I was busy" Beo snapped, taking the women's tone far too personally.
There was a brief pause before the women answered again. "The man says his name is Lester, and he has a package for you."
Lester? Beowulf hadn't seen Les in over a year, the last time the Wolfpack played at his bar's stage. Beo hadn't known it would be the last time, but something about that night seemed off even then. Shit, he hadn't even called Les for info since that night. Beo debated on whether he really wanted to see Lester right now, but gave in. Maybe seeing an old friend would make him feel a little better.
"Send him up"
A few moments later, the greasy, bald bartender opened Beowulf office door, and slithered inside. He was holding a long and wide wrapped package of some kind. Beo's first thought was that it was a gun, but the security personnel would have caught that right away. Lester approached the large maple desk, and laid it across the top carefully.
"Ya haven't come ta visit me Beo. Been worried ya died er got married," Lester said with a sly smile.
Beowulf shrugged, trying to be nonchalant. "Been busy," he said gruffly.
Lester shook his head. "Nah come on, I know ya better than that. If you was too busy ta come see ol' Lester, you'da called at least. Shit, ya haven't even been by ta squeeze me for info."
The truth was, there had been several times that Beowulf could have used the source, but had not. It just seemed too difficult after what had happened to the band. The bar just seemed like a place with too many memories.
Beowulf simply shook his head.
"Anyway," Lester continued "I gotcha a present" Les gestured at the package laying on the desk. "Open'er"
Beowulf slit the packaging open with an absent talon, and pealed the brown paper wrapping back. Inside was a polished guitar body, with s finished and straight neck. Beowulf had never seen anything like it. Every guitar he had ever scavenged had a warped neck, and water damaged body. Nothing in the wasteland of Neo-Tokyo was preserved like this.
"Where did you get this Les" Beo asked in oblivious awe.
"I found an ol' wood worker down Osaka way. Figured you had made me so much money with tat lil' band a yours, I should give ya back sumthin."
Beowulf chuckled, he knew that the revenue the band brought in was worth way more then the pack of cloves Lester used to give him at closing time.
"And one more thing." Lester coughed a bit, looking slightly nervous, "I got the ol' croud back tagether for one last show."
"No way," Beowulf gasped, "they ain't in any shape to be playing."
"'s true, Stephen's on the way to the grave, and Joe ent too far behind. They can't take leavin' it like that though. They need one more go, 'smuch as you do." It was oblivious Lester already knew how Beo felt about it...
"Alright," Beowulf said, "one last go."
--------
It was a hit, and Beowulf had never had more fun. The band sat at the bar after three sets, giddy with the surge of post-show adrenaline. Lester had given Beowulf a pack of cloves for the trouble, just like old times. The band talked well after last call, and even Lester had gone into the back of the bar to sleep before they had left.
This time, everyone had said their proper goodbyes, and no one would die unrequited.
Beowulf walked absently back to the hotel, thinking of everything the Wolfpack had done together, and what it meant that it was finally over. Instead of the empty sadness that ate at him before, a quiet nostalgia now pitted his stomach. His best memories were with those old slimy shits, and his future would go on without them.
It was better this way, and with his new guitar, Beowulf was ready to tackle whatever the harsh wasteland could throw at him.