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Origin of a Mad Guitar Player

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guitarhero01234:
Yeah, I think you guys probably saw this coming. If you haven't read my previous fic yet, Diary of a Mad Guitar Player, I'd recommend doing so before this, but it isn't essential (especially considering the massive levels of crap that Diary was). I'm hoping to make this one better, or at the very least more cohesive, but I'll let you guys be the judges of that.


Origin of a Mad Guitar Player

Prologue
As the day was approaching its final hours, activity at RAF finally started to slow down. It had been a few months since gh's encounter with Harrison, and recent events – the most noteworthy and drastic of which being Leatherhead's transformation – had forced him to move on with his life. As was recently common with many quiet nights in RAF, gh was sitting in his thread, instructing Leatherhead on bass. The reptilian child was coming along quite nicely with the instrument, probably due to a combination of gh's patient instruction and some sort of innate talent.

gh was just about to end the practice session when the sound of a door knocking resonated throughout his thread. “It's unlocked, come on in!” he yelled, and the sound of his door opening swiftly followed as a tall, shadowed figure entered. “Thanks for coming, Cloak,” gh said, a little more chipper than usual. “Make yourself comfy.”

“Hi, Mister Cloak!” Leatherhead chirped. The reptile had grown considerably since his transformation – fitting, considering that he was essentially a six-year-old child. Still, he was beginning to catch up to his adopted father in terms of height. It was easy to imagine him being as large as a Feraligatr when he stopped growing.

Cloak took note of the guitar player's thread, which he had never actually been in before. The room was sparsely but tastefully decorated, with two beds, one presumably for Leatherhead, a few guitars, a couple of amplifiers, a few other instruments, and a desk with a laptop and multiple empty soda bottles sitting on it. “I hope you don't mind the clutter,” gh commented, noticing Cloak's traveling gaze. “I haven't really had much of a chance to clean.” Something about gh seemed a little off to the Realm Walker. He was much more friendly than was normal, more talkative. He generally had a much less conventional way of interacting with others.

“It's not a problem,” Cloak said, finally addressing his fellow RAFian. “Something on your mind?”

gh sighed, dropping the more affable attitude. “I've been doing some thinking, Cloak. About that . . . that incident a few months ago.” gh paused to collect his thoughts. Clearly, this wasn't going to be easy for him. “I think I need to tell you how all this happened. How I got this guitar, how I came to RAF, all of it.” gh locked eyes with his visitor, then shifted his gaze to Leatherhead. “I'm just gonna tell it how it was. And I want you to come to your own conclusions. I guess I should start from the beginning. . . .”

guitarhero01234:
First real chapter


Chapter 1: Project Bargo
The lights dimmed in a seedy club in New York. It was a Friday night, and those who lacked responsibilities outside of their weekday jobs (and as many would argue, also lacked good taste in music) decided to attend a show for a regional heavy metal band. The slightly intoxicated patrons had been waiting impatiently for some sort of action, despite the fact that it was a good ten minutes before the show was scheduled to start. The opening band finally stepped onstage; a group of four young adults, each holding their chosen instruments. The lead guitarist, a teenager of average build with shaggy, jet-black hair, stepped up to his microphone.

“Thank you,” he said, seeming to ignore the lack of applause. “We're Project Bargo, and we've got a few songs for you.” The tall, lanky rhythm guitarist rolled his eyes at the lack of his bandmate's lack of charisma before strumming a light, ambient introduction. After a moment, the drummer, who was a stocky, muscular beast of a man, began to play a crescendo fill, with the dreadlocked bassist joining in. Suddenly, the lead guitarist crashed in with a thunderous, powerful chord, with the rhythm section throbbing in the background. The two guitar players eventually locked into a harmonized riff, with the bassist and drummer providing a steady groove. Finally, the two guitarists stepped up to their respective microphones and screamed the song's verse:

This pool, uniting
Body of water constructed for you
Water inviting,
A barrier of ice you cannot break through.
Struggling, you're fighting,
A frozen grave that will bring life anew.
The bassist, who had been mostly sticking to the shadowed area of the stage up until this point, stepped up to his microphone and delivered the chorus with haunting, withering clean vocals:

Ash shrouds the sky in a hazy cloud,
Covers the Earth with its plague.
Sun cannot shine through a barrier of smog,
An industry-sponsored ice age.
Following the chorus, the bassist retreated to his dark corner of the stage, as the lead guitarist played a short but blistering solo passage, soon followed by an instrumental bridge, then one more repetition of the chorus before the song's end.

The crowd lightly applauded Project Bargo, still relatively unimpressed with the band. Although they definitely displayed competent musical ability, it was rather obvious already that this group's work was rather derivative, taking maybe a little too much influence from other bands. In spite of the lukewarm reaction, the rhythm guitarist exchanged a small grin with the other six-string wielder before launching into their next song. The band started to show some cracks in their foundation, this time, as the bassist was slowly but surely slipping off the beat.

“Oh, for Christ's sake,” the rhythm guitarist mumbled, reaching behind him to turn his amp up, hoping to drown out the floundering musician. The drummer, in turn, began to pummel his drums angrily, barely managing to stay on beat. Suddenly. . . .

POP! A loud sound came from the rhythm guitarist's amplifier, followed by complete silence from the piece of gear. Even over the noise of the rest of the band, the guitar player could be heard spouting every curse word in the book. “Are you kidding me!?” the lead guitarist shouted into his microphone.

As if on cue, the crowd started to turn on the band. Sounds of disappointed chatter and boos drowned out the three remaining audible band members, but they continued playing, unsure of what else they could do. The bassist and drummer slipped even further out of synchronization, and the remaining guitarist seemed to struggle to remember what to play. Out of nowhere, an empty beer bottle flew onto the stage, just missing the bassist's ear. The other members of the crowd took notice of this, and more of them began lobbing their empty containers of alcohol at the band. One managed to knock the lead guitarist right under his eye, which was the exact moment that he decided to abandon the show. He quickly unplugged his guitar and walked away, with the other band members following suit. The crowd gave their loudest applause of the night when Project Bargo left the stage.


Before anyone asks, no, those lyrics didn't come from any pre-existing song. I kinda just schlocked some generic-sounding metal lyrics. I was somewhat inspired by this friggin' awesome Mastodon performance, though.

Cloak:
Wow. Nice beginning.

See? Having an outline helps a lot, doesn't it? ;)

And this takes place in Year 3? Because in Memoirs, currently, Leatherhead is six.

guitarhero01234:
Oh, for some reason I thought it was seven. Lemme fix that.

redtailedsaffa:
This is a very interesting start. I can't figure where gh comes into all of this, which is great. Up for more! :D

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