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Trials of a Mad Guitar Player

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guitarhero01234:
Yep, doing one of these again. This one will most likely be entirely written on my phone, so apologies if any errors related to that happen.


Chapter 1
“You think this is gonna work?”

“I'm hoping.”

A small cloud of slightly acrid smoke wafted up toward the ceiling of a dimly lit room. A hooded figure sat hunched over a desk with a soldering iron in his hand, holding the tool to a small piece of circuit board while two certainly-not-human onlookers watched over his shoulder.

After soldering the final wires, the hooded figure plugged the circuit into a testing device. He turned on another machine from across the room, made sure the battery was properly connected to his circuit, and began to play a guitar. No sound came from the amplifier that he had turned on, aside from the usual pop that usually happened when powering the device on.

“Damn.” He hunched over his desk, slightly defeated. “Didn't work. Again.”

“Uh, gh?” The quadrupedal onlooker chimed in.

Ignoring Xeno, gh began to turn the device over in his hands, while the third figure quickly left the room. “Maybe I accidentally cut the track somewhere?”

“gh,” Xeno said again, this time a little more forcefully.

gh, meanwhile, seemed completely oblivious to the gryphon trying to get his attention. “Is that a one-oh-four? It really shouldn't matter that much, even if it called for a two-twenty-four . . .”

“For the love of- gh, turn three inches to your left and you'll see what's wrong!”

“Wait, what-” gh stopped mid-sentence, finally having noticed what Xeno was pointing out. “Oh, ****!” he yelled at the sight of his guitar amplifier having burst into flames.

“I'm assuming that's not supposed to happen?” Xeno suggested as Hunter returned to the room with a small Tupperware container filled with water. He quickly doused the flames, leaving gh’s thread full of smoke.

“. . . How did that even happen?” gh inquired as he moved to open a window. After coughing for a few moments, he slowly turned to Xeno. “Wait, when did you get in here?”

In response, Xeno shrugged - or at least, made as close a gesture to shrugging as he could manage. “I was bored and the door was unlocked, so I figured I'd say hi.”

Hunter chuckled lightly. “Might not be a good idea in the future.” Hunter had more or less moved into gh’s apartment at that point, and the two began spending a considerable amount of time secluding themselves when Leatherhead wasn't around. “We tend to keep each other busy. When Logan isn't starting fires, that is.”

“Oh, shut up,” gh said with a blush. “But seriously, Xeno, at least knock next time. Or risk being scarred for life.”

“I think I get the point,” Xeno said, rolling his eyes. He then gestured toward the still smoldering amplifier. “That thing still gonna work?”

“Yeah, definitely.” gh’s voice was dripping with fake enthusiasm. “If by ‘work,’ you mean not make any noise and possibly burst into flames again, then yeah, it should work perfectly.”

“That's how those things are supposed to operate, right?” This question was met with a mock death glare from gh. “Alright, I get the message. You two have a good night,” Xeno said, promptly leaving gh’s thread.

“. . . I don't think the circuit worked,” Hunter offered helpfully with a wink, prompting gh to playfully shove the anthro wolf away.

“We really need to start locking the door.”

Cloak:
Hooded figure?

NickDaGriff:
Stealing someone's fashion?  :D

I mean I probably wouldn't be scarred, I do understand how couples enjoy macramé, but yeah.  I'll knock.  XD

guitarhero01234:
We appreciate that :P

New chapter. I'm trying out a slightly different method of characterization, lemme know what you guys think. Also, I promise this will be the only time I nerd out over guitar stuff in any of these fics.


Chapter 2
For the first time in quite a while, gh was walking the streets of his old New York town. True, he had returned briefly a few months prior to speak with his father, but he hadn't much of a chance to take a proper trip down memory lane. That, and at the time, he was still averse to show his face in public again, following the initial incident that caused gh to exile himself from his hometown.

gh noticed while walking through the downtown area that things had slightly but noticeably changed in his absence. For example, the old family-owned barbershop had been replaced by a liquor store, the shoddy graffiti on the side of the gun store had been removed, the small-time video game store seemed to have gone out of business. . . .

This place has lost so much character, gh concluded. All the landmarks that populated his memory had either disappeared or were practically altered beyond the point of recognition. Maybe I'm just being cynical.

gh’s destination, however, seemed to be one of the few places that remained after the year or two of change that the area had underwent. A small instrument store whose name had long since been weathered off its sign outside. All the locals simply referred to it as “the music store,” or perhaps more commonly, “delinquent central.”

gh walked into the store and was instantly hit with a wave of nostalgia. All the familiar memories of hours spent looking at gear and chatting with staff came flooding back.

“How're you doin’ today?” said somebody behind the counter. gh turned and was greeted by the familiar bespectacled face of the store’s owner smiling back at him. Gary, his name was? The old man was always quick to help prospective customers and shoo away troublemakers, who had often secretly loaded their coat pockets with guitar strings and picks before being kicked out.

“Eh, I've had better days,” gh replied. “It would be nice if the old man would remember me, for one.”

Gary looked at gh for a solid moment, squinting from behind his glasses. “Hold on . . . Logan, right?” He extended his open hand over the counter. “It's been a while! What sort of trouble ya’ gettin’ yourself into?”

gh smiled and returned Gary’s handshake. “Trust me, if you knew, you'd kick me out in a heartbeat.”

“Fair enough. What brings ya’ back to this dump?”

“Looking for a new amp,” gh said. “My Orange finally crapped the bed.”

“That's what you get for using one a’ them newer British amps. There's two types a’ amplification, the way I see it.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“Marshall or American,” Gary commented with a wink. “You still know where e’rrything is, I hope. Just holler if ya’ need me.”

gh moved to the back of the shop, past the walls full of electric guitars and miscellaneous accessories. Past that old Ibanez that never seemed to leave the shelf, past the characteristically bare section of used drums and keyboards. Always the traditionalist, Gary was a guitar expert who had little patience for any other instrument. When the store was closed, he was known to stick around after hours with his favorite Stratocaster plugged into a Twin Reverb.

gh browsed the relatively diverse selection of amplifiers, both new and used. He quickly skimmed over the Fenders and Mesa Boogies, instead opting to browse the more exotic selection of products.

Eventually, gh stopped on a rather ancient-looking Sunn head. “Beta Lead,” he mumbled to himself. “Solid state, but those things can be monstrous.” He paused to look at the back panel. “If those things are good enough for King Buzzo . . . Hey, Gary?” he called out suddenly. “You got a cable anywhere? I'm looking to try this old behemoth out.”

While Gary came out from behind his counter, a previously unnoticed customer came over from the section filled with bass gear. Before the graying store owner could reach gh, the other customer was already standing behind gh. “Oh my god,” a familiar, raspy voice said in disbelief. “Logan?”

gh turned around and was met with a shocked face staring back. gh’s expression quickly matched the one looking back at him. “Holy ****. TJ!?”

Cloak:
Well, this was unexpected.

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