DarkBeast.com :: Forums :: Post New Message :: Board
This message dull thud and Chronic : the numberless special edition. was posted by dull thud casts his essay notes to the four winds and writes something useful for once. on Tuesday, March 12, 2002 at 19:46.
Chronic propped his guitar in the corner and settled into the chair, from where he could keep an eye on the whole bar. thud put two glasses down on the sticky table; one of Maker’s Mark for the guitarist, one of no-brand gin for himself. "So. How’s it going?"
"Been worse. Hey, did you get a look at the jukebox on the way in?"
thudsnorted. "Aye, it sucks arse. Unless you like Curved Air or Gentle Giant."
"What, we’re not in a PROG BAR?"
Two dozen thickly-bearded heads swiveled on what existed of their necks. Two dozen beringed fists tightened on their pints of snakebite. Four dozen sweaty armpits prickled with irritation. thud ignored them all. "It’s this or karaoke night at the Fatal Toilet. I figured King Crimson was better than a string of pissed-up slappers rolling through I Will Survive."
"I guess." Despite the hairiness, these prog monkeys were a cowardly lot and Chronic successfully stared each down in turn. He turned back. "Isn’t gin an old lady’s drink?"
"Hell no. Back in Scotland we used to go down the cemetery and guzzle Gordon’s mixed with Diet Irn-Bru. ‘Course, you had to add a lot of gin to take away the taste..."
Chronic let this pass, assuming Diet Irn-Bru to be some sort of hallucinogenic. Then again, it's probably just a matter of quantity. "And how’s the heroing?"
"Enjoying it. Couple folk have been on at me to get a bit more organised, but I don’t really know. Nats, for one."
"How’s that?"
"Well, I reckon it’s far too late for a secret identity, but Nats said he knew someone who could sort it all out. A plumber or something, didn’t really understand."
Chronic nodded. "And what would they reckon to you going drinking with a supervillain?"
"Heh. I’m just getting the underworld whispers. You are still a supervillain, then?"
"Of course."
"Just wondered. ’Cause that lady at the train station didn’t seem to think so…"
Chronic glared over the rim of his glass, the ice cubes clinking softly. "What do you mean?"
thud suppressed a smirk. Winding up Chronic had recently edged out darts-but-with-knives as his favourite pub game. "You remember. One lady keen to keep her handbag, one bloke with a knife keen to get it. Now the proud owner of a Strat-inflicted broken jaw."
"…that was…"
"Mm?"
Chronic rallied. "An old score that needed settled. So when I saw him just standing there…"
The smirk broke through, but thud hid it with his drink. "Whatever. Underworld whispers though – Lonnie’s Tavern. That wasn’t really a gas leak, was it?"
"Of course not."
"Well?"
"Apparently," Chronic said hoarsely, "Mailman’s back."
"You mean Messenger? I know."
"No, dammit. He’s the Postman. Mailman is eeeevil to the core. Bad to the bone, even."
"Oh, I’m with you now. I read about him, I think. Didn’t he die?" Chronic regarded him with bemusement over the empty glasses. "Duh. Never mind." thud counted his money. "Another?"
"Thanks."
thud wandered up to the bar. Chronic chewed at his fingernails and cast an eye round the walls. Various gold and silver discs, album sleeves and press clippings. One magazine cover showed a hairy quartet, one of whom was brandishing a guitar that looked like… He got to his feet and peered closer. It looked very like…
thud sat back down. "A’right. Gigs. Seen anybody good recently?"
Chronic made a mental note to investigate further and rejoined him. "Not for a while. Busy."
"Sure, sure. Oh - " thud fumbled in his jacket pocket. "That Sabbath bootleg you wanted. And I slung some other stuff on the end."
Chronic took the tape and read the track list. "Thanks, man. Who’s this? Flint Michigan and the Pussy Magnates?"
"You might like that one. Got a really good crunchy bit, kind of AC/DC."
"Uh-huh."
"And a mad tapped harmonics thing. It’s all based around... in fact, I’ll show you. Can I - " thud reached for Steve, the Devil’s Instrument.
"No," said Chronic hastily, "I mean… I’d rather you didn’t. Not till I get the action fixed. It’s a bit, er, buzzy."
thud raised an eyebrow. "Sure, sure, no problem. I could probably do that for you."
"It’s okay." Chronic drew the sweet, sweet guitar closer to him. His eyes began to glaze over. Then he shook his head and blinked them clear.
"You alright?"
"Me? I’m good."
thud picked apple skin from between his teeth with a matchstick. "Tell you what – you want to go see Seduction of the Innocent next week?"
"Um. Too much stuff to do, I think."
"You sure? ‘Cause the magazine got me two spots on the guest list."
"Not really my thing. Unless… you don’t know if Troia was going?" His eyes flashed.
"I doubt it."
Chronic sighed. "Oh. Probably not then. Thanks anyway."
thud suddenly sat bolt upright. "Wait, what day is this?"
"Um… it’s…"
"It’s…"
"Er…"
"Wednesday. Feck!"
"What?"
thud knocked back the rest of his drink and got up. "I’m sorry, I have to go."
"What’s up, man?"
"Oh, a waitress at the Bean and Donut. She sort of made me promise to go help out at the Seaman’s Mission tonight."
"She’s good at that."
"You know her? Sarah, is it?"
"I know her. Sort of."
"Want to come too?"
"Few things I need to sort out here."
"Okay. Well, I’d better head. Sorry mate, it was good to see you. Give me a call sometime soon. And I think you ought to get that cough seen to."
"Yeah. I’ll see you around."
"And please – try and stay out of trouble."
Pause.
They erupted into laughter.
"You set me off, man."
"Naw, you set me off."
"No…"
thud left. Chronic sat for a while with the guitar on his lap, clicking the pick-up selector back and forth. Eventually he tucked the instrument under his arm and stalked out, one hand thrust deep in the pocket of his trenchcoat, running his thumb across the picture he had torn from the wall. Questions to ask. But first maybe a little something to take the cold away.
This poster posed from 130.209.6.43 when they posted
Message Thread
Post A Message
DarkBeast.com :: Forums :: Post New Message :: Board