Dischordant
05-16-09, 08:00 PM
For the first time in a long time Eade was poor, and being poor sucked. If Eade was still on Earth he would be stepping out of a limo into a crowd of pretty girls with no self-esteem and a burning desire to please. Instead, he was sloshing through a reeking alley trying to find a bar he could actually afford. But Deloris told him to come here. She promised him he’d be happy if he just made it through the gloaming, whatever the hell that was. In Eade’s opinion he was still in the middle of his own personal hell, only now he was sober.
Where am I? Eade thought as he jumped over a puddle of thick sludge. The thought was more practical than introspective. He didn’t even know what city he was in, let alone his current location in the city. All Eade knew was that some drunk up the street told him there was a bar near here that was good for “cheap girls and cheaper drinks.” Eade looked at his surroundings and didn’t doubt the statement at all. Besides the smell and the sludge, the alley was dark – the type of oppressive, crawling dark that Eade could taste in his mouth. It would be easy for some crack-head, or this world’s equivalent of a crack-head, to jump and gut him before he had a chance to defend himself.
Lucky for Eade, or perhaps lucky for the crack-heads, the musician’s fears were never realized. About a hundred yards down the alley, past a sharp, narrow turn, light spilled from an open doorway. Eade approached and his nose perked up as a new smell intermingled with the gutter-scent of the area. Booze. The sign above the door read “Medusa’s Boudoir,” or more accurately, “Medu a’s Bo doi,” as some of the serpentine lettering had faded over time. Partially blocking the door sat a blob of a man, his liquor and sweat stained shirt pulled tightly over leg-sized rolls of fat.
“What’s the password,” the man grunted.
“Password?” Eade replied, annoyed.
“Yeah, ya know – the thing ya gotta say to get in.”
“I know what a password is, dipshit,” Eade sniped back. “I just don’t know what the password is.”
The bouncer scowled and oozed off his stool, his fleshy body quivering like a jell-o mold at some white trash Thanksgiving. “What’d you call me?”
Eade took a step back. “Relax. How ‘bout you take this and we call it a password?” From his pocket Eade drew a gold coin, one of the precious few he’d been able to earn playing music on the street.
The man’s porcine eyes glittered. “Sure.”
The musician paused a moment and cocked his head as if listening to something. The bouncer looked curious. “Deal,” Eade said after the pause.
The bouncer held out his hand and Eade did the same, but instead of placing the coin in the proffered spot, Eade thrust his hand forward and buried the coin deep amongst the man’s still-quivering rolls.
“Have fun finding it,” a female voice mocked as Eade stepped past the bouncer.
The interior of the bar was much as Eade expected. Patrons gathered in small circles around tables filled with empty glasses. Smoke wreathed the ceiling two tired-looking bartenders slung drinks in practiced fashion. The worn furniture was illuminated by sparse lighting, which, judging by the looks of the patrons was a godsend. Everyone looked better in dim light and most of the people Eade could see were still ass-ugly by anyone’s standards.
Eade sat down at an empty table. The chairs had no backs so Eade slung Deloris, his custom Les Paul guitar, off his back and settled her in his lap. She was uncharacteristically quiet, save for her comments at the door, so Eade felt comfortable only ordering drinks for himself. And so he did, drink after drink in fact, until his head spun and the world finally started making sense.
After about two hours of drinking Deloris’ voice cut through the fog in Eade’s head. “Pay attention,” she ordered. “Something good is coming our way.”
“Oh, so you are here,” Eade slurred lazily. “Thought maybe you ‘bandoned me.”
“Shut up. Eyes on the door.”
Eade obliged in time to see a group of six people enter – four men and two women. They were dressed well and each carried a heavy-looking coin pouch on their belt. Eade was still getting used to the renaissance faire getups everyone here wore, but he was familiar enough with the style to tell that the newcomers were not strapped for cash. Everyone in the bar gave them a wide berth as they closed in on the table next to Eade. The table was, at the moment, populated, but a single raised eyebrow from one of the women quickly cleared out the occupants. As soon as the newcomers sat their table was cleared and one of the bartenders delivered new drinks.
Impressed, and somewhat jealous, Eade turned his ear to their table, hoping to get an idea of who they were.
“Those bastards in Underwood never saw it coming,” one of the men said before laughing heartily. “The fire should drive the price of wood up high enough to put Cimarron out of business for a few months.”
“Now all we have to worry about is Krieghoff,” said one of the women. “They use all metal parts, so screwing with their intake without hurting ours will be tough.”
“Screw Kreighoff,” the boisterous man responded. “We’ll deal with them when we’re told. Tonight we enjoy our win.” As if to punctuate his statement the man tossed his coin-purse onto the table and laughed again as gold spilled across the wooden surface.
“To Schwarzer!” said the woman, raising her glass.
“To Schwarzer!” the rest cried, toasting their glasses.
“To Schwarzer!” Deloris echoed aloud in a male-sounding E-flat.
Silence. The well-dressed crowd set down their drinks and turned to Eade’s table. Mentally cursing Deloris, Eade downed the shot in front of him with practiced ease then raised the empty glass. “To Schwarzer, the best goddamn…uh, group in the world!”
Where am I? Eade thought as he jumped over a puddle of thick sludge. The thought was more practical than introspective. He didn’t even know what city he was in, let alone his current location in the city. All Eade knew was that some drunk up the street told him there was a bar near here that was good for “cheap girls and cheaper drinks.” Eade looked at his surroundings and didn’t doubt the statement at all. Besides the smell and the sludge, the alley was dark – the type of oppressive, crawling dark that Eade could taste in his mouth. It would be easy for some crack-head, or this world’s equivalent of a crack-head, to jump and gut him before he had a chance to defend himself.
Lucky for Eade, or perhaps lucky for the crack-heads, the musician’s fears were never realized. About a hundred yards down the alley, past a sharp, narrow turn, light spilled from an open doorway. Eade approached and his nose perked up as a new smell intermingled with the gutter-scent of the area. Booze. The sign above the door read “Medusa’s Boudoir,” or more accurately, “Medu a’s Bo doi,” as some of the serpentine lettering had faded over time. Partially blocking the door sat a blob of a man, his liquor and sweat stained shirt pulled tightly over leg-sized rolls of fat.
“What’s the password,” the man grunted.
“Password?” Eade replied, annoyed.
“Yeah, ya know – the thing ya gotta say to get in.”
“I know what a password is, dipshit,” Eade sniped back. “I just don’t know what the password is.”
The bouncer scowled and oozed off his stool, his fleshy body quivering like a jell-o mold at some white trash Thanksgiving. “What’d you call me?”
Eade took a step back. “Relax. How ‘bout you take this and we call it a password?” From his pocket Eade drew a gold coin, one of the precious few he’d been able to earn playing music on the street.
The man’s porcine eyes glittered. “Sure.”
The musician paused a moment and cocked his head as if listening to something. The bouncer looked curious. “Deal,” Eade said after the pause.
The bouncer held out his hand and Eade did the same, but instead of placing the coin in the proffered spot, Eade thrust his hand forward and buried the coin deep amongst the man’s still-quivering rolls.
“Have fun finding it,” a female voice mocked as Eade stepped past the bouncer.
The interior of the bar was much as Eade expected. Patrons gathered in small circles around tables filled with empty glasses. Smoke wreathed the ceiling two tired-looking bartenders slung drinks in practiced fashion. The worn furniture was illuminated by sparse lighting, which, judging by the looks of the patrons was a godsend. Everyone looked better in dim light and most of the people Eade could see were still ass-ugly by anyone’s standards.
Eade sat down at an empty table. The chairs had no backs so Eade slung Deloris, his custom Les Paul guitar, off his back and settled her in his lap. She was uncharacteristically quiet, save for her comments at the door, so Eade felt comfortable only ordering drinks for himself. And so he did, drink after drink in fact, until his head spun and the world finally started making sense.
After about two hours of drinking Deloris’ voice cut through the fog in Eade’s head. “Pay attention,” she ordered. “Something good is coming our way.”
“Oh, so you are here,” Eade slurred lazily. “Thought maybe you ‘bandoned me.”
“Shut up. Eyes on the door.”
Eade obliged in time to see a group of six people enter – four men and two women. They were dressed well and each carried a heavy-looking coin pouch on their belt. Eade was still getting used to the renaissance faire getups everyone here wore, but he was familiar enough with the style to tell that the newcomers were not strapped for cash. Everyone in the bar gave them a wide berth as they closed in on the table next to Eade. The table was, at the moment, populated, but a single raised eyebrow from one of the women quickly cleared out the occupants. As soon as the newcomers sat their table was cleared and one of the bartenders delivered new drinks.
Impressed, and somewhat jealous, Eade turned his ear to their table, hoping to get an idea of who they were.
“Those bastards in Underwood never saw it coming,” one of the men said before laughing heartily. “The fire should drive the price of wood up high enough to put Cimarron out of business for a few months.”
“Now all we have to worry about is Krieghoff,” said one of the women. “They use all metal parts, so screwing with their intake without hurting ours will be tough.”
“Screw Kreighoff,” the boisterous man responded. “We’ll deal with them when we’re told. Tonight we enjoy our win.” As if to punctuate his statement the man tossed his coin-purse onto the table and laughed again as gold spilled across the wooden surface.
“To Schwarzer!” said the woman, raising her glass.
“To Schwarzer!” the rest cried, toasting their glasses.
“To Schwarzer!” Deloris echoed aloud in a male-sounding E-flat.
Silence. The well-dressed crowd set down their drinks and turned to Eade’s table. Mentally cursing Deloris, Eade downed the shot in front of him with practiced ease then raised the empty glass. “To Schwarzer, the best goddamn…uh, group in the world!”