Blues in the Scale of S

The name's Sanosuke. I'm 26, and I play and sing the Blues. I've been playing since I was 9 and I've gotten pretty good. But what can I say? Times are hard in the city.

DISCLAIMER: I own none of the Rurouni Kenshin characters. They all belong to Watsuki-sama. Plain and simple, that's all.

Now, I'm pretty sure I know what you're thinkin': Here's this guy and he's gonna tell us about how hard life is so as far as I can give a fuck, my shit's more important. Now, let me tell you something, no doubt life's hard, but that's something we've all gotta deal with at some point or another, don'tcha think? So stop thinking that crap and listen because I'm not here to tell you about my troubles. Matter of fact, I'm here to tell you about how I managed to get away from them. It all started six months ago…

6 Months Earlier

When I think about it, it's pretty hard to believe that my brain hasn't given out on me yet. That was the first thought I had that Sunday morning waking up in the bed of a woman I'd slept with the night before. I'm not gonna lie, she was a pretty good lay. She was about the best I'd gotten in a couple of weeks. Even still, the morning after is pretty awkward when I remembered she's married.

I opened my eyes to find myself staring up at a ceiling fan. It was spinning pretty fast, and that wasn't making my hangover any easier to deal with. I couldn't remember how many drinks I had the night before… Hell, I still can't remember how many drinks I had that night.

All I know is that they kept coming one after another 'cause the lady next to me heard me play and she really liked my material… Alright, fine, she just wanted a rub-n-tug and she liked what she saw. Cut me some slack, even guys like me like to have the benefit of a doubt sometimes. By the time I got up and out of bed, I wasn't ready for the sight that met my half-asleep eyes.

I ended up concluding that we fucked all over the room because it was a shit-kicker of a mess. She had little trinkets that fell off her dresser. And not to mention the mirror on it looked like it was going to fall any minute. I was hoping it wouldn't 'cause I wouldn't have been able to pay for the damages. What do you expect? You think I'm B.B. King? No way, man, I'm just another musician. It's hard enough finding work without thinking about the shit we have to pay for.

The smell of perfume was all over the place. I guessed the reason was because there were broken bottles on the floor with spilled shit on the rug. That must've been the other reason why my eyes were hurting so bad. There was so much smell in the air it stung enough to keep them open.

Our clothes were all over the floor. I was pretty thankful that she didn't have as much on as I did. With a hangover like the one I had, the differences between our clothes were almost impossible to see. It's pretty sad to say 'cause I like to think that I've got the tolerance of a herd of oxen. Guess you can't beat 'em all, huh?

Having a look at the aftermath of what I've come to call "Sex of the Apocalypse", I got up the strength to get myself out of bed. I wanted to scratch myself, but I had to face the facts, it wasn't going to be happening for another few hours. My dick was so sore that I could feel the blood pulsing through it even after all that went on the night before.

I tried to keep myself steady as I found my old pair of jeans and slid them back on. By the time I got my shirt and long coat on, I came to a really shitty realization. It's the kind of thing that most musicians don't want to have to worry about the morning after a few hours of hardcore, drunk pounding. I couldn't find my guitar.

Right then and there, I could feel my nerves begin to shred. A sweat was forming at my forehead and my blood was boiling. All I needed to do was get big and turn green and you'd have yourself a living, breathing comic-book character. Long story short, I went crazy looking all over this woman's place to look for it.

Now, before you pass this off as the typical sentimental bullshit, let me tell you a little something about my guitar. For one thing, it's a 1966 white Fender Stratocaster. For another, it was given to me by the greatest musician I'd ever met in my entire life. What's more, he was my best friend. His name was Sagara Sozo. He was the leader of this fucking tight band called "Sekiho". I was a part of it, and man did we ever know how to play.

I'll tell you, the licks he could play on that guitar were just not of this world, man. I shit you not, he would have given guys like Hendrix or Stevie Ray Vaughan a run for their money. I played the rhythm guitar, which was a shitty loaner I always borrowed from him. We had Kenshin, who was the bassist and lead vocals in the group. He wasn't much of a singer, but man could he play the bass. And he didn't even start off playing it, you know. He was a guitarist, just like me or Soz, and he was damn good.

On the drums was Katsu. He wasn't the best drummer in the world, but man, for what he didn't have in technique, he made up for with speed. I'm telling you, when he took off, he could really throw down a beat unlike anything you've ever heard before.

So yeah, it was a few years back and we were playing this show at Percy's Tavern, a really small venue, right? The place was pretty packed, I remember and there were people screaming all over the place. I pulled a really crazy solo that night when we started covering Voodoo Chile. It was a great gig.

We were finishing the show off that night and Soz wasn't looking too great. He was sweating a lot and his playing was pretty off. The crowd couldn't even notice it considering I did my best to pick him right back up again with some of my own licks. And by the time the show was over, I decided I'd drive him home myself since he wasn't feeling too good.

And… well, um, some stuff led to some other things and in the end he gave me his guitar. Now here I am, a penniless musician with nothing to turn to but sex, the blues and some junk in between… even some money when I could find it. Funny how things work out… in't it?

I darted around the place as quickly as I could. I looked in her bathroom, kitchen, living room, fuck, I must've looked everywhere except under her sleeping, naked body. Finally, having enough of this, I ran back into the bedroom, looking through her closet, her dresser, anywhere it could be found. It was at that point where I heard her yawning behind my back. And just like that, I froze. Fuck, if she caught me getting up and going just like that, she'd throw me out, I thought.

I turned my head around to look at her, straightening up and trying to look like I wasn't doing anything suspicious. Now, I'm not the kind of guy who usually goes around sleeping with women and just leaving right after a crazy night of sex… 'cause the sex wasn't always as crazy as it was that night. But the way I looked then and there, dressed and pretty much ready to head out the door. Do I really need to say it?

We stared at each other for a couple of minutes, neither of us saying a word. It was worse than a Mexican stand-off. All we needed were a couple of guns and that song from that movie I can't remember the name of with that guy who's really good with a gun in his movies.

I couldn't stand it. I was at the point where I was just gonna break down. So finally, I made the move. I breathed in and spoke the only words that came to mind at the time,

"I gotta take a leak,"