They'd fought.
Again.
What was this? The third time this week? The fourth? Klaus didn't even know. It seemed to be happening all the time these days. Every little thing set her off. Then again, she wasn't all to blame; everything set him off as well. What had it been this time? Tearing at the dregs of his mind, Klaus couldn't remember. It was something petty, something stupid that would have set her off. Astrid, his white moon, his mysterious pale cat with that fair blonde hair, that coy smile and those icy blue eyes that seemed to penetrate his soul in way he never imagined. Once she had been his everything, his world. Nothing made him happier than Astrid. But now? Now? Now he wasn't so sure.
Klaus left the quiet streets of the quaint yet exhaustingly dry suburban neighborhood where he and Astrid currently nestled, for a more exciting atmosphere. He'd found it on the crowded, scandalous walkways of the wicked St. Paulie district. Home to bawdy nightclubs, kinky shops and blatantly outright prostitution, the wild streets of the Reepherban wasn't exactly the first place one might expect the quiet, brooding photographer to go, but with recent circumstance in light, Klaus needed a little excitement. He needed to stray from the ordinary, and St. Paulie, he noted as a scantily clad blonde strutted by, running and thin, coy finger on his chest as he passed by, was exactly the kind of different Klaus yearned for.
The streets were noisy, obnoxious party-goers on the hunt for the next big thing prowled the lane, neon signs boasting naked women flashing more than just lights burned through the rich inky blankness of the night sky. Prostitutes, just as scantily clad, if not more so slinked around, shooting as many demure and sensual looks as they could at men, willing then to come and take a peek at the rich, sinful treasures and joys they claimed to hold. Loud music thrummed from the clubs, washing out onto the street and immersing patrons in its vibrant hold, Klaus included.
He'd been walking quickly, staring down at his black, round-toed slippers trying and failing to stop cursing Astrid inside his head when suddenly he'd heard it.
It.
God, it was music like nothing he'd ever heard. Loud, bawdy, raunchy and yet oddly…pleasing.
"Good golly Miss. Molly!" The lyrics were wrenched out in throat-ripping screams. Indeed they had to be over the vibrant twangs and deafening thumps from the instruments that helped with creating this god-like sound.
Klaus rushed into the club from which it came, not taking any mind to its name, to eager to pay any mind to anything but that sound. With this move, Klaus immediately entered another world, one with dim lighting, smoke hanging thick in the air smoldering from cigarettes dangled from leather-clad, DA-wearing, tough-looking patrons of the club. Klaus was clearly out of place in his tight black suit trousers, dusty mop of dark hair and black turtle-neck, but this didn't matter. All he could think of was the five creatures dancing onstage, uniting together to create that one magical, electrifying sound.
Five boys, all in leather, all with DA's, all with one passion.
"When you're rockin' and a'rollin! Don't hear ya mama call!"
And a raunchy snap the music ended and it was though a spell was lifted from the room. One of the boys set down his guitar and flashed a playfully wicked grin to the crowd, his dark eyes glittering with an unknown fervor or malice—Klaus couldn't' tell which.
Klaus rushed out of the building and saw the name, "The Kaiserkeller."
He had to share this, with Astrid, with his friend Jürgen, this could remain unknown. He darted back in the club, realizing that he had forgotten one thing.
Klaus turned to a man next to him, "Please," he begged, indicating the boys onstage. "Please, tell me. Who are they?"
The man tilted his hat backward, exposing a knowing grin as he said, "Son, they're the Beatles, and you and everyone's never gonna forget it."