Now that the club has been finally approved, I can stop hyping it up like I have been for the past six chapters and can finally get on with it. Let's do that now before I forget.
EmmyEeveeZorua: As long as the mayor is around, Fuchsia's grubby grabbers will not pinch the dick that is Dicktown. Not as long as he has anything to say about it. And thank you for the Luna comment, I was shooting for a Haitian mammy archetype mixed in with established sayings from the game.
TheFrigginShogun: Thank you! One of the most fun parts about writing for me is taking an innocent setting and darkening it while still retaining a subtle, innocent charm about it.
Sorceress of Shadows: Thanks, I've certainly evolved the backstories from the beginning chapters. I'll make sure to remind myself to revisit characters like Punchy and Curt in person, that is, if I have enough room and don't end up running out of Public Works Projects to make chapters about. It's funny that you mention K.K Dirge, in an ironic sort of way. You'll see.
If you want to support me in my endeavor to provide this archive with marginally entertaining (I shouldn't boast about my own crap, should I?) stories, please, please review. Reviews and to a lesser extent, favorites, let me know that people are reading, it kind of acts as an incentive to get me to get off of my ass and do more of this stuff quicker for you, the reader. You know why? Because I love you, a lot.
Don't take that too literally.
Word Count: 847 words.
Req .21: Totakeke's Encore
"I thought you said this place would be packed."
The day is a Saturday.
The mayor and Shrunk sit on the stools at the club's bar, both have wine glasses in their hands filled to the brim with a fresh apple cider. The mayor himself would have personally appreciated something more heavy on his shoulders, but alas, it seems to be a lost cause.
The mayor's tone is quite stern, he expects more, one-hundred and ten percent more.
Shrunk offers him a sheepish smile and a shrug, "W-Well, m-maybe it's just an off-day! I mean, after all, you did come here before earlier in the week, the place was booming!"
"Hm."
The mayor takes another swig of his cider before Shrunk taps his shoulder, "Don't fret now, it does look like one person came. Hey! Isn't that Quillson over there?"
He slams his glass on the counter.
"I don't consider him a patron of notoriety."
"Ohh..."
Aside from the duck dancing to the classical background music, the club is essentially nothing more than a mere ghost town. The mayor comes face to face with this depressing fact as his eyes wander all around the club's interior, scouting for a sign of life that doesn't quack.
During his initial scan, he finds no one of particular interest (or any interest) that fits his protocol, an empty club for the purpose of burdening the most perfect deal.
It is only during his second bout of scrutinization that he finds someone that sparks his intrigue.
"Who's that?"
Shrunk gingerly sips his cider before turning around, "Oh! That's the, uh, darn I forgot his name, but he's the wandering musician, see? I hired him to kind of lighten the place up with some liv music, ya know?"
Although the mayor offers no verbal response and doesn't even bother to look the axolotl in the eye, he does nod. His attention is too swayed by the mutt on-stage to do anything else.
"I'll be right back."
Swiftly, he hops off of his stool and dusts a bit of imaginary dust off of his pants, a mild effort to look presentable in front of this supposed musician. After all, by all technicalities, the club is in his ownership, and as of such, shit instrumentalists are not allowed to hoard a stage funded by his seemingly endless pockets.
The dog is strumming his guitar, a rather old guitar that's been through a lot. There are nicks here and there, a few strings that aren't as good as as they formally were, and some of the wood is chipped.
Clearly he holds some sort of an attachment to the old thing.
'Nostalgia, maybe?'
The mayor opens his mouth, but his opportunity to speak is immediately scooped up by the enigmatic musician.
"What's shakin, bacon?" he asks, his voice is soothing, like that of a humble pacifist.
Unlike he, the mayor isn't fond of sugar coating his subjects, "I heard you're the musician who sometimes plays here. How come I've never heard of you before?"
The dog gingerly plays with the strings on his guitar, a little tune accompanied with some chill whistling, "I don't stay in places for long, I only give people what they need, and most often that's a song."
He squints his eyes at the mongrel, "Hn... I kind of co-own this bar you know, how do I even know you're good at what you do?"
"You don't know, daddy-o, and that's the best part about this show. I travel around, getting people down to my sound. It's not about the destination, it's about the journey, a humble equation."
When the mayor doesn't respond, the musician offers a comforting smile to combat his typical grimace.
"You look like you could use a chill beat, Mori. Sit down, and I'll sing us a story."
An immediate excuse is brought up.
"Don't listen to music." he mutters,
And a counter is quickly fired back.
"No need to cry, man, I play music wherever I can."
With not much other choice, the mayor sits down at a seat the chill guitarist motions to, "By the by, the name's K.K. Slider, I'm always on the fly. Some people call me Totakeke, it's my real name, but to be honest, I think it's kinda tame."
"Sounds Japanese-y." says the mayor.
"It is," K.K. takes a deep breath to gain focus. He strums a few more strings and slowly gets adjusted to the rhythm, "what would you like me to play? Would you like a request, or would you rather I make-up some zest?"
It's difficult to please a political official when it comes to anything, but the mayor takes this to a whole new level. With his arms crossed, he rolls his eyes, "I don't really care either way. It's not like I know your material anyhow."
"Cool, cool, I can work with that. I'll just work with your mood. Stay still, I'm going to light up this grill."
Music Requests: The rest of the night is showered with endless encores of Hypno K.K.