Chapter 2 - The Submerging

The passage of time was unclear. But it was clear that a large quantity of alcohol had been consumed in a relatively short amount of time. The table now housed the five of them. For the most part, Ian and Erik hung back, observing. And of course drinking.

"You know Fat Mr. Crab and Uli CC Rottweiler?" Jo asked the WyvernForce guitarists.

"Uh..." Stan began.

"Yes. Of course. Born to Shred. It's like a Rocky training montage, but for guitar. Cool shit. But they faded away. Part three never appeared. Shame," Lee said, his voice sharp and inquisitive despite drinking just as heavily as any of them.

"Yeah, now I remember. Speed equals emotion," Stan joined in.

"Precisely. Now just make sure, that you don't fade away," Jo said.

The whole situation and subject matter made Ian flash back to something he almost remembered. He thought of how Jo was very much happy, very much in her element, and it probably got him visibly emotional.

This was confirmed by Erik staring at him in an odd way. For once, Ian decided to confront him.

"Imagine that Kim gets to meet Albert Witchfinder at last, and you witness it and are very happy for her."

"Hm. I strongly suspect Albert wouldn't be pleased to be reminded of his past projects. He wouldn't be pleased to meet any fan at all, I think. But I get what you're saying," Erik replied.

Then, it was time to drink again. Ian thought Jo had a distinct competitive angle to it, to attempt to drink the WyvernForce duo under the table. It might not end well.

...

The night had progressed some more. The last Ian heard, Lee and Stan were contemplating the concept of fast and slow amps. If it was a slow amp, and you played fast enough, all the notes wouldn't come through. But now he met Jo at the bar.

"I remembered something. It was the mission with Blowfish. When I contacted you for some bullshit reason. And I thought of drinking properly once all the missions would be over. Seems it took this long to happen."

Ian thought Jo's voice was getting slurred, but nothing too critical yet. At least she was not yet being refused service. Ian had already long ago decided that he would stop keeping track of exactly how much of Jo's memory had recovered, but it was still interesting to note she had brought up this comparatively minor detail. Ian certainly remembered it himself, because it had involved Jo asking him to affect enemies psychically over a large distance.

"Let's drink the next round to her."

"But … you're not going to say to WyvernForce that we had this very dear friend who fought with us and blew away heads with her Desert Eagle but was left on Nibiru and now let's toast to her?"

Thankfully the bartender was some distance away.

"Of course no. We have to keep some of it classified."

"Like always."

The low lighting of the bar reflected from Jo's eyes, and just for a moment they looked sad. Ian certainly got what she was saying; to some degree it would be the story of their life. To always obscure part of the truth.

For a brief instant he considered the metal rules and that they were probably being observed. By none the less than WyvernForce. But what the hell, he thought and pulled Jo to a soft embrace. She felt unusually warm, perhaps due to the hyperactive drinking and discussion.

Jo was just a bit surprised. "Guess I looked like I needed that."

Ian thought – well, it was not correct to say that he'd never want Jo to feel sad. Because that was simply an impossibility. But that he'd always want to be there in that case. Yes. That had to be enough. He also flashed back to something else. He was sure that there existed a chord progression that described her thought patterns, that began in D minor and ended in D major. But he had no recollection of actually composing it at some point, and certainly Jo could not have composed it herself, as she didn't like any degree of self-promotion, or in most cases even being complimented.

...

Now the bar was no longer stationary. It was rotating, just slightly, but certainly a sign for Ian to only drink water from this point onward.

Erik was no longer there. He was probably in his own room already. Wise man.

But for Jo, Lee and Stan, the game was far from over. It would be a brutal test of endurance to the bitter end, Ian thought. Thankfully the last call couldn't be far any more.

"Thrash or black is the highest art," Stan said to no-one in particular. "Because then the tempo is the highest. Power metal is easier, because it's slower."

"You'd want to bring back Sataniac?" Lee asked.

"Fire and the Void!" Stan screeched in a high black metal voice.

Ian thought that Jo should have been overjoyed by this confession. That theirs was indeed the superior style. But she appeared to be sinking into a stupor now. Perhaps it had been a clever stratagem from the WyvernForceans. It was possible that they had in fact been drinking less than first appeared. Probably nothing malicious, but just years of touring experience.

Ian bumped Jo's shoulder. "You still awake?"

Jo took some time to react, then was suddenly startled. "Sure. Thrash. Speed. Burn."

Lee began a drum beat against the table, approximating the Exciter song Jo had quoted.

"Still … it might be time to call it a night," Jo added, and made to stand up, somewhat uncoordinated.

"Was fun meeting you," Stan said as they made to leave. "Keep the flag of thrash high."

"We will," Ian replied.

With some difficulty, they reached the elevator. Ian thought that this was the exfiltration part of the mission, and almost laughed aloud. Thankfully there were no enemies in pursuit. They just had to reach their room.

The elevator pinged for the third floor, and the door opened. But before they could exit, Jo fell against Ian.

"Think my tires are busted. But no worries, there's a pillow underneath me..."

Ian shook his head. What the hell was she on about? Possibly this too tied to the short period of his life that he had little recollection of. But he couldn't bring himself to be actually annoyed. Instead he was sort of happy and sad for her at the same time. Meeting WyvernForce was reason enough to get extraordinarily drunk. Or it was otherwise a "hard reset" she had needed. Only if it was to become a habit, was there reason to worry. Jo would probably get to know the deadwhite throne intimately later in the night or in the morning, but that couldn't be helped at this point.

Ian considered. Jo's words seemed to indicate that she didn't want to walk even one step more. Fair enough. Before even properly considering the risk, since he was not exactly sober himself, Ian scooped her up. As the distance was not great, he only needed a short burst of drunken energy. It was somewhat awkward going, as she was roughly equally tall, but carrying Jo around reminded Ian of Cave Story, the indie video game he had played during the delirious Innovativi3D assignment. Or alternatively, eighties / nineties action films. And mullets.

To get the room key card, Ian needed to put her down. "Provide sniper support for me while I open the door."

"What?"

It was exactly the point, to be incomprehensible in turn.

...

Ian slept unsoundly, and awoke from time to time. The room also rotated, but just a bit. He thought he was clear of the risk of vomiting. He observed the bathroom light to be on. There was the sound of running water, and the throne being flushed. Poor Jo. But she probably wanted to suffer alone.