The truly awful acoustics of the bar do something that's… wonderfully horrible to 'Violent Hemorrhages' music. If I had to describe it, it's like hearing a child play an instrument without really trying, and enjoying every moment of it. They're not hearing the sound they make, they're just feeling the fantasy overtake reality. Hearing what could be.

In a way, the really good musicians never really get out of that headspace, I think. Still just happy children plucking away. Only difference is their fingers know the mind better, and they go the same places. Or something.

Motoko's not really vibing with this, I can tell. She's just going through the motions. It's kinda cute how she unknowingly places her fingers to break ahead of the other kids on stage, wanting to run with the song and transform it into something… more. But she holds herself back at the last moment, always letting her fingers just follow the script, never really speaking her voice.

The shriek of a badly tuned amp preludes a harsh nasally scream. "RAAAAAAAAAAAH! YEAAAHH! THIS CROWD'S FEELING IT! Now that we've got Orphy we can ROCK THIS PLACE! AAAAAAAA!"

The lead singer's guitar is really into this, and the crowd is only kinda feeling it. I kind of envy how comfortable he looks, covered in bloody red tattoos, with barely any cloth to obscure them, the crimson soaks his image like a kitten caught in a ketchup monsoon.

Heh.

The bassy timbre of several voices speaking in stereo rumbles up from the drums. "It's good to have you back Orphy. None of us were okay with what That Prick Cuntmen did."

I turn my head and give him a lazy smile, the soft edges of my frizzy hair tickling my shoulders. I'll get used to that eventually. "It's cool, water under the bridge."

The two blink at me, the guitar actually stopping his terminal gyrations to fix me with a concerned stare. "... you preem, Orphy?" He asks with the strained growl of a chainsaw.

I just shrug at him.

The drums chuckle. "Orphy's just playin' a prank on us! She, what, got some new color and replaced a few strings? We were really worried about you, y'know. I'm glad to see you back. Full band again!"

"HAH! PRANK! HEAHEHAGAHGAGAHGAAAAAA! RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH! YOU LITTLE SHIT! FUCK, aAAAAAAAH! YOU'RE TOO FUCK'N FUNNY! AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!" The guitar discordantly thunders, sounding genuinely enraged, and then losing himself to another fit of gyrations.

…I don't know these 'ments.

"So we were in a band before this? I don't remember that."

The drums laugh again. "Aw, come on Orphy, drop it already. Y'know that'll make Bludjunk get all emotional."

"GHAAAAGHAAAAAAKGH!" 'Bludjunk' screams, at nothing in particular. I'm not even sure he heard the drums… or me.

I just shrug again. "I'm not really joking. Can't say I ever remember meeting you before. Maybe in another life or something."

"Kuso… You're not joking… What happened to you?"

I lean back and think as Motoko briefly loses control and strums something actually worth vibin' to, before catching herself and getting back to the grind. "...A rebirth, I think. Or whatever it was that 'Cuntman' did."

The drums places his hands on his knees, and swivels to face me fully on his stool. "He, like, smashed smashed you. Full force, kamikaze-type shit. I-... we didn't expect to see you again."

Bludjunk pitches forward and starts tearing at his hair, grumbling and squealing between rapid breaths.

That… explains a few things. It doesn't really change anything though.

Maybe it was just meant to happen?

"...Well. I'm Orpheus. Nice to meetcha." I mumble.

They both once again pause, then glance at each other, then back at me.

The drums nods politely, a note of hurt in his voice. "Well, that's just how it is a guess… Welcome to the band… Orpheus."

Bludjunk takes a deep breath, and then starts punching himself in the face as he speaks. "haaaa, YOU *punch* SEEM *punch* REALLY *punch* NICE *punch* AN *punch* ssSHIT! HGAAAA!"

Drums raises his sticks and puts on a smile. "What do you say we make some music?"

I nod politely and smile back.

I'm sure someone considers this good music.

Many feet shuffle through the dimly lit back room.

"You did great! We can do this without Carmen!"

Bludjunk roars in agreement, spouting some expletives for spice.

I've unconsciously started tuning him out.

"Do what without me? Play shit dives for the rest of your life?" A kid I assume to be 'Cuntman' replies, defying the rhetorical.

The kid… doesn't look like much. He moves and speaks with a sort of 'Ennies store swagger'.

This was the one who broke me?

…

I wonder if I should feel something about that. What should I feel?

Grateful?

That doesn't seem right.

Angry?

That's Bludjunk's vibe, anything I could manage would feel like a fake beside his, frankly, stellar example.

Well, I don't really remember who I was. But I'm someone new now. So that kind of makes him my creator?

No, Motoko's more like my Creator. He's more like… A murderer, or something.

Do I really need to feel anything about him? What happened, happened. What he did was wrong, wasteful, an overall harshing of reality's vibe. A sum negative impact on existence. Probably.

Those sorts of factors have a way of sorting themselves out, don't they? What he does will eventually come around, and he'll… hmm. Maybe like a resonant tuning fork, his negativity will be in tune, and attract more negativity, or something, and they'll cancel eachother out? Bigger fish?

Whatever. I'm not a fish, and I don't like water. Kind of cool how far sound travels in it though.

"Go back to your studio and sing a song for Mr. Studd Ads or whatever it is you do. The real musicians are here."

Ooh, I zoned out. That really knocked Cuntman out of tune though. What's a Mister stud?

Is it like my studs? Maybe a type of stud that's really good at holding a guitar's strings to its body?

Hmm… Sounds kinda nice, Motoko didn't replace my studs, I think, but maybe she'll get me some mister studs sometime.

Wait, if it was a good thing it wouldn't be an insult. So it's probably a bad thing, cheap metal studs that rattle, or something.

My current studs are good anyway.

"I feel stupid! And Contagious! Here we are now!"

Oop, zoned again… That sounds like Motoko coming from the speakers in this place. Why does she seem angry now?

Motoko moves with purpose, each foot falling with weight. The lights flicker in time with her pace, and a sort of energy starts to build. Like the static before a lightning bolt.

"If you all are going to be forced to listen to my songs, since I'm here, at least you'll listen to them live. This is Smells Like Teen Spirit."

Her fingers caress my strings, releasing a melody that had been constrained before. The world seems to collapse around me as it is reshaped, note by note the venue changes to a smokey gymnasium.

What's going on?

A faceless audience dressed in strangely simple clothing. Milling around on their feet, nodding slowly along with the gentle pace of reality's rhythm.

Reality's rhythm? What does that even mean?

The music swells as Motoko abruptly changes pace, something that had been building releases in a frenzy. The crowd undulates, not dancing to the song, but just throwing themselves around.

I… I think I get it. Everyone's hearing the music, and, like, making it a part of themselves, becoming it. Or maybe the music is a part of them, like, it always was, and we're just letting it out?

Whatever is going on, it's Amazing! Is my hair a different color?

The wild abandon of the gymnasium falls away, descending to an unfathomable depth as the ground disappears before me. I'm not sure what I'm even seeing. Is it seeing? Or is that something else? My strings thrum again, strummed by the world as the feeling of elevation overtakes me.

A flame ignites as the song smoothly shifts to another, Motoko doesn't sing, she's not talking her voice, it's like she's singing the world's music, giving sound to a fractal aspect of the whole. I get a glimpse of reality, I think it's reality, the crowd is actually feeling it now. The doors are basically being held open as more and more people come in, recognizing the sound of their own souls maybe? Wait, was that my arm in front of me just now? Am I dancing or something? If I am, it feels right somehow.

Then the world becomes brittle again, frayed at the edges, badly painted like a sweatshop marionette. Fake. Just pretending. And Motoko gives it voice again, her soundwaves reverberating out through the structure, shattering the cheap copies, annihilating the worldly amalgamated imitations. ROARING like a destroyed highway overpass, the cars spilling forth heedless of the risks posed, taken by the moment of elation as change overcomes the monolithic.

Then the tempo shifts, now slow like a heartbeat. A cool salty rain starts falling, covering the shattered remains in its white corrosive residue. The electric high falls, let down by a beat no longer able to sustain it.

Encore.

But there's still something under my skin.

Encore.

The tuning fork still sends ripples through the water's surface.

Encore.

"Alright, This is something new, bit slower paced since I don't have a full set for it. It's called… Everlong." She says, though tiny and wane to me. Like a long neglected amp, slowly regaining power for the first time, in a long time. Once again reunited with sound and song.

Then, like the echoes of a power cord slowly vanishing through the old cracks of water stained drywall, the moment fades. And it's just me and her on stage, with a cheering crowd beneath.

…

What just happened?

The drums look at me, his eyes staring deep and feeling something that I can't see through the murky lights of the backstage area. "Orpheus… That was…"

Bludjunk is silently crying. His tears are bloody. "That… sounded *sniffle* good." He sounds almost calm, if calm could be described as 'unoiled engine slowly rattling itself apart'.

I smile at them both. "Yeah, it did, didn't it? … I'm not really sure what happened, drums… Hey, that reminds me, do you have a name? I never heard yours."

The Drumset laughs. "Nah, we're just drums. We're all just drums… Or 'The drums' if you're feeling fancy. Less confusing than trying to remember names. Although most don't usually care enough to ask." He looks at me with appreciation.

I smile back.