Okay, the feathers were odd. But they seemed harmless enough. And he could use an awesome new outfit for rocking out in. Why not feather tassels? But as he started gathering feathers he found himself in a ruined town. Few buildings stood at all, and those few hardly did. But he knew this town. "Barthis!" He turned to a specific direction, but when he saw himself he realized more or less what this had to be. "Another vision! A few more like this and you can call me Dominic."
"I admit," the man was saying, "it's kind of weird to see you up on both legs."
"I admit," Greg replied, "it's still kind of weird being up on both legs."
"Yeah," the man said with a broad smile, "But it hasn't stopped you. Nothing's ever stopped you, kiddo. I've always admired that about you." He gripped Greg's hand. "No matter what comes of this, I want you to know that I'm very proud of you."
"Thanks, dad."
His dad's grin grew. "I also want you to know that I brought our Axes."
Greg's returning grin was almost feral as they moved from a handshake to a prolonged fist bump. "ALL RIGHT!"
"Wait right here," his dad said before heading back the way he seemed to have come from before.
Greg nodded. "I... I wish I knew how we're going to pay all of this, dad... I don't want to go to jail."
"You're not going to jail," he said firmly, grabbing two acoustic guitars with straps from behind on of the crumbled walls with a bunch of bags an other supplies there as well. "We'll figure this out, Greg. But for now, you have a different axe to grind." He handed one of the guitars to Greg.
He gave his father a weak grin that grew stronger as he settled his guitar in place, strap over on shoulder, hands sliding easily into place. By the time they lightly tapped the headstocks of their guitars like a musical fist bump his smile was full and genuine. Hi father startd playing and within a moment Greg had joined in. They didn't have to discuss the song. They were that in tune with each other.
Something of their personalities could be seen by those watching. Both closed their eyes as they played, but while they played the same song at the same pace, everything about Greg spoke to hard rock or heavy metal. His expression, his stance, his energy. Donovan's expression was more placid. If you couldn't hear the music you could presume he was playing a gentle ballad. But their song was the same, and their notes were almost indistinguishable. It was like the same guitar was playing twice, rather than two people playing together.
Their eyes closed, neither seemed to notice how they drew the milling people from all across the ruined town to them. They were unaware of their audience. One of those people probably looked odd to anyone not from the Train or Nautilus, for he was a man made of patchwork skin tones stitched together, dressed like a pirate.
Two people, a man and a woman, stood nearby in the doorway of one of the few intact buildings. "I didn't know Gregory could play guitar," the woman said, watching them rather than the man she spoke to.
He chuckled. "He's Donovan's son. Does it really surprise you?"
"Well, no. I suppose not," she admitted. "But... my God... I had no idea how amazing Donovan was."
"He has that effect on people, take a look," he said, nodding to the gathering crowd.
For a few moments more, the guitars played as one, then without so much a change in expression, the man in pink's pace changed, tempo changed. He was playing the same song, but now far more in a rock and roll style.
Greg's grin grew and he dove into it, catching up then overtaking his father. His father's tempo caught up for just a moment synchronizing before dropping back playing a support melody as Greg's song soared through the air. Greg's eyes opened a moment, locked on his father's face, before he closed them again.
Eyes closed, they began to move as they played. Small subtle movements for Donovan, slightly larger ons from Greg that flowed so well with how his hands and arms moved that they were subtle as well. At the exact moment they came back to back the song came to what was clearly its natural end, with the pair playing the last chord in perfect sync once more. They grinned, Greg a little winded, as thy took in the now cheering crowd around them.
"Hey! Look at this! We really drew a crowd!" Greg said, excited.
"A little music can do wonders for morale," his father said.
Greg gave his dad a sly look. "I think they want more 'morale' from us, dad."
Donovan chuckled. "Pretty soon we'll have to start -"
"Charging!" they both said at the same time, both stunned for a moment before they turned to each other with the brightest smiles.
Greg grinned. "Well, if that's what's happening, I wonder how many of these things I need to catch to give everyone here a real show...." He eyed the feathers then turned to whoever was near. "If you know anyone who likes good music, bring them here, I'm going hunting for a specific memory...." He grinned.
-----------
Battle of the banned?
Later, with whoever came to see what he was on about, Greg grinned. "So if this is happy memories with our dads, and it seems like it is, then I'm trusting to luck to find the memory I want to share with you all! The battle for Barthis. We charged then, but here it is a sort of... free for all...." He grinned at his own word play, then started gathering feathers.
Was it simple chance? Was it will? Deegan luck? Some latent psychic ability? His brother's long reach? Non of the above? The world may never know. But ten feathers in, a memory started. And it was exactly the one he had wanted.
A huge crowd. It was the same ruined town except that there was a huge stage with a roof set up in the town square and a throng of people gathered before the stage to watch the show. While most were human looking, but there were a few orcs in cloaks trying to hide their green skin and tusks to blend in. As for the humans they were an odd cross section of humanity. Clothes of all different styles and fashions. Different ages, different temperaments. Near the front was a man with a striking resemblance to Greg's father, of an age to be a brother or cousin to Greg with a cane, a prosthetic leg, small armless glasses and a very striking striped scarf over a threadbare sweater, even though most people were dressed for cooler weather. Beside him was a lovely young lady who seemed human in every way other than her sharp orc like fangs. And with them was an older woman who held a long staff with a gem in it, who seemed to thrum with power, even standing still. Near the back was a knight of some sort, without a horse, dressed in black armor. At som point during the concert, near the end he and a woman in a long dress would slip off alone, not that anyone could tell that from this moment.
Suddenly a man seemed to appear on the roof of the darkened stage. The evening was clear and cloudless. Despite that lightning split the night illuminating him, showing him to be a wild haired older man in an impressive suit and ascot with what looked like a conductor's baton. He lifted it to the lightning. The bolts struck his baton, shattering it. Lightning flew from the pieces to hit the top of the stage, lighting a string of lights over the top. Not enough to let anyone see the band yet, but enough to ensure everyone knew this was all part of the show and was now watching.
Another bolt of lightning, a large one, struck the man in the chest, his eyes closed, his arms wide. "LADIES AND GENTLEMEN... LET THE SHOW... BEGIN!" On the last word he opened his eyes. Lighting burned and crackled in the sockets before gathering in his hand. "And now, without further ado..." he threw the lightning ball at the stage. "OBLIVION FOLDER!"
On the stage was Greg in a pink fringed jacket over a pink shirt and dark slacks with his guitar. His dad wore bright pink pants, and an open black vest that showed off his elaborate chest tattoo. The drummer was a green skinned orc in a white top and blue sideless skirt. The final member, also on guitar, was the patchwork man. In place of his pirate gear he wore a very colorful outfit that celebrated his mixed skin tones. Pink pants, yellow sleeveless shirt, pink bandana, purple and pink wrist wraps, green cloth belt that fluttered as he moved, blue scarf.
The concert went on for hours. The drummer didn't seem to be hitting the drums at all, rather her padded drumsticks were making shockwaves of the air, using that to punch the taut skins.
At one point near the middle the pace changed, possibly to give Greg's throat a break.
It didn't take them long to get back to high energy songs, though.
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<b>The first</b>
Okay, the feathers were odd. But they seemed harmless enough. And he could use an awesome new outfit for rocking out in. Why not feather tassels? But as he started gathering feathers he found himself <i> in a ruined town. Few buildings stood at all, and those few hardly did.</i> But he knew this town. "Barthis!" He turned to a specific direction, but when he saw himself he realized more or less what this had to be. "Another vision! A few more like this and you can call me Dominic."
<i> The village was in bad shape. People milled around, unsure, as Greg stood outside talking with <a href="https://static.wikia.nocookie.net/dominicdeegan/images/3/3b/Donovan_Deegan.jpg/revision/latest?cb=20120417041248">an older man in a bright pink coat</a>.
"I admit," the man was saying, "it's kind of weird to see you up on both legs."
"I admit," Greg replied, "it's still kind of weird <b>being</b> up on both legs."
"Yeah," the man said with a broad smile, "But it hasn't stopped you. Nothing's ever stopped you, kiddo. I've always admired that about you." He gripped Greg's hand. "No matter what comes of this, I want you to know that I'm very proud of you."
"Thanks, dad."
His dad's grin grew. "I also want you to know that I brought our Axes."
Greg's returning grin was almost feral as they moved from a handshake to a prolonged fist bump. "ALL RIGHT!"
"Wait right here," his dad said before heading back the way he seemed to have come from before.
Greg nodded. "I... I wish I knew how we're going to pay all of this, dad... I don't want to go to jail."
"You're not going to jail," he said firmly, grabbing two acoustic guitars with straps from behind on of the crumbled walls with a bunch of bags an other supplies there as well. "We'll figure this out, Greg. But for now, you have a different axe to grind." He handed one of the guitars to Greg.
He gave his father a weak grin that grew stronger as he settled his guitar in place, strap over on shoulder, hands sliding easily into place. By the time they lightly tapped the headstocks of their guitars like a musical fist bump his smile was full and genuine. Hi father startd playing and within a moment Greg had joined in. They didn't have to discuss the song. They were that <b>in tune</b> with each other.
Something of their personalities could be seen by those watching. Both closed their eyes as they played, but while they played the same song at the same pace, everything about Greg spoke to hard rock or heavy metal. His expression, his stance, his energy. Donovan's expression was more placid. If you couldn't hear the music you could presume he was playing a gentle ballad. But their song was the same, and their notes were almost indistinguishable. It was like the same guitar was playing twice, rather than two people playing together.
Their eyes closed, neither seemed to notice how they drew the milling people from all across the ruined town to them. They were unaware of their audience. One of those people probably looked odd to anyone not from the Train or Nautilus, for he was a man made of patchwork skin tones stitched together, dressed like a pirate.
Two people, a man and a woman, stood nearby in the doorway of one of the few intact buildings. "I didn't know Gregory could play guitar," the woman said, watching them rather than the man she spoke to.
He chuckled. "He's Donovan's son. Does it really surprise you?"
"Well, no. I suppose not," she admitted. "But... my God... I had no idea how amazing Donovan was."
"He has that effect on people, take a look," he said, nodding to the gathering crowd.
For a few moments more, the guitars played as one, then without so much a change in expression, the man in pink's pace changed, tempo changed. He was playing the same song, but now far more in a rock and roll style.
Greg's grin grew and he dove into it, catching up then overtaking his father. His father's tempo caught up for just a moment synchronizing before dropping back playing a support melody as Greg's song soared through the air. Greg's eyes opened a moment, locked on his father's face, before he closed them again.
Eyes closed, they began to move as they played. Small subtle movements for Donovan, slightly larger ons from Greg that flowed so well with how his hands and arms moved that they were subtle as well. At the exact moment they came back to back the song came to what was clearly its natural end, with the pair playing the last chord in perfect sync once more. They grinned, Greg a little winded, as thy took in the now cheering crowd around them.
"Hey! Look at this! We really drew a crowd!" Greg said, excited.
"A little music can do wonders for morale," his father said.
Greg gave his dad a sly look. "I think they want more 'morale' from us, dad."
Donovan chuckled. "Pretty soon we'll have to start -"
"Charging!" they both said at the same time, both stunned for a moment before they turned to each other with the brightest smiles.</i>
Greg grinned. "Well, if that's what's happening, I wonder how many of these things I need to catch to give everyone here a real show...." He eyed the feathers then turned to whoever was near. "If you know anyone who likes good music, bring them here, I'm going hunting for a specific memory...." He grinned.
-----------
<b> Battle of the banned?</b>
Later, with whoever came to see what he was on about, Greg grinned. "So if this is happy memories with our dads, and it seems like it is, then I'm trusting to luck to find the memory I want to share with you all! The battle for Barthis. We charged then, but here it is a sort of... free for all...." He grinned at his own word play, then started gathering feathers.
Was it simple chance? Was it will? Deegan luck? Some latent psychic ability? His brother's long reach? Non of the above? The world may never know. But ten feathers in, a memory started. And it was exactly the one he had wanted.
<i>A huge crowd. It was the same ruined town except that there was a huge stage with a roof set up in the town square and a throng of people gathered before the stage to watch the show. While most were human looking, but there were a few orcs in cloaks trying to hide their green skin and tusks to blend in. As for the humans they were an odd cross section of humanity. Clothes of all different styles and fashions. Different ages, different temperaments. Near the front was a man with a striking resemblance to Greg's father, of an age to be a brother or cousin to Greg with a cane, a prosthetic leg, small armless glasses and a very striking striped scarf over a threadbare sweater, even though most people were dressed for cooler weather. Beside him was a lovely young lady who seemed human in every way other than her sharp orc like fangs. And with them was an older woman who held a long staff with a gem in it, who seemed to thrum with power, even standing still. Near the back was a knight of some sort, without a horse, dressed in black armor. At som point during the concert, near the end he and a woman in a long dress would slip off alone, not that anyone could tell that from this moment.
Suddenly a man seemed to appear on the roof of the darkened stage. The evening was clear and cloudless. Despite that lightning split the night illuminating him, showing him to be a wild haired older man in an impressive suit and ascot with what looked like a conductor's baton. He lifted it to the lightning. The bolts struck his baton, shattering it. Lightning flew from the pieces to hit the top of the stage, lighting a string of lights over the top. Not enough to let anyone see the band yet, but enough to ensure everyone knew this was all part of the show and was now watching.
Another bolt of lightning, a large one, struck the man in the chest, his eyes closed, his arms wide. "LADIES AND GENTLEMEN... LET THE SHOW... BEGIN!" On the last word he opened his eyes. Lighting burned and crackled in the sockets before gathering in his hand. "And now, without further ado..." he threw the lightning ball at the stage. <a href="https://www.dominic-deegan.com/wp-content/uploads/2019/02/1066_20051203.gif">"OBLIVION FOLDER!"</a>
On the stage was Greg in a pink fringed jacket over a pink shirt and dark slacks with his guitar. His dad wore bright pink pants, and an open black vest that showed off his elaborate chest tattoo. The drummer was a green skinned orc in a white top and blue sideless skirt. The final member, also on guitar, was the patchwork man. In place of his pirate gear he wore a very colorful outfit that celebrated his mixed skin tones. Pink pants, yellow sleeveless shirt, pink bandana, purple and pink wrist wraps, green cloth belt that fluttered as he moved, blue scarf.
<a href="https://www.dominic-deegan.com/wp-content/uploads/2019/02/1067_20051204.jpg">The concert</a> went <a href="https://www.dominic-deegan.com/wp-content/uploads/2019/02/1071_20051209.gif">on for hours</a>. The drummer didn't seem to be hitting the drums at all, rather her padded drumsticks were making shockwaves of the air, using that to punch the taut skins.
At one point near the middle the <a href="https://www.dominic-deegan.com/wp-content/uploads/2019/02/1069_20051206.gif">pace changed</a>, possibly to give Greg's throat a break.
It didn't take them long to get back to <a href="https://www.dominic-deegan.com/wp-content/uploads/2019/02/1071_20051209.gif">high energy</a> songs, though.
Then it was time for the drum solo. <a href="https://www.dominic-deegan.com/wp-content/uploads/2019/02/1072_20051210.gif">Except that when she shouted to begin, an orc in the audience shouted back.</a> Melina, the drummer shouted a challenge. And the strange orc <a href="https://www.dominic-deegan.com/wp-content/uploads/2019/02/1073_20051211.jpg>answered.</a> (Warning for one bad word.) The other orc leapt onto the stage. The drummer moved to a long staff and the two did a <a href="https://www.dominic-deegan.com/wp-content/uploads/2019/02/1074_20051212.gif">duet</a> of drumming and dance. The dancing! The drumming! It was <a href="YOUR LINK HERE">a hit.</a> With an <a href="https://www.dominic-deegan.com/wp-content/uploads/2019/02/1077_20051221.gif">unexpected development</a> when the drummer leapt, as no human could, into the crowd to hug one of the other orcs. When she returned, Greg invited the dancer to dance for the rest of the show, and the crowd went wild with glee over the idea.
The concert went long. A few people, like the one legged man and the girl with the fangs left for a bit, missing when Greg tossed his jacket to the crowd in a fit of adrenaline.
On and <a href="https://www.dominic-deegan.com/wp-content/uploads/2019/02/1089_20060103.gif">on</a> the concert went. Long into the night. And the crowd loved it, most of them sticking through to the very end. And with the dimming of the stage lights, so too dimmed the memory.</i>
"Wow... I... wow. Shame it ended when it did...." Greg shook his head. "And I didn't realize Dominic and Szark and Luna left the concert for a while. Wonder why. And did you see where he had his "I'm having a vision" face? I missed that from the stage. A little mixed that Siggy left in the middle... but why did Jayden? Oh well, I won't tell you what happened after the concert, after al, I'm not one to kiss and tell....."
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timeasmymeasure
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Date: 2023-06-24 11:28 am (UTC)Okay, the feathers were odd. But they seemed harmless enough. And he could use an awesome new outfit for rocking out in. Why not feather tassels? But as he started gathering feathers he found himself in a ruined town. Few buildings stood at all, and those few hardly did. But he knew this town. "Barthis!" He turned to a specific direction, but when he saw himself he realized more or less what this had to be. "Another vision! A few more like this and you can call me Dominic."
The village was in bad shape. People milled around, unsure, as Greg stood outside talking with an older man in a bright pink coat.
"I admit," the man was saying, "it's kind of weird to see you up on both legs."
"I admit," Greg replied, "it's still kind of weird being up on both legs."
"Yeah," the man said with a broad smile, "But it hasn't stopped you. Nothing's ever stopped you, kiddo. I've always admired that about you." He gripped Greg's hand. "No matter what comes of this, I want you to know that I'm very proud of you."
"Thanks, dad."
His dad's grin grew. "I also want you to know that I brought our Axes."
Greg's returning grin was almost feral as they moved from a handshake to a prolonged fist bump. "ALL RIGHT!"
"Wait right here," his dad said before heading back the way he seemed to have come from before.
Greg nodded. "I... I wish I knew how we're going to pay all of this, dad... I don't want to go to jail."
"You're not going to jail," he said firmly, grabbing two acoustic guitars with straps from behind on of the crumbled walls with a bunch of bags an other supplies there as well. "We'll figure this out, Greg. But for now, you have a different axe to grind." He handed one of the guitars to Greg.
He gave his father a weak grin that grew stronger as he settled his guitar in place, strap over on shoulder, hands sliding easily into place. By the time they lightly tapped the headstocks of their guitars like a musical fist bump his smile was full and genuine. Hi father startd playing and within a moment Greg had joined in. They didn't have to discuss the song. They were that in tune with each other.
Something of their personalities could be seen by those watching. Both closed their eyes as they played, but while they played the same song at the same pace, everything about Greg spoke to hard rock or heavy metal. His expression, his stance, his energy. Donovan's expression was more placid. If you couldn't hear the music you could presume he was playing a gentle ballad. But their song was the same, and their notes were almost indistinguishable. It was like the same guitar was playing twice, rather than two people playing together.
Their eyes closed, neither seemed to notice how they drew the milling people from all across the ruined town to them. They were unaware of their audience. One of those people probably looked odd to anyone not from the Train or Nautilus, for he was a man made of patchwork skin tones stitched together, dressed like a pirate.
Two people, a man and a woman, stood nearby in the doorway of one of the few intact buildings. "I didn't know Gregory could play guitar," the woman said, watching them rather than the man she spoke to.
He chuckled. "He's Donovan's son. Does it really surprise you?"
"Well, no. I suppose not," she admitted. "But... my God... I had no idea how amazing Donovan was."
"He has that effect on people, take a look," he said, nodding to the gathering crowd.
For a few moments more, the guitars played as one, then without so much a change in expression, the man in pink's pace changed, tempo changed. He was playing the same song, but now far more in a rock and roll style.
Greg's grin grew and he dove into it, catching up then overtaking his father. His father's tempo caught up for just a moment synchronizing before dropping back playing a support melody as Greg's song soared through the air. Greg's eyes opened a moment, locked on his father's face, before he closed them again.
Eyes closed, they began to move as they played. Small subtle movements for Donovan, slightly larger ons from Greg that flowed so well with how his hands and arms moved that they were subtle as well. At the exact moment they came back to back the song came to what was clearly its natural end, with the pair playing the last chord in perfect sync once more. They grinned, Greg a little winded, as thy took in the now cheering crowd around them.
"Hey! Look at this! We really drew a crowd!" Greg said, excited.
"A little music can do wonders for morale," his father said.
Greg gave his dad a sly look. "I think they want more 'morale' from us, dad."
Donovan chuckled. "Pretty soon we'll have to start -"
"Charging!" they both said at the same time, both stunned for a moment before they turned to each other with the brightest smiles.
Greg grinned. "Well, if that's what's happening, I wonder how many of these things I need to catch to give everyone here a real show...." He eyed the feathers then turned to whoever was near. "If you know anyone who likes good music, bring them here, I'm going hunting for a specific memory...." He grinned.
-----------
Battle of the banned?
Later, with whoever came to see what he was on about, Greg grinned. "So if this is happy memories with our dads, and it seems like it is, then I'm trusting to luck to find the memory I want to share with you all! The battle for Barthis. We charged then, but here it is a sort of... free for all...." He grinned at his own word play, then started gathering feathers.
Was it simple chance? Was it will? Deegan luck? Some latent psychic ability? His brother's long reach? Non of the above? The world may never know. But ten feathers in, a memory started. And it was exactly the one he had wanted.
A huge crowd. It was the same ruined town except that there was a huge stage with a roof set up in the town square and a throng of people gathered before the stage to watch the show. While most were human looking, but there were a few orcs in cloaks trying to hide their green skin and tusks to blend in. As for the humans they were an odd cross section of humanity. Clothes of all different styles and fashions. Different ages, different temperaments. Near the front was a man with a striking resemblance to Greg's father, of an age to be a brother or cousin to Greg with a cane, a prosthetic leg, small armless glasses and a very striking striped scarf over a threadbare sweater, even though most people were dressed for cooler weather. Beside him was a lovely young lady who seemed human in every way other than her sharp orc like fangs. And with them was an older woman who held a long staff with a gem in it, who seemed to thrum with power, even standing still. Near the back was a knight of some sort, without a horse, dressed in black armor. At som point during the concert, near the end he and a woman in a long dress would slip off alone, not that anyone could tell that from this moment.
Suddenly a man seemed to appear on the roof of the darkened stage. The evening was clear and cloudless. Despite that lightning split the night illuminating him, showing him to be a wild haired older man in an impressive suit and ascot with what looked like a conductor's baton. He lifted it to the lightning. The bolts struck his baton, shattering it. Lightning flew from the pieces to hit the top of the stage, lighting a string of lights over the top. Not enough to let anyone see the band yet, but enough to ensure everyone knew this was all part of the show and was now watching.
Another bolt of lightning, a large one, struck the man in the chest, his eyes closed, his arms wide. "LADIES AND GENTLEMEN... LET THE SHOW... BEGIN!" On the last word he opened his eyes. Lighting burned and crackled in the sockets before gathering in his hand. "And now, without further ado..." he threw the lightning ball at the stage. "OBLIVION FOLDER!"
On the stage was Greg in a pink fringed jacket over a pink shirt and dark slacks with his guitar. His dad wore bright pink pants, and an open black vest that showed off his elaborate chest tattoo. The drummer was a green skinned orc in a white top and blue sideless skirt. The final member, also on guitar, was the patchwork man. In place of his pirate gear he wore a very colorful outfit that celebrated his mixed skin tones. Pink pants, yellow sleeveless shirt, pink bandana, purple and pink wrist wraps, green cloth belt that fluttered as he moved, blue scarf.
The concert went on for hours. The drummer didn't seem to be hitting the drums at all, rather her padded drumsticks were making shockwaves of the air, using that to punch the taut skins.
At one point near the middle the pace changed, possibly to give Greg's throat a break.
It didn't take them long to get back to high energy songs, though.
Then it was time for the drum solo. Except that when she shouted to begin, an orc in the audience shouted back. Melina, the drummer shouted a challenge. And the strange orc
Okay, the feathers were odd. But they seemed harmless enough. And he could use an awesome new outfit for rocking out in. Why not feather tassels? But as he started gathering feathers he found himself <i> in a ruined town. Few buildings stood at all, and those few hardly did.</i> But he knew this town. "Barthis!" He turned to a specific direction, but when he saw himself he realized more or less what this had to be. "Another vision! A few more like this and you can call me Dominic."
<i>
The village was in bad shape. People milled around, unsure, as Greg stood outside talking with <a href="https://static.wikia.nocookie.net/dominicdeegan/images/3/3b/Donovan_Deegan.jpg/revision/latest?cb=20120417041248">an older man in a bright pink coat</a>.
"I admit," the man was saying, "it's kind of weird to see you up on both legs."
"I admit," Greg replied, "it's still kind of weird <b>being</b> up on both legs."
"Yeah," the man said with a broad smile, "But it hasn't stopped you. Nothing's ever stopped you, kiddo. I've always admired that about you." He gripped Greg's hand. "No matter what comes of this, I want you to know that I'm very proud of you."
"Thanks, dad."
His dad's grin grew. "I also want you to know that I brought our Axes."
Greg's returning grin was almost feral as they moved from a handshake to a prolonged fist bump. "ALL RIGHT!"
"Wait right here," his dad said before heading back the way he seemed to have come from before.
Greg nodded. "I... I wish I knew how we're going to pay all of this, dad... I don't want to go to jail."
"You're not going to jail," he said firmly, grabbing two acoustic guitars with straps from behind on of the crumbled walls with a bunch of bags an other supplies there as well. "We'll figure this out, Greg. But for now, you have a different axe to grind." He handed one of the guitars to Greg.
He gave his father a weak grin that grew stronger as he settled his guitar in place, strap over on shoulder, hands sliding easily into place. By the time they lightly tapped the headstocks of their guitars like a musical fist bump his smile was full and genuine. Hi father startd playing and within a moment Greg had joined in. They didn't have to discuss the song. They were that <b>in tune</b> with each other.
Something of their personalities could be seen by those watching. Both closed their eyes as they played, but while they played the same song at the same pace, everything about Greg spoke to hard rock or heavy metal. His expression, his stance, his energy. Donovan's expression was more placid. If you couldn't hear the music you could presume he was playing a gentle ballad. But their song was the same, and their notes were almost indistinguishable. It was like the same guitar was playing twice, rather than two people playing together.
Their eyes closed, neither seemed to notice how they drew the milling people from all across the ruined town to them. They were unaware of their audience. One of those people probably looked odd to anyone not from the Train or Nautilus, for he was a man made of patchwork skin tones stitched together, dressed like a pirate.
Two people, a man and a woman, stood nearby in the doorway of one of the few intact buildings. "I didn't know Gregory could play guitar," the woman said, watching them rather than the man she spoke to.
He chuckled. "He's Donovan's son. Does it really surprise you?"
"Well, no. I suppose not," she admitted. "But... my God... I had no idea how amazing Donovan was."
"He has that effect on people, take a look," he said, nodding to the gathering crowd.
For a few moments more, the guitars played as one, then without so much a change in expression, the man in pink's pace changed, tempo changed. He was playing the same song, but now far more in a rock and roll style.
Greg's grin grew and he dove into it, catching up then overtaking his father. His father's tempo caught up for just a moment synchronizing before dropping back playing a support melody as Greg's song soared through the air. Greg's eyes opened a moment, locked on his father's face, before he closed them again.
Eyes closed, they began to move as they played. Small subtle movements for Donovan, slightly larger ons from Greg that flowed so well with how his hands and arms moved that they were subtle as well. At the exact moment they came back to back the song came to what was clearly its natural end, with the pair playing the last chord in perfect sync once more. They grinned, Greg a little winded, as thy took in the now cheering crowd around them.
"Hey! Look at this! We really drew a crowd!" Greg said, excited.
"A little music can do wonders for morale," his father said.
Greg gave his dad a sly look. "I think they want more 'morale' from us, dad."
Donovan chuckled. "Pretty soon we'll have to start -"
"Charging!" they both said at the same time, both stunned for a moment before they turned to each other with the brightest smiles.</i>
Greg grinned. "Well, if that's what's happening, I wonder how many of these things I need to catch to give everyone here a real show...." He eyed the feathers then turned to whoever was near. "If you know anyone who likes good music, bring them here, I'm going hunting for a specific memory...." He grinned.
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<b> Battle of the banned?</b>
Later, with whoever came to see what he was on about, Greg grinned. "So if this is happy memories with our dads, and it seems like it is, then I'm trusting to luck to find the memory I want to share with you all! The battle for Barthis. We charged then, but here it is a sort of... free for all...." He grinned at his own word play, then started gathering feathers.
Was it simple chance? Was it will? Deegan luck? Some latent psychic ability? His brother's long reach? Non of the above? The world may never know. But ten feathers in, a memory started. And it was exactly the one he had wanted.
<i>A huge crowd. It was the same ruined town except that there was a huge stage with a roof set up in the town square and a throng of people gathered before the stage to watch the show. While most were human looking, but there were a few orcs in cloaks trying to hide their green skin and tusks to blend in. As for the humans they were an odd cross section of humanity. Clothes of all different styles and fashions. Different ages, different temperaments. Near the front was a man with a striking resemblance to Greg's father, of an age to be a brother or cousin to Greg with a cane, a prosthetic leg, small armless glasses and a very striking striped scarf over a threadbare sweater, even though most people were dressed for cooler weather. Beside him was a lovely young lady who seemed human in every way other than her sharp orc like fangs. And with them was an older woman who held a long staff with a gem in it, who seemed to thrum with power, even standing still. Near the back was a knight of some sort, without a horse, dressed in black armor. At som point during the concert, near the end he and a woman in a long dress would slip off alone, not that anyone could tell that from this moment.
Suddenly a man seemed to appear on the roof of the darkened stage. The evening was clear and cloudless. Despite that lightning split the night illuminating him, showing him to be a wild haired older man in an impressive suit and ascot with what looked like a conductor's baton. He lifted it to the lightning. The bolts struck his baton, shattering it. Lightning flew from the pieces to hit the top of the stage, lighting a string of lights over the top. Not enough to let anyone see the band yet, but enough to ensure everyone knew this was all part of the show and was now watching.
Another bolt of lightning, a large one, struck the man in the chest, his eyes closed, his arms wide. "LADIES AND GENTLEMEN... LET THE SHOW... BEGIN!" On the last word he opened his eyes. Lighting burned and crackled in the sockets before gathering in his hand. "And now, without further ado..." he threw the lightning ball at the stage. <a href="https://www.dominic-deegan.com/wp-content/uploads/2019/02/1066_20051203.gif">"OBLIVION FOLDER!"</a>
On the stage was Greg in a pink fringed jacket over a pink shirt and dark slacks with his guitar. His dad wore bright pink pants, and an open black vest that showed off his elaborate chest tattoo. The drummer was a green skinned orc in a white top and blue sideless skirt. The final member, also on guitar, was the patchwork man. In place of his pirate gear he wore a very colorful outfit that celebrated his mixed skin tones. Pink pants, yellow sleeveless shirt, pink bandana, purple and pink wrist wraps, green cloth belt that fluttered as he moved, blue scarf.
<a href="https://www.dominic-deegan.com/wp-content/uploads/2019/02/1067_20051204.jpg">The concert</a> went <a href="https://www.dominic-deegan.com/wp-content/uploads/2019/02/1071_20051209.gif">on for hours</a>. The drummer didn't seem to be hitting the drums at all, rather her padded drumsticks were making shockwaves of the air, using that to punch the taut skins.
At one point near the middle the <a href="https://www.dominic-deegan.com/wp-content/uploads/2019/02/1069_20051206.gif">pace changed</a>, possibly to give Greg's throat a break.
It didn't take them long to get back to <a href="https://www.dominic-deegan.com/wp-content/uploads/2019/02/1071_20051209.gif">high energy</a> songs, though.
Then it was time for the drum solo. <a href="https://www.dominic-deegan.com/wp-content/uploads/2019/02/1072_20051210.gif">Except that when she shouted to begin, an orc in the audience shouted back.</a> Melina, the drummer shouted a challenge. And the strange orc <a href="https://www.dominic-deegan.com/wp-content/uploads/2019/02/1073_20051211.jpg>answered.</a> (Warning for one bad word.) The other orc leapt onto the stage. The drummer moved to a long staff and the two did a <a href="https://www.dominic-deegan.com/wp-content/uploads/2019/02/1074_20051212.gif">duet</a> of drumming and dance. The dancing! The drumming! It was <a href="YOUR LINK HERE">a hit.</a> With an <a href="https://www.dominic-deegan.com/wp-content/uploads/2019/02/1077_20051221.gif">unexpected development</a> when the drummer leapt, as no human could, into the crowd to hug one of the other orcs. When she returned, Greg invited the dancer to dance for the rest of the show, and the crowd went wild with glee over the idea.
The concert went long. A few people, like the one legged man and the girl with the fangs left for a bit, missing when Greg tossed his jacket to the crowd in a fit of adrenaline.
On and <a href="https://www.dominic-deegan.com/wp-content/uploads/2019/02/1089_20060103.gif">on</a> the concert went. Long into the night. And the crowd loved it, most of them sticking through to the very end. And with the dimming of the stage lights, so too dimmed the memory.</i>
"Wow... I... wow. Shame it ended when it did...." Greg shook his head. "And I didn't realize Dominic and Szark and Luna left the concert for a while. Wonder why. And did you see where he had his "I'm having a vision" face? I missed that from the stage. A little mixed that Siggy left in the middle... but why did Jayden? Oh well, I won't tell you what happened after the concert, after al, I'm not one to kiss and tell....."
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