Two men and a pub.
Thinking that the first thing to do was ensure his continued survival, Tyler shifted his position on the roof of the car to dig in with a claw-like grip. He moved to spread-eagle himself diagonally across the roof such that his head was closest to the driver's side door, and knocked on the window, since that appeared necessary to attract his attention.
"Take it easy, mate! We've lost them for sure...", he said.
The guy looked at Tyler, blinking several times, and checked his rear view window. There were a few passers by along the road that seem to be giving the car a wide berth, for some reason. Realizing he was drawing more attention to the vehicle than he possibly could, otherwise, the guy slowed down, and finally stopped. This gave Tyler a chance to remove his fingers from the steel of the roof. There were a few indents there...
The guy opened the driver's door and got out. "Wow, man, that was something... Are you Ok?" He was dressed in shorts and a singlet, with a big hat. His skin was sun and weather etched and rough, and his features hardened by the elements. He was a pretty hairy guy, full beard and mustache, giving him the kind of appearance that if he were not set to give someone a ride, he would probably be driving a Harley. Late forties, Tyler decided.
Tyler assured him that he was fine. And asks when the band would be getting in.
"Oh, like, tomorrow morning. They had to change planes a few times to get here, you know... Stuff's all here, though. Mostly."
"So ... What do you do for entertainment 'round here?" asked Tyler incongruously.
The guy blinked again, and shook his head. "Well, car surfin' ain't normally high on the list, but you may set a trend... I woulda thought ya had enough excitement with the feds and shit, though."
Tyler remained silent, then expanded the conversation with a non sequitur. "Fuck it's hot."
The guy nodded, as though there were an underlying pattern to Tyler's comments, that he finally got, which lead into a common regional response to any such situation. "Sure is. Say, I am going to put you up in the pub anyway. We'll get a drink. My shout."
Tyler considered raising his eyes to the ceiling, but decided better. No help there, he knew. He instead without comment folded himself into the car. When the guy joins him, he started again. "What was it that troubled you so much back with the "feds"?."
Intake of breath, as the car started. Music cut in at halfway through a song. 'Chrome Plated Heart' Melissa Ethridge.
"Its ... well, Saul said you were a good guy, so what the hell... It's kind of an import/ export kind of thing. Sort of." He looked uncomfortable. "Anyway, better left unsaid, mate." The car headed off towards the north, and the sun set in spectacular fashion and utter quiet, with reds and oranges and golds streaking across the sky. The radio was tuned to some sort of commercial station.
The guy suddenly piped up. "'s Adam." he said without preamble. "You are pretty un-fucking-mistakable, Tyler."
Tyler eyed the man speculatively, looking for any positive qualities that had not initially appeared to be too evident. He found that they guy seem actually pretty together, well, sort of, for a relatively dodgy kind of guy, but he seemed to have dangerous topics that were likely to set him off.
The car cruised on, and approached a wooden building in the fading light of twilight. Outside it hung a sign. "O'Malleys Bar. Beer & Rooms Rented."
Adam raised an eyebrow. "Well, I should probably do something about getting you some new clothes and shit. After we have a beer." and he exited the car.
Tyler got out of the car as well, mindful not to hit his head on the frame of the door as he did so. "Won't find much in my size...", he muttered in a bemused tone as he followed Adam towards the pub.
A feeling of mild paranoia took over him as he entered the bar, and he paused in the doorway to check out the clientele before joining Adam, who was by then undoubtedly accosting the barman for beers.
They seemed a mixed bunch, with a few common traits. They were dusty, they were tired looking, and they were drinking and making a remarkable amount of noise.
Above the din of whatever passed for background music in a place like this, Tyler just spoke to Adam, interspersing his beers with the occasional swig from his hip flask (which he does not offer).
"I knew another man called Adam once", he rumbled softly, as the song on the juke-box faded away. "He was quite old when I first met him - cynical, and bitter...he fucked up big-time when he was just starting out in the big wide world, you see - did some deals with the wrong kind of people...his woman was a bit of a sucker for the quick and easy kinda shit, if you know what I mean."
Adam just nodded, as if he was only half paying attention.
Tyler stared into his beer for a few seconds, then continued. "Hope you keep your nose outta the shit you swim in, man - I don't buy that shit any more. Don't get me wrong, mate - I used to float in pure shit - and I mean PURE - um, shit for months when I was Sh, er...He Who Must Be Obeyed - in my neck of the woods way back when, but it ain't pure any more...it'sh been corrupted."
Somewhere in there, Adam looked surprised about something, but over the next beer or two, the surprise became happy acceptance.
�But I guesh that's the way of all things nowadays - it'sh all fucked. Sooner or later ya just gotta make a shtand and bugger the lot of them, dig? That's what I'm gonna do...We're gonna get out there and give Them a show They'll not forget in a long time, and They'll know We are a force to be reckoned with!"
Tyler slammed his empty schooner on the bar, and turned towards the jukebox.
Adam blinked bemusedly at the much taller man.
"What the fuck is that bleepy-blippy rubbish, anyway?!", he thundered.
The muzak that issued from the tired machine was something by Slim Dusty, involving a train, done as an instrumental by some other 'artist'. It appears that no one had fed the machine in a while and it was humming its own favorites to itself.
Adam stood up and walked over to the juke box. He stood there for a few minutes, performing what was obviously a very complicated maneuver involving his hip pocket and both his hands. Finally, with some slow sense of satisfaction, he liberated a coin and proceeded to place it in the machine. AC/DC "Highway to Hell" abruptly blared forth, to the accompaniment of a momentary air guitar by the overweight Adam. A few leather clad gentlemen near the pool table let out a low growl of pleasure and Adam waved in their direction. They seemed to know him, and waved back.
"Thash more like it." he muttered, staggering back to the bar. "My shout again mate... Shay... whashat your drinken from the flashk? Y'aughta shave it fer later. Ken fill ya up later anyhow I guess."
Tyler was momentarily distracted by the thundering chords of Adam's selection, and it is a few moments before he responded, grinning slyly.
"It's nothin', mate. Mineral water 'f ya mush know...but I don' wantchu thinkin a big bad mother like me takes ma alcohol watered down - s'actually 'cause I am a big guy. Need more iron and shit like that, know what I'm sayin'?"
Adam blinked, then chuckled. "'S cheaper, anyway."
Tyler was taken away by the jukebox again. "Strange way to go, eh? Bon Scott - singin' now...drank himself dead. Rock stars make bigger exits than entrances, it seems. Real strange...where's the survival instinct gone?"
Adam nodded. "They all gotta go, like they've nothing to live for onsh they done shomething good. Shtupid. 'fit were me on top of the world, I would kick back 'n 'njoy it, not fuck m'shelf up... but thash just me. Threast of the band ROK though..."
Tyler shook his head, dismissing Adam's protest even though he didn�t make one. "No, I'm not forgetting your re-union tours and your boring old farts and all that crap - hell, it's not music...it's merchandizing. Ah, fuck it!" he grunts, and slammed his mug down on the bar a little too forcefully.
After a brief stunned pause Tyler attempted to downplay the situation. "The song's over...", he rumbled.
Adam eyed the machine in the background with some indecision.
Tyler staggered over to the bar, and hunched over to see eye-to-eye with the barkeep. "Sorry, mate. Adam here'll pay for everything. I ain't got local money yet - flew here economy-style. Anyway, 's time we were going. Later."
With that, Tyler grinned and turned to look at Adam meaningfully. "Gotta crash, man."
Adam nodded. "S'OK mate. I'll handle it."
Tyler left the semi inebriated and easy going man, and headed upstairs. Remembering halfway up that he did not have a room key yet, he interrupted one of the staff, and they helped him on his way.
The room was functional, but not spectacular. Tyler lowered himself onto the bed in deep thought, all ready having forgotten the staff member, who quietly lets themself out.
While having no need of sleep in the same way as mortals, Tyler often found the experience useful... and he knew the ways to dream as mortals dream, should he choose, or rest and recuperated his resources.
While he considered the events of the recent past and their significance, he took out the golden Orb of the Sun and quizzically turned it over in his hand. As he did so, he felt the slow surge of essence flowing towards him, as the midnight hour struck, and the dark music of the night filled his senses. Out there, probably aboard an aircraft or in some dingy airport, his servitor prayed to him, and the supplication supplied that little extra power that Tyler wondered if he would need to use...
...Then let him dream, thought Tyler. Something a little beyond mortal thoughts. Perhaps the Orb will illuminate things as yet unseen. After a moment's concentration on it, Tyler stopped in the name of caution. (Don't want to fry the guy's brain.)
Tyler rested on the bed diagonally, out of habit. After an irrelevant amount of time, he suddenly sat bolt upright in bed. "Uriel is not a concern!" he gasped in surprised realization, then looked around with that sense of embarrassment one gets from blurting to nobody. "And if that's the case, I've got a chance at the big time...", he murmured, somewhat more self-consciously. "This gig is going to have to be something special..."
Tyler sat on the bed, staring at the phone. After a couple of minutes, he frowned, and then reached for the phone.
"Room service?", he asked hurriedly, as soon as the phone was answered.
"Uh... yeah, right mate. What ever ya reckon..." said the drawling voice on the other end.
"I know it's...late," he said, glancing at a bit of wall which may or may not have had a clock on it, "But I need a guitar - a bass guitar, if you can manage."
Pause. "You want a what?"
"Yes, I agree it's an unusual request."
Pause. "You think you are some kind of rock star or something?" *chuckle*
"Yes, I am a rock star."
"Oh yeah?" Pause. "What band you in Mr Rock Star?"
"Ethereal Skies."
"Never heard of 'em."
"Oh, you'll have heard of us before the month is out. Would you like a backstage pass to the music festival? I'll put your name on the door. Just get me a guitar..."
Pause. "You serious, mate? It�s bloody three o'clock in the morning."
Tyler assured the man of his complete seriousness.
Pause. Something changed in the man's voice, almost imperceptibly. "Well, All right, I guess. You know this is weird, that guy from the band forgetting his base guitar last night, and now you asking for one... I was gonna forward it to them today, but other stuff just kept getting in the way... Weird..." pause. "I'll bring it up, mate." his voice was a little haunted.
A short while later, there came a gentle tapping at the door. Tyler stood, and answers it. His overhanging height and dark countenance seemed to give the man beyond some pause, and he gingerly handed out an instrument. Tyler took it wordlessly, and the door was closed quickly behind him.
The guitar was well tuned, and even without an amplifier, Tyler could hear the notes well enough.
Tyler checked out the room, and then plucked a string on the bass, listening intently to the sound it made. He frowned, and then moved around the room, playing the same note. Finally, he grunted in satisfaction as he found the optimum position in the room for the acoustic and atmospheric qualities he needed.
The driver of a road train that passed the hotel early that morning was somewhat taken aback by the unexpected silhouette in a second-floor window of a very large long-haired man in a trench-coat and holding a guitar, hands gliding over the strings in a blur. But this is not his story.
Tyler played the bass. He has had a lot of time to practice over the last few years, and due to inhuman strength in his fingers, as well as dexterity, he can manage to play some fiendishly difficult (or technically impossible) combinations of notes with a minimum of effort. Occasionally, his roving solo touched briefly on ancient codas that may have had their beginnings in the Symphony, but his "cover versions" remain aloof - he did not want to attract too much attention just yet. Much of the piece that formed in his mind is rhythmic in nature - grooves that in a live, amplified setting would be heard not by the ears, but through the vibrations of the ground. In this "unplugged" performance, the effect was minimal, but Tyler knew the effect it would have.
Pleased with his work, Tyler eventually gave the strings a rest, and cleared his mind for a couple of hours watching early morning religious shows with a sense of bemusement before heading to breakfast, and a meeting with Adam.
There was sense of foreknowledge of preparation, and clarity that accompanied the dawn. All was ready for his own efforts.
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