Filet of Soul

Boys Night Out

The first order of business before heading out was finding something for Zag to wear. The demon's body shape was initially a problem, he was pear-shaped with a formidable midsection. Zane was lucky enough to find a corset and a girdle which he applied to Zag in conjunction, creating a relatively human outline for the demon. Zag for his part did not seem to mind the constriction.

For clothing, Zane found some of his dad's motorcycle leathers, pants and a jacket that fit his new friend surprisingly well. The feet were an unsolvable problem, given that Zag was about a size twenty even without taking his talons into account. Zane thought the easiest explanation would be that Zag's feet were actually fake, worn to create an overall effect. The final issues were Zag's paws and that problem was solved by filing down his claws on an industrial belt sander in Zane's garage.

All totaled, it took Zane and Zag about two hours to prepare for their quest for fun and the two comrades were anxious to get started.

Their choice of transport was limited. Atticus traveled on a handsome Electra Glide Harley Davidson motorcycle, but did not let Zane ride it or purchase anything nearly as nice. His only choices were a small Italian scooter with a top speed of about thirty miles an hour or his parent's dreadful 1976 Ford Pinto. There was no way they could fit on the scooter, so the Pinto it was.

The nightclub they were going to was one of the few that serviced that very particular niche of the rock audience that was fascinated with the dark side of human nature, including but not limited to satanists, ultra-goths, bloodsuckers, fetishists, hyper-emos, and the chronically over-tattooed. This haven of the bizarre was called The Seventh Circle. The venue was extremely crowded.

As outwardly dangerous as the clientele might have appeared, they were actually a quite friendly bunch, safe within a haven of like minds and away from the judgements of society. The sounds of laughter and joviality were in stark counterpoint to the clubs interior design of black walls and blood-red graffiti expounding the virtues of Satan and his host.

When Zag and Zane entered, Zag was the center of attention. Envious whispers and exclamations could be heard over the din of conversation. As they walked through the club, heads continued to turn.

Zane noticed a girl waving to him from across the room. He recognized her as a member of his brother's band and made his way over to her table with Zag in tow.

The girl, Dara, sported about a dozen facial piercings including a row of five silver pins through her nose and a small bell dangling from a safety pin that penetrated her eyebrow. She was the band's lead guitarist. Dara was staring at Zag and grinning broadly.
"Absolutely awesome man, that is some great work. Those horns are amazing!" 

Zane stepped in, "Hi Dara, this is my friend Zag, from Portland. Can we join you?"

"Sure man have a seat. Are you a musician Zag?"

"I sing," the demon answered cautiously.

"Cool. I can't get over how great you look."

"Thank you," Zag answered quietly. No one had ever complimented his appearance before.

Zane interrupted, "Where's the rest of your band? Aren't you guys headlining tonight?"

"We were supposed to be," Dara said, becoming suddenly sullen, "but that fuckwit brother of yours, worthless piece of dogshit that he is, decided to celebrate a bit early. He dosed up after the first set. Then he got into a fight with some rando and took a second dose to celebrate kicking the crap out of him. The worthless prick passed out and we can't wake him. If we can't get him revived for a second set soon, we ain't getting paid."

Neither Dara nor the other two band members used hard drugs, only Atticus. Zane had always regarded hard drugs as an idiot's paradise, a game of biological roulette with no winners. He dared to mention this to Atticus, who immediately berated him and then denounced him as a "conformist pussy".

His brother's chemical vice of choice was a potent designer drug called 'Mongrel' which consisted of ketamine and cocaine, with a bit of heroin mixed in to ensure maximum brain cell destruction. On at least two previous occasions, Atticus had OD'd, barely surviving, and once remaining comatose for a week. On both occasions, Atticus viewed his survival as some sort of philosophical victory to be celebrated by yet another dose of Mongrel.

Bobo and Jim, the other two members of Putrid Blood Clot, came to the table dejectedly. After staring at Zag for a moment, Bobo, the drummer pounded his fist on the table.
"I hate your fucking brother, Zane. He's never sober, his voice sucks, and he treats us like shit. I realize he bought us our instruments, but that excuse stopped having legs long ago."

Jim agreed, "This is the third date in a row he's screwed for us. I don't think he wants us to make any money....then we won't need him. I wish we could finish this set, but shit for brains is still passed out."

Dara perked up, "Zag here is a singer! He could finish the set with us. He's got a great look and he's bound to have a better voice than Atticus."

Zag protested nervously, "I....I...couldn't! I don't know any of your songs. All I know is old stuff, nothing like what Zane tells me you play."

"What stuff?" Bobo asked.

"Elvis Presley, Little Richard, you know....old stuff."

Jim broke out into a wide grin, "Perfect! We all know those standards. We'll update them, make them real rough and fast. Just scream the lyrics like you're really angry! Howl once in a while and make scary faces...look, we really need the money. You'd be doing us a great favor."

"I don't know...," Zag said nervously.

"Do it Zag," Zane said encouragingly, "what have you got to lose?"

Zag stared at Zane and a smile crossed his face, "Nothing, I've got nothing to lose," he turned to the three band members, "Let's do it! I'll try not to let you down."

The musicians laughed heartily and clapped Zag on the back before leading him up to the stage. After a few quick words with the MC, they set up their instruments.

The MC addressed the audience, "Everybody, welcome back Putrid Blood Clot with special guest vocalist Zag, The Voice of Evil!!"

Zane sat back and applauded as the band struck up what could best be described as amped up and throbbing version of 'Blue Suede Shoes'. Zag committed himself fully and screeched out the words in a manical, yet lyrical rendition of the classic, a pulsing angry version punctuated by malevolent howls that brought the audience to its feet in approval.

"...Well, you can knock me down! step in my face!
Slander my name all over the place!
Do anything that you want to do!
But uh-uh honey, lay off of my shoes..."

The audience went crazy! They bounced off of each other in some strange version of dancing.

"... You can burn my house! steal my car!
Drink my liquor from an old fruit-jar!
Do anything that you want to do
But uh-uh baby, lay off of my shoes..."

Another unearthly howl by Zag fed the frenzy and as he concluded the first song, the ecstatic smile on the demon's face was matched by look of satisfaction on Zane's. This was a great night!