Human! Mayhem

We're not in New Orleans any more

For two years, Floyd and Dr. Teeth had made a life under the roof of Floyd's parents, the closest thing to a stable home they’d ever known. Floyd's parents, old-school hippies with open hearts, had welcomed them without judgment. They took in the pair of musicians and their adopted son, Animal, who was a whirlwind of energy at just four years old. It was a time of healing and rebuilding. Floyd had returned from the army with invisible wounds, and Dr. Teeth had escaped the suffocating expectations of his mother’s dentistry dreams. The small house had become their sanctuary, a place where they could breathe, regroup, and find some semblance of family. But now, the call of the open road was too strong to ignore.

Dr. Teeth had inherited his family's old bus, inherited being a strong world. A tour bus of sorts from when his parents wanted or needed to move equipment around or go to Cavity Con. With some mechanical know-how an Dr. Teeth’s creative vision, they had transformed it into a traveling home. The exterior was painted with psychedelic swirls and musical motifs, while the inside was filled with mismatched cushions, a small stove, and space enough for the instruments that were their lifeblood. It was far from luxurious, but it was theirs.

Their destination was Chicago, a city that had become synonymous with jazz. Floyd had heard about a saxophone legend on the brink of retirement—a player who could make the city itself weep with his music. Dr. Teeth had listened to the stories with wide eyes, the same stories that Floyd’s father had told them about the golden days of jazz in the smoky clubs and underground speakeasies. They didn't know exactly what they were looking for in Chicago. They just knew they needed to find something or someone that could help them carve out their own place in the world. They were searching for family—the kind that wasn't tied by blood but by music and the shared experience of living life on the edge.

The drive was long, but it gave them time to talk about their dreams and fears. Dr. Teeth sat in the passenger seat, feet propped up on the dashboard, while Floyd drove through miles of open country. "You think this Zoot guy is really gonna be our key?" Dr. Teeth asked, his voice thoughtful.

Floyd shrugged, his eyes focused on the road. "Dunno," he admitted. "But you hear the way people talk about him. It’s like he's a part of the city itself. If we're gonna find our sound, we need to learn from the best. And maybe... maybe he's lookin' for something too, you know? Something outside all the expectations and the noise."

Dr. Teeth nodded, understanding exactly what Floyd meant. They were all trying to escape something, to find a place where they could just be. In the back of the bus, Animal had finally calmed down, curling up with a blanket, his small form nestled among the piles of gear and supplies. He was their family now, a child who had been abandoned and found by Floyd in the chaos of his past. They had taken him in, loved him, and in turn, he had given them a reason to keep moving forward.

Chicago rose on the horizon like a giant, its skyline a mixture of promise and danger. They had no idea what they would find in the city—only that they had to go. They navigated the streets, the bus rattling over cobblestones and past crowded sidewalks filled with people who didn’t give them a second glance. To the city, they were just another set of dreamers rolling in, looking for their break.

They pulled into the parking lot of a small motel on the outskirts of the city. It wasn’t much, but it was a place to rest and regroup. Dr. Teeth looked over at Floyd as they parked. "Tomorrow, we start looking," he said. "For Zoot, for our family, for whatever comes next."

Floyd turned off the engine, the bus settling into silence. "Yeah," he agreed. "Tomorrow." They both knew it wouldn't be easy. Chicago was a city that guarded its secrets fiercely, and Zoot was part of those secrets, hidden deep within the jazz clubs and the underworld of the Zootowoki family.