The universe won't let Spike Spiegel die. Not even after he's finally woken up from his dream. He has knocked on heaven's door, but it seems life still has other doors for the aimless man to open.
After the former cowboy's single handed, violent att...
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Tharsis City. Twenty four hours before the bloodshed.
"... And I've been Thyra Jarn. Good night everyone."
The house was rather full tonight. I signaled the drummer, who nodded back and transitioned into a drum solo. We were improvising at this point, as usual. These gigs always morphed into jam sessions about halfway through. Sadly, the drummer was not the show off type, cutting my scotch break short. I cussed under my breath as I turned the overdrive on. Last solo of the night, here we go...
What is this crap, Thyra? Amp up your game for fuck's sake.
I brought myself back to the present, immersed myself in the rhythm, squeezed my eyes shut and let my hands dance on the fretboard. This is more like it. I smirked to myself and bit my lower lip, getting a howl from somewhere in the audience as a response. I felt like a fish in water with this beaten up telecaster in my hands.
My set ended on a good note tonight. I decided I would celebrate, the drinks were on the house after all.
After shaking hands with my partners on stage, I downed the rest of the glass of scotch that was sitting on top of the guitar amplifier. Fetching my guitar case and backpack, I carefully collected all the equipment that was mine, sobering up as much as possible for the task. I knew all too well that forgetting something on stage meant that I would never see it again.
Setting everything aside, I walked off stage and made a B-line across the dimly lit room for the wooden counter. "Vodka," I simply stated while adjusting my slightly sweaty, black tank top and my ripped, black jeans.
The young bartender set a shot glass on the wooden surface, nonchalantly pouring me the cheapest brand. I couldn't complain, it was free.
"How's miss Thyra tonight?" The good looking boy behind the counter asked while putting the vodka bottle away. He had short, straight, honey colored hair and two matching colored eyes. His soft features and complete lack of stubble made him give off this vibe of innocence.
"Same ol' same ol', Dev." I winked at him. The gesture plastered a sheepish smile on his face. How cute.
The Aqua Regia was a small, pleasant bar on the outskirts of the city. The dark wood floor and red brick walls gave the whole space this gloomy aura that I absolutely adored. The place was never overly crowded and there was always this soothing pine scent in the air that weirdly prevailed over the cigarette smoke engulfing the whole room. The entire bar was split into two sections, connected by an archway on a thin wooden wall .
The stage section was empty aside for two large benches at the back, always hogged by the early costumers. The slightly elevated stage was the only well lit area in the entire bar. When you were up there, stepping on the dirty, comfortable, black carpeted floor, it was almost like you were on your own little world. That was mainly because the warm lights hitting your eyes wouldn't let you see much of what was in front of you.
