Nov. 18th, 2007

phonomancer: (Default)
...and into another. Right where he should have been before getting sidetracked. And the world didn't seem to notice he was gone.


There's just something not right about that.



Something that Kohl's gonna shake off with the help of some new ladyfriends, a couple of drinks and an evening's musical entertainment.


Or he would, if the music wasn't so... empty and boring.

The first act is tolerable. One dire acoustic singer-songwriter on the bill can be survived. It's not good, but it's survivable.

The second and third? Start to drain his will to live.

The brief respite he gets before the fourth undoubtedly awful moaning Minnie gets on stage is enough for him to steel himself a bit, to fume over being tricked into coming into this hell-hole tonight (never mind he's spent the last couple of months at the end of the universe and he had turned up to get laid mostly) and to plan an intricate act of revenge involving a rubber chicken, 10 metres of hose pipe and some apple chutney for the next person to piss him off.

The fourth act's arrival, however, is too much. Time for a stiff drink. It'll ease the pain.

And so will the honey he's spotted leaning against the bar. Time to work the old Kohl magic. It's going well, he's the right mix of danger and wit, and compared to the joke that masquerades as "competition" in this place? He's a god.

And finally, FINALLY, the music decides to turn the corner into awesome street. One Scout Niblett. A drum kit. A soaring, aching voice. And he's lost.


For three minutes and forty-eight seconds.

And then it turns out that this girl knows Lady Vox. And it's going great until a subtle undercurrent that's been chasing him all night suddenly shifts, trips him up and the sensation of a knife twisting in his abdomen almost fells him.



....well shit.