Kev woke with the first light of dawn, his senses still hazy from sleep. Beside him, Fang still lay sprawled across the bed, his deep breaths echoing through the quiet room. The wolf-man's fur was tousled, his features softened in slumber, a stark contrast to the commanding presence he exuded while awake. Kev smiled softly, a warmth spreading through him as he gazed at the sleeping giant.
Careful not to disturb Fang, Kev quietly slipped out of bed and tiptoed to the window. He drew the curtains shut, blocking out the intrusive sunlight that threatened to disrupt Fang's much-needed rest. He then selected a fresh outfit from his mismatched day clothes, a shirt that was a bit too big and pants with a tail hole cut in them.
With a final glance at the sleeping wolfman, Kev closed the bedroom door softly and retreated to the bathroom. The hot shower invigorated him, washing away the last vestiges of sleep and leaving him feeling refreshed and ready to face the day.
Back in the kitchen, he expertly brewed a pot of coffee, the rich aroma filling the apartment with a comforting warmth. He poured himself a cup, added a spoon full of sugar, and settled onto the couch with 'A Brief History of Dala'bon', the book Horns had brought him.
As he sipped his coffee and delved into the pages of the book, a sense of peace settled over him. The quiet solitude of the morning, the warmth of the coffee, the gentle hum of the mansion coming to life downstairs - it all felt strangely familiar, a comforting routine in this unfamiliar world. However, this morning, unlike the previous ones, Kev felt content, just sleeping next to Fang the night before saved him from the relentless doubts and nightmares that dogged his mind.
A sharp rap on the door startled Kev from his peaceful reading. He set his coffee down and went to answer it, finding Horns on the other side, a look of panic etched on his face.
"Kev!" Horns yelled, his voice emanating panic. "Fang's missing!"
Kev's heart skipped a beat. "Be quiet," he urged, his voice a loud wisper. "He's sleeping."
Horns's eyes widened in disbelief. "What? What do you mean he's sleeping?"
Kev pointed towards the closed bedroom door. "He's in there," he explained, his voice still low. "He came up here last night and crashed on my bed."
Horns's jaw dropped, a mixture of shock and relief washing over him. He stumbled into the apartment and collapsed onto the couch, his massive frame sinking into the cushions with a sigh. "We thought he'd lost it," he confessed, lighting a joint with trembling hands. "We thought he'd gone out to find Bryan and... well, you know."
Kev sat down beside him, a wave of concern washing over him. "Isn't this a good thing?" he asked, his voice tentative. "I mean, he finally got some sleep."
Horns nodded, taking a long drag from his joint. "It is," he agreed, exhaling a cloud of smoke. "I need to let the others know, tell them to stop looking for him." He paused, a thoughtful frown creasing his brow. "But this... this is unprecedented. Fang rarely even sleeps in his own bed, let alone someone else's."
"Well, technically it is his bed," Kev pointed out with a playful grin. "This is his house, remember?"
Horns chuckled, shaking his head. "Don't be a smartass, Kev," he retorted, a hint of amusement in his voice. "You know what I mean." He leaned closer, lowering his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "So, was the old wolf... fun?"
Kev's cheeks flushed a deep crimson. It took him a moment to process the question, his mind still in a state of contentment from the previous night. "What?" he stammered, his voice barely above a whisper.
Horns's grin widened. "You know what I mean," he repeated, nudging Kev playfully with his elbow.
Kev, flustered, shook his head. "Nothing happened," he insisted, his voice a bit too high-pitched. "He was just... tired."
Horns raised an eyebrow, clearly not convinced. "Sure, sure," he said, his tone teasing. "Lucky dog."
Kev, eager to change the subject, cleared his throat. "Really, nothing happened." looking around for anything else to talk about kev continued, "do you want a bagel or something? You bought them anyways, sounds like you've been running around a lot this morning."
Horns's grin softened. "If getting you bagels will make Fang start sleeping, I'll buy them every day," he declared, his voice filled with genuine affection for his boss.
Horns, his wolf-hunting mission accomplished, rose from the couch with a satisfied sigh. "Well, I'd better go spread the good news," he announced, a wide grin on his face. "The staff will be relieved to know the boss isn't on the warpath."
He paused at the door, turning back to Kev with a mischievous glint in his eyes. "And I'll be sure to let them know that you two were fully clothed and both remain pure," he added, his voice laced with playful teasing.
Kev's cheeks flushed, a mix of embarrassment and amusement warming his face. "Horns!" he protested, but the mooseman was already out the door, his laughter echoing down the hallway.
Kev shook his head, a smile tugging at his lips. He couldn't help but appreciate Horns' lighthearted approach to the situation. It was a welcome reminder that even in the midst of chaos and uncertainty, there was still room for laughter and joy.
Kev finished the last of his coffee, the warmth of the mug lingering in his hands. Not wanting to disturb Fang's much-needed sleep, he carefully gathered his guitar and headed downstairs and outside. The afternoon sun cast a shimmering glow on the pool, its inviting waters a tempting distraction. He settled onto his usual bench, the large oak tree shading him from the morning sun.
He lit a joint, the familiar scent of the herb mingling with the fragrance of blooming flowers. As he inhaled, a sense of calm washed over him, easing the lingering tension from the previous night's events. He strummed a few chords on his guitar, the mellow sound blending with the peaceful ambiance of the garden.
Lost in the music, Kev practiced a few familiar songs, his fingers dancing across the strings with a practiced ease. The melodies echoed through the quiet backyard, a soothing counterpoint to the bustling city beyond the mansion walls.
As Kev finished one of his songs, a soft clap echoed through the garden. He looked up, startled, to find one of the cleaners, a gentle looking anteater, standing a few feet away, a gentle smile on their face.
"That was lovely," the cleaner said, their voice a soft murmur, before returning to their gardening duties.
Kev blushed, a shy smile spreading across his face. "Thank you," he replied, a bit embarrassed. He hadn't even noticed the cleaner's presence; they moved with such quiet efficiency, blending seamlessly into the background.
Fang's words from the previous night came back to him: "The walls may not have ears, but the cleaners do." It seemed the head of housekeeping's network of informants extended even outside of the club's walls.
Kev cleared his throat, his fingers returning to the guitar strings. He began to play another piece, a more upbeat melody that echoed the newfound confidence he was starting to feel in this strange new world.
As he played, he caught another movement out of the corner of his eye. He looked up to see Reepia, the head chef, striding purposefully towards him. She had a scowl on her face and a steady stream of smoke puffed behind her.
She had seemed so upset after the meeting last night, storming away before the final decision was even made. Kev braced himself, expecting a torrent of angry words and perhaps even a brandished kitchen knife. But instead, Reepia held out a steaming mug of coffee and ground her teeth.
"I thought you were still mad at me," Kev said, cautiously accepting the offered beverage.
Reepia took a long drag from her cigarette, exhaling a cloud of smoke. "I am," she spat, her voice gruff. "You're a fool, human. But… Horns told me Fang is asleep."
Kev took a grateful sip of the coffee, its warmth spreading through him. "He's had a stressful few days," Kev offered in Fang's defense. "It's not surprising he needed some extra rest."
Reepia scoffed, smoke curling from her nostrils. "He's had a few stressful lifetimes, boy," she retorted. "That doesn't mean he ever rests." She rose to her feet, her gaze lingering on Kev for a moment. "Leave the cup at the bar when you're done," she instructed. "And if you're drugging the wolf to slow him down, just don't overdo it."
With a final, cryptic grin (or just showing her sharp teeth again), Reepia turned and headed back to the kitchen, leaving Kev to ponder her words.
Feeling a mix of confusion and amusement at Reepia's parting words, Kev finished his coffee and headed back inside the mansion. He deposited the empty cup on the bar, his eyes scanning the dimly lit space. To his surprise, he spotted Asmodeus behind the counter, his colorful feathers a vibrant splash amidst the muted tones of the bar.
The toucan-man, his blue-hands expertly maneuvering a cocktail shaker, glanced up and spotted Kev and his guitar case. A wide smile spread across his beak. "Welcome, my friend!" he exclaimed, his voice a melodic trill that echoed through the barroom. "And you said you were not a true musician! Trying to fool me, plebeians don't carry their instruments around with them."
Kev slid onto a barstool, placing the guitar case carefully on the counter. "I'm just a hobbyist," he said, running a hand over the polished wood. "But this has been so great, thank you, Asmodeus."
Asmodeus took a sip of his own concoction, his beak clacking in satisfaction. "Don't be shy, my dear," he urged, his eyes twinkling with anticipation. "Let me hear it sing."
Kev, feeling a surge of confidence, lifted the guitar from its case and settled it comfortably on his lap. He took a deep breath, his fingers finding their familiar places on the strings. The memory of the cleaner's appreciative clap echoed in his mind, a small but significant boost to his self-assurance.
With a resolute strum, he launched into the tune that had earned him that unexpected praise. This piece, unlike the melancholic ballad he'd shared with Asmodeus earlier, was more upbeat, its rhythm driven by a steady strumming pattern rather than intricate fingerpicking. The chord changes were more frequent, demanding a certain level of dexterity and coordination. The song, however, remained captivating, its journey through a major key, a minor chorus, and a dissonant bridge before returning to the triumphant resolution of the major key, telling a story of emotional complexity and resilience.
Kev played with a newfound confidence, his fingers moving effortlessly across the fretboard. He'd shed the initial nervousness that had plagued him during his first performance for Asmodeus, replaced by a sense of ownership and pride in his creation.
Asmodeus's head bobbed in time with the music, his beak clicking in approval. "This one is good, very good," he declared, his voice a melodic trill.
Without warning, he snatched the guitar from Kev's hands, his movements swift and precise. He settled the instrument on his lap, his long, nimble fingers dancing across the strings. Instead of strumming, he employed a combination of plucking and hammering, adding intricate melodies and harmonies to Kev's already complex chord changes. The song transformed under his touch, the raw emotion of Kev's original composition now interwoven with a vibrant, almost orchestral tapestry of sound. A bass line, counter -point, harmonies, all blossomed from his skilled fingers.
Kev watched in awe, his jaw agape. The song, once a solitary expression of his own feelings, had been elevated to a whole new level, a testament to Asmodeus's extraordinary talent and boundless creativity. It felt as if it was not even his song, the masterful interpretation flowing around him filled him with both awe and self-consciousness.
But, as Asmodeus reached the dissonant bridge, his fingers stumbled, the melody faltering for a brief, jarring moment. A frustrated squawk escaped his beak, and he abruptly dropped the guitar onto the counter, its strings vibrating in protest.
"Again!" he shouted, his voice a mix of frustration and determination. "Play the bridge!"
Kev, caught off guard by Asmodeus's outburst, quickly retrieved the guitar and began playing the minor chorus, leading into the challenging dissonant bridge. He played slowly, deliberately, each note ringing clear and true. He exaggerated the dissonance, emphasizing the contrast between the melancholic chorus and the jarring, almost chaotic bridge.
Before Kev could finish the song, Asmodeus's voice cut through the air. "Enough!" he exclaimed, his tone sharp. "Give it here."
Asmodeus snatched the guitar back, his movements a blur of feathers and flashing fingers. He expertly positioned the instrument, his long beak hovering close to the strings as he meticulously replicated the notes Kev had just played.
Kev watched in awe, his earlier embarrassment replaced by a sense of wonder. The toucan's memory was uncanny. He hadn't missed a single note, a single nuance of Kev's performance. It dawned on Kev that Asmodeus hadn't been improvising earlier; he'd been carefully analyzing the song, mapping out its structure and harmonies in his mind.
With renewed confidence, Asmodeus launched into the bridge, his fingers dancing across the fretboard with breathtaking speed and precision. The dissonant chords, once a stumbling block, now flowed seamlessly, their jarring edges smoothed into a hauntingly beautiful melody. He finished the piece with a flourish, a final strum that resonated through the barroom, leaving a lingering echo in the air.