Scandinavian Heartstrings, in Drop D.

Chapter 8.6 Big City Lights

Toki lit another cigarette and watched his chemical breath curl in the sodium lighting of the practice studios' courtyard. He had to be alone for a moment to organise his thoughts. The anxieties that had prevented him from playing Skwisgaar's music with any level of dexterity seemed so insignificant now that he was ashamed of his previous timidity.

Pelle. The name had just jumped to mind, but it served its purpose and now the freshly appointed lead guitarist of Thunderhorse mused over the freedom of his new identity. He was now Pelle of Thunderhorse, and wanted all the new experiences that came with that.

"You got a spare one of those?" Billy asked as he walked out to where Toki was standing alone.

"Ja, sures." He replied and handed the whole packet to the bassist. He and Billy had hit it off almost immediately and it was a welcomed relief for Toki to share a quiet moment with him. The pudgy man took a cigarette from the packet and handed it back.

"So where do I have to drop you off, then?" Billy asked after his first smoky exhale. He was trying to devise a logistical plan that used the least amount of fuel; the other guys always managed to forget to chip-in for gas.

"I don'ts know?" Toki answered earnestly and took another draw from his cigarette, "I really don't wants to go back home. I just can'ts be theres right now." He exhaled and scratched at the ground with his foot in thought, "I guess I cans stays at mines, arrr, a hotel." He shook his head as he corrected himself. Billy looked at him and felt a pang of empathy; there were many times when he wouldn't, couldn't or shouldn't have gone home in the past.

"Why don't you come stay with us for a bit? Back at the Slaughter House?" He suggested.

Now, there are houses out there that gain a reputation. Almost all of a particular music scene have lived and/or partied there at some point in time and thusly the house is now a subcultural landmark; Number (6)66 Slaughter Street i.e. the Slaughter House, was such a house; (the extra (6) had been badly drawn in with a sharpie).

"Reallys!" Toki's eyes lit up. He revelled in the idea of full submersion into his new life, plus he always liked to make new friends.

"Yeah, sure. Why not? We'll have to pick up your guitar, though. Gary's spare is a spare for a fuckin' reason, as you found out today." The bassist smiled as he exhaled his smoke through his nostrils. "I don't know if Norman will be too happy about you being there, though?"

"Why nots?" Toki asked. 

Billy continued to smile knowingly. "You know, we've all had a crack at Emily but you're the only one who's ever gotten through." He confided to the new lead guitarist, "Careful not to break her heart, though, or Norman will rip yours out."

"I likes to see hims try." Toki said and both of their memories jumped back to that morning.

"Well how about you put those muscles to work and help me load the gear?"

They both put their cigarettes out and proceeded back inside to help pack up from the day's session. Toki smiled the whole time, except when he noticed Norman looking at him. They loaded up the van with all their equipment, Norman took the front seat and Toki huddled in the back with the rest of the band. It took over an hour to complete the ritual of dropping everyone off at their houses, Toki wondered why they didn't all live together; isn't that what real bands did?

They arrived at the last house and Toki leaned against the van's passenger side door as Norman extracted his equipment from the back with Billy's help.

"So you live out in the sticks, do ya?" Norman said to Toki to question his continual presence.

"Actually, Pelle's gunna couch surf at the Slaughter house." Billy explained tentatively, "You know, just 'till the gig."