>>34674810
>[x] Not one of these weird ass dreams again. You're just going to greet your repressed subconscious the way your normally do nowadays.
>[x] "...sup?"

>>34674810
>[]Ask what he wants

>>34674810
>Ask him what he wants

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>>34674810

"Sup. What do you want?" You try to play it off like this sort of thing happens all the time. To be fair, it does happen a lot - your subconscious has always has a flair for the bizarre, but hellish torture dungeons have never featured in your dreams before.

"If you're just visiting, we'd like some help," the upside-down man says, his afro bobbing slightly with the motion of his jaw. "Music is dying. Rock is dead. We sold our souls for it, but our music didn't save the world."

You take another look, and realize why all these guys look so familiar. It looks like all of the great (and most of the mediocre) rockers of the past are being tortured here.

"But some of you guys are still alive, Jimi," you say, "I read an interview with Gene Simmons just yesterday."

Jimi rolls his eyes at you. "When the devil comes to take your soul, he don't wait until you're dead. Why do you think so many of us got out so fast? You feel a demon coming into you like you're a five-star hotel room, and you try to get higher than the sky, so it can't rule you. Any one you see here who looks alive out there is just a demon enjoying a holiday in their flesh. We want you to take all of our gifts, everything we sold our souls for, and go rock the world. We want you to bring the music back, and show up the demons wearing our skin."

>[] Sounds awesome
>[] Why me? I don't even play an instrument.
>[] Try to wake up

>>34675360
>[x] Sounds awesome

>>34675360
>[] Sounds awesome
FUCK YEAH

>>34675360
>>[] Sounds awesome

>>34675383
>>34675420
>>34675436
Imokaywiththis.jpg

>>34675360
>[x] sounds awesome.

>>34675360
(1/2)

You used to dream about being someone special, about doing something that would make everyone sit up and take notice. But those days are over, and that hope healed over like a scab you finally stopped picking at.

And now Jimi fucking Hendrix is going to hand you a license to kick the world in the balls?
Dude.

"Fuck yeah, I'll do it," you say, with that confidence you can only have in your dreams. "I'll bring rock back. I'll defeat the demons. How do I get started?"

"Bite me." Jimi's smile is even wider then before, if that's even possible.

File: GoW MEGUKA.gif (54 KB, 550x800)

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>>34675601

>>34675601
(2/2)

You wake up, tangled in your single bedsheet. You taste blood on your lips, and there's an empty spot in your soul where a guitar should be. The dream you remember is an impossible, orgiastic blur of blood drunk to take devil-given powers, guitar lessons given by men without fingers on air guitars, vocal training by men whispering through ripped-out vocal cords, an extensive diatribe on fishing for mud sharks and dealing with groupies, and a moment when you felt the fury of Hell itself turned on you through the "Thunderstriker" as Angus Young affectionately called the device he was strapped to, in between defiant screams.

Your alarm clock buzzes dutifully, reminding you that you have work in an hour, and it will take three-quarters of that time to get there.

>[]FIND A GUITAR
>[]Go to work
>[]Find a fucking priest - you've got so many questions
>[]Write-in

>>34675724
>[]FIND A GUITAR
>[]Go to work

>>34675724
>[x] Go to work
Gotta see the boss, make him understand that metal calls.

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>>34675724
You might have been handed a license to kick the world in the balls, but you don't want to start by hacking off your boss. Still, there's a guitar-shaped hole in your life that you've got to fill - is this what having a phantom limb is like?

Maybe you can find one during your the commute. You remember that there's a pawn shop on the way to you job, but if you want to have a hope of stopping there, you'll need to hurry. No breakfast today - you're on a mission from the rock gods. You almost choke yourself with your tie in your hurry to get going

>Roll 1d100 for traffic conditions, first three roll accepted

Rolled 82 (1d100)

>>34675999

Rolled 38 (1d100)

>>34675999

Rolled 1 (1d100)

>>34675999

So this is Midlife Crisis Quest?

>>34676093
Shit.

>>34676093
Fuck, son.

>>34676093
L.A. Carmaggedon here we come

File: I like it.jpg (565 KB, 1207x1117)

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>>34676093
Awesome!

File: 1370364113927.jpg (56 KB, 1022x547)

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Rolled 85 (1d100)

>>34676093

File: It's Not Exactly a Tank.jpg (113 KB, 1600x1042)

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>>34675999
>>34676093
(1/2)

It's the standard drive, through the suburbs to the highway, down the highway toward the concrete center of the city. You wish it was 'take your kids to work day', and you still had custody, so you could use the HOV lane. Those days are long gone.

Well, if you're more married to the woman than the job, then you can both starve, but if you're more married to the job than the woman, you can afford child support payments. You start humming a tune, wondering it you could work that sentiment up into a chorus or something. Before you know it, you're drumming on the steering wheel with both hands, and using your turn signals for a nice, clicky backbeat.

The only warning you get is the insistent grinding thump of heavy rap bass channeled through aftermarket speakers. You haven't even started to grit your teeth before the Mercedes slams into your small Honda after sliding over three lanes at once.

Look, you drive a small commuter car because it gets good gas mileage.

i immediately like this quest all ready

>>34676313
Fucking Mercedes drivers, acting like they own the place.

>>34676374
watch it be a record producer

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>>34676313
(2/2)

The highway isn't a warzone - you don't need a tank.

You're in the middle of an explosion, but without a fire. Everything is a blur of colors and sickening motion.

Oh please, God, not over the fucking median. Damnit damnit damnit.

The world goes away.

You can't see anything, you can't feel anything, but you can hear something. DAMN can you hear it - it's the worst noise you've ever heard. And then you're awake again, held in your seat by your seatbelt, car lying on its side in the opposite lane, horn stuck on by the impact.

You've got to get out before the fuel tank blows up - you've seen enough car crashes on TV to know that. You cut the seatbelt, and clamber out through the remains of the driver's side window.

You apparently flipped over the concrete median and into the path of an oncoming truck. It's fifty kinds of luck you're not dead, although you've probably got a couple of cracked ribs. The truck has stopped, and the driver's inspecting the cargo - guitars.

The Mercedes has its nose in the concrete median blocks. The music, if it can be called that, is still blaring.

>[]See if you can help the Mercedes driver, or at least exchange insurance info
>[]FIND A GUITAR
>[]Write-in

>>34676629
>[x]FIND A KEYTAR

>>34676629
>[]See if you can help the Mercedes driver, or at least exchange insurance info
>[]FIND A GUITAR
Life comes first, then passion

>>34676629
>>[x]FIND A GUITAR
I feel a song coming on!

>>34676629
>[x]FIND A GUITAR

>>34676629
Write in
call work tell them what happened help driver

>>34676629
>[] Find overflowing inspiration

>>34674810
>Rock Quest
>is about music, not stones
0/10 dropped

>>34676629

You spare a glance at the Mercedes. It looks fine, if a little crumpled. You're ok, and you flipped into oncoming traffic, so they should be fine. You can give them your insurance information later. Besides, who knows if you caould even communicate with them over the road noise and the sound of your horn.

Seriously, fuck your horn. The incessant noise is making it hard to think straight. But you've got one thought firmly lodged in your head - FIND A GUITAR.

And there just so happens to be an entire truck full of them nearby. The driver's on the phone when you walk up, so you start looking at what's in the back. There are all kind of guitars in here - acoustic, electric, even a couple of keytars and one of those weird double-necked things. While you're poking around, the driver comes up and taps you on the shoulder.

"Sorry about that. Just had to tell dispatch what was happening," he says. "You're gonna want to see my insurance stuff, right?"

You straighten up and take a good look at him. He's probably been driving for most of the night, judging from how tired he looks. A gimme cap proclaims his allegiance to some classic rock station in Atlanta. He looks fairly fit for someone in what's always struck you as a rather sedentary job - maybe he habitually helps load and unload?

>[]TAKE GUITAR BY FORCE
>[]BUY GUITAR WITH MONEY
>[]OFFER SEXUAL FAVORS FOR A GUITAR
>[]Exchange the insurance information with him, then go to the Mercedes

>>34677211
>[x]Play sensual butt-rock at him until he breaks down in tears of awe and gives the guitar away for free.

>>34677211
Although unlisted,

>[]Write-in

is also an option.

I keep running into the 1500 character limit.

>>34677211
>>[]BUY GUITAR WITH MONEY
>>[]Exchange the insurance information with him, then go to the Mercedes

>>34677211
>[x]BUY GUITAR WITH MONEY

>>34677272
This.

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>>34677211
(1/2)

"Sure, and here's mine if you need to check it," you say, handing him the piece of paper, "but I'm really just interested in buying a guitar." You wave a wad of cash at him. "This should cover anything I've seen in there so far." Sometimes it's good to be a single man, leading a boring life with no real hobbies to speak of.

"Well," he says slowly, eyeing the money, and handing you back your insurance stuff, "I'm not so sure I can sell one out of the back of my truck like this."

"I'll pay double." It's all you can to to restrain yourself from offering triple. You need the guitar. It's like haggling for your own arm - you can't not buy it.

"Well, if you need one that badly, take yer pick," he says, taking the wad and counting it carefully.

You don't need any time to make the decision. There's one guitar in there that calls to you. It's got a heart of chrome, and a voice like a horny angel. You rip its box open like a romance novel hero preparing to ravish his beloved (you wish you hadn't read those books when your wife left them laying around), and string it with the speed and accuracy of a hundred years of combined experience.

>>34677522
Of course, we're the chosen of Rock after all. Stringing a guitar is second-nature.

>>34677522
Is she giving a boob job in that image?

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>>34677522
You sling the guitar on your back and begin walking back toward the crash. The Fit's horn is still going off, a piercing, screaming backing track to your life. The Mercedes.. ...fuck, the Mercedes isn't there any more. Goddamn hit-and-run artists. Well, they couldn't have been too badly damaged if they drove off.

While you walk aimlessly over toward where the Mercedes used to be, you pull out your cellphone and dial your boss. You get voicemail, and tell him you've been in an accident on the highway. You say you're going to have to take the day off - you probably have enough vacation days to do that. It's not like you get to spend them with your family, after all.

Suddenly there's a roaring noise behind you. Your Fit has finally sparked its ruptured gas tank, and bursts into an inferno. Its horn changes from a strident defiant cry to the wail of a dying beast.

It's calling to something deep inside you. Will you answer?

>[]Jump onto the concrete divider and ROCK
>[]Jump onto your burning car and ROCK
>[]See if you can find another way to get to work
>[]Write-in

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>>34677522

>>34677824
>[x]Jump onto the concrete divider and ROCK
TIME TO RIFF

>>34677824
>[]Jump onto the concrete divider and ROCK

>>34677867
>>34677869
>Not jumping onto the burning car

What are you, casuals?

>>34677824
>[x]Jump onto your burning car and ROCK
No burn, only music now

>>34677895
It's about not burning to death

>>34677824
>[X]Jump onto your burning car and ROCK

>>34677824
>[]Jump onto the concrete divider and ROCK

>>34677824
>[x]Jump onto your burning car and ROCK
Must absorb soul of honda fit with guitar

>>34677824
>>[]Jump onto your burning car and ROCK
I CAN FEEL IT

>>34677895
>>34677897
>>34677943
>>34678021
>>34678071
>Jump on the motherfucking car and give it a burning funeral of ROCK and MANLY TEARS

>>34678219
"I will carry the torch to your funeral pyre
I will ask of the wind to send high your fire"

>>34677824
(1/2)

You climb up on the concrete barrier... ...and you stroke the guitar.

The guitar mewls under your skillful touch, making small sounds as you run your hands over it, caressing its strings. It sounds almost like a kitten, if a kitten had a heart of chrome. There's tension in the air.

There's onlooker backup on both sides or the divider, and real backup on the side where your Fit is burning. Doubtless, the police and fire department will come eventually and take up even more space.

You have the captive audience of a lifetime, but they've all got their windows rolled up, and you don't have an amplifier.

YOU DON'T NEED ONE.

You start the riff in earnest. The kitten changes to an angry tiger, then a lion roaring an insult across the plains. Heads turn in nearby cars. Sparks fly from your fingers every time they touch metal. You harmonize with the dying car's horn for a bit, playing with dissonance and assonance against its ever-shrinking life. Then the horn finally stops, the duet becomes a solo, and there's nothing holding you back.

People are rolling their windows down now, and your fingers are moving ever faster. The sounds erupting from your guitar are nothing like the insipid chord-by-numbers songs they've used to, and they've never seen an outdoor performance like this.

So far it's all instrumental work. Your fingers are getting a workout, flying up and down the frets. You're playing in harmony with yourself - who needs a fucking bassist?

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>>34678413
(2/2)

Then you see it - there's a traffic helicopter hovering over the scene. You hear sirens in the distance. People are parking on the road now, thoughts of where they need to be abandoned to the rising primal urgency of your music.

Well, that's it for the lead in. Time to get started on the verses.

You scream as you jump from the divider onto what's left of your still-burning car. It's a guttural, resounding noise, drowning out the sirens for a moment. As if in answer, the wind kicks up, blowing the flames out behind you like a giant pair of wings.

You sing. You sing of the frustrations of the roads, of a country tied up with asphalt chains. You sing of the carelessness of drivers, of the delays and annoyances of travel. You somehow manage to work in the bit about your ex-wife.

The sole of your shoes are getting sticky, you're pretty sure your pants are catching on fire, and the paint on your guitar is beginning to crack and bubble.

You sing on, each chorus a dirge for the car you've lost, a reminder of the bond between people and their mounts, since the first days of domestication.

Ok, it's been really awesome up here, but you're pretty sure you're gonna burn to death if you keep singing here.

>[]Jump off, stop, drop, & roll
>[]KEEP ROCKING
>[]Write-in

>>34678704
>[x]Jump off, stop, drop, & roll
We can't reveal our true nature too much yet.

>>34678704
>[x] Drop, roll but under no circumstance stop rocking

>>34678704
>>[]KEEP ROCKING
You can't stop the rock! Play until the guitar has given its last.

>>34678704
>Write in
Jump, roll, powerslide, get back to business.

>>34678704
>Jump off, kick off our burning pants and keep on rocking!

Oddly fitting that In Flames just released a new album.

File: Full_Throttle.gif (593 KB, 637x398)

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To do later: get the Bike.

Now
>[x]Finish the riff, jump off, stop, drop, & roll

>>34678704
>[]Jump off, drop & roll. Face-melting guitar solo time.

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>>34678900
Sorry but this is the bike

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>>34679040
We're one with the flame.

>>34678704
Time to bitch out. You're not hardcore enough for this yet. You hit a nice, big chord, dive off the car and roll a couple of times on the ground to put out the flames, twiddling the whammy bar the whole time.

Then it's back to rocking. You treat the approaching sirens as your backing choir, let loose with a face-melting guitar solo, and then finish everything off with another chorus. You even get some crowd participation in that last one.

By the time you're done, cars are parked for half a mile in each direction, and there's a crowd standing in a circle outside the warmth of your burning car. They start yelling, screaming, clapping, and a couple of asshats call out "freebird!"

The police have finally made it, although the firemen are still trying to snake the hose to the scene.

>[]Play Freebird
>[]Sign autographs / interact with the crowd
>[]Talk to the police (specify co-operative or dickish)
>[]Write-in

Include a 1d100 roll with your vote. I'll take the first three on whichever option wins. (Rolls don't influence the overall success of the action. Exceptionally high or low rolls cause crazy things to happen.)

Rolled 44 (1d100)

>>34679170
>[]Play Freebird

Rolled 59 (1d100)

>>34679170
>>[]Talk to the police (co-operative)
We're still going to want our insurance money out of this, and the best means is to cooperate with the coppers.

Rolled 3 (1d100)

>>34679170
Play Freebird

Rolled 44 (1d100)

>>34679170
>[]Talk to the police ( co-operative)
>Play Freebird

Rolled 35 (1d100)

>>34679170
>interact with crowd.
Gotta start networking

Rolled 44 (1d100)

>>34679170
>[x]Sign autographs / interact with the crowd
WOOOO

>>34679209
>>34679242
>>34679256
This does not bode well

>All this 44
?????

Rolled 10 (1d100)

>>34679366
Please OP.
We cannot sully this moment with freebird.
Always leave them wanting more.

>>34679209
>>34679299
>>34679353
Triple 44s, damn

>>34679170
You set your fingers on the frets for freebird, but one of the police officers says "sir, we're going to need to talk to you about the accident."

So you talk to them about the accident. Luckily, you've got some witnesses, thanks to the crowd that stuck around, and someone even got a license plate number for the Mercedes: YES-666. Not ominous at all.

Once the police are done with you, the crowd closes in. They want autographs, selfies, even pieces of your clothing, and they want to know if you've released any songs. You try to move off the highway to a nearby parking lot, and they follow, as if they expect you to produce bread and fish or something. You sign until your hand is stiff, and pose with so many people you lose track, but you're not giving upyour somewhat charred clothes right now.

Once everything finally blows over, you're left in a nearby parking lot dishevled and a bit worn out, sitting on the concrete footing of a streetlight under the blazing sun. You should probably try to get back home, or rent a car or something, but you're really tired.

You must have dozed off for a bit, because you wake up to the unmistakable sound of a motorcycle engine. A grizzled old biker, clad in beat-up black leather sewn with colorful patches, has pulled up in front of you. He's just sitting there, idling his bike, looking at you.

>[]Pretend to be asleep until he goes away
>[]Ask him what he wants
>[]Try to go back home
>[]Say "44", very quietly

>>34679848
>[]Say "44", very quietly
>What can I do for you?

>>34679848
>[]Say "44", very quietly

>>34679940
>>34679971
This

>>34679848
>[x]Say "44", very quietly
It's true!

>>34679848
>[x]Say "44", very quietly
This is biker code for something, I know it.

>>34679848
You must have slept for a while - the sun's a lot lower in the sky, and you're thirsty, but you feel refreshed.

You're not sure why you whisper "fourty-four" to him, but when you do, he stops his bike's engine and stares at you intently. There's something inhuman in the back of his eyes - you only see it for a moment, but it fills you with fear.

"Well, if you know who I am already, that makes this easier for both of us," he says, his eyes never leaving yours. You want to break free, but you feel like something terrible would happen if you stopped staring into his eyes. You start to slide off of the concrete footer.

"What can I do for you?" You ask, as you slide slowly toward the ground, your suit jacket scraping against the lamp post.

"I'm about to go into a liquor store. I'm going to leave my keys in my bike. When I get back here, I expect this bike to be gone. There's a card in there that should get you into the most exclusive nightclub in the city for free, no questions asked. I hope it's a big enough stage for you."

By the time he finishes, you're almost facedown on the concrete, looking up at him. His boots are battered, but they look like they might have had pomegranate patterns on them at one point.

>[]Agree
>[]Take the bike, but go home
>[]FUCK HIM UP
>[]Write-in

>>34680437
>[x]Agree
It's time

>>34680437
>Take the bike
We're going to need to look for a drummer

>>34680437
Write in:
>>34680474
>Tell him he gets a free ticket for tonight's jam.

>>34680515
Yeah, let's.

>>34680437
>>[x]Agree
But we're gonna need a band, I think

>>34680559
We only need to look for a drummer. Bassists just kind of show up, it is known.

>>34680437
>[]Take the bike, but go home

We need our very own Steve Harris

>>34680437
>[]Agree

>>34679848
>>34679940
>>34679971
>>34680032
>>34680150
what the fuck is 44 about, and why did we pick it?

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>>34680679
THE DICE, IT'S ALL IN THE DICE!

>>34680679
>>34680703
And it seemed silly enough.

>>34680437
"Yeah, the bike'll be gone by the time you're back," you say, hoping that it doesn't sound as servile as you think it does. "And you've got free tickets to tonight's jam."

He almost smiles at that last bit. "No, I've given YOU a free ticket to tonight's jam. But I don't think I'll show up. The grain, the new wine, and the oil are so plentiful now." He puts down his kickstand and walks off toward the liquor store. As soon as his back is turned, you feel like a great weight has been taken off of you.

You take off for home on the bike - you've got some time to kill before the club opens.

>[]Use this time to build your personal brand / online image
>[]Find a church - you've got all kinds of questions
>[]Just go to bed. It's been a long day, and everythign will still be there tomorrow.

>>34680837
>[]Use this time to build your personal brand / online image
>[]Create a strange website that only serves to raise more questions than give any answers

>>34680837
>[x]Use this time to build your personal brand / online image
Mhm

>>34680837
>[x]Use this time to build your personal brand / online image
Gotta lay claim to the freeway incident, start auditions n such

>>34680837
(1/2)

You get home, take some pictures of yourself, and fire your computer up before you shower. You eat something while cruising the web, looking for any reports about your performance this morning. It's caused quite a buzz, and a few low-quality cellphone videos of you playing atop a blazing car are racking up tons of hits on youtube.

You create a twitter and facebook page, and submit you self-taken photos as evidence that you're the legendary 'Freeway Firestormer'. Hopefully you won't be defined solely by that performance.

Then you hint about a performance at n9ne, the selective club you were given a ticket to. After doing some digging, you find out that there's a dubstep/electronic DJ type who's supposed to be playing there tonight. You listen to a couple of his pieces, but they're not what you'd call music, and you call him out on this on twitter right before you leave.

It's probably a bit early for auditions, all things considered, but you'll think about it tomorrow.

If you survive tonight, that is.

>sidebar y'all
So we metal right?

>>34681327
You're wearing another suit, with the charred tie you had on this morning. It adds a nice, distinctive touch without destroying the classic look. Traffic seems a lot better this evening, which might be because it's no longer rush hour, and might be because of all the power you can feel between your legs.

Yesterday, you were just another aging divorced businessman like any other. Today, you're a cowboy on a steel horse, with your six-string on your back. You've never ridden a motorcycle in your life before, but you feel like you've been doing it forever.

While stopped at a red light, you check the small compartment on the motorcycle - you've taken out the ticket, but it still has some registration/insurance papers, a small leatherbound book, and a bulky envelope in it. You probably only have time to examine one of them before you have to start driving again.

>[]Insurance papers - who is this guy?
>[]Book - ???
>[]Bulky envelope - ???

>>34681593
>[]Bulky envelope - ???

>>34681580
Of course we are metal.

>>34681593
>>[x]Bulky envelope - ???

>>34680837
He's an angel. You heard it here first.

>>34681593
>[]Bulky envelope - ???

>>34681593
The envelope's not sealed, so you can easily peek into it. You see a few $20 bills against one side, a small glass bottle with liquid in it and a label with 'cocaine solution' written on it in small letters, and a couple of disposable needles, with the plastic caps on top.

>[]Transfer envelope/contents to coat pockets Y/N?

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>>34681729
>>34681904
>Angel
>Gives us a bike with cocaine solution in the glovebox.

>>34681904
dispose of the drugs, pocket the dosh

>>34681904
>Take the money leave the drugs.

>>34681904
Leave it in the bike.

>>34681904
No.
Drug charges at the start of our career won't do us any good.

>>34681968
Yeah leave it in the bike. Plausible deniability. Cocaine is amazing.

>>34681955
>>34681962
>>34681999
These faggots.
Who said it was to be used on us ?

Get famous first, THEN become an addict.

>>34681904
You take the money, around $150, and put it in your jacket pocket. You shut the envelope and stuff it back into the compartment as the light turns green.

Drug charges won't do you any good at this stage in your career, you think. Besides, having your first experience with anything stronger than caffeine in the middle of a club while trying to resurrect rock and roll is probably a bad idea.

Speaking of the club, you're rolling past n9ne right now. It doesn't look that big, and there's a line of people outside already. The bouncers seem to be keeping good order.

You need to find a place to park.

>[]Find a parking meter somewhere nearby (Least secure, but you should be able to get there quickly)
>[]Find a parking garage somewhere nearby (More secure, but it'll take time to get to and from the club)
>[]Ride into the club and park on the stage. (Look, you can figure out the pros and cons yourself)

>>34682234
>[x]Ride into the club and park on the stage. (Look, you can figure out the pros and cons yourself)

>>34682234
a number 3 for me, chief

>>34682234
>talk to the bouncer about parking
>bouncer is wise

>>34682234
>>[]Ride into the club and park on the stage. (Look, you can figure out the pros and cons yourself)
Subtle entries, who needs them? Not us!

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>>34682234
>pros and cons

I don't see any cons, do you faggots see any cons?

>Park on the stage.

>>34682266
Okay fine. Park on the stage. But lets try and give this douchebag dj a concussion while were at it.

I seriously hope our guitar can be retconned into an 8-string while we're still just starting

>>34682382
Yea this.
Meshugggggah

>>34682412
fuck off

>>34682537
You fuck off.
Meshuggah and Animals as Leader.

>>34682586
No you fuck off.
Petrucci.

>>34682537
Yes, please fuck off.
We metal now

>>34682602
Dream theatre is not metal

>>34682234
(1/2)

You gun your engine menacingly and pull a U-turn in the middle of traffic. You motorcycle makes that noise everyone hates to hear late at night, and every head in the line turns to glare at you. And then some of them star cheering - they came here to see your throwdown with the DJ. You make a 'parting the Red Sea' gesture at the bouncers, and they almost trip over each other trying to get out of the way.

You pop a wheelie over the curb, then put your front wheel through the plate glass doors. Man, shattering glass sounds so good. You need to find a glassist for your band. You take a sharp turn down the dark hallway, toward the sound of pulsating beats.

You rev up again, just to make sure they know you're coming. Then you slam through the door, and you're on teh dance floor.

You have the hottest, shiniest, and most powerful girl on the floor between your legs, and the most sensitive, responsive, submissive partner on your back.

And there's a douchebag on your stage wearing some sort of mouse-ears helmet getup.

File: activate it.png (1.27 MB, 1232x1080)

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>>34682660

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>>34682711
>those descriptions

Haiku, do you have an inanimate objects fetish?

>>34682711
Yes. Deadmau5

We gon make him REALLY ded

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>>34682711
The dancers run to the edges of the floor as you pull your front wheel up to head height and rocket toward the rodent DJ, ensconced behind his bank of electronic 'instruments' and paraphernalia. To his credit, he doesn't flinch when he sees the bike flying across the floor.

But perhaps that's because he thinks you're only crazy enough to park it on the dance floor. He figures out his mistake quickly, and dives out of the way as you plow onto the stage in a flurry of sparks and fragmenting electronic equipment. You slew the bike around and swing your guitar down in front of you in one smooth motion.

All eyes are on you, from the jaded orbs in the VIP booths looking down at the floor to the innocent eyes of a couple of underagers who snuck in somehow. Your bike has killed the beats - the club has probably never been this silent.

It's time.

>[]Ignore DJ, ROCK OUT
>[]Administer Beats to DJ
>[]Write-in

>>34683208
>[x]Ignore DJ, ROCK OUT

>>34683208
>Ignore DJ, ROCK OUT

>>34683208
>>[x]Ignore DJ, ROCK OUT
Somedjoranother is beneath our notice. We came here for ONE THING ONLY.

>>34683208
>[]Ignore DJ, ROCK OUT

>>34683208
when we go to rock out play walking towards the DJ to teach him the error of his ways

>>34683208
>[x]Ignore DJ, ROCK OUT
Should he interfere in any way, crack his helmet open and expose him

>>34683208
>[]Ignore DJ, ROCK OUT

>>34683208
Who cares about the DJ? This is your stage, and you're going to rock it to pieces.

So you do.

Your guitar groans and moans under the assault of your fingers, birthing an enormous riff, which seems to physically fill the entire club. Your fingers dance up and down the frets, wringing cries from the instrument that sound like the screams of a living thing. A living thing that's being electrocuted, that is.

The riff seems to run away with you and take on a life of its own. But you can't let it do that, you can't keep shredding forever. This is a dance club, and you can't dance to nothing but crazy riffs.

So you shift to chords, you start tapping a beat with your feet. You get a feel for a nice rhythm, and you build a song off it. No prewriting, no preparation, it's just flowing from your fingertips like the nectar of the gods.

Then you start layering lyrics on it. They're nothing special, something about summer love, teenage couples sneaking into places they shouldn't be to do things they've been told the shouldn't do. And you tell them to go forth and do.

The dance floor starts to fill back up, couple by couple. Slowly there's a subtle change, and people aren't just dancing with their partner, they're dancing with the whole floor. It looks almost choreographed, but it's missing something.

It's missing its centerpiece.

>[]GET DOWN THERE
>[]You're a musician, not a dancer.
>[]Write-in

>>34683761
>throw the DJ on the floor

>>34683761
>Nod to the DJ. Have him embrace his destiny as your keyboard guy while you bust a move.

>>34683791
this nigga knows whaddup

>>34683761
gotta agree with this guy, kick the DJ to the dancefloor

>>34683761
>>34683822 Yeah.

>>34683822
i support this idea

>>34683822
Go with this.

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>>34683761
Well, they need a lead dancer, but it doesn't have to be you. And a backup keyboardist would be nice too...

With these benevolent thoughts in your mind, you look over at the man whose electronics you have wrecked, whose stage you have stolen, whose dancers you have apparently mind controlled into glorious choreographed submission, and whose reputation you have denigrated on the internet. You're going to offer him (or her? it's wearing a mask) a position by your side.

The DJ is holding the largest sea bass you've ever seen, and it's flopping around violently, dripping seawater everywhere. It's slippery and slick, and it just sort of slides right out of his hands onto the floor.

He drops the bass.

What happens next is an earthquake of sound. The crushed and broken electronics start sparking back to life, and a vast beat starts up. It's coming from everywhere at once, crushing down on your sound.

>[]Fight back with your music
>[]Bash this fucker's helmet in
>[]Write-in

(I am sorry, but you kind of dished your 'collaborate with the DJ in the near future' chances when you decided to park on the stage. Not all hope is lost, but the DJ's pretty angry at you right now.)

>>34684191
>> Dropping the bass
Oh no you le didn't.

>>[x]Fight back with your music
IT'S ON NOW, SIR!

>>34684191
>[]Fight back with your music, but don't curbstomp him. Make it a show.
Show him the error of his ways. And more importantly, give these fine folks what they payed for.

>>34684191
>[]Fight back with your music
metal. for fishes.

>>34684191
>Don't hate, Assimilate.
Ladies, Gentlemen, we now have a bitchin beat to play to. Why fight it when we can use it?

>>34684273
oh shit, if we can do this, do this.

>>34684273
Mah nigga. THIS REPEATEDLY

>>34684273
I concur

>>34684273
I can dig it.

>>34684191
Crushing down on your sound is it? You'll see about that. You can't exactly do much percussion yourself, so this is exactly what you need.

You shift your beat to match the solid, resonant beats the DJ is putting out. Freed from needing to play your own accompaniment, you focus on elaborating your chords, taking daring half steps from note to note, skirting dissonance by the skin of your teeth. Your sound blends into the stupendous power of the bass, like dumping an oil-tanker full of dye into a tsunami. You're coloring the DJ's sound with you own, and using it to paint this club red.

The DJ realizes what you're doing and shifts the beat somehow. It throws you off a bit, and this beat's just harder to follow. But you follow, building a castle of riffs atop his moving sand dune of bass, and you're ready for it when the waves crescendos and crests, and the bass drops again.

Then there's a pain from your ankle. The bass is biting you, gnawing through your thin trouser leg and into your Achilles tendon. You didn't realize it was possible for a bass to be this sawtoothed.

>[]Club the fish
>[]Keep playing
>[]Write-in

>>34684273
Use it, but in a dueling fiddles type o way.

>>34684537
punt the fish at the dj

>>34684537
>>[x]Write-in
Elbow-drop on the bass, keep playing those riffs!

>>34684537
>Using our super stylish dance moves, create enough friction to roast the bass alive. Then offer it to the DJ as a meal.

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>>34684537
>literally sawtooth bass

>>34684537
>LEFT-HANDED TAPPING SOLO
>PICK UP BASS WITH RIGHT HAND
>GNAW ITS FUCKING HEAD OFF OZZIE-STYLE

>>34684593
YES!

>>34684630
All of my this

>>34684537
Pick up the bass. USE THE BASS.

>>34684593
>>34684645
vs.
>>34684630
>>34684657

Are you picking it up and eating it, or are you dancing it off?

Reply "pickup" or "dancing" to this post. Five minutes

>>34684716
pickup

>>34684716
dancing

>>34684716
dance

>>34684716
Pick up.

>>34684716
Dancing

>>34684716
Pick up, rip off head with mouth, sanctify guitar with blood

dancing

>>34684716
Dance it off, try to make it land in an aquariam (all fancy nightclubs have aquariams)

>>34684753
>>34684769
>>34684787
>>34684871
Not even metal

>>34684908
There's more to rock and roll than heavy metal, my friend. The time for metal will come...trust me on this.

>>34684908
not trying to be, at least not yet. besides, Elvis was rock.

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Sidenote: guitars have 22 or 24 frets. 44 is 22 doubled. Not a Sign, but definitely kind of a sign.

Also where we're going, we don't need cocaine!

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>>34684537
You decide it's time to join the dancers. You make a flying leap over the wreckage of the DJ's equipment, and land gracefully onthe dance floor. Well, as gracefully as you can land with a massive sea bass clamped on your ankle. It's time to take your place as the lead dancer, and dance harder than the bass can handle.

While still playing your guitar, of course.

You're the center of a moving maelstrom of color and motion, whirling around the dance floor with the other dancers following you, surrounding you, and forming a backdrop your your performance. Line after line moving opposite each other, stepping back and forth in measured time, short hops, more complicated dance steps - you're the stamen and they are the petals blooming around you. And you haven't let the bass run away from you yet.

The audible bass, that is. The fish is still worrying away at your ankle, and the dancing isn't shaking it off. You shift to a more violent, primal musical texture. The dancers react and start parading around you like ancients about to witness a bloody sacrifice. You reach a crescendo, then hammer out a paean of savage ectasy with your left hand, while you wrench the bass off your heel with your right. You hold the fish aloft by its tail, open you mouth wider than you've ever opened it before, and then you catch its eye.

It's a baleful, red eye, full of hatred. Its over your guitar, you hear "fuck you" in the echoes of the deep bass.

Then you gnaw its head off.

>>34685232
Well, that's it. That's the bleeding, pulsating, depraved height (or depth) of your performance. The bass dies as the last bit of your frenetic solo fades away.

You decide to:

>[]Disappear on your motorcycle
>[]Meet management and discuss payment
>[]Find someone from the entertainment press
>[]Track down the masked DJ
>[]Write-in


(There were equal votes for both options at the five minute mark, so I did them both.)

>>34685232
I came

>>34685360
>get a scotch, receive accolades, and then
>[x]Disappear on your motorcycle

>>34685360
>Track Down Masked DJ
I want YOU for playing mah thing.

>>34685360
>>[x]Track down the masked DJ
We can't let our future keyboardist to give us the slip.

>>34685360
>[]Track down the masked DJ
Find him. Recruit him. Get a band.

>>34685360
>[x] Write "YEAH" with bass blood on the floor, light up wrecked equpment, disappear in smokes

>>34685416
Okay fine
>Track Down Masked DJ
But do with scotch in hand

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>>34685360
The tired dancers seemed stunned as the music stops - this is your chance to not get mobbed. Gotta keep your mysterious image, after all. Someone who wasn't dancing, someone in a nice suit, hands you a drink, and you drop the decapitated bass to take it. It's scotch. You sip it. Good scotch, at that. You turn to thank him, but he's gone, and the dancers are coming back to their senses. You hear some high-pitched squealing about how this is "the totally awesomest" night of someone's life, and that they "can't even".

Well, you're glad they're awed, but you've got your guitar, your bleeding ankle, your scotch, and a DJ to catch. And you're not sure you can deal with high-pitched teenaged girls right now.

You head toward the stage, which is dimly lit by the sparking electronics, and not much else. You vault onto the stage (how many times does that make tonight?) and find the DJ sobbing in a crumpled heap behind his equipment.

>[]Sling DJ onto bike, Exit in style
>[]Comfort DJ (Open to suggestions)
>[]Write-in

>>34685808
>[]Comfort DJ
>"Your bass wasn't bad. Wanna make it better?"

>>34685808
>[]Comfort DJ (Open to suggestions)
you have a few options right now option 1 lose you career, 2 join me 3 go against me again and still lose your choose

>>34685846
>Make it better

We ate its head off, man. How do we make it better?

>>34685808
>>[x]Comfort DJ (Open to suggestions)
"You did good, dude. Want to take it to even bigger stages? Then come with me."

>>34685950
This.

>>34685808
>"Your Bass has not died. It has been assimilated, become a part of something more powerful, more raw. Will you let yourself slide into obscurity, alone in the darkness, or will you join me and bring a new age of music?"

>[x] Comfort (with any of the above suggestions)
Also, share sum scotch.

>>34685808
>comfort DJ
>Your digital ways have a place on the mountain of rock. Come, we ride.

>>34685232
>Fuck you, Dante

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>>34685808
"Look," you say to the DJ, "your bass was pretty good today, and I'm looking for good bass. You want to be part of some thing bigger, part of my band?"

Now that you're getting a closer look at him in decent lighting, you realize that the DJ is smaller than you'd thought at first. Despite the vast grin on his mask, he looks slight and vulnerable crying here behind the equipment.

"You bit my head off," you hear from the mask. "My head, you monster. You bit it off in front of everybody."

What the fuck. Sure, you bit off a fish's head, and sure that wasn't an ordinary fish, but this DJ sounds pretty out there. Does he drug himself up before performances or something?

You look at your scotch and think about offering it, but you decide that if the DJ's feeling vulnerable, the last thing you should do is ask him to take off the mask. Masks are a protection from the world, after all.

"I'm sorry about your fish, but it's just a fish, man." The DJ babbles something about how wrong you are, but you hear approaching noises, and realize that the dancers have figured out where you are. If you want to get out, you have to go now.

>[]Stay here and deal with the crowd
>[]Take DJ and ride off
>[]Ride off alone
(If Leaving) Destination:
>[]Home
>[]Somewhere deserted
>[]A restaurant
>[]A church - you've got all kinds of questions

>>34686359
>[]Take DJ and ride off
to
>A country bar. With what I've learned from blues brothers, we'll be safe from our fans here.

>>34686359
>[]Take DJ and ride off

Turn him into Steve Harris meets Les Claypool

>>34686359
>>[]Take DJ and ride off
>>[]Home

But we should pay a visit to a church soonish - there's quite a few unknonwns here that need answering.

>>34686359
>"You don't need it. Trust me."

inb4 the DJ is a women

File: I Disapprove.gif (3.63 MB, 320x180)

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>>34686411
>not listing a destination

>>34686404
I'll go with this.

>>34686445
Yes church soonish. OP has something there

>>34686475
Your in after but still. We will not be romancing the DJ. No Fleetwood Mac syndrome here thanks

>>34686359
(1/2)
Time to kick it and get out of here. You pick up the DJ, put him on the motorcycle in front of you, gun the eingine, and make the unmistakable 'parting the Red Sea' gesture at the dance floor. The clubbers clear the floor a s you turn the bike, and then you're off. It looks like there's a message starting with "YEAH" written in blood on the floor, but you can't read it - there are more pressing things to pay attention to. Like the unlucky couple that just happened to be coming down the entrance hallway. You barely avoided them. Murder's a bit too hardcore for you.

You get cheered as you leave though, so that's something. You're pretty sure that the phone pictures of you and the DJ riding off are going to be all over the place tomorrow.

Well, whatever. You need to find somewhere to relax. Somewhere beyond all of this. That takes a bit of driving, since you're in the center of a city. Nice, quiet, routine night driving. Rather peaceful. The DJ has kind of slumped back into you, and you wonder if your kids would like to ride on dad's motorcycle with him.

Your kids. Your ex-wife.

What are they going to think of all this? Well, you don't much care about your ex's opinion at this point (that's why she's your ex), but you're not sure you want your kids watching daddy decapitate a live fish with his teeth in some ancient power ritual.

>>34686899
Houston's a funny place. There's the city proper, then the suburbs, then completely rural areas where rednecks raise goats and cows, while their sons play high school football and then go work on oil rigs, or air conditioners, or something. They're not your folks, unfortunately, but you feel comfortable around them in a way you don't around the crowds in the city.

You're aiming for a small bar on a farm & market road in what could easily be mistaken for the backwoods of Texas, if you didn't know it was less than ten miles as the crow flies from multiple high-value subdivisions and too much shopping to shake a stick at. It's a quiet place - if you want excitement, there are other places within easy distance. It shares a parking lot with a run-down Texaco, and you pull in beside a gaggle of pickup trucks and a couple of SUVs.

You realize that the DJ has somehow fallen asleep during the night ride. When you get off of the bike, he slumps forward over the handlebars.

>[]Remove mask
>[]Awaken with cocaine injection
>[]Awaken with loud noise
>[]Awaken with vigorous shaking
>[]Write-in

>>34687068
>Awaken gently.
No need to be a dick.

>>34687068
>cocaine injection
Euphoria and disclosure during the coming negotiations. Also fostering his dependence on us wouldn't be a bad idea

>>34687068
>Awaken by playing a guitar version of that bass line he was giving us.

>>34687182
This could be pretty cool.

>>34687182
I'll go with this

>>34687182
Going with this but so it quietly

>>34687068
(1/2)

Yeah, you want to be gentle about this. The cocaine is a tempting option - it is a stimulant, after all, but if you spell it all out to yourself as "kidnapping and drugging a rival performer" sounds really sleazy. Of course, that doesn't matter if it's truly necessary.

You sigh, and wonder what you could do to wake the DJ up. Shaking him probably wouldn't do very much, since he'd managed to fall asleep during a motorcycle ride. Suddenly, you have an idea. You unlimber your guitar, and start playing quietly. It's the bass line the DJ dropped in the club earlier, but rendered in a plinky, plaintive manner.

Nothing happens for a while. You're sitting out in front of a bar in the moonlight, on the back of a motorcycle, playing a soft melody that was originally a fat bass to a sleeping DJ.

He seems to be sleeping really soundly - the music isn't waking him up.

You lose track of time. After a while, a couple of belligerent guys stumble out of the bar together. They've been told to take it outside, and half the bar's coming out with them to watch. Well, it's only five or so guys in all - small crowd tonight.

>>34687744
(2/2, this 1500 character limit is killing me)

You attract their attention, which is only natural, since you're a rather unique occurrence. The two fighters forget about their disagreement and decide to listen the the guitarist on the motorcycle. Eventually you collect a small semi-circle of listeners, mostly patrons who came outside to do something, but heard you and forgot to go back in.

This is new. Everything else you've done with the guitar has been violent, overblown, and bombastic. Now you're playing something restful, soothing, and it's still attracting people. Your guitar is speaking another language, and it's their language, a language of resignation, of opportunities missed and lives lived on through and after chaos. You're not sure how the fish's bass line morphed into a country & western song, but it did, somehow.

Apparently it wasn't only rockers who sold their souls for talent. You're taking requests for songs you've never heard of, laying them like an old hand, and even adding on your own flourishes.

Eventually, the bar closes, you've got a circle of a dozen people listening to you, and it's almost midnight. And the DJ still hasn't woken up.

>[]Keep playing until everyone leaves
>[]Leave and go home
>[]Leave and

>>34687891
And, of course,
>[]Write-in

>>34687891
>[x]Keep playing until everyone leaves

>>34687891
>Keep playing till everyone leaves.

This is it. Melody is the key, music is separate from genre wars, transcendent. We can transcend...but we need more. We need to do it all, from country to techno, from Aerosmith to Rammstein, and (god help us) even Freebird.

>>34687891
You keep on playing, taking requests far into the night. Playing softly, experimenting with what you can get from your guitar when you're not pushing it to the limit of its volume. Eventually, though, you're left alone in the parking lot, with a sleeping DJ daped over your motorcycle, a guitar in your hands, and a distinct feeling of having accomplished many things.

>[] Go home
>[]Go to a church
>[]Write-in

>>34688303
>Go home.

>>34688303
> wake the DJ up, ask where he lives and drive him there

>>34688303
We go to church. Its been hours since the bar closed, im sure there's a church open somewhere

>>34688625
churches are never closed there reasoning is a soul my always need saving

So yeah we go to a church

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>>34688303
You try to wake the DJ up, but he seems dead to the world. Alright, it's been hours now - you're worried. Maybe the DJ wasn't just messing around when he said you'd bitten his head off - you're in no position to say it's too weird, considering that you've ben using powers granted to you by damned rockstars all day now.

You remember that there's a nearby church that usually has a light on late at night. You'll try there, and see if it's any help.

When you get to the church, there is indeed still a light on in the back. You knock on the back door, and, after a while, you hear someone unlatch it from the inside.

"Is there something I can do for you?" The priest asks.

>[]Yes, I've got an uncoscious guy on my motorcycle
>[]Yes, I'm on a mission from God
>[]Yes, some really weird stuff's been happening to me lately

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>>34688897
I'm suddenly much less ok with this 'going to church' idea.

>No, I must have the wrong address

>>34688897
>[]Yes, I'm on a mission from God
>[]Yes, I'm on a mission from God
>[]Yes, I'm on a mission from God
>[]Yes, I'm on a mission from God
>[]Yes, I'm on a mission from God

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>>34688959
>Metagaming this hard

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>>34688897
"Yes," you tell the priest with an absolutely straight face, "I'm on a mission from God."

"A mission that involves stopping a major freeway, and crashing an exclusive club to put on a barbaric display?" He isn't visibly smiling, but you're sure he's mocking you. You realize that the videos have to have gotten some serious exposure if a priest has heard about it. "It's certainly a more interesting mission than He gave me," the priest continues, "and how did He indicate that this was your mission?"

>[]Damned rockers told me to kill demons
>[]An angel gave me a motorcycle, a ticket to that club, and some cocaine
>[]Look, the DJ passed out after I bit the head off of his fish, and I think it's your area of expertise
>[]Write-in

(Has everybody left? I can stop now and see if I can run again tomorrow, if everybody's gone. I'll announce times on my twitter: https://twitter.com/HaikuDeluge)

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>>34689188
God works in mysterious ways, are you questioning his will?

then point him towards the DJ

>>34689188
>"Many of the world's best rockers sold their souls to demons, and are now fully possessed. They gave me their talents to try and drive said demons out...it's been overwhelming, to say the least."

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>>34689278
Point him to the DJ

>>34689188
(1/?)

"God works in mysterious ways, are you questioning His will?" you ask, as innocently as you can. "Besides, there's someone out here who needs your help."

"I don't question God's will," the priest responds, trudging after you into the night, "I question your interpretation of it. So that's the DJ," he asks, then pauses, as if there was more he was going to say, but instead he just asks you to to help him carry the DJ inside, to a couch in his office.

>>34689188
>[]An angel gave me a motorcycle, a ticket to that club, and some cocaine

Im still not over 'sawtooth bass' ypu guys

>>34689636
you dont have to be

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>>34689627
(2/?)

While you help carry the DJ, you give the priest the elevator pitch: "Most of the world's best rockers sold their souls to the devil for their talent-"
"This isn't a cheap metaphor for selling out the The Man, is it?" He asks, again with that irritatingly straight face.

Well, you try to give him the elevator pitch, but he keeps interrupting.

You keep trying to get the point across, as the two of you maneuver down the hallway: "Some of them who are still 'living' are just possessed by demons, since - "
"Please, tell me this isn't a metaphor for creative talent disappearing as their lifestyle becomes easier and they age."

As you set the DJ down on the couch, you make the final attempt: "Many of the ones who overdosed did so deliberately when they felt possession overcoming -"
"The 'possession', in this case, being the inability to deal with the pleasures and stresses of fame and fortune, right? You're not making the most convincing or arguments here. And I think we'll find that this DJ simply OD'd on something at the rave; you're lucky I've got some medical knowledge."

Christ, this guy is getting under your skin. He's a a damn priest, he should believe this stuff. While he checks the DJ's pulse, you glance around the room in frustration.

There's a fairly standard wooden desk with a laptop sitting on it, a couch with a chair near it, a bookshelf full of commentaries and other theological works, and a lumpy mass under a bedsheet behind the desk.

>>34689736
(3/3)

You've got to make him see the light.

>[]Continue arguing (Tell him about the angel)
>[]Punch him
>[]ROCK HIS FACE OFF
>[]Read one of his books while he tries to figure out what's wrong with the DJ
>[]Write-in

>>34689786
>[]Read one of his books while he tries to figure out what's wrong with the DJ
Let him heal the DJ, then rock his face in

>>34689736
Damn did we shoot up all the coke while I wasn't watching?

>>34689786
>Tell him about the angel in power ballad format

>>34689819
All of this

I swear on all that is gracefully laden with sex and drugs, this had better not be a one thread wonder.

>>34689819
This, oh mah gawd this

>>34689736
(1/?)

You look through the shelves, and realize that there's some pretty strange stuff in here. You grab a book on the classification of angels and demons, and start leafing through it, but he interrupts you before you can really get started.

"Do you have any idea how much trouble we're going to be in?" hes asks

You turn around into his accusing stare. He's holding the DJ's mask, and you can see the lights, wires and other hardware inside it. A young woman is laying on the couch. Well, you kind of saw this coming a while ago, but hadn't really thought about it very much. It's not as if you would have done anything differently.

"You brought me a drugged-up girl in the small hours of the morning," he continues, "are you from the diocese, or just looking for someone to share your guilt?"

You've had about enough of this, and past enough. Fuck this guy.

But you put the book down carefully first. No use wasting a perfectly good book on a skull as thick as his.

>>34690198
fucking called it that the DJ was a women

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>>34690198
(2/?)

You swing your guitar around. It's time.

It's really too bad you don't have a keyboardist, or even a good drummer. A power ballad is hard to pull off with just the guitar part, even if you can play lead and backup by yourself. But you're going to do it, just to wipe the smirk off of this fucking priest's face.

A nice, slow intro, singing about the baking eternal concrete of suburban shopping centers, the ground that cares not who walks it, or what they ride, and of those who treat the concrete with the disdain it treats them. The priest is examining the DJ's eyes, probably to check for the telltale opiate pinprick pupils.

You shut your own eyes as you launch into the meat of the song - a strung-out guitarist and a biker, a chance meeting that could blossom, wait, hold on a sec, this isn't a love song. You quickly rewrite a verse in mid-sentence, and hope it isn't too noticable.

Then you realize you've got drums backing you.

You open your eyes, spin around, and see the priest sitting in his desk chair, hunched over the drumset, the sheet flung on the floor.

Then you go for the gold. The steady backing beat is a license to fool around on the guitar, as you sing of the power forcing you to the ground, the heat of the summer sun, the powerful eyes of the rugged stranger - and again, it tries to turn into a love song. You're not sure why that happens - perhaps the lyricist whose power you're drawing on only wrote romantic power ballads.

OP is currently crafting a glorious power ballad

>>34690531
I wish.

I hate to admit it, but I'm not a songwriter. I'm going to stick with describing the songs, rather than writing them.

SHIT a priest drummer and a female DJ pianist todays a fucking great day

This is my fetish.

>>34690576
What's left, bass and possibly a singer?
We could cover vocals if we need though

>>34690630
We need a backup vocalist or something similar.

>>34690653
Back up vocalists and dancers?

I dunno, are either of those really rock?

>>34690680
back up vocalists are.

>>34690680
Well then we could do something similar to System of a down.

>>34690653
the bassist is the back up singer

We don't need a backup vocalist. Bassist or keyJ can handle that. What we should be thinking about is our support team. Roadies, management, a bus. Also, and this is incredibly important, every successful band has their own sound guy.

We have a woman, and a priest.
Let's head to the schools after this

I like this quest a lot

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>>34690521
(3/?)
Well, whatever the reason, you can't sing a power ballad the isn't a love song. And it's time to fuck with the priest anyway. You start screaming about power between your legs, the lure of the asphalt, and the joys of the steel horse while you scrub furiously at your guitar's strings. The song turns guttural, heavy, as your tear your vocal cords out about an angel's cocaine in an envelope.

The damned priest barely misses a beat - he's into it, as if he was born to play drums that could lift the heaviest of heavy metal, and overpower power metal. You stop singing, and back off the guitar.

For once in your short history, he takes your hint, and launches into a scorching drum solo. His mullet slices through the air as he bangs his head furiously. you have no idea what the day-to-day frustrations of a priest's life are, but he's sure taking them out on those drums.

Finally, he crescendos, and you come back in, to finish off with one last chorus, a re-setting of your original form into a hard-driving, pounding metal shell. It's like putting a wimpy kid in a giant robot - this is a song that would eat other songs for breakfast.

When the two of you finally finish, you're both sweating, and the temperature in the room has risen perceptibly.

The priest breaks the satisfied silence first, leaning back in his office chair: "You know, I recognized 44's bike."

Best quest on the board, by far

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>>34690870
>He takes your hint
>he crescendos
>hard-driving, pounding
>When the two of you finally finish, you're both sweating, and the temperature in the room has risen perceptibly.
>satisfied silence

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>>34690870

>>34690870
(4/4)

"The diocese has been trying to get me out of this parish for months," he continues, "I wanted to think that your appearance was an act of Providence, pointing me in the right direction, but it all seemed too convenient. Do you mind if I join you on your mission?"

>[]Hell Yes
>[]Hell No
>[]Isn't there someone we should be helping?
>[]Why do you call him 44?
>[]Write-in

>>34691005
>Hell Yes
>But for now, what about the DJ?

While he takes care of the DJ look into getting a van. A shitty van too, one that we can tour in.

>>34691005
>>[]Isn't there someone we should be helping?
>>[]Why do you call him 44?

>>34691005
>[]Hell Yes
>[]Why do you call him 44?

>>34691005
>Hell yes
>Is the girl okay?

>>34691150
>Is the girl okay?
That's probably worth adding

>>34691064
>>34691149
The dice made it so. He has many names.
>how did you know his bike
is a better question

>>34691172
I know the Meta-reason, but I want to hear the in-universe explanation.

>>34691190
It's magic.
We called him 44 too.

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>>34690870
(1/?)

Come along," you say, "let's kill some demons, rock some rolls, and put some pedals to the metal. How's the DJ doing?" You're having a hard time thinking of the young lady as anything other than the mouse-headed layer of beats. Well, that's the point of having a stage identity, you guess.

"You put her through an incredibly traumatic experience yesterday," the priest tells you. "The fish was a manifestation of part of her psyche. Before you tell me how odd that is, please remember that you're using the gifts of every great rocker in Hell."

"So, that was a psychic projection fish?" You'd like to think you're taking this well. "Tasted pretty real, and bled a lot."

"It's complicated. Sometimes someone blocks part of themselves off long enough that it becomes almost a separate entity. Usually, it destroys them shortly afterward, but if they accept it as part of themselves, they can gain control of it." He looks straight at you. "You ate a part of this innocent girl's heart, in a mockery of an ancient sacrificial ceremony, in front of a virtual audience of millions."

reread the post
like putting a wimpy kid in a giant robot
fucking funny

>>34691057
>>34691149
>>34691150
Shit! He asked
>do you mind if...
We said
>hell yes

>>34691407
I'm not a genie, I interpreted that as wanting him to come with you.

The question was worded confusingly.

>>34691400
can we fix her

>>34691465
Take her fishing

>>34691400
(2/?)

Your stomach is empty, and you suddenly feel very, very tired.
"That's, uh, how can I fix that?"

"Since it's used to existing on its own, I'm pretty sure I can rip it out of your soul, and graft it back onto her," the priest says. "Of course, the procedure will be unpleasant, dangerous, and involve me fishing through everything that's in your head. I might also dislodge some of what the rockers gave you, by accident. I could even turn you into a vegetable or a soulless shell, if I fuck up badly enough. I've done it before."

You open your mouth to respond, but he cuts you off "no, I'm not doing it tonight. We're both too tired for it, and you need to sleep on this decision."

Well, damn. You guess that explains why you were able to master the bass melody so easily when you tried to play it for her in the parking lot. Well, if there's nothing you can do about it now, you may as well think about something else.

"Why do you call him 44, and how do you know him?"

>>34691504
fuck made that me me laugh

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>>34691570
(3/3)

"He shoots a .44 magnum, drinks 44 oz. sodas, has four wheels, and faces four directions at once," the priest tells you, "and as for how I know him; well, you aren't the first guy to bring an unconscious person to me this late at night, and most priests eventually figure out when an angel's riding in their parish."

Well, you guess everything makes sense now.

"Do you want to spend the night here? It's getting rather late, and that way we'd both be able to ensure the other doesn't do anything untoward with the young lady."

>[]Stay at the church
>[]Go home
>[]Write-in

>>34691688
fuck i need sleep

>>34691705
stay at the church

>>34691705
>>[]Stay at the church

>>34691705
>[]Go home

I-I don't know how to feel about this quest.
It's blowing my mind something fierce, I don't think I'm strong enough to handle that much power.

>>34691705
Alright, we're almost at the bump limit, and I'm tired after running this for 14 straight hours.

I'll announce the next thread on my twitter: https://twitter.com/HaikuDeluge Hopefully I'll be able to run again tomorrow. (Although not for nearly as long.)

This thread's been archived on SupTG, go vote for it there.

Thank you all for making my first time QMing so fun.

I'm going to stick around for a bit, so ask me any questions you've got.

What'd you guys think?

>>34691705
>we'd both be able to ensure the other doesn't do anything untoward with the young lady.
Are you some kind of Judas priest?

>>34691783
So does DJ play the bass, keyboard, or just scratch discs

>>34691705
Stay at the church.
Transporting her at this point would be irresponsible, even for us.
Let's shoot some coke with the priest and stay up all night writing an EP

>>34691819
She scratch the bass.

>>34691783
Did we have to power of all the dead/alive Rockers or will we "train" with some in the future?
Cause having Dio as a trainer would be awesome

>>34691783
Was fun. Looking forward to more Rule of Cool Rock Battles Against Demons.

>>34691800
Nah, he's just a dick.

>>34691819
You guys seemed to seize on the DJ as a keyboardist, which makes sense - that's a very popular interface for electronic music.

However, there's a lot of other stuff involved in creating electronic music, so that's probably not her only competency.

Playing and programming a synthesizer is probably going to be her big thing during our live performances.

>>34691845
We probably trained with him during the dream mentioned in >>34675724

I feel like extended training sequences would slow things down, honestly.

>>34691861
Glad you enjoyed it, and I hope to get to more of that next time. I don't think we've actually run into any demons yet.

Oh, wait, one of them ran into us on that crit fail.

>being in this thread
>not voting
shiggy

>>34691705
Called it