McCool's Tavern - Freeport 1

[Dane Summers]

The flickering neon sign next to the tavern entry way was hanging askew, probably knocked a bit off by the rumbling through the station a few days ago. It pulsed its red hopeful message of "OPEN" as best it could. it seems that in that in all the chaos of the last few days, no one bothered to right it. As he reached out to lift the right corner up, it just slid back down, flickering all the more in protest. A wave of dizziness from the prior concussion washed over Dane, and he had to shut his eyes so as not to throw up.

He walked in, and didnt notice John at the bar. his vision was still a bit blurry, and his legs hurt. His arm hurt, and his chest hurt. The rest of his body was sore. Everything else just seemed numb. The only thing that wasn't was Dane himself. Always so full of emotion, burning so strongly, the last few days had wrung out of him every last drop. But there was always more. always.

Sal, acting as bartender today, grabbed a bottle of whiskey, intending to mix a Jack & Coke, but hesitated. He reached for a soda, but then, kept mixing the drink. A little alcohol calmed the nerves. And the kid looked like he could use it.
he set the drink on the table, but Dane passed it by. He saw his guitar against the wall where he had left it - with purposed steps he walked over, picked it up, and just stared at it. It felt like it had been months since he'd touched it, even though it had only been days.

He pulled up a seat at the bar, his guitar in hand, unwrapped his arm out of its sling, placed his hands in the old familiar places, like caressing an old flame, that girl you never stopped loving. Just a brush of his fingertips, and that old song came whispering back.

It was that quick. That old love came back. that old calling. he reached out, took a slow sip from the drink, and smiled. His fingers moved across chords, and a folksy melody emerged. As it gained in power, a whisper of a song emerged from Dane's lips.

"Now i was only five...when my dad told me...i'd die."

"I cried as he said 'Son'...'Aint nothin' to be done..."

eyes close, nodding his head with the beat, it was joined by his stomping foot, producing a percussion rhythm, to the ever increasing melody of the guitar.

"Now. All. The. Fist's. I've. Thrown....only tryin' to prove him wrong"

"...But after all the blood I spilled...only tryin' to get killed..."

"And I've already suffered...I want you to know...that i'm ridin' on hell's hot flames...

"...comin' up from below..."

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