#AOoP: Bubble-Glub

[after-out-of-place]

Slick Soliloquy

Today was supposed to be different. The name's Grr'glegolyb - though most folks call me Bubble-Glub. I intentionally ended up deep below the surface of San Bearino. What's not intentional is being in the back of a rail maintenance vehicle, with the windows smashed and the lights turned off - think those got damaged by the same thing that caused the tunnel behind us to collapse. The windows sure were. This ain't exactly the kind of situation an ex-bartender slash musician slash manager slash impromptu duck whisperer would find themselves in on any day - hell, the least strange thing about today is having DD in my lap, her arms around my waist and her head on my shoulder. ******

The day began in 'Our Place': it's a quiet coffee corner, doing its Sunday best to blend a dark academic vibe with dark roasted coffee beans. At least that's my take on it. I ain't much a morning person, but the familiarity of the two lovebirds running the place gives me time to reflect on my own life in the present. That, and a cup of coffee so strong you practically have to wrestle the liquid in the hopes of it giving you the boost you're looking for. It's just how I like it.

All of the crew were around that morning. Dee had some time after dropping her sister off at the University - Dee's been sticky with me ever since the whole thing with CC happened - not that I'm complaining, as both a slime-folk and her main squeeze. It did make the events of that morning far more bitter than the coffee I'd been wrestling with, however: she wasn't supposed to see me like that - hell, none of 'em were. It still strikes me as odd to have folks care so deeply; to have them look further than skin-deep and not recoiling once they do.

The new advertisement on the billboard outside hurt in all kinds of ways, with the sort of sickly buzzing neon letters usually reserved for a dive bar making sure every man, woman, in-between and beyond be aware of the Mūci|agenIX - "a mall of the ages past, present and future!" - with the new location being in an old district of San Bearino. That's in my old stomping grounds, as it were. I hadn't been there in ages, but the idea of some slick CEO bulldozing a slice of history like that made me sick to my soul. I had to go there. Alone. I'm the kinda person who deals with their own mess in their own time, always have been, and the way my composure slipped that morning like a slick porcelain cup from between my fingers to shatter on the cold floor below still bothers me.

I didn't tell 'em the why. It's a personal matter, the kind of trouble reserved for only one pair of shoulders to carry. But as it turns out, if the person with the most chill suddenly loses it all from looking at a bright neon sign, it doesn't jive with any of the crew. I could tell it bothered Dee the most - we'd been working on some things, together, but I'm not ready to make those slender shoulders do any heavy lifting after what happened back on her home turf. I know deep down that DD can handle herself, it ain't her I'm the most worried about.

None of them budged: I'd asked them repeatedly whether they'd want to hang back and sit this one out. Wallace had the shortest, most clear answer: a swiftly raised pair of middle fingers. He's a clever kid, knows I'm used to talking to birds.

Still hadn't told them the why. They'd stopped asking once I finally led them out there and to an old access tunnel to the underground. Or rather, they never asked - I told them it was a personal thing and they respected that boundary. In all the years I've been around I didn't stop to think that sort of trust existed, let alone between the most eclectic bunch of folks I've had the pleasure of being friends with. Not that yours truly ain't an odd duck, themselves.

I retraced my steps through the old stomping grounds, and under them. Muscle memory, for as far as that carries one such as myself. Plenty of memories to go off of, some more faded than others. Forgotten memories make way for new ones - much like new life, plant and otherwise, growing under the threat of becoming corporate sludge trapped under a new mall. To that extent, turns out the ratfolk had been busy with corpo sabotage, delaying the mall being built - they're good folk, similar interests to mine outside of music. They ain't much for jazz. Or the band in general. We'd have been at a impasse if it hadn't been for the note from … Well. That's personal. ******

I'd have called the rail maintenance vehicle a blessing in disguise - but it'd have been left to rot if it'd just been myself. Also happens to be that more than one machine down underground still had juice in it. I should've figured, that green glow didn't match mine. That mechanical squid thing must've been built to level the place from the inside-out - it sure tried. The only thing it got good was the vehicle. Deep down I'm glad none of the band sat this one out. I guess I'd call them all a blessing in their own right: they've all got their unique merits. Turns out that both Wallace and Sila can damn near drive anything that moves; Chritty's resourceful as all hell; Horace continues being the best button-pusher this side of San Bearino; and DD … DD's got one hell of a set of vocal chords on her (It's one of her better features, but admittedly not the one I pay the most attention to).

If neither of them had been around, chances are I'd not be in the back of this vehicle. Sure, the lights are off. Sure, the windows are smashed and there's glass all over the place. And yeah, the tunnel behind us collapsed under the weight of a mechanical monstrosity dumb enough to smash the very tunnel it's in. But DD's in my lap, her arms around my waist and her head on my shoulder. The band's all here.