Well. Reading *that* certainly made me hungry.
But we better bring in the potential groom to be. Blast from the past.
“You’ll have to get rid of the mohawk,” I say over.
“Done.”
“And the red and blue eyes.”
“Also: done.”
“Annd… the lipstick.”
“Oh. *Okay*. But I’m keeping the earring.”
“Fine.”
“Soo where’ve you been?” He looks kind of like me at that age, Newt thinks, finally somewhat satisfied with The Musician’s appearance. Needs to put on some pounds; seems a bit gaunt. Punk life must be rough on him that way.
“Off the grid,” he answers. “Touring,” he elaborates.
“In your… band.”
“Yeah.” He takes another sip of the wine he brought along, not chancing a strange brand from an unknown place. Although the overall location pretty near the Rubi Woods was familiar to him. Patagonia here. Like the brand of jacket that Franklin wasn’t wearing. Instead: Columbia, which she soiled with her toothpaste. It’s fine, though.
“Last time I checked you were in Sunklands.”
“That wasn’t me,” he shot back, not claiming responsibility for being in that club, The Cavern. “Someone else,” he stands firm.
“Despite the similar appearance? Despite the mohawk?”
“Yeah.” He’d been through this before. He had a female double. Jacob I. knows. If we can wake him up from where he slumbers.
“Alright, how about, let’s see, Paper-Soap?”
“Nope.”
Pause as I continue to read/study. “Then let’s try the Omega continent’s Straight. With Duncan Avocado.”
“Okay. Recall *something* about that.” He scratches his now bare head, trying to reveal memories.
“Duncan was mad at you because you were disguising yourself as grown up in an adult infohub. Something, hold on, about milk and cookies. You were looking over at milk and cookies. But was it *really* milk–”
“I remember,” The Musician cut him short. He’d grown up fast that day, if not nearly enough to match his body at the time. But he could change back very quickly in those days. Ahh, the energy of youth.
“And then… you said you aren’t the same as the woman version of you, right? The director as I’m recalling through this review of ours.”
“Correct.” There was an interesting mystery there to be solved, I log through Newt. Him but not him. A her. “And then — I guess we’re all the way back to when you were with Wheeler.”
“Why I’m here,” he replied simply and took another sip. He jumped at the chance to marry her this go around, in whatever form she has. He’d seen pictures and that was enough. “Sold,” he said to me. Thus the meeting at this cafe beneath the giraffe which he rode in on.
Sunklands 