Submission (#3094) Approved

The electric hum of a plucked string fills the quiet air of his room; he tightens the string incrementally until the note resonates the way it should and strums again. When the Ghoul is satisfied with the way the note sounds, he moves on to the next, twisting the pegs at the top of the neck of the guitar with slow precision until slowly but surely it’s in tune.

He always restrings his guitar before events like this, meticulous and fussy with it at the best of times but even more so when there’s a performance soon. It’s the annual Creativity Festival, and he usually takes the stage earlier in the mornings before things get too busy, so he has to prepare the night before. It’s not that he doesn’t like the attention, he does, he just prefers a more relaxed approach to the festival; as relaxed as restringing your guitar and retuning it for the fourth time can be— relaxed as he ever is.

He fiddles with the dials on the sound rig, tail lashing irritably as it gives him a stubborn feedback whine, and he has to rush to adjust everything until, just like the guitar, it’s all exactly as it should be. He built it himself but that doesn’t mean it obeys him.
Finally, after no small amount of fighting with her inputs and levels, he gets it settled down and playing nicely with the amp; it is only then that he actually picks up the guitar to play. Every year, and this year is no different, the solo he plays is improvised. Ergo, this is not practice in its usual sense, he’s not playing through the usual rifts and lines like he would if he were performing a preplanned song.

The Ghoul gathers up his guitar, sits down and sets a foot near his pedals and the other on the amp, and starts to play. His fingers dance over the frets, slow at first as he figures out how he wants to approach the improvised piece, but before long he’s playing quickly, fingers flying and sweat prickling through his fur; the volume of the music vibrates the liquid suspended inside his visor and torso— it shakes his very bones.

He loses himself in the music, passionate and intense; ever since he passed, ever since the Dust Wyrm revived him, these are the moments he feels the most alive. He can't wait for the festival stage tomorrow.