Quest In The Realms – an interactive Bananafish production! [Episode #53]

• Here’s where the adventure begins;

• This is how you can win 30 STEEM and 30 @steembasicincome shares.

53

You sit facing the ocean, on an almost perfect hexagon of black volcanic stone. From the old colonial, in the middle of the dense jungle, come magical joints of exultant shouts and music.

The classic guitar you found in Oddy's bedroom nestles on your chest, becoming the natural extension of your arm. While caressing its nylon strings, the distant noises of the concert preparations accentuate the peace of nature around you.

Far away, the lights of the volcano start to glow as the solar disk melts into the expanse of water in an opalescent bath. At times, on the slope of the volcano, glimpses of fleeting flashes, almost like falling stars. They are Baphomets, those bizarre creatures, catching fire as light moths while approaching the lava.

You feel lost in your thoughts, lost in your arpeggio, helpless among the crossfire of the thousand sensations left by everything you and your band have experienced. Your voice rises slowly on those melancholic notes:

"There's a feeling I get /
When I look to the west /
And my spirit is crying for leaving."

You wince as a pebble passes by like a bullet and ends in the waves, not before bouncing four times.

"Classical guitar. Uhm. I promise not to tell the others, just this once." Without stopping to caress the strings, you smile ironically at the sound of Tio's bronze and sly voice. "It seems that Machete has finally found a bevy of admirers, though I'm not sure he will like them," the drummer continues.

"We'll be on the island for a while and some good old Oddy experiments are not that bad, Tio," you say.

The sun on the horizon is now completely deflated, like a yolk pierced by a fork. You observe in the distance a tropical storm shuffling sky, air, and water together in a complicated yellow-green tapestry.

"They told me that it should just brush the island and unload far away. It matters little. Temporal or hurricane, today is our big day," you say as Tio's wand drums gently on your head while his flat face looks at you placid and curious. "This stone was too comfortable and warm to not play a little on it alone. Tonight it will be simply epic. Don’t worry Tio, I'll give you a never before seen Mendoza. "

Your drummer sits next to you. Against the last sun rays, he resembles a gentle moai.

"Brother, what can you worry about after all we've been through?"

"I was just thinking, Tio..." you end the arpeggio, while the scent of guitar cedar mixes with the electric smell in the air. "I thought... Now that we are the musicians we always wanted to be, perhaps even more than we could have ever imagined, I feel that our music can change things. It won't be like before when our main concern was to drink as many beers as possible before being kicked out of the club."

"I don’t know if Tres told you that the concert will be broadcast all over the world tonight, Mendo," Tio's gaze is now absorbed towards the horizon, where the last lights of the sunset gave the storm front, still far away, an intense slate color.

"You see? Becoming gods of rock is exalting," you continue, "however, I can not help but wonder: if the music changes, does the musician change with it? Now I feel that we have a responsibility in what we communicate to our audience. How can we still be the good old naughty Tortillas? "

Long moments of silence pass while the first gusts of the storm play with the hair of the granite drummer, sitting cross-legged.

"Mendo, as soon as it leaves your instrument, the music is no longer yours." Slowly, Tio presses his Vic Firth wand against your chest, at the level of your heart."Be free. We'll just keep on trying." He frowns, but his eyes and the corners of his mouth smile at you.
Then, approaching his square face to yours, he adds, "we'll also be less sober, starting from now! It's time to drain Oddy's cellars. I heard that the old fool hid a special reserve of Grog over there. Right after, we will blow this damn island with our ass-kicking music!"

You grab Tio's hand, and help yourself up from the cooled black stone. Through the thick vegetation, you can glimpse the stage lights. The brisk wind brings you the notes of a delirious musical solo run between Tres Culos and Machete. It's time for the whole world to taste a slice of Tortilla de Pelo.

The end!