Skyscraper [Play By Post]

[squibbles]

The gentle rays of dawn broke over the hazy metropolis, alarm clocks for the shadows of night, who needed to be back in the ether for breakfast in the convent. Upon a skyscraper he sat, resting against a cold spire, a guitar gripped firmly in his calloused hands. The young man was startled by rustling and scraping behind him. He turned to see a middle-aged man, best described as dimly toned, scrawling a note against an adjacent wall, his furrowed brow creased as if it were permanent. The tall, gaunt man accelerated his scribbling and began mumbling violently. The younger man, back still to spire, thought it best to strum up a Beatles' tune, as he could think of no better way to break the ice, a soaring glacier of radiance only he could detect. As he assimilated his voice to those of Lennon and McCartney during what he considered to be the prime verse of Here Comes the Sun, the older man jumped, spinning subtly, and ever so insignificantly, allowing his left eye to survey the landscape he had obviously neglected upon topping the stairs.
'Who's there!?' he interrobanged, in an accent crudely resembling Movie Pirate. The younger man decided he was scared, and merely increased his voice's volume and tonal amplitude. The older man looked pissed off, like he had been interrupted. Our gimp remained lively but wary. Was this a standoff? Neither knew or spoke, but both suggested it subconsciously, what with the loud rock music from one corner and the eerie silence from the other. In a perfect world, perhaps they could have put aside their differences, taken their shirts off, and beaten each other to death in the crisp morning air, but unfortunately, neither man was reasonable enough to perform the simplest of these actions. The older man's fingers played uneasily around his right hip. The movement seemed unfamiliar to him and his joints almost creaked audibly as he reached into the depths of his pocket, dragging out a short, tattered script hosting scattered glyphs which seemed to leap off the page. Staring intently at the page and uttering words in a foreign tongue the elderly man lifted his right arm, and out of nowhere a guitar of his own began to appear. As the guitar became more tangible the wind began to blow harder, and suddenly, upon looking around, the young man with rock music in his heart noticed that the tower on which he was perched was surrounded by a spiraling pillar of wind, visible due to the immense amount of dirt spinning up to the heavens. As he looked back at the elderly man he saw that the guitar had fully formed, and was giving off a strange otherworldly glow, and if he listened closely, he could swear that he could hear pained screams echoing from the strings of the guitar. He looked in horror at the old man, but to his surprise such a character no longer existed. Standing before him was a tall young man, with flowing black hair and green eyes. As the young man continued to stare, the newly reconfigured old man drew a picked seemingly from the air in front of him, and began to play.
Note after note was summoned, and with every lick the young man could feel himself edging back towards the ultimate point of the roof on which they stood. Knowing that to continue to gawk would result in a rather long fall, he quickly reached into his pocket and drew his own pick, noticing it glowing a vibrant gold in the light of the moon. Screaming as he played a powerchord, the old man grunted, and instantly the young man could feel power returning to his legs. Stepping forward and playing at an increasing pace, he was certain that 'All You Need Is Love' would be the key to defeating this monstrosity, however despite playing perfect chord progressions, and approaching the man hastily, it seemed to have no effect. Bewildered, he looked up at the old man, only to see that he was laughing hysterically, having not moved more than half a foot towards the edge than he initially stood. "You think that you can outplay me with chords, boy?", he sneered, lifting his pick back to his guitar. As he played solo after solo I could feel my legs failing me once more, and I realised that the only chance I had to survive was to play equally intensely. Thinking back on the songs he had learned over the years, one song lept to the front of his mind. He remembered that day vividly, sitting in his basement, shredding along with Eddie Van Halen, and as he raised his head, his hands began to fly. Moving quickly his fingers darted across the fretboard, notes flying through the air, his confidence returned, and as the song came to a close the old man gave one final sigh, falling silently off the edge of the building.
Knowing that the battle was done, the young man collapsed on the ground, and quickly fell into a deep sleep, dreaming what he could only imagine to be the future...

[remm]

He stood up and swayed slightly before becoming aware of his surroundings. It was night. The young man was still atop the skyscraper, now dwarfed by towering edifices. "When am I?" He asked nobody in particular. Nobody replied. He was aware of dreaming about the future, but was this still the dream? To discern the nature of his current reality, he walked towards the edge, his path lit by the dim lights of the nearby skycrapers. Looking down to the ground, he saw nothing, just a faint shimmer.
"Is that water?"