The punk rocker started to hum the theme tune to Ghostbusters while he slipped the decidedly average item of clothing over his head and onto his athletic torso. A burst of less than tuneful lyrics escaped from his lips as he adjusted the hoodie to fit his frame.
“If the secret’s out,” sang Aaron, “and vampires exist, who ya gonna call? Call Kaspar!”
A cheeky smirk crawled across the stubbly face of the musician. It was crystal clear why he was a drummer and not a vocalist.
“If the humans know,” continued the makeshift singer, “are they gonna be pissed? Who ya gonna call? Call Kaspar!”
The music scene in Harper Rock was surprisingly vibrant for a relatively normal city, with plenty of bands to keep the local inhabitants entertained. The “Kaspar” in question was the frontman of a popular group, and a recent acquaintance of Aaron’s. The pair had casually crossed paths on several occasions, but had officially introduced themselves to one another at gig a month or two back. It was clear pretty quickly in their fledgling relationship that the two young men had more in common than just a love of music and playing to a live audience.
Aaron was hardly the shy and retiring type, but Kaspar was in a different league, with his flamboyant presence and oozing charisma. He’d been in the public eye, a minor celebrity if you will, due to his father being a famous rock star. If Aaron knew anyone who may be able to connect to the general public and get a genuine insight into the thoughts of the humans, then it was probably Kaspar.
The laid back drummer may have believed in peace and harmony, but that didn’t mask the fact that he was a ruthless killer, a murderer, a vampire. Maybe his actions didn’t always align themselves with his philosophy on life, and perhaps he’d end up facing an angry mob with a burn-the-witch attitude, but Aaron needed to know the word on the street. Were vampires going to be public enemy number one, or welcomed into the fold with open arms?
Grabbing a couple of weapons, just to be on the safe side, Aaron bolted from his apartment like a runaway stallion. Rather than simply calling Kaspar on the phone, the young punk decided to pay him a visit in person. A face-to-face chat would be more fun, and besides, Aaron really fancied a bit a fresh air to clear his mind.
The journey across town was hugely uneventful, although Aaron noted several groups of humans talking with passion in their voices, and gesticulating wildly. The perceptive vampire was certain that their topic of conversation was not dissimilar to the one that he hoped to be having with Kaspar. He kept his hood up and his head down.
Arriving at a renovated old church, the home of Morningstar Inc., Aaron slid passed a street scuffle, the cause of which was unclear, and darted inside. He walked purposefully through an open door into the main studio area, pausing as a small sea of unfamiliar faces gazed back at him. The drummer felt as though he had wandered onto the movie set of a western, and had entered the local saloon like a high plains drifter.
“Howdy, dudes,” said Aaron, flipping back his grey hood as if he were removing a Stetson. “I guess you’re not all here to audition for backing vocals?”