Finally, Nutty Longfellow stepped onto the stage, and what followed was a strange yet delightful performance. Just moments before the show started, Sonny and Durk loaded a few firework canisters to use during the impromptu concert. They also hung a few tattered old banners that looked like they'd seen a few shows.
"Denizens of Crest Town, prepare thine selves for a symphony of the soul. I am Nutty Longfellow, musical proprietor, songwriter, and humble performer. Before we administer our funky tunes and blissful vibes, I would request to steal a fleeting moment in order to provide gratitude to your generous community. Through the confluence of your generous support and unwavering encouragement, it is within the bounds of our deepest appreciation that we find ourselves, fortuitously and continually, able to engage in the pursuit of our most cherished passions…" Nutty paused for applause, but everyone was trying to figure out what he was talking about.
Sonny carefully made sure her harp stayed solidly on the ground before leaving it to walk over to Nutty's microphone.
"Uh, you'll have to excuse my brother; his uh…accent is thick," she cleared her throat and glared at him for a second like siblings often do when one of them is being a tad extra. "What he's trying to say is, thanks for having us. Without cool folks like you, we couldn't do what we love."
"Yeah, traveling and playing music," Durk added with a twirl of his drumsticks.
By this time, the White Moon Crew had gathered among the moderately sized crowd, which slowly kept growing. Justice was front and center, sitting criss-cross-applesauce about six feet in front of Nutty's mic. The sea of people around her was animated, but her posture remained locked, keeping her eyes on the eccentric performers.
"So, BLEGH—what do you think? This gonna' rock or nah?" Pax asked with a belch. He had a grease-soaked cardboard bucket filled with random fried animal pieces drenched in gravy, which he was shoveling into his mouth by the fistful. The white shirt he had switched into after the eating competition was now pale yellow, stained by his uncontrollable perspiration.
"Woo! You're a bit ripe, aren't you?" Harper noted, waving the pungent air away from her face.
Pax strained to turn his thick neck to gauge the expressions of the people standing nearby. He wiped his gravy-covered mitts on the pastel-lemon shirt and belched again. Nobody was looking directly at him, but a few of the folks were covering their noses.
"Sorry. It's a hot one today," Pax chuckled.
Truth be told, he did have a unique condition that even he wasn't aware of. One of the reasons he was able to eat unrealistic amounts of food was because his body broke it down differently than an average person. For one, he has three stomachs, a fact nobody knows about Pax, including himself. Also true is most fats, greases, and liquids he consumes are almost instantly converted to sweat. This process is not only visually off-putting, but it's quite potent on the nostrils as well. Those who know him always chalked his intense perspiration up to being morbidly obese, but it's actually his body doing some freakish yet amazing things. On the other hand, the pig curse he was stuck with did have a few upsides, too. He had a higher pain tolerance than most; he could digest things normal individuals couldn't; he had a fantastic immune system, and that was just a few feats.
Meat, who had moseyed up behind them, seemed to have an unnatural infatuation with Pax and his nostril-punching stench. Since nobody was paying him any particular attention, he closed his eyes and leaned forward toward the unsuspecting pig-man, stealing an open-mouthed whiff of his pungent odor.
Unfortunately for him, Harper caught him in the act.
"Meat— that's farkin' gross," she winced.
Beth, who had been unaware of what was going on behind her, turned just in time to catch the tail end of the arrant sniff.
"Aw, come on Harp, one person's garbage smell might be someone else's flowers," Beth said through a reluctant smile.
"Meat," Chuck mumbled.
Harper, Beth, and Pax all glanced at each other, confused at why he would just say his name out of the blue.
"Uh, yeah…" Harper scoffed, "We are quite aware of your nickname."
Chuck shook his head. "No. I mean, the pig-man smells like meat—like rotted meat. I like rotted meat."
Pax's eyes lit up, but not in the flattered way. "Whoa, hey now, big dog, I hope you mean you like rotted meat…as friends…and not as food. Because I assure you, I may look plump and tasty on the outside, but the stuff that comes out of me, boy, let me tell you—"
"No worries. Pig-man is a friend." Chuck grumbled, standing back up straight. "Pig-man just smells delicious, that's all."
"Let's add that to the book of things nobody has ever said to me," Pax joked.
"I'm about to lose everything I just ate, I think," Harper quelched.
"Here ya go, pal," Pax forcefully pushed the greasy bucket of fried animal bits into her chest for her to vomit into if needed.
Harper took one look inside and instantly felt ten times worse. The sight alone was enough to turn her stomach. The contents were a jumbled mess of unidentifiable, crispy chunks coated in congealed gravy, with bits of cartilage and bone poking through the soggy, half-dissolved breading.
"Ew! Pax—this is farkin' gross; I can't even—wait." Harper paused. "Is that...is that a bandaid?"
Pax held up his left hand, which was covered in greasy food morsels. On his middle finger was a decent-sized gash with a soggy gravy-soaked scab half hanging off. "Yep. Damn thing must have slid off while I was eating…"
Harper gagged, but she somehow managed to keep the food down.
Beth raised an eyebrow, wondering to herself how he didn't accidentally eat the bandaid—and then she considered for a moment that it may not have even been his. Before she could say anything, she heard Chuck smacking his lips beneath his hooded cloak.
"Man alive, Pax…that is beyond foul!" Harper tossed the bucket onto the ground and kicked it into the crowd.
Beth did notice her bestie getting a little green around the gills. Granted, the whole concept of Pax and his array of odd odors and eating habits was quite off-putting, but it didn't bother her all that bad. Apparently, disemboweling enemies in the heat of battle has a way of desensitizing someone to what normies find grotesque or nauseating.
A few fireworks broke up the moment, throwing colored sparks into the twilight sky.
"…and without further adulation, this particular composition, albeit modest in nature, holds the distinguished honor of being the inaugural creation we ever penned…" Nutty started.
You could literally hear the crickets in the marketplace as nobody knew what the musician was saying.
"Uh…this is the first song we ever wrote," Durk reiterated. "…and it's called—"
"World Gone Mad!" Justice blurted out, interrupting him.
The idiosyncratic frontman was shocked to have an apparent superfan in the crowd. His astonished gaze quickly turned to joy.
"You heard the lady!" Nutty exclaimed. "Hit it!"
♪ Dancing on the edge of sanity,
With a polka-dotted hat and a cup of tea,
Whirling 'round in a world gone mad,
But oh, it's the best fun we've ever had! ♪
The song continued, and while it took a moment or two, the crowd slowly started to get into it.
The unabashed joy from the young girl warranted a few strange looks from those around her, but Justice was too lost in the music to care. Beth, already a few drinks in, saw an interesting sight in the crowd: Arvid, the typically irritable and disgruntled one of the group, was doing some sort of movement that resembled dancing. His face was as serious as ever, but his body appeared to be feeling the music. He was pretty drunk, but he often was off the clock. Even with a blood-alcohol level high enough to intoxicate a giant, Arvid still wasn't one to proverbially bust a move.
"Would you look at that," Beth slurred lazily. "Even old sour-face McGee can't resist the hapo…hypo…hypnotic tunes of Nutty Longfellow."
Harper glanced over and stifled a laugh. "Yeah, it's not too bad, actually."
♪ In a world gone mad, where the lights don't shine,
We're lost in the noise, on the edge of time.
Voices screaming loud, but no one's really there,
We're chasing shadows, breathing in despair. ♪
"The lyrics are a bit cryptic, though, don't you think?" Pax asked.
Harper stared at Justice, who was infatuated with the performance, and suddenly, her emo-like appearance made sense. She just assumed the way Justice dressed and styled herself had something to do with her time at the orphanage. She was pretty but never very ladylike, not like Harper was when she wanted to be.
As the night continued, the town square had taken on an almost dreamlike quality thanks in part to the soft glow of lanterns and the rhythmic pulse of half-decent music. Beth, never one to indulge in alcohol much, found herself knocking back a lot more than usual.
The crowd had nearly doubled in size by the time Nutty Longfellow and friends prepared to play their final song for the night.
"Our sincerest gratitude extends to you, illustrious audience! It has been but a fleeting moment since we last graced a community as rhythmically splendid as Crest Town. Yet, as the sands of this evening's hourglass dwindle, so too must our harmonious exhibition draw near its denouement. Nevertheless, a solitary melody remains within our grasp. In particular, I must commend the enchanting lady adorned with indigo-tinted locks, seated in the prime position of the first row, who has not only serenaded every tune with impeccable precision but even ventured into the depths of our most obscure, super deep, underground, basement cuts…"
"That's super groovy, by the way," Durk grumbled.
"Yeah. Very cool, kid," Sonny added, flicking a lock of hair from her face before tuning her harp for the final jam.
Justice grinned from ear to ear.
"What did he just say?" Pax asked.
Harper shrugged. "Words…of some sort."
Arvid walked by with a stout mug of razor-grain lager; it was just as high in alcohol as it was cheap. "I think he's going to ask Justice to pick the last song," Arvid suggested.
"Oh," Harper squinted at the musical trio. "That's what you got out of that?"
"As we have traversed a substantial array of our melodic repertoire this evening, it is true that not every composition has graced the airwaves. Thus, to the maiden with the indigo-hued tresses, I pose this inquiry—which harmonious creation from the Nutty Longfellow archives would you desire as the final crescendo to conclude our set?"
Harper looked at Arvid, confused.
"Yeah. I was right," he confirmed.
"Oh, okay." Harper nodded and then proceeded to watch Justice share a moment with her musical idle.
Without missing a beat, Justice popped up from her seated position and shouted, "Kaledioscope-colored Moon!"
Nutty, Sonny, and Durk shared a surprising glance with one another. It was a song they hadn't played in eons and a request that tickled them all.
"Ah, indeed, young lady, I daresay I find myself compelled to express, on behalf of our humble trio, a most sincere and exuberant delight at your esteemed request. May I, with all due deference, venture to inquire after your cherished appellation, fair damsel?"
Harper was lost. "What the f—"
"He wants to know her name," Arvid scoffed. "Geeze, pick up a book once in a while."
Chuck and Pax chuckled from behind them.
"Justice," the purple-haired teen answered, trembling with excitement. Adrenaline surged through her like electricity through water. Beth had been drinking extensively, but she could swear Justice was hovering a few inches off the ground.
"Justice! That is a jolly good moniker! One that shall poetically be immortalized in melody within the forthcoming construct of time!"
Harper glared at Arvid, unimpressed, waiting for him to normalize Nutty's words to her.
Arvid rolled his eyes. "He's probably going to BLEGH—write a song about her or something."
"Our final jammer on this eve is dedicated to the exquisitely enchanting Justice of Crest Town!" Nutty announced as Durk counted them in with his drumsticks.
♪ Underneath the shifting skies, where dreams collide and colors rise,
There's a kaleidoscope-colored moon painting shadows in the night's cocoon.
Every shade and every hue, swirling stars and midnight blue,
It's a dance of light, a cosmic tune, beneath the kaleidoscope-colored moon... ♪
Kaleidoscope-colored Moon was not a popular track by any means, but it was young Justice's favorite. It was also refreshing for the musical trio to play a song they hadn't touched in years. Even with being out of practice on the particular tune, the band played it perfectly. Even if they didn't, the only people who would have known were Justice and the band themselves.
To blow the teenager's mind even more, Nutty altered the lyrics of the last verse to include her name.
♪ Justice walks with eyes so wide beneath the moon's enchanting tide,
She feels the colors twist and turn; in every beam, her heart will learn.
With each step, the night's in bloom, under the kaleidoscope-colored moon,
Where secrets hide and whispers swoon, Justice dances to the moon's sweet tune. ♪
By the time dusk settled and the band had packed up, Beth was on her sixth bottle of Sailor's Golden Apple, or "SaGA cider," a potent brew with a 15% ABV that's gone straight to her head. Her cheeks were beyond flushed, glowing a deep, rosy red. There she stood in the dissipating crowd, swaying gently to the music that was no longer playing, clearly enjoying herself more than expected.
Justice, still reeling in the adrenaline rush and emboldened by the atmosphere, eyed up Beth's half-full bottle of booze. "I want to try it," she said, though Harper's expression immediately went from mildly enjoying herself to concerned.
Beth, too tipsy to argue, shrugged and handed over the bottle. "Eh, fuck it. Here you go."
Justice stared at it, wanting to examine it a bit—but not wanting to look inexperienced at the same time. She moved the bottle to her lips, stopping only to sneak a little whiff of the sweet-sounding drink. With all eyes on her, she took a tentative sip, and her face immediately scrunched up in disgust. The cider was bitter, far more so than she expected, and she quickly handed it back to Beth, who laughed heartily before finishing the rest herself.
"I thought cider was supposed to be sweet!?"
"That was priceless," Beth giggled.
Harper relaxed her tensed-up posture and let out a sigh of relief. "Glad you didn't like it, hun," she muttered, patting Justice on the shoulder. "The last thing I need is to be cleaning puke off both your bedroom floors in the morning."
Justice just grinned, shaking off the aftertaste. "I think I'll just stick to getting high on music."
"Good for you, BLEGH—, kid," Arvid wiped the lager foam and belch remnants from his mustache before tossing his stein into the bushes.
With the early morning hours upon them, Justice felt a sudden urge to seek out Yayra. Maybe it was still the adrenaline and the rush of meeting her heroes, but her brain was going a mile a minute. The tattooed historian had mentioned having more to share about the strange statues and temples she had seen, and Justice's curiosity was beyond piqued. Slipping away from the festival, she made her way to the inn, where she quietly asked Nestor, the receptionist, which room Yayra was in.
"Room 13, but I think she's heading out soon," he told her.
"Thanks, Nestor."
"No problem. So, hey—pretty interesting show, huh?"
Justice checked the number on the keychain. "It was the best," she answered. It seemed like Nestor wanted to talk, but she didn't want to waste any time. He called something out to her as she started up the flight of stairs toward the typically unused fourth floor, but she continued on.
The image of the four-armed statue she had encountered in the wilderness had stolen her thoughts away from the momentous experience she just had. Maybe it was the music working its inspirational magic, but it suddenly became clear to her that the similarities between the statue and Beth—the large hands, the singular horn—were all too bizarrely coincidental to ignore.