Chapter 6

Any normal person would have run to the tour bus without a second thought in that situation. Tuomas, however, is by no means a normal person. Introspective as he is, he had to think about this situation. Indeed it was a turning point. He had an important choice to make: resolve the sock issue and look good for the meet’n’greet, or save his friends from dying in a fire. This was difficult. He needed to leave the parking lot and get away to decide, and turned towards the forest, barefoot, with the van smoking away. He came to a clearing and sat down on a fallen log, thinking the situation over. It was a question of values: friends, or vanity. He had already chosen vanity twice by driving off course and punching one of his band-mates. With it still being the morning, he could hear the faint beautiful song of the lark. He sang back, and terrible as his song of sorrow was, the lark was still incredibly flattered and for a moment thought God himself was serenading her. She landed next to him and asked:

“Oh why are we so sad? Are we feeling hurt by their evil eyes and all those empty words?”

Tuomas sighed, “My friends are dying in a fire, I have no socks, and I am talking to a lark in the forest. I need to decide: friendship or vanity.”

“Well whatever you do,” she advised, “be sure wake up the King in yourself to be mighty and bold.”

“Quote me and you’re dead, bitch.”

Tuomas could only imagine what his peers would think if they knew that some lark was flying around the Finnish woods quoting their material to disturbed people seeking advice. She could sense her presence was not welcome, and left, but not before taking a lock of Tuomas’ hair, presumably for her nest. In desperate need to spill his guts, he took out his notebook and wrote a song for the next album about this turning point in his life. By the time he was finished, his destiny became obvious. His chosen path was for socks, not friends. After he arrived back at the parking lot, he stood and stared at the smoking van for a good long introspective moment. He was certain that he was making the right decision, but couldn’t help but stand there and just ponder the fate of his friends. Were they unconscienceous from inhalation? Were they being incinerated by gas fire? Would Anette be able to sing at the next gig after breathing in all that smoke? It didn’t matter.

It was easy for Tuomas to buy socks. He had had quite a lot of practice talking Pirate to Jukka, and could quite easily make himself understood. He thought that it might be a good idea for him to write his songs in this language, because nobody cares for Finnish lyrics except for those crazy Terasbetoni fanboys, and no one could understand his English anyway. After all, several bands had already made a go of it, so why not he?

He then started back to the van. He regretted his decision, but he had no remorse. What had to be done, had to be done, and he was ready to keep going in his life. He opened the door and had the greatest shock of his life.

Anette was lying on he back on her bunk, head hanging off the edge, arms out as if she was being crucified. Her soft white breasts would rise and fall as she breathed heavily. She seemed to be quite enjoying herself:

“HEHEHEHEHE. OH LOOK AT ME! I’M TUOMAS AND I AM SO SENSITIVE, SHY AND GENUINE. SOMEONE KILL ME SO I CAN BE REBOARRRRN! HEHEHEHEHE”

He looked over to the kitchen. Jukka had taken both of Tuomas’ socks and put one on each of his hands. The two make-shift puppets were having an uninteresting conversation. The left sock was a Nightwish fanfic author, and the right sock was a sane fan; you know? The kind that actually respect the band.

Through the smoke he could barely see Emppu, for he blended in so well with the white haze with his white hair and white skin. He was sitting on the couch, bouncing up and down, singing along to a music video.

“Don’t gimmie no bammer weed. We don’t smoke that shit in the SFC. Don’t gimmie no bammer…” and on it went.

As he beheld the sights before him, he had a sickening realization. They had not set the bus on fire. Far worse: they had smoked his entire personal stash, and they weren’t scheduled to play in Amsterdam or Vancouver for several months!

After the shock wore off, he began to wonder “Where’s Marco.”

Just then he heard a booming voice from the other room.

“OI YOU LITTLE SHIT HEADED GIRLYMAN! WHERE THE FUCK IS MY BEER?”

As if the situation wasn’t crazy enough already, Tuomas quickly remembered what he had learned in magical biology: THC has the exact opposite effect on giants.