Silence reigned in the concrete confines of room 162 at Kamloops Mega Storage, a sharp contrast to the cacophony that had been present just a few moments earlier. The remaining bandmembers of Starcubism looked solemn, except for one, who had adopted his usual serene manner.
“So, uh, Moonbeam, do we have a timetable or anything on when he’ll be back?” Ferguson questioned. “Cause I told Olaf that I’d pick up his shift at D’Ambrosios tonight, and I can’t stand around and wait for the most fickle keyboard player in all of western Canada to have another change of heart.”
“He’ll be back.” Moonbeam repeated.
Ferguson, the guitarist, turned to Ichabod, who was still sitting sullenly at his drumkit. “Destroy that tape, Ich. Kelly’s right; we should never have tried to bring back Starcubism. It’s just not going to happen, no matter how much we want it to.”
“He’ll be back.” Moonbeam interjected.
“Stop saying that, you peace-pipe smoking pow-wow having freak!”
Ichabod tried to reassure his enraged friend. “Whoa, whoa, calm down Fergs. I know this is a trying time for us as a band, but we’ll pull through. Remember when Derek recorded nothing but bass noodling over all the stuff we had recorded for ‘Visions of Mars part One’ and we had to kick him out? We weathered that storm, and we can weather this one too.”
“No way, man, not this time. I’m done. Starcubism is done for good this time, and I’m going to spit on its grave. Good riddance.”
Just as Ferguson finished his proclamation, a familiar face walked back in to the room.