The Dangling Guitar {Egan}

[Izzy James]

It hung, suspended by silly string, rubber bands, and what looked remarkably like chewing gum. The breezes from the air conditioning units and various fans were making it twirl slightly, and the twirls were making a sign taped to it that much harder to read. It grabbed attention, if only because most people weren't used to seeing things like it dangling from the ceiling. Guitars were to be held and played by musicians, not strung up like pinatas. Yet there it dangled, as if waiting for children with bats and a determination for candy.

"What the--" was all Izzy could manage. He'd gotten a message from a friend, a text. Simple. There was a guitar hanging from the ceiling, was it yours? In all honesty, Izzy wasn't certain. Probably not, since he took very, very good care of his own personal instrument. But there was always a chance. Izzy... had a tendency not to notice moments in time. It had gotten better since the training sessions, but still, Izzy missed moments. And he'd frozen himself in time before. So... yeah, it was totally possible that someone made off with it while Izzy was staring into space and concentrating.

So whose was that? Was it his? Izzy squinting, walking slowly around the guitar, trying to make out details. There was just so much stuff on it that you really couldn't make out much. Which sucked if you were, say, trying to identify it. "Seriously, who does stuff like this?" wondered Izzy. He'd met a few pranksters; bunked with one and often his buddy, but most of them weren't malicious. This was downright destructive.

Izzy paused, reaching over to tap a student on the shoulder. "Hey, I don't suppose you got a look at the brand?" He paused, pointing, "Of the guitar, I mean. The guitar's brand. I, uh, I think it might be mine or..."

Izzy paused, scrunching up his face. "Have we met?"

[Egan Monroe]

Egan had to give kudos to whoever had devised the scheme. He had seen a lot of pranks in his lifetime – and had been the butt of far too many – but he had never seen any quite so…creative…as this one. The premise was simple. Steal a guitar and hang it from the ceiling. The execution was what made it so unique. They didn’t use string, or wire, or even pieces of the guitar. There were no traditional materials involved whatsoever. Instead, there were rubber bands, chewing gum, and that hardened-foam chemical material that Egan had seen a lot of on Halloween. What was it called? He couldn’t remember. He just knew that people did very bad things with it, and it was probably toxic.

He wasn’t sure whose guitar it was. He owned one, but he was fairly certain that he had seen his just a couple of minutes ago when he had skirted by his dorm to pick up a book. Surely this couldn’t have been done in a matter of minutes. Not without Egan spotting the culprits, anyway. He stared up at the guitar for a moment as it spun, but quickly got bored with the ridiculous notion of flying instruments and took a seat near the door. He tried to focus on his book, “A Separate Peace”, but the constant motion of the guitar continued to draw his attention.

When a person walked in, looking very surprised indeed, Egan almost jumped. He glanced from the boy to the guitar and back again, gauging his reaction. Had it been his guitar? He did look very bemused. Egan tilted his head a bit as the boy circled it, not unlike a large cat circling its prey. He was trying to gather details, it looked like. Maybe it was his, and he was looking for evidence as to who could have done it? Or maybe it wasn’t his, and he was looking for some sort of indication as to the real owner. Or maybe he just didn’t know if it was his, and he was searching for any particulars about his guitar that he could find on the guitar-turned-trapeze-artist.

Egan couldn’t blame him for any of those things. The pranksters had done a very good job in messing it up and hiding any identifying marks. He tilted his head a bit when the boy spoke, and quickly decided to try and focus back on his book. He didn’t want to get caught staring, and he was pushing his luck as it was. It wasn’t a full minute after looking down, however, that he felt something prodding his shoulder.

He flinched instinctively before glancing up at the boy and quickly looking at the guitar to avoid making eye contact. “Um…I think…I think it’s a Fender…but…it’s so very hard to tell…but I think the sign on the back says ‘Gotcha’.” He bit his lip a bit. “Oh, I do hope it isn’t yours. That would be very mean. What if that stuff stains the finish?”

He looked back at the boy when he spoke again, blushing a bit and once again looking away to avoid eye contact, this time turning his gaze downward. “I’m not sure…possibly…” Egan looked back up and grazed over the boy’s features with his eyes. “You look familiar…but I’m so horrible at placing faces. I’m sorry…”


ooc: I'm so sorry about the delay in getting this up My internet has been bitching recently, and you wouldn't believe how many times I've had to call the company and bitch at them in return.

[Izzy James]

"Wait, did you say a Fender?" asked Izzy, his eyes going wide. His parents had sprung for a Fender for him. Albeit, his guitar had been gently used, but still, they'd made sure to at least get a recognizable brand. It had been a Christmas present, all those years ago.

With that in mind, Izzy's search went from "curious" to "nearly frantic. He started walking around the base of the dangling instrument, staring up and trying to figure out if this was actually his instrument. Plus, Izzy was hoping he could figure out just how damaged the guitar had gotten. It looked like they'd been a little wild with what they'd used, but none of it really seemed that close to the strings, and only a bit was on the neck.

Had Egan answered Izzy's question? Izzy couldn't remember, and, considering his current position, he didn't really want to dwell on it. Instead, he locked eyes with the other boy, his usual casualness replaced by a near panic.

"I don't suppose you could help me look, could you? My guitar's a Fender," like that wasn't obvious, "and I'm really hoping this wasn't something someone did to me."

Izzy usually took good care of his instrument, and it should have been locked up in his room. So it shouldn't have been there. Unless Izzy had spaced out, lost track of time, and left it somewhere... or this was the result of his interfering with someone else, which would be expected.

Izzy tried reaching for the guitar, realized it was out of reach, and blew out his lips. Again he looked to Egan, his expression asking for any possible suggestions. Or for help dragging a chair over, since Izzy was already looking around and seeing if he could find one of the appropriate height.