Alisaura
Blue Crack Supplier
Hello again. 
Far out, I've been cobbling this post together for like 3 hours and it's not the 17th any more. But I'm not changing it.
Disclaimer: Like the forum says, it's all harmless fiction, not to be taken seriously.
Okay, musings on the nature of the Edgewolf...
I haven't thought about the exact how and why of it (lycanthropy - ie, why werewolves exist, how it's possible, etc.), but I figure it's a genetic sort of thing, although ridiculously recessive. And there isn't a 'why' when it comes to why Edge has got it, it's just one of those random things. Lucky him.
No one in his family has had it for generations, no one has any idea it could be possible. It's not like one of those family curses or Destiny or anything... it just pops up very very rarely. It's very very rare all over, but more common in places where wolves still live (they've been extinct in Ireland since the 1700s).
Thus, being in North America where there are still wolves, kinda set something off that was already lurking in Edge's blood. And yes, he'd obviously been to the USA/Canada before that... Maybe something about him changed between the COH tour and the JT tour. And I don't know exactly when that infamous mushroom incident occurred...
For the purposes of the story, maybe it happened around then and it might have changed something, who knows.
I also haven't thought much about exactly how many werewolves there are in this fictional world - not very many if Timothy's the only one to have sniffed Edge out. Maybe in a few places there might be enough who find each other to form some sort of small (secret!) community, or at least be able to support each other... but I imagine it would be a lonely life if you had to go it alone, not really fitting in either world.
But I'm getting ahead of myself.
Edge doesn't know any of that stuff, it never made it into the story. But I tend to think more background stuff up than I use anyway.
To continue the narrative...
------------
8 October, 1987 – Syracuse, NY, USA
The show in Buffalo the previous night had been as bad as the Cleveland show on the 6th had been amazing. It was hard to imagine the same band was capable of such drastically varying performances two nights running; but then, the first shows of the leg had been similarly inconsistent.
Edge had spoken to Aislinn on the phone before the Cleveland gig, since there had been no time to see her. He thought he had explained what had happened as well as he could, without using the word "wolf", or actually telling her exactly what had happened. He'd been able to practice on his bandmates earlier, which helped.
They hadn't believed him when he'd told them, with complete honesty, how his room had got trashed. Why should they believe him now? Why should anyone? Since he'd come back from his first voluntary transformation, Edge felt disconnected from the others, from everyone. Isolated, different. Because he was different. And even if he could bring himself to risk their disbelief and scorn (and maybe fear) again, how could they understand? It was hard enough trying to make them understand that he'd suddenly developed a need to get away from humanity now and then, to find a patch of earth that wasn't paved and concreted and built-up and smothered, to both lose and find himself in it. Even that got him some dubious looks, but it was more plausible than shape-shifting, and still essentially true.
Edge's whole perspective had shifted, along with his shape. But while his body had resumed its human guise easily enough, something had changed permanently in his mind. It wasn't possible to go back to thinking the same way he had before... he'd read a quote somewhere; 'A person's mind, when stretched to encompass a new idea, never resumes its original shape'. That was how he felt. It was as if part of the wolf's mind had stayed with him after he changed back – for instance, when he saw Bono wearing that sling now, part of him saw weakness, a physical frailty. Something that could impede him in a hunt, or a challenge.
So, at the Cleveland show, he'd played as if he'd never picked up a guitar before, but still knew instinctively how to play it. It had seemed fresh and new again, something exhilarating in making these sounds and making a bigger sound with the band, and having tens of thousands of people responding. Bono had been ready to forgive him any number of unplanned absences if they produced a performance like that afterwards.
Immediately after that show, Edge had been bundled onto a plane back to New York City, where his family was waiting.
His explanation did not go over so well in person. But his wife's anger and frustration and suspicion didn't touch him, he felt remote. He simply explained again, and weathered the storm of her temper. She couldn't even understand that much, it seemed. Yes, of course his family was important to him, and he hadn't meant to be gone when he was supposed to be with them. That had been an accident, and one he regretted. But he hadn't been quite himself, he explained. He would never hurt them or intentionally cause any worry.
Then he'd flown to Buffalo for the next show, having hardly seen Hollie at all. She had the flu, and Aislinn didn't want to risk him catching it.
By that night, the renewed novelty of being the guitarist in U2 had worn off, eroded by the unhappy visit with his family. He found himself longing for woods and wilderness again, or even the simple freedom of shedding his human shape and running as a wolf. That park in Toronto really had been too small.
So, Buffalo was a dud show. The mood in the band was low, and no one bothered accusing the others of being crap any more.
Edge had begged fatigue as an excuse not to fly back to NYC again before the show in Syracuse tomorrow night, and it wasn't entirely made up. He hadn't had a chance to rest properly since he'd come back to the hotel in Toronto, although his appetite had been prodigious for the next day or so. They booked into the Syracuse hotel early in the day, and had the rest of the day off. Edge had gone straight to bed.
He woke up around 5pm, hungry and restless. Room service took care of the hunger, but he wanted to get outside for a while, perhaps explore the city. A good long walk would do him good. After a moment's thought, he left a note in his room, just in case one of the others came looking for him and panicked.
Strolling down the streets, Edge found a large tourist map of the city and surrounding area, accompanied by various pamphlets advertising the attractions. His eyes were drawn to a vast expanse of green, only a few miles north of the city, near Oneida Lake. That seemed worth a look... all these cities were starting to look (and smell) the same to him. And if he hailed a cab, he could be back before anyone got worried about him. At least he had some cash on him, this time.
------
9 October, 1987 – Syracuse, NY, USA
The crowd was screaming in anticipation, the thunder of their stamping and clapping shaking the whole stadium.
"I'll kill him! I'll feckin' rip his head off myself, an' I don't care what colour his feckin' eyes are!" Larry Mullen was livid, stomping up and down backstage and gesticulating wildly. Adam was more used to seeing Bono like that, but the frontman had gone cold and still. Betrayal burned heavy in all their hearts. Edge had vanished again, and this time he hadn't come back in the nick of time.
"He'll..."
"He won't, Bono. It's too late. We should have gone on twenty minutes ago."
"We can't go on without him!"
"We have to. Dallas knows the songs."
"It won't be the same!"
"I know that! Of course it won't be the bloody same. But we have to do it anyway."
The chant of "U2! U2! U2!" was growing louder by the moment. Paul McGuinness was looming nearby, with a host of tour managers and lighting and sound people, along with the hapless Dallas. The blond man was sweating. A decision was needed.
Bono, Adam and Larry all looked at one another, and Bono glanced towards the backstage entrance with dwindling hope.
"Fuck! Fuck him. All right, do it."
The stand-off exploded into motion as people ran to their stations for the show. The house lights went down and the crowd's roar nearly took off the roof of the Carrier Dome.
Right to the very end of '40', Bono kept hoping Edge would appear at any moment, but he didn't. Every hope was crushed, one moment to the next.
It was three-quarters the angriest show of the tour. The remaining quarter was terrified.
The absent quarter was dozing in a forest, having successfully caught and devoured two rabbits.
--------
Far out, I've been cobbling this post together for like 3 hours and it's not the 17th any more. But I'm not changing it.
Disclaimer: Like the forum says, it's all harmless fiction, not to be taken seriously.
Okay, musings on the nature of the Edgewolf...
I haven't thought about the exact how and why of it (lycanthropy - ie, why werewolves exist, how it's possible, etc.), but I figure it's a genetic sort of thing, although ridiculously recessive. And there isn't a 'why' when it comes to why Edge has got it, it's just one of those random things. Lucky him.
No one in his family has had it for generations, no one has any idea it could be possible. It's not like one of those family curses or Destiny or anything... it just pops up very very rarely. It's very very rare all over, but more common in places where wolves still live (they've been extinct in Ireland since the 1700s).Thus, being in North America where there are still wolves, kinda set something off that was already lurking in Edge's blood. And yes, he'd obviously been to the USA/Canada before that... Maybe something about him changed between the COH tour and the JT tour. And I don't know exactly when that infamous mushroom incident occurred...
For the purposes of the story, maybe it happened around then and it might have changed something, who knows.I also haven't thought much about exactly how many werewolves there are in this fictional world - not very many if Timothy's the only one to have sniffed Edge out. Maybe in a few places there might be enough who find each other to form some sort of small (secret!) community, or at least be able to support each other... but I imagine it would be a lonely life if you had to go it alone, not really fitting in either world.
But I'm getting ahead of myself.
Edge doesn't know any of that stuff, it never made it into the story. But I tend to think more background stuff up than I use anyway.
To continue the narrative...
------------
8 October, 1987 – Syracuse, NY, USA
The show in Buffalo the previous night had been as bad as the Cleveland show on the 6th had been amazing. It was hard to imagine the same band was capable of such drastically varying performances two nights running; but then, the first shows of the leg had been similarly inconsistent.
Edge had spoken to Aislinn on the phone before the Cleveland gig, since there had been no time to see her. He thought he had explained what had happened as well as he could, without using the word "wolf", or actually telling her exactly what had happened. He'd been able to practice on his bandmates earlier, which helped.
They hadn't believed him when he'd told them, with complete honesty, how his room had got trashed. Why should they believe him now? Why should anyone? Since he'd come back from his first voluntary transformation, Edge felt disconnected from the others, from everyone. Isolated, different. Because he was different. And even if he could bring himself to risk their disbelief and scorn (and maybe fear) again, how could they understand? It was hard enough trying to make them understand that he'd suddenly developed a need to get away from humanity now and then, to find a patch of earth that wasn't paved and concreted and built-up and smothered, to both lose and find himself in it. Even that got him some dubious looks, but it was more plausible than shape-shifting, and still essentially true.
Edge's whole perspective had shifted, along with his shape. But while his body had resumed its human guise easily enough, something had changed permanently in his mind. It wasn't possible to go back to thinking the same way he had before... he'd read a quote somewhere; 'A person's mind, when stretched to encompass a new idea, never resumes its original shape'. That was how he felt. It was as if part of the wolf's mind had stayed with him after he changed back – for instance, when he saw Bono wearing that sling now, part of him saw weakness, a physical frailty. Something that could impede him in a hunt, or a challenge.
So, at the Cleveland show, he'd played as if he'd never picked up a guitar before, but still knew instinctively how to play it. It had seemed fresh and new again, something exhilarating in making these sounds and making a bigger sound with the band, and having tens of thousands of people responding. Bono had been ready to forgive him any number of unplanned absences if they produced a performance like that afterwards.
Immediately after that show, Edge had been bundled onto a plane back to New York City, where his family was waiting.
His explanation did not go over so well in person. But his wife's anger and frustration and suspicion didn't touch him, he felt remote. He simply explained again, and weathered the storm of her temper. She couldn't even understand that much, it seemed. Yes, of course his family was important to him, and he hadn't meant to be gone when he was supposed to be with them. That had been an accident, and one he regretted. But he hadn't been quite himself, he explained. He would never hurt them or intentionally cause any worry.
Then he'd flown to Buffalo for the next show, having hardly seen Hollie at all. She had the flu, and Aislinn didn't want to risk him catching it.
By that night, the renewed novelty of being the guitarist in U2 had worn off, eroded by the unhappy visit with his family. He found himself longing for woods and wilderness again, or even the simple freedom of shedding his human shape and running as a wolf. That park in Toronto really had been too small.
So, Buffalo was a dud show. The mood in the band was low, and no one bothered accusing the others of being crap any more.
Edge had begged fatigue as an excuse not to fly back to NYC again before the show in Syracuse tomorrow night, and it wasn't entirely made up. He hadn't had a chance to rest properly since he'd come back to the hotel in Toronto, although his appetite had been prodigious for the next day or so. They booked into the Syracuse hotel early in the day, and had the rest of the day off. Edge had gone straight to bed.
He woke up around 5pm, hungry and restless. Room service took care of the hunger, but he wanted to get outside for a while, perhaps explore the city. A good long walk would do him good. After a moment's thought, he left a note in his room, just in case one of the others came looking for him and panicked.
Strolling down the streets, Edge found a large tourist map of the city and surrounding area, accompanied by various pamphlets advertising the attractions. His eyes were drawn to a vast expanse of green, only a few miles north of the city, near Oneida Lake. That seemed worth a look... all these cities were starting to look (and smell) the same to him. And if he hailed a cab, he could be back before anyone got worried about him. At least he had some cash on him, this time.
------
9 October, 1987 – Syracuse, NY, USA
The crowd was screaming in anticipation, the thunder of their stamping and clapping shaking the whole stadium.
"I'll kill him! I'll feckin' rip his head off myself, an' I don't care what colour his feckin' eyes are!" Larry Mullen was livid, stomping up and down backstage and gesticulating wildly. Adam was more used to seeing Bono like that, but the frontman had gone cold and still. Betrayal burned heavy in all their hearts. Edge had vanished again, and this time he hadn't come back in the nick of time.
"He'll..."
"He won't, Bono. It's too late. We should have gone on twenty minutes ago."
"We can't go on without him!"
"We have to. Dallas knows the songs."
"It won't be the same!"
"I know that! Of course it won't be the bloody same. But we have to do it anyway."
The chant of "U2! U2! U2!" was growing louder by the moment. Paul McGuinness was looming nearby, with a host of tour managers and lighting and sound people, along with the hapless Dallas. The blond man was sweating. A decision was needed.
Bono, Adam and Larry all looked at one another, and Bono glanced towards the backstage entrance with dwindling hope.
"Fuck! Fuck him. All right, do it."
The stand-off exploded into motion as people ran to their stations for the show. The house lights went down and the crowd's roar nearly took off the roof of the Carrier Dome.
Right to the very end of '40', Bono kept hoping Edge would appear at any moment, but he didn't. Every hope was crushed, one moment to the next.
It was three-quarters the angriest show of the tour. The remaining quarter was terrified.
The absent quarter was dozing in a forest, having successfully caught and devoured two rabbits.
--------
A show with Dallas on guitar.
