Name: Ashes O’Reilly
Instrument: Electric Bass
Smoke and fire and blood and oil.
Don’t nobody know all that much about Ashes; keep digging and that’s all you’ll find.
There’s a story she told once to a a rusty old droid over whiskey and cigarettes. About a sour kid who got taken in by Smooth Mickey and the Lucky Sevens. A story about cutting a swath of fire across some dusty old rock, because they were untouchable. Immortal.
And when this kid was dying – smoke inhalation’s a real bitch, apparently – some tired looking goth dropped out of the sky and offered up immortality on a plate. And for a minute – for a moment brief enough to forget and remember at the same time, this kid could remember what it was like; forever that tasted like the scent of burnt hair on the back of your hand and looked like charred rubble where an orphanage used to be.
For a minute, this kid could remember eternity. How it was before Mickey died and the Sevens forgot how to be lucky.
It wasn’t a joke, no sir, but the kid laughed. Full and loud – this wasn’t how they expected to end things in this dusty little corner of the galaxy, but who could resist that offer?
“Alright then. Show me what you got.”