He had strolled down WestEnd with hands in his black leather pockets. Couldn't be out too long at night with an ass looking that good, some desperate four-toothed guy could jump out from any corner! He single-handedly grabbed down to the retracting door to what looked like a big garage, and he'd slip inside, carefully weaving in with his axe strapped to his back. Well, he wouldn't call it "his axe, but he'd say he loved playing it more than any other.
Closing the garage door behind him, a padlock function to it but he wouldn't lock up despite the area and how late it was. Just how carefree he was, and besides, everyone knew not to break into the place. It'd be like a library, seemingly worthless, but the capabilities within the walls would be grand.
He sat that brilliant PS 9200 washburn to a cushiony-chair, the one and the same he always planted it to. It was the only soft thing in that big echoey room that wasn't covered in materials and junk. And he'd take a deep breath standing to that cold cement floor on leopardskin boots, knowing he had a project to do, knowing he had to get to work on what no one knew he did. He would stand there, amongst hundreds of rectangular cut boards of mahogany, maple, and rosewood. He reached into a big bag of lollys and drew out his favorite, the cotton candy blue ones, pressing it into his cheek before walking around the wood room looking for a few fine cuts. "Hmm.." some more looking around and feeling out. "Hmmmm..."
He'd decided on his pieces and got the wood on his way with him with some aid of a dolly and he'd be into one of the more loud rooms in the place. The loud sawing engine picked up and he'd put on a mask and his blue-tinted (almost sunglasses) safety goggles guiding the saw around markings and dimensions from a paper, all rough and regular-guitar-esque that he usually followed, but this would be a slightly shorter axe, away from the average 25.75 inch scale and down to 21.08 roughly. It didn't take much sizing down to be distinguishable the man's size. He grinned behind that mask, he was in the environment he liked. And soon he had the base of the unit done, and he then stepped over to the CNC machine just when the loud sawing would've seemed to subside. This machine's fine-toothed blades seemed old and seasoned but they were just as sharp as ever, and this machine would be the one to rough-cut the specific rosewood neck and fingerboard. His eyes honed in on the perfection of it and his determination in this shone what could be seen from his eyes.
Now it had been a long night to start off with, still in his good mood, a lady on his mind, a good guitar in the makes, and his privacy all his, he wanted to go out on a good note, shutting the systems down and going to his only room for rest he'd have, surprisingly a simple bedroom. All he needed, the wood room, his required rooms, a REST-ROOM, and a bedroom. He fell to the bed with a grin, this would be where his cherry red prs custom 22/12-string dwells, on it's stand, reflecting Dark's image back at him when he'd fall to that bed, squeaky, bad springs. But you shoulda seen his face, he was enjoyig that pre-sleep feel. The room was dark, light coming from the cemented hallway and wood room that always stayed on, and the early morning would come and he'd be back up starting early. Checking on the select spec neck he'd been working on that was drying in the Hot Room.
Special equipment on his hands to grab it and he'd head out, laying it on his work table near a lot of other wood tools and of course, free space. He moved straight to the floor sander, flipping it on and that loud sound would be wailing on him again. Pressing the rosewood neck that would be some lucky person's fingerboard down to the sander at an angle, cutting the fret angles, the job demanded sharp eyes, eyes that would not blink a second during it. The sanding ceased, and he did another, very, important examination. Checking the neck for straightness. Obviously lining it up with his eye and glaring down it a few different sides, and it'd get a grin out of him.
Somewhere around lunchtime, the base of the guitar would have come a long way since it's first cutting. It sitting now awaiting masking for a natural binding. Truss rod installed through the fingerboard now with expertise, he wiped his forehead with that desert arm of his, a few loud machines still running that he'd been moving around to, a few strayed out tools as well but that's how they always were.
FINALLY, neck and body assembly. This masterpiece well on it's way to completion. He found it fit together like a glove, and then a inspection again to this body, his eyes brutal enough when judging at this time to make even the prettiest woman's tiniest flaw make her run away crying. That's how much of a perfectionist he was when it came to this. Approval for the sanding. The inlay installation would come right after a bit manual work with a handsander getting that base cut all smooth and powdery-looking. Of course with the appropriate facial gear on.
It was time, time for this work-in-progress to gain some color. It had all the right cuts done, filing, installations (apart from the pickups) and it was really coming together nicely. It fought the painting processes bravely, Dark made it survive the torture of staining, base-coating, top-coat finish, color-coating!, and buffing, buffing, and MORE buffing!!! He was a sweaty wreck, and he loved it. His shirt tied into a knot like a chick, but what did he care, he couldn't go shirtless around the chemicals and machinery and he couldn't keep wearing it the way it was either! What the hell, he was in the confinement of his own shack, he'd wear it around a little, not like he looked back in anything he ever tried on, but he has yet to have his hair braided, all for another story of course.
He saw the progression start to take off as the isntrument went from hot room to hot room. Coating, buffing, staining, more buffing, more buffing. Finally it was that slime green he agreed he was aiming for. It waiting front of the line after another night went by, looking just flawless when he'd wake up and come take it for it's final buffing session. The thing was slim, sharp, scary, RIGHTEOUS.
He took the nearly completed six-string to his table, where he had a pickup winding session going on. The block of wood inbetween the mechanics he was twining the system with, he spent a good few hours making it all go right where it was supposed to, doing the final assembly processes. It was a shining green beast now, where he'd feed the six individual strings to all it's right points, every bit of it shiny and reflective. That was how he made his solid bodies. His hollowbodies however, yet again, another story....We'll just say they're all extendedly waiting to be color-coated.
He held it proudly chest-level, inspecting the finish. Almost blinding green upon his face, he walked it over and fed a cable from his 'krank' amp into the slime green sixer and sat to a stool, the whole area was cluttery. He did a quick jam, one of 'all that remains' hit hooks that played a great deal of different scales. Everything checked out, sound quality was great, the feed, finger-positiong came up short, which was about right because it was afterall built for a custom size. He up and walked it over to a pearly white rag, giving it a shinejob it really didn't need, and he grinned with the play testing complete. And he took a deep breath looking over his finished product.
http://img53.imageshack.us/img53/2947/ti90bigscalehi9.jpg "Talos Iceshard TI90 model" serial # 07474633436
He sat that brilliant PS 9200 washburn to a cushiony-chair, the one and the same he always planted it to. It was the only soft thing in that big echoey room that wasn't covered in materials and junk. And he'd take a deep breath standing to that cold cement floor on leopardskin boots, knowing he had a project to do, knowing he had to get to work on what no one knew he did. He would stand there, amongst hundreds of rectangular cut boards of mahogany, maple, and rosewood. He reached into a big bag of lollys and drew out his favorite, the cotton candy blue ones, pressing it into his cheek before walking around the wood room looking for a few fine cuts. "Hmm.." some more looking around and feeling out. "Hmmmm..."
He'd decided on his pieces and got the wood on his way with him with some aid of a dolly and he'd be into one of the more loud rooms in the place. The loud sawing engine picked up and he'd put on a mask and his blue-tinted (almost sunglasses) safety goggles guiding the saw around markings and dimensions from a paper, all rough and regular-guitar-esque that he usually followed, but this would be a slightly shorter axe, away from the average 25.75 inch scale and down to 21.08 roughly. It didn't take much sizing down to be distinguishable the man's size. He grinned behind that mask, he was in the environment he liked. And soon he had the base of the unit done, and he then stepped over to the CNC machine just when the loud sawing would've seemed to subside. This machine's fine-toothed blades seemed old and seasoned but they were just as sharp as ever, and this machine would be the one to rough-cut the specific rosewood neck and fingerboard. His eyes honed in on the perfection of it and his determination in this shone what could be seen from his eyes.
Now it had been a long night to start off with, still in his good mood, a lady on his mind, a good guitar in the makes, and his privacy all his, he wanted to go out on a good note, shutting the systems down and going to his only room for rest he'd have, surprisingly a simple bedroom. All he needed, the wood room, his required rooms, a REST-ROOM, and a bedroom. He fell to the bed with a grin, this would be where his cherry red prs custom 22/12-string dwells, on it's stand, reflecting Dark's image back at him when he'd fall to that bed, squeaky, bad springs. But you shoulda seen his face, he was enjoyig that pre-sleep feel. The room was dark, light coming from the cemented hallway and wood room that always stayed on, and the early morning would come and he'd be back up starting early. Checking on the select spec neck he'd been working on that was drying in the Hot Room.
Special equipment on his hands to grab it and he'd head out, laying it on his work table near a lot of other wood tools and of course, free space. He moved straight to the floor sander, flipping it on and that loud sound would be wailing on him again. Pressing the rosewood neck that would be some lucky person's fingerboard down to the sander at an angle, cutting the fret angles, the job demanded sharp eyes, eyes that would not blink a second during it. The sanding ceased, and he did another, very, important examination. Checking the neck for straightness. Obviously lining it up with his eye and glaring down it a few different sides, and it'd get a grin out of him.
Somewhere around lunchtime, the base of the guitar would have come a long way since it's first cutting. It sitting now awaiting masking for a natural binding. Truss rod installed through the fingerboard now with expertise, he wiped his forehead with that desert arm of his, a few loud machines still running that he'd been moving around to, a few strayed out tools as well but that's how they always were.
FINALLY, neck and body assembly. This masterpiece well on it's way to completion. He found it fit together like a glove, and then a inspection again to this body, his eyes brutal enough when judging at this time to make even the prettiest woman's tiniest flaw make her run away crying. That's how much of a perfectionist he was when it came to this. Approval for the sanding. The inlay installation would come right after a bit manual work with a handsander getting that base cut all smooth and powdery-looking. Of course with the appropriate facial gear on.
It was time, time for this work-in-progress to gain some color. It had all the right cuts done, filing, installations (apart from the pickups) and it was really coming together nicely. It fought the painting processes bravely, Dark made it survive the torture of staining, base-coating, top-coat finish, color-coating!, and buffing, buffing, and MORE buffing!!! He was a sweaty wreck, and he loved it. His shirt tied into a knot like a chick, but what did he care, he couldn't go shirtless around the chemicals and machinery and he couldn't keep wearing it the way it was either! What the hell, he was in the confinement of his own shack, he'd wear it around a little, not like he looked back in anything he ever tried on, but he has yet to have his hair braided, all for another story of course.
He saw the progression start to take off as the isntrument went from hot room to hot room. Coating, buffing, staining, more buffing, more buffing. Finally it was that slime green he agreed he was aiming for. It waiting front of the line after another night went by, looking just flawless when he'd wake up and come take it for it's final buffing session. The thing was slim, sharp, scary, RIGHTEOUS.
He took the nearly completed six-string to his table, where he had a pickup winding session going on. The block of wood inbetween the mechanics he was twining the system with, he spent a good few hours making it all go right where it was supposed to, doing the final assembly processes. It was a shining green beast now, where he'd feed the six individual strings to all it's right points, every bit of it shiny and reflective. That was how he made his solid bodies. His hollowbodies however, yet again, another story....We'll just say they're all extendedly waiting to be color-coated.
He held it proudly chest-level, inspecting the finish. Almost blinding green upon his face, he walked it over and fed a cable from his 'krank' amp into the slime green sixer and sat to a stool, the whole area was cluttery. He did a quick jam, one of 'all that remains' hit hooks that played a great deal of different scales. Everything checked out, sound quality was great, the feed, finger-positiong came up short, which was about right because it was afterall built for a custom size. He up and walked it over to a pearly white rag, giving it a shinejob it really didn't need, and he grinned with the play testing complete. And he took a deep breath looking over his finished product.
http://img53.imageshack.us/img53/2947/ti90bigscalehi9.jpg "Talos Iceshard TI90 model" serial # 07474633436