Four men appeared as if flicked out of a rolled up long carpet remnant. They lay in the centre of a cellar space. All remaining still and prostrate.
'We've got to let Silas know' murmured GoingtobeBlueHair. The other three nodded gently.
The cellar space was dimly lit from a single light bulb.
'We'll find a way,' said RhythmHands.
Headskin nodded as he stood up and made his way over to the door in the corner.
It was obviously locked.
'What now? ' asked HopperC.
They all knew instinctively that the only way forward was to use the assorted musical instruments around the room to sound a message to Silas.
GoingtobeBlueHair chose the guitars.
RhythmHands chose the drums.
Headskin chose the microphone.
HopperC chose the bass.
They conspired without rest to build the sounds to send to Silas. The sounds were tempered with care and decision and after a relevant number of days and nights they were ready to transmit.
But no success. No success to find Silas with their creations. The sounds were fertile and free, however the vacuum of the room sealed them tight and clear and held them captive within its fine and womby hold.
No concern. The unlocking door beckoned the Four and their things outside to many assorted places where they could make the sounds again and then Silas did know. He knew about the Four's place.
Thirty one years was the chosen number after this. Thirty one years to be not Four but One,One,One,One. And that's what happened. From each of the Ones, news appeared and stranded out random and precise tentacles that lay across the worlds of them all.
After the thirty-one years had passed carpets flicked out. Two this time. One rolled out HopperCEmigre to new shores aiming for heat. The other placed Bluehair,Rhythmhands with electric and Headskinbass. They were placed ready.
'We've got to let Silas know'. They played in unison. The transmission was immediately clear.