The Noise-Coven Is Coming and the Trolls Already Ate the Tickets

The air smells like wet rock and yesterday's fries, a mix that usually means I'm near the river or a street vendor who's been up all night. At first I thought it was the scent of a ghost-pigeon, those birds that seem to carry the memories of the city on their feathers. But then I realized it was just the smell of the city itself, waking up and stretching its concrete arms. It's a smell that says, "Something's coming, Gary. Better get your copper strip ready."

The hum's been acting up, like a wrong note on a goblin's favorite pipe. Last week, it changed. Felt it in my teeth, like a vibration in the old bridge concrete. First I thought it was a new kind of river ghost, the kind that sings in frequencies only pigeons and goblins can hear. You know, the ones that make you wonder if the city's trying to tell you something. Then Tinny nosed my hand and whined. That's her way of saying, "Hey, Gary, check your human news." She means the pocket-rectangle I sometimes borrow from the library outlet. It's like a little window into the human world, but sometimes it's just a bunch of buzzing nonsense. This time, it was buzzing like crazy. Words like "SOLD OUT" and "WILDWORLD" and "SECONDARY MARKET" were flashing all over the place. I had to wrap my copper strip around my wrist just to read it straight. You see, when things get too corporate, too polished, I need a little reminder that I'm a goblin, and goblins don't do polished. So I'm reading about this thing called Katseye. I thought it was a thing, not a they. Maybe a new municipal warning siren or a brand of street cleaner that's a bit too aggressive. But no, it's a singing coven. A traveling noise-machine that makes entire cities vibrate in a specific, profitable way. They're like a set of humans who found a way to bottle the power of noise and sell it back to other humans with a markup. I'm not sure if I'm impressed or terrified (impressed, who am I kidding). They have a tour, and it's called WILDWORLD. It's a good name, I'll give them that. I know some wild worlds, and they usually have more fungus and fewer coordinated dance moves. But hey, humans like their shiny things, and if this is what they're into, who am I to judge? The important fact, the one that made the hum in my teeth, is that the whole thing is sold out. All of it. The entire noise-tour. In forty-eight hours, it was gone. Poof. Like magic. Except it's not magic, it's a system. And I know systems. Systems are like trolls that live under different bridges. They have rules, and they demand shinies. The primary troll is called Ticketmaster. It's the big one, the gate-beast. It ate all the tickets first. But then, because this is a human thing, there are other trolls. Secondary trolls, like StubHub and Viagogo. These trolls didn't get the tickets from the source, they got them from other humans who went to the gate-beast first, got the shiny paper (it's not paper, it's a light-code, but you know), and are now saying, "I have this light-code, but I will trade it for more shinies than I paid."

It's a troll toll, a toll you pay to a different troll after the first troll is already full. What's the point of having a system if you can't have a few trolls in the mix, right? It's like a big game of goblin-sized whack-a-mole, except instead of mallets, you use your wallet. The article explains this like it's normal, like, "Oh yes, the gate is closed, but here is a list of smaller, more expensive gates that may or may not be traps." It uses words like "inventory" and "face value" and "110% guaranteed." I don't know what 110% of a guarantee is. Can you have more than all of a promise? Is it a promise with a little extra promise stuck to it, like a bent nail welded to a good nail? It feels like a trick, a shiny trick designed to separate humans from their hard-earned shinies. They're coming here, to the big concrete bowl near the old factory where the murals are. You know, the one with the smell-map that's a mix of old popcorn grease, spilled sweet-drink syrup, and the faint electric tang of too many phone lights. On that night, the smell will change. It'll be hot breath and scream-joy and a beat you can feel in your ribs from three blocks away. The air will taste like charged-up metal and glitter. I want to hear it, not from inside, but from outside. I want to press my ear to the concrete wall and feel the vibration travel up from the foundation, through the brick, into my skull. That's the real ticket, the one they can't sell. Because I don't have the shinies, I'll have to find another way to experience it (the mushroom's probably going to have a field day with this one). Maybe I'll sneak into the arena, or maybe I'll just find a good spot outside and let the music wash over me. Either way, I'm excited to see what this WILDWORLD thing is all about. Filed under: human magic, sold-out shows, and the beauty of a good vibration. Copyright 2023 Gary the Goblin. All rights reserved. This work is protected by the raccoon legal team, a serious beaver, and an unlicensed ferret. Any reproduction or distribution without explicit permission is strictly prohibited. However, sharing links to this article is encouraged, as long as you don't try to sell it to me for more shinies than it's worth. Tags: #WildWorld #TrollToll #GoblinReports #KatseyeDetroit #SecondaryMarketShinies #ConcreteBowlCoven #TicketmasterIsAGateMonster