Information

Kurt Asle has a minion!

Harley the Skeletal Dog

Kurt Asle
Legacy Name: Kurt Asle

The

Glacier Montre
Owner: Fivey

Age: 17 years, 8 months, 1 week

Born: July 12th, 2008

Adopted: 15 years, 7 months, 4 weeks ago

Adopted: July 20th, 2010

Nominate Pet for Spotlight

Statistics

Level: 3
Strength: 10
Defense: 10
Speed: 10
Health: 10
HP: 10/10
Intelligence: 4
Books Read: 4
Food Eaten: 0
Job: Unemployed

~
The icy fingers slid across the keys of the ebony piano, leaving behind the chill of a November night. The fingers sank in, releasing a soft chord. The man's lips curled into a smile. He could not see a thing, but the sound rang like sweet bells through his ears.
"Music," He whispered, playing another melodious cord. His eyes wandered behind his aviator glasses, viewing nothing but a solid black. "I honestly would not know what to do without it." He felt his chest. Behind the ribcage that stuck out profusely, was a heart that pounded from fear and lack of nourishment.
"I remember discovering the piano as a young lad, it was a beautiful instrument that I never wanted to be apart. Sure, there were many others that I could of played, but I fell in love with the piano. I haven't loved a thing more, not even a woman." His slender fingers danced upon the keys, playing a piece he did not remember the name of, but had memorized each note and rhythm. He turned to the sigh behind him. The sigh, he recognized, was from the man who had entered the room not too long ago. He had only introduced himself with his name and title. The IRS agent looked at him.
"Sir...you haven't payed your taxes in over a year."
"I have so. My niece goes instead of me, though. I've asked her to."
"We have no records of her going to any tax service."
Kurt froze. He turned back to his instrument. "What do you plan to do?"
"You will have to pay back the government somehow."
"Seizure of property." The blind man whispered."
"Unfortunately, yes. We can't seize furniture, and I feel it is rather harsh to seize your apartment. You don't have a car so...we will have to take away the only thing that is allowed."
He groped for the piano lid, and closed it. "Are you sure she's not considered furniture?" He weakly asked.
"No, Mr. Asle. The piano by definition is not furniture."
"Please...Harley. The dog."
The agent looked at the dog, who was obviously dead, probably from malnourishment and dehydration. He twitched, and responded to Kurt with a solid no. Tears streaked down from Mr. Asle's amber eyes.
"Why do you intend to take away my only love?" The IRS agent sighed again, and turned to the door.
"I really hate to do this, but it's my job. We'll pick it up in the morning." The agent wiped his eyes, and opened the door. A slam hissed at Kurt, who laid his head down onto the piano. He let out a shaky breath, and closed his eyes.

---

Kurt Asle was born on December 5th, 1954. He was born without a sense of smell, but his other senses were fine for the moment. He was rather frail for a child, and was never really interested in sports. Instead, to his father's disappointment, he took up the musical arts. He was a strong composer and player of music, and was enchanted by the sounds of something as simple as a string on a box. In 1989, he was mugged while on his way to the orchestra. The mugger slashed his eyes, blinding him permanently. Asle's fame was short lived, his life disintegrating into shame and misfortune. He now spends his life in an apartment building, often not eating for days on end, pushing his last bit of spirit into the keys of his grand piano.