“Yes,” Will.I.Am pondered, his soulless red eyes aglow, “But does it have that boom boom pow?”
Fergie, unable to think of anything except methamphetamines and meat, folded her leathery wings but did not reply. In the corner Taboo and Apl.De.Ap danced in silence, but their eyes remained fixed on their master. Their faces betrayed no expression. They had lost that capacity long ago.
“I don’t believe it does,” Will.I.Am said with an air of regret, and returned to his drum machine.
In the glow of the torches his shadow loomed large upon the wet stone of the cave’s wall. He paid it no mind, though the others shrank from it as readily as they avoided the flames, or dictionaries.
In silence, save for the soft whisks of nylon from Taboo and Apl.De.Ap’s pants, Will.I.Am began again. Somewhere within him was the melody to permanently end what the humans considered music, if only he could focus his thoughts.
He absentmindedly tossed Fergie a chunk of meat from the wet pile at his feet. A pile that had once been human before Taboo caught it wandering near the river and brought it back in pieces. She began to weep, gnawing through the slick, white splinters of bone that protruded here and there along its length. She was always so grateful when he allowed her to feed.
“Shhhh,” he whispered. “Slow down, my dear. Savor it. Isn’t it tastey?”
“T-A-S-T-E-Y,” she replied through a mouthful of scarlet and sinew. “Tastey, tastey.”
Will.I.Am only smiled and returned to his work.