[TBBT] Ch: 20 [The Oppenheimer of Our Stairwell] (Patreon)

[AN: Slightly unedited. Really sleepy lol. Let me know if you find any mistakes. I'll fix them tonight. See ya.]

[3rd Person POV]

Karl locked Apartment 5B behind him, slipping the keys into his pocket. Leonard waited near the stairs, while Sheldon stood perfectly still, his messenger bag hanging precisely from one shoulder as he checked his watch.

"If we do not leave within the next forty-seven seconds," Sheldon announced, "we will miss the 4:12 bus, forcing us to take the 4:28. That puts us in the store simultaneously with the Pasadena High School chess club, and I will not be subjected to their body odor or their fundamentally flawed opinions on the Green Lantern retcon."

Leonard sighed, adjusting his glasses. "Sheldon, Stuart holds our pull lists. The comics aren't going anywhere."

"My pull list is a courtesy, Leonard, not a legally binding contract. If Stuart sells my pristine copy of Flash #233 to a sticky-fingered teenager, I will hold you personally responsible."

Before Karl could ask why a comic book store trip required military precision, a sound drifted up from the stairwell.

All three men froze.

It was a woman's voice.

Someone was singing with complete confidence and absolutely no cooperation from the actual melody.

Leonard slowly looked downward through the stairwell.

Karl did the same.

Then they heard the words clearly.

"But you didn't have to cut me ooooooff!"

Karl's left eye twitched. 'What in the freakin' hell...?!'

Leonard looked at him.

Karl looked back at Leonard.

Sheldon stared between them before the next line came echoing upward.

"Now you're just someboooody that I used to knooooow!"

Penny had clearly plugged her earphones in, completely oblivious to the acoustic properties of a multi-story stairwell. Her voice bounced upward, striking the walls and arriving on the fourth floor as a chaotic, off-key assault.

Karl physically winced. "That's... that's my song."

"I am painfully aware," Sheldon said, his face contorting as if he were smelling burnt hair.

Karl rubbed a hand across his mouth as he tried to decide whether he should laugh, hide, or accept responsibility for unleashing this upon the building.

Sheldon made the decision for everyone.

"Inside."

Leonard immediately turned toward Apartment 4A.

Karl stared at him. "Are we seriously hiding?"

Leonard was already unlocking the door. "You've heard her."

That was difficult to argue with. 

The three of them moved into Apartment 4A with far more urgency than the situation reasonably deserved. Leonard closed the door behind them, and for several seconds they simply stood there listening to Penny's voice grow louder as she approached the fourth floor.

Sheldon closed his eyes and massaged his temples. "I need to review the tenant agreement. There must be a clause prohibiting the weaponization of acoustics in common areas."

"She's just expressing herself, Sheldon," Leonard whispered defensively, hovering near the door. "I thought it was... charming."

"Charming?" Sheldon stared at Leonard in utter disbelief. "Leonard, her vocal frequency modulation was entirely untethered from the fundamental key. She just changed keys four times in a single measure. She is inventing microtones that violate the basic mathematical principles of Western music."

Karl rubbed the back of his neck. "Sheldon is right."

"She has spirit," Leonard insisted, though his voice lacked conviction. He leaned toward the peephole. "She’s just having fun supporting your music, Karl."

"And I appreciate that," Karl replied. "But this..." He shook his head.

"Status?" Sheldon demanded, standing perfectly rigid near the sofa, as if movement might alert a predator.

"She's at her door," Leonard reported, his eye pressed to the glass. "She's looking for her keys. Still... still singing."

A particularly horrific attempt at the high harmony filtered through the wood. Karl covered his face with one hand. Hearing his meticulously crafted, multi-platinum hit brutally murdered by his neighbor-slash-crush was a very specific kind of psychological torture.

"She's inside," Leonard finally exhaled, stepping back as the heavy thud of Penny's door mercifully cut off the concert. "We're clear."

Sheldon let out a sharp breath. He turned slowly, leveling a deeply accusatory glare at Karl. "This is your fault."

Karl blinked. "My fault? I didn't tell her to sing it."

"Irrelevant," Sheldon stated, stepping forward. "Prior to your foray into the digital music marketplace, Penny could not have subjected this building to that specific sequence of auditory trauma. You introduced this insipid earworm into her cultural environment. You are the Oppenheimer of our stairwell."

Karl stared at him. "Did you really just compare my song to the atomic bomb?"

"Oppenheimer destroyed a desert. You just destroyed my inner ear," Sheldon replied without missing a beat. "If you must continue this frivolous career, I strongly suggest your next composition consists exclusively of notes outside the human vocal register. A dog whistle, perhaps."

Leonard opened the door, and the trio walked out again. 

From behind Penny's closed apartment door came another faint, spectacularly off-key attempt at the chorus. 

"Now and then I think of all the times you screwedddd meeee overrrrr..."

The three men froze again.

Sheldon immediately turned around.

Karl grabbed his shoulder before he could retreat again. "Keep walking. The comic books aren't going to buy themselves."

With visible reluctance, Sheldon allowed himself to be guided toward the stairs while Leonard followed behind them after locking the door.

...

..[First Person POV]..[Comic Book Store]

We entered the comic book store...

The smell hit me almost immediately.

Paper, cardboard, plastic sleeves, old books, and whatever mysterious substance every comic book store in existence seemed to contain regardless of location.

Honestly, I liked it.

I'd grown up with comics during my first life, although money had always limited how much I could actually collect. Most of my reading had happened online, through borrowed copies, or by standing inside stores considerably longer than the employees probably appreciated. And other times on pirated sites. 

Being able to walk into one now without mentally calculating whether buying a comic meant eating cheaper food later still felt strange. 

Howard and Raj were already inside, browsing.

Oh, as usual, we were arguing... Me with Sheldon.

"For a standard processor, maybe," I replied, tapping my temple lightly. "I'm running with extra RAM."

Before Sheldon could launch into a neurological rebuttal regarding the physical limitations of the human cerebral cortex, a new voice interrupted us.

"Wait, are you Karl?"

I turned toward the counter. Stuart had emerged from behind the register, holding a pricing gun in one hand and looking at me with genuine surprise. He walked over, his eyes darting between me and the rest of the group. Wait! Maybe I can hire him for future cover art. It'll save me a lot of time and he'll be able to make some money. 

"Hey, Stuart," Leonard said.

Stuart barely acknowledged him. "You're the guy who uploaded those songs this week. Karl Peterson. The MySpace tracks."

I smiled, a little surprised my internet fame had already breached the sanctuary of the comic book store. "Yeah, that's me."

Stuart shook his head, looking impressed. "Man, 'Fireflies' is crazy good. But as an artist... I've gotta ask. Did you design your own cover art?"

"I did," I admitted, remembering the hours I'd spent obsessing over digital fonts instead of sleeping.

"It shows," Stuart said, though he didn't sound critical, just observant. "It's got a raw, indie aesthetic. Works perfectly for the platform. Though if you ever need a professional illustrator for a physical album, I do commissions." He pulled a slightly creased business card from his pocket and handed it to me. "Rates are highly negotiable. Like, 'please help me pay my electricity bill' negotiable."

Howard scoffed, crossing his arms. "Great. He's been famous for three days and he's already getting solicited by local merchants."

"It's networking, Howard," I said, pocketing the card. "Thanks, Stuart. I'll keep it in mind."

"No problem. Just, uh... maybe don't tell anyone you found your art director in a comic book store."

Stuart headed back to the counter, but the brief exchange had apparently acted as a beacon.

A guy in a black band T-shirt and a studded belt, basically the official uniform of late-2007 internet culture, had been browsing the indie comics section near the back. He stepped closer, staring at me with his mouth slightly open.

"Holy crap," the teenager said. "You are him. The 'I'm Yours' guy."

I turned, offering a polite smile. "Guilty."

"Dude, my girlfriend has been playing your page on loop since yesterday. She changed her profile song to 'Just the Way You Are'. Can I get a picture? I have my phone." He pulled out a silver Motorola Razr, flipping it open with a satisfying plastic clack.

Before I could answer, Sheldon stepped directly between us, using his own body as a physical barrier.

"Excuse me," Sheldon said, his voice dripping with condescension. "This establishment is a sanctuary for serious graphic literature and speculative fiction. It is not a backstage meet-and-greet for transient pop sensations."

The teenager looked confused. "I just want a picture."

"And I want a pristine environment free of teenage loiterers who don't know the difference between Earth-616 and the Ultimate Marvel universe," Sheldon countered rapidly. "Yet here we are, both suffering disappointment."

I put a hand on Sheldon's shoulder and gently moved him aside. "It's fine, Sheldon. It takes two seconds."

I leaned in, the teenager held up the Razr, and we took a grainy, low-resolution photo that would undoubtedly end up on a digital bulletin board by the end of the day.

"Thanks, man," the kid said, looking thrilled as he snapped the phone shut. "Keep making music!"

He hurried out of the store without even buying anything, which only deepened Sheldon's scowl.

"Unbelievable," Sheldon muttered, staring at the jingling door. "The ecosystem has been entirely compromised."

Leonard laughed, clearly enjoying Sheldon's misery. "Get used to it, buddy. He's a rockstar now."

Sheldon turned his glare onto me. "If your newfound 'fame' is going to attract throngs of emotionally volatile adolescents to my safe spaces, I will have to require you to wear a disguise on future excursions."

"A disguise?" I asked.

"Something unassuming. A fake mustache, perhaps. Or a Star Trek uniform from one of the lesser series. No one approaches a man dressed as an ensign from Enterprise."

Raj giggled quietly. "He's not wrong. Howard tried hitting on a girl at a convention in an Enterprise uniform once. It was like anti-matter for women."

"I was aiming for niche appeal!" Howard defended instantly, his face flushing. "And for the record, the zipper got stuck. It ruined my swagger."

We walked toward the big racks of comics.

I chuckled and picked up a Batman trade paperback. "Don't worry, Sheldon. The internet moves fast. By next week, they'll probably be obsessing over a cat playing the keyboard or something. Until then, I promise not to sign autographs on top of the new releases."

Sheldon eyed me suspiciously, clearly weighing the probability of that promise. "See that you don't. Stuart's organizational system is precarious enough without your groupies knocking over the independent publishers."

Raj leaned against the comic rack, holding a copy of Aquaman. "It's late, but congratulations on your success, Karl."

I looked at him. "Thank you, Raj."

Raj nodded, looking entirely too pleased with himself. "Also, I was on the phone with my sister, Priya, yesterday. She mentioned she'd heard 'Just the Way You Are' playing in a café in New Delhi and had looked up your MySpace page."

Howard’s ears practically twitched at the mention of Priya.

"Anyway," Raj continued, smiling widely. "I casually mentioned that we were actually friends and that we hang out. The moment I said that, her entire tone changed. Suddenly she had a lot of questions."

I raised an eyebrow. "Questions about what?"

"Well, mostly she wanted to know if you were actually as attractive in person as your profile pictures suggest, or if it was just clever lighting and Photoshop."

Howard’s head snapped toward Raj so fast I thought he might pull a muscle. "Your sister asked about him?"

Raj nodded innocently. "Yes."

Howard looked deeply offended on a molecular level. "Why doesn't your sister ever ask about me? I have an incredibly symmetrical face and the brooding intensity of a young Al Pacino."

Raj stared at him for a long, flat second. "She has met you, Howard."

"And her memory is fully functional," Sheldon added, not looking up from a copy of Green Lantern. "It is hardly a mystery, Howard. During her visit two years ago, you attempted to deduce her astrological sign by aggressively massaging her palm, which was a transparent pretext for unwarranted physical contact."

Howard puffed out his chest defensively. "It was traditional Vedic palmistry!"

"No, it was not," Sheldon shook his head. "Furthermore, when she politely asked you to cease touching her, you attempted to serenade her with what you believed was a romantic Hindi proverb. However, due to your abysmal pronunciation, you actually offered to bathe her water buffalo."

Raj pointed at Sheldon in agreement. "She still brings up the water buffalo."

Howard squared his shoulders, looking very embarrassed and sinking slightly into his own turtleneck. "I was projecting international mystery. Women love international mystery."

I laughed out loud, leaning back against the shelf. "Well, for what it's worth, Raj, you can tell Priya the lighting in my apartment is terrible. It's all natural charm. And I promise I won't do anything Howard would do."

Raj grinned. "I'll be sure to pass that along. Though I warn you, if she ever visits Pasadena, you might have to sing for her."

Sheldon’s head snapped up in sheer panic. "Not in the stairwell! I absolutely forbid it!"

...And so our bickering continued for another hour or so, and we bought comic books. I bought a card game and pre-ordered a black lightsaber that Stuart promised he could get for 6% less than what they are selling on the internet. And he'll take cash.