When 10 of his personal guitars were stolen he lost it. He was so pissed he was quite the asshole. For days at home he was a tamper, like a pouty kid, but worse. He would slam things around, he was quiet, would glare at anything, and was rather snappy if he even spoke, which was even rarer at this point.

You tried cheering him up, you tried your hardest you felt terribly. You knew he loved his guitars but no matter what you did it didn’t help. You knew that but kept trying to help.

“Just quit it!” Bucket finally snapped, yelling at you first the first time you’ve two been together. In all the tears you’ve known Buckethead you’ve never known him to yell, you barely even knew him to speak. That hurt.