the dragon's den | Vipera Prompt Event

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Week 1 - Barren

Sat Jul 29, 2017 4:57 am

Fandom: N/A (Original)
Warnings: mentions of injury and death but nothing in detail at all

. Proxima Sol 2210 .
indentThe copper colored disc of Proxima Centauri hangs low in the sky, its naturally dim light becoming dimmer by the minute as it dips further towards the horizon. I remove my tablet from its pouch on my thigh and check it, the screen’s artificial light almost blinding. No new messages. It’s increasingly worrying that I haven’t heard anything from Chandra yet today. Mission Control has been ominously quiet as well.
indentPutting the tablet back in the pouch, I try to distract myself by checking my work for the day. Another few feet up the side of the crater wall is visible now, the pervasive teal dust of the world having been brushed away as I examined the strata beneath. Granted, the strata is all varying shades of the blues and greens that make up the rest of the planet but at least there’s more to tell in the ancient layers of rock than any of the loose sand.
indentI smack some of the teal dust off my gloves, gather my tools back into my backpack, and carefully climb back down the four meters or so to the crater floor, ever thankful for the old landslide material that allows me safe access this high up the wall to begin with. It’s quick work for me to reach the soft teal sands of the crater’s ground after weeks of exploring there. Before I set off for the night, I glance back at the wall. I’ve made it about halfway up the steep side now. There’s a trail of progressively cleaner rock leading to where I was today. A small gust blows a bit of sand past me, a reminder that the rock layers will be covered in dust again soon enough.
indentI think about Chandra as I cross my well-traveled path over the miniature dunes of the crater’s interior. She sounded fine on our evening call yesterday, and it wasn’t unheard of for either of us to miss a call or two. Communication errors, one of us falling asleep before calling the other, forgetting we hadn’t called yet, other simple mistakes, we’ve been through them all in the past six years. It’s only one call. Yet it nags at me with her condition always in the back of my mind.
indentI reach the small outcrop that’s become my usual set up spot in the past few weeks and take the inflatable tent out of my bag. Once it’s placed and engaged it only takes a few minutes to fully inflate. The minutes painfully drag on though, as I closely watch it inflating to keep my mind from drifting. Every few seconds I have the urge to check my tablet again.
indentThe second the tent is fully inflated, I step inside and put my bag, boots, and work gloves in one corner before taking off my helmet and outer suit layer in another. Not that it matters. A thin layer of dust covers everything I own regardless of the measures I take to try and keep things separate and clean. Chandra’s called it “the Proxima plague” before. I managed to keep my sense of wonder about everything on Proxima Centauri b for a while. Sometimes something will still strike me as incredible on a good day. But Chandra quickly became jaded. She’s always been like that, and two almost mission ending injuries haven’t helped. I remember a few hundred Sols ago when she called me after her mission status had been permanently changed to stationary because of her disabling foot injury. The memory makes my nerves worse. During that accident was also the last time she missed a call with me. Just like then, the lack of communication from Mission Control is both reassuring and concerning. It means they have nothing to tell me, but that might be because they haven’t heard anything themselves.
indentThinking of Mission Control reminds me that I should finish up my data log for the Sol. With my water bottle from my bag and my tablet out of its pouch, I sit on my inflatable bed and start working on the log. Typing up the geological jargon equivalent of “unfortunately it’s the same old lifeless, waterless, copper mineral based rock types I’ve been looking at for weeks” does manage to distract me. As soon as I hit confirm though, my thoughts race back to fretting over Chandra. Maybe she’s gotten injured again. Maybe she somehow lost or destroyed her tablet. Maybe something worse.
indentIt strikes me that I should eat my evening rations, but I’m not hungry. Instead I lay down, trying to picture all the dimly lit, green and blue desert landscapes I’ve seen on Proxima Centauri b to keep myself calm.
~~~ indentMy tablet buzzes against my side, waking me when I didn’t even realize I had fallen asleep. Groggily, I reach for it, squinting against the screen’s light to see a message on the screen. I have to reread it three times through my sleep-blurred vision before it’s coherent.
  • MissCon
    No contact with PCb Ex-A in one Sol.
indentPCb Ex-A is the shorthand for Chandra’s designation. Even Mission Control hasn’t heard from her in a full Sol. That includes the data logs we’re supposed to make each day.
indentI rub my eyes and read it again, making sure I’m not imagining the message. I’m not. My pulse spikes. Chandra would’ve told me “panicking makes things worse” like she always has, but the thought isn’t comforting. My mind goes into a loop of all the worries I had before but more intense. They all have a higher chance of being real now.
indentIt takes longer than it should for me to even slightly settle down. By then it’s time to start the Sol anyway. I’m half thankful for the distraction and half spiteful for the fact that all I can do is keep myself distracted. There’s nothing Mission Control can do from light years away except keep trying to contact her. And there’s nothing I can do but get up, put my dusty outerwear on, and hope my worrying is unfounded.
~~~~~~ indentMy tablet buzzes, jolting me awake. I take a second to get my bearings before reaching for it along the side of the bed. It’s a long message from Mission Control.
  • MissCon
    Proxima Sol 2628
    Contact with Chandra Estelle, designation Proxima Centauri b Explorer-A (PCb Ex-A), has now been lost for 418 Sols. All attempts across all methods to reestablish contact in this time frame have been unsuccessful. Current manager of the two Proxima Centauri b explorer missions Isaiah Gladwin has declared mission end. Communication channels will remain open on Proxima Centauri b’s A side in case of outgoing communications. However, active attempts to reestablish contact with ingoing communication methods will be discontinued. Explorer-A’s mission is a success.
indentThe tears are obscuring my vision before I can finish reading the message. It takes an extra few seconds to fully process. They’re declaring mission end. Chandra, my sister, my identical twin, was just declared dead.
indentI sit up, covering my face with my shaking hands. It’s been over an Earth year since that last call I got from her. I knew it wasn’t likely they’d reestablish contact, but I never stopped thinking there was a possibility. My mind starts going through a million questions. What happened? Was it quick? Was it painless? Did she know it was happening? We were never naive, we were given an extensive list of ways we could die here, trillions of miles from Earth and any help. I want to get up and throw my suit on, somehow run to the other side of the planet to check on her myself. A part of me hopes I’d find her alive with some silly excuse for why she hasn’t talked to anyone in over 400 Sols. But all I can think of is finding her enshrouded in dust carried from across the countless barren teal plains. Maybe the planet has already given her a burial.
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Week One Favorite! SHAMESPREN

Mon Jul 31, 2017 8:05 am

  • Congratulations to our Fan Favorite for Week 1 of the Vipera Prompt Event: shamespren!
    Fantastic work on your prompt this week! We eagerly await your entries in the weeks to come. Bask in all the glory! You deserve it.
search -- semi-open

muse -- 7/10
time -- 9/10

getting back in the swing of things.
current/in progress rps may take precedence.

........feel free to pm me here or on discord: blue#9135
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week two - heartbeat

Tue Aug 01, 2017 11:20 pm

✂- - - - - HEARTBEAT
This gets real fucked up real fast. Descriptive burns.
Also I didn't proof please excuse the typos if there are any <3
    • epigraphThe tips of Sera’s boots teased the precipice as she gazed into the stygian darkness that lurked below. Heat swelled from its depths with each breath the broken world expelled. As a youngling, Sera had been frightened away from the jagged edge of the clockwork city by crafted tales of the malignant god, Magiya. The soul eater. It was many years before Sera heard the whole story. In return for the souls that he consumed, Magiya blessed the empty vessel with his magic.
      epigraphA finger of sweat bled down her spine. Every muscle in her body was as taut as a violin string. Sera held her ground. Fear was no master of hers. “Magiya, my soul is yours to take.” Her words tumbled over the verge, disappearing under the ever-present croon of steam engines as they were consumed by the looming maw that lurked beneath. Anticipation urged her heart into a painful dance. Sera was helpless to do anything but wait.
      epigraphFright was, rather quickly, overwhelmed with irritation. Sera’s dark eyes narrowed, her arms crossing stubbornly beneath her breasts. Not once did she consider that the stories of Magiya could be just that—stories. Sera was done remedying the collar of bruises that hemmed her neck…she intended to cure the disease. “Your magic will be mine,” Sera swore, both to herself and to the intangible emptiness.


      epigraphThe sheer force of that single word devoured all other sound. Sera’s ears rang with a silence so absolute her skull threatened to split. A gasp caught on the tip of her tongue, tickling the soft skin behind her lips. The god’s presence was so thick in the air she could taste it—soot and steel. The girl pointed her chin, seething as she said, “Why did you leave me waiting?” Her words dribbled away into a growl, her jaw squaring as she ground her teeth. Greening copper fingertips dug into the flesh of her human arm. Her glare persisted.
      epigraphThe rumble began as a murmur thousand feet below. Her arms unlocked. The ire in her expression was washed away by a quirking smile. His presence seeped through her veins like warm honey. Sera leaned forward, peering into the abyss. A devilish breeze coaxed her closer to the edge, playfully tugging at the loose folds of her cotton shirt. Sweat glossed her face and soaked through her clothes.
      epigraphLouder. Louder. LOUDER!
      epigraphA pillar of inky smoke cleaved through the delicate skirt of pale steam that blanketed the city. Power emanated from the faceless figure in devastating waves, sending the girl reeling backward. In her rush, her feet tangled. She crashed into the steel grating. Her teeth snapped together over her tongue. Hot, metallic fluid gushed down her throat and Sera came up swearing and spitting like an angry viper. Magiya’s guttural laughter shook her bones, distracting Sera from her plight. Her cheeks blemished with pink humiliation.

      epigraphYou desire my magic?

      epigraphBefore her eyes, a face was carved from the ethereal presence. His flesh like marble—deathly pale and veined with greys and blacks. His eyes burned like purple twilight, their essence spilling from beneath his lids and leaking over his cheeks in muddy trails. His body bore scarce muscle, but the strength of his being could not be matched. His lips curled at their tails and dimples poked holes beneath his cheekbones. Silver jewelry so bright it hurt to look at adorned his hair, his face, his throat, and his arms with luxury.
      epigraphSera struggled to believe that a being so beautiful could be so cruel as the stories told, but many beautiful things had damaged her in the past. “In exchange for your magic-” her tongue had swollen in her mouth, slurring her speech “-my souls is yours.” The iron in her eyes carried no cracks and exhibited no hesitation. Blood painted her lips with a carmine flower, but her chest rose and fell evenly with each audacious breath.
      epigraphMagiya knelt before her, extending his hand to grace her cheek. Her flesh boiled beneath his touch, heat blisters following the line that he drew down her jaw. The god’s grip tightened around her chin, yanking her forward. Sera could do nothing but obey. Tears blurred her vision, but she did not protest the pain. She welcomed it. Magiya’s thumb swept over her lips, his head canting as he observed her. She saw nothing in his eyes—he had nothing, he wanted nothing…he feared nothing.
      epigraphThere was no warning.
      epigraphMagiya’s hand cinched around her delicate neck. His searing lips stole her wail of agony as he sucked her soul from her body. Her tears disappeared, curling into the air as steam. Fire spread up her face, sloughing layers of char from her bones. Sera could not fight, it was too late to fight. As Magiya tore away her soul, there was only gaping hollowness left to replace it. Her nerve endings burned away, the pain muted. Sera began to yearn for it.
      epigraphThe god’s physical form melted away. Sera fell forward, her body splitting the smoke that he had become. The metal grate beneath her was red hot, drooping from her scarce weight. The grate cooled, and the girl healed. Her cheek pressed against the flooring, Sera did not move. Not until a trader came to dock the following day and found her still-breathing corpse. She could feel his magic within her…anything that she desired would belong to her and her alone.
      epigraphWhy then, did she want nothing at all?
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Re: the dragon's den | Vipera Prompt Event

Wed Aug 02, 2017 4:24 am

Heartbeat -
(Warning for heavy gore and bad language)
Word count: 1,473

The whole parking lot was covered in police tape and surrounded by forensics officers, none of them wanting to get too close to the disaster scene. As a result the victim lay still unidentified on the tarmac in a crusty red pool. The body was a twisted mess of steel and organs. Blood stained wires coiled out of ruined eye sockets and slithered through a seething mass of exposed entrails. The victims stomach had been peeled open, spilling an oozing pile of intestines and metal retainers onto the bloodied concrete. A wide variety of various metal shafts that looked like they might once have formed legs were splintering out at various angles from the skin where they'd been gouged in. Every so often a circuit would spark an electrical response and the human soup would twitch.

Kerch stared blankly at the body in the dim light of the setting sun, trying not to focus too heavily on the gore, trying not to wonder if it had once been a man or a woman. It was easier to pretend the burst sack of organs had always been that way than acknowledge that once it had been able to walk or talk or have thoughts of its own. Maybe that way he would be able to repress the urge to vomit and actually do his job. Based on the reeking pile of regurgitation lying near the corpse it was clear some of the others had found that part a little too difficult.

"Boy oh boy somebody did a number on this poor fucker." That was one way to put it. Then again, Ricker had never been one to bother being anything other than a blunt irreverent ass hole. Kerch turned, raising an eyebrow at his boss. "What's the verdict Rick? Butcher, baker or candle stick maker?" Ricker knelt next to the body, his expression unreadable in the gathering dark. His silhouette was huge compared to the ruined shape of the victim but everyone looked small next to him: Ricker was 6'6 and a tough fuck to get in a fight with. Kerch would know. He had the scars to prove it.

His boss released the cyber scanners from a tiny metal cylinder container and dumped them onto the corpse. Kerch fancied they looked a bit like tiny titanium spiders crawling into the web of gore stained wires. "Ok ok, let's have a lookie here. Who the fuck did you use to be hmm?" Ricker murmured to himself absently as he opened the feed for the scanner on his W.A.S.P (web approved scanner provider - as graciously donated by the WebCorp to the police department of region TX12) Within about five seconds the C.S. bots had found the identification chip. "Hmm" Ricker tutted to himself, inspecting the data with unusual vigor. Kerch gave him a pointed but curious stare. No response. "Hey, Ricker, this isn't story time come on cough it up, who is this unlucky bastard?" His boss let out a low whilstle, gaze flickering back from the body as if he couldn't quite make the connection. Kerch was starting to get annoyed by the unnecessary suspense. "Who was he?"

"Whooweee, Mr Kerch Sung let me introduce you to Miss Janet Dinkleman, head of WebCorp's marketing department. Age 43, utterly loaded and extremely high up the corporate ladder. Booked in for a facial reconstruction as her last known official diary entry. Looks like her cosmetic surgery didn't go quite the way she was expecting." Ricker was in fits of laughter at his own terrible joke. Kerch remained silent, only shooting him a disapproving frown. His boss raised an eye brow at him and smirked. "Shit Kerch. You're the most sullen fucking trainee I've ever had. Lighten up man." But there was nothing to lighten up for.

Janet Dinkleman. He had heard of her. They'd had a lot of dealings with various WebCorp officials since he'd joined TX12, unsurprisingly. They unofficially ran the whole city - being the chief share holder in fuel, energy and food supplies naturally made the company exceptionally powerful. WebCorp essentially ran the important parts of the economy so it was no shock that they had a lot of legal involvement. Most of the PD equipment had been supplied by them. But that didn't explain why one of their lead employees was lying inside out in the back of a hospital parking lot. Kerch couldn't make sense of it. He'd seen some pretty disturbing things since joining the force but nothing quite like this. As per usual Ricker didn't seem phased by their discovery. It was unnerving in itself how easily his "mentor" disconnected from his line of duty, how he could just make light of the victims as if they'd never mattered. 'Just another job, another number on the page' Ricker had told him once as if that explained away his total lack of empathy and borderline sociopathic tendencies. Sometimes Kerch envied him though. It must make things easier not to feel pity or remorse for the dead and it certainly meant that his boss was an expert at his job. He could focus easily on the task at hand without even trying. Or maybe being on the force for ten years longer just did that to you. Maybe when Kerch entered his thirties he would be able to walk onto a crime scene and only a see a mess to clean up and not a field of ruined possibilities and empty promises.

"-out her house." The junior detective lurched suddenly from his thoughts, startled by a sudden pain sparking in his back. Ricker had slapped him hard to get his attention. "Hey, Sung, earth to Kerch, mayday mayday 911. Anybody home? Come on kid get your shit together." Kerch rubbed tenderly at the spot Ricker had slapped, frowning a little. His boss always seemed to forget about the fact that hitting people with a cybernetic arm hurt way more than using a flesh one but the only time he'd complained about this Ricker had called him a pussy and told him to eat the pain. The junior detective had been confused about how he would consume his neuro-electrical impulses but decided not to bring up that argument again. "What?" He snapped instead, not bothering to hide his irritation. "We gotta file this with the department and then go over to Dinkleman's digs and inform them she's turned into a gourmet delicacy." Informing the relatives. The worst part of the job. They were harbingers of death at people's doors, always a sign of the worst, people learned to dread their arrival. Their expressions broke him down piece by piece a little more each time. It was sickening. "Couldn't we get somebody else to do it this time?" Kerch asked quietly, eyes darting over once again to the mess on the floor. Thankfully the light had mostly faded now and it was hard to make out the details in the dark. Ricker simply shook his head cheerfully and shrugged. "What? Skip out on my favourite part? Come on Sung don't be so cruel! You know how much I love getting free coffee off these poor bastards. Haven't had to pay for one in a week." It was true. His boss had insisted on taking on informing duties every day regardless of if they were involved in the case or not.... on the basis he'd usually get a free drink out of it. And the others had been all to willing to shirk the responsibility. Kerch pulled a sour expression. "You're one fucked up son of a bitch Rick. You know that right?" The junior detective conceded but his tone showed just how unimpressed he was with all this. Ricker's response was a devious grin. "Yep. I know: now let's get going. Into the van with you!" Kerch's gazed flicked back to the body once again. "What about..." he wanted to say Janet but in the end the name died on his lips "...the victim?" His boss simply shrugged and pointed to a few of the squeamish looking officers skirting the edge of the crime scene. "The boys here are fine cleaning this up yeah?" Their eyes grew wide in fear and they looked skittishly at the eviscerated corpse. One of them threw up. Ricker seemed to take this as an affirmation. "See they can handle it." Kerch wasn't so sure, but in truth he was quite happy to be getting the hell out of the disturbing scene.

The two of them headed quickly back towards the van. When Kerch was happily seated shot gun and Ricker behind the wheel, the bigger man leaned out the window as he drove by the officers and called out "Happy house keeping!" and pulled speedily out of the parking lot before any of them could respond.
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week 02.} heartbeat.

Wed Aug 02, 2017 8:50 pm

  • ━━━━━ HEARTBEAT ♠ ♠ ♠
    • - warnings ;; none- author's note ;; boop the snoot
  • the wind trilled what could be described as a contagious tempo through the suffocating darkness, causing the trees to throb and the leaves to bounce from their branches. a man waltzed alongside it -- though hardly willingly, for perhaps given the lateness of the night he would've preferably chosen to stop. the moon was at its zenith, crowning the climactic edge of the seemingly endless circle of navy sky. he could've sworn that he must've been the only one foolish enough to wander this lonely, unpaved path at this ungodly hour... not another soul would be caught dead there, let alone when darkness had so eerily fallen. however... for him? the tale was different. he was... on the run, you see. he was feared by everyone, though it hadn't always been that way. once upon a time, things had gone better. he had been peaceful, happy even... but as many cynical elders might exclaim in the streets, 'anything good will not stay'. if he was to feel ecstasy, it would inevitably be swiped out from beneath his naive nose; and truth be told, it had. a wolf did not belong within the kingdom.

    his name... was sabin. it was such a simple word, yet his parents had been attached to it nonetheless -- determined that the delightful ring suited their scoundrel of a son. he had lived every ripe year of his life ecstatic to awaken the following morning -- and with his enthusiasm came this puerile yearning for exploration. the tightly locked fences surrounding his home would not restrain him. whenever his parents were gone to collect food for their dinner, he would slip through the cracks... and would wander the shadows aligning the streets, browsing shops that didn't belong to him. he grew such an outrageous affinity for this curiosity, it would later lead him to climb an enormous tower... an adjoining turret to a castle of royalty, though at the time he couldn't have known. he also couldn't have foreseen the window he would accidentally tumble into, not anticipating that beneath the vines he had mounted a window was left flimsy and ajar. he couldn't have anticipated the young girl that would be shocked to see him, rugged and dirtied, a stranger in rags sprawled out atop her trimmed carpeting. she never screamed, merely peddled back several paces before gathering the courage to approach. her name was audrey.

    he fell in love. every day he visited, unlawfully crawling up that spiny wall of thorns, he collapsed deeper into her spell. the princess. a marvelous blonde with quirky freckles like constellations he could trace, and a laugh so bizarrely serene he caught himself holding his breath to never miss it. it was the strangest thing, too... for as the years would pass, and he would turn nineteen, he would realize how distinctly he could always hear her heart. it would thump faster when he'd brush fingers across her cheekbones. her pulse would rocket and zip when he spoke, and her intrigue would blossom -- for she wasn't allowed outside due to her status, for safety measures, and he was the ultimate adventurer. he would bring her trivial souvenirs, such as smooth pebbles from creaks or a flower that would eventually die -- but she would cherish them... as he cherished her.

    it wasn't until he was twenty that a problem would arise. sabin would draw himself from his blankets that morning, and be shaken to the core by how loud sounds had become. the rushing of blood in his father's veins, the oxygen powering in and out of another's lungs, lips smacking and boxes landing... everything was hurting. each sound struck him like a bullet, and the once innocent boy would be strangled by the time the sun was relieved of duty. he would struggle to mount and clamber his familiar wall, and would tumble not-so-gracefully into audrey's bedroom... where she'd been waiting for him. but he hadn't fallen clumsily like that in years. something was amiss. he would ramble to her for what felt like centuries, trying to explain what had happened... but his speech was drunkenly garbled, and the most he could've heard was the hammering of her fearful heart. it wasn't long before his eyes were scrunching into knots, and his muscles were violently convulsing... as if he were having a seizure, which was precisely what his dear friend feared. he would writhe on the floor whilst she stood distantly, helplessly, and her panic would only grow as he would shriek. though she tried to cram her fingers over his mouth... she couldn't stifle his howling, or the piercing radiance of his shrunken, primal irises. he was changing... but was too disoriented in the booming of her heart to understand how.

    it turned out he was a werewolf. his screams had driven guards from their posts, causing them to race to their princess's rescue. he was chased off, forced to scramble from the windowsill and drop faithlessly into the underbrush below... but not before they had seen his face. not before audrey was heard screaming his name, trying to chase after him as he lost himself to the forest. but she was caught by the studious knights, and kept stilled by their whispers of comfort... as if she'd needed saving. sabin wouldn't have hurt her.

    he was twenty-seven now. the kingdom that he had called home told tales of him, ordering people to steer clear of the woods for his dwellings were there and he was dangerous. he was pronounced a public enemy for being with the princess, but it was nonsense. nevertheless his opinion was unaccounted for, and he was left to the carnage of his loneliness. for years.

    until tonight.

    with a thick blanket of snow casting a pallid silhouette over his surroundings, and hesitant dapples continuing to tumble from the smoky clouds... he walked on. it was too dangerous to stay in the same place, for hunters would find him. they would capture him, claim the ransom, and he would be hanged... or worse. burnt at the stake for witchcraft. his parents were killed for that reason. he had left that forest because of it, and traveled out into the unknown. formerly a lover of exploration, but now seeing everything for what it was. dull. ugly. as was he.

    he had been walking for what felt like centuries... till something stopped him in his tracks. his boots would pause over the ice as his nose contracted and pried at the air for a familiar scent. a deer, perhaps? a bear? but it was winter... that couldn't have been. then... footsteps. not heavy footsteps, nothing that significant weight could create -- but soft, like shy pitter-patters, or a bunny racing. racing... in his direction.

    sabin didn't think much further. he dove for the nearest bush, concealing himself with the aid of the moon's filtered luster. chills, and not from the cold, materialized against his olive flesh... for he was afraid of the worst. he couldn't be caught. he prayed it would pass him without investigation...


    "... hello?" a voice he recognized. but how? "is someone there?"

    he didn't want to believe it. it had been too long... she must've hated him. everyone else did. he hated himself. "please come out... i can see you." he might not have dared a peek for nerves getting the best of him... but something made him think otherwise. something justified opening his ears, and... listening.

    it was a heartbeat he knew, for none had ever sounded like it. he couldn't explain how it was possible, he was nowhere near there anymore. but there she was

    sabin pried his eyelids aside, ducking his head as he uneasily crept out from the tattered shrubs he'd used as cover. he rose to his full height with a crinkled brow and a gnarled frown. confused, maybe. shocked. it was like seeing a ghost.

    "... audrey?"

    she looked as taken aback as he was, but it was familiar -- identical to what she'd shown him upon their 'introduction', when he'd piled in through her window. when he'd met her. her hair was longer than he recalled, unkempt from being caught by reaching trees. snow clung to it, as well as the encumbering hood that towered over her... sustaining little warmth. she was breathing heavily, as if she'd heard him and come as fast as she could... pleading to herself that her assumption was correct. believe it or not, it had been.


    there was no formal 'how have you been' after that. no... 'are you alright?' just a silent stare. interrupted only by "i've been looking everywhere," followed by a tasteless "but why? i'm a monster. everyone is afraid of me... aren't you as well?" yet the answer was simple.

    "no. never."

    the werewolf and his princess were reunited, man connected with woman and the breached bond between them sealed. he kissed her. she kissed back. and her heartbeat... danced.
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week two; heartbeat

Wed Aug 02, 2017 10:27 pm

  • Image

vulgarity and minor
gore warning

  • The streets were to run red with blood tonight. That much was evident.

    Fiery twilight seeped down the damp alleyway. The further it stretched, the dimmer it got, until nightly darkness consumed the dead end where the plummeted sun could no longer reach. Xace, unfamiliar with the scents of an urban lifestyle, wrinkled his nose as he passed the pair of metal trash bins, contents spilling onto the pavement around them. He normally enjoyed the way the world smelled after a heavy storm, how it made the grass shimmer and the dirt moisten. Here, the rain had only seemed to emphasize the rankness of the city.

    Xace rarely bothered to interact with the Prosaic. They were a nuisance, ultimately. They called themselves humans, unaware of their powerlessness. For them, not having an ability was normal.

    Despite his distaste for them, and his general efforts to avoid all interaction with them, Xace had business to attend to. With heavy boots sloshing through dirty puddles and crystal blue eyes nailed to a particular door, Xace finally allowed his blood to grow hotter. The Prosaic were idiotic creatures. They invaded territory that was not their's, and then got upset when a few of them mysteriously turned up dead.

    Xace called himself merciful, though. He could easily wipe out a few hundred of them to make a statement any time. Instead, he let them off with countless warnings by just taking a couple at a time. It seemed to keep them at bay for a while. But this particular occurrence did not allot for just a warning. They'd taken what was his, and they'd done it knowingly. They'd stolen his Phenomenon.

    The wall to his right burst as his anger surged at the memory. Pieces of the brick structure blasted away from the gaping hole. They'd taken his Phenomenon because she was the only one who could not stop them from doing so. She was like them: powerless. Whether she was born a Prosaic or not was none of his concern. For all that mattered to him, she was Preternatural. Her ability to always get the best of him was beyond human. That was why he called her Phenomenon, for she was more adept to kill him than any of his Preternatural enemies were. Nobody else could sneak up on him like she did.

    The Prosaic had ambushed them. They came riding upon various strange machines, much like the ones he'd seen roaring down their roads. But those that had stormed into their little forest clearing had been armed. Xace despised their weapons, for they were weak and limited. But the Prosaic had come with large numbers, and they'd been carrying lots of artillery.

    At first, the fight had seemed easy. Their vehicles were no match for a strong punch of wind or a sudden lack of gravity. But then their bullets had rained down. Bullets were no match for Xace. They were tiny, and it took about as much effort to obliterate one as it did to crack a dead leaf. But not everybody could just crush what they wanted to.

    Xace had told her to run. Begged her, even. Xace didn't beg for anything. He was in charge. All it took was one threatening pinch, and he got his way. But he had pleaded for her to go. A minor threat had even escaped his lips - an empty threat, but a threat, nonetheless. But his Phenomenon was a stubborn brat, and his request had offended her. There hadn't been enough time for him to explain to her that he didn't think she was weak or defenseless, and that she was quite the opposite. She was just vulnerable. Too vulnerable.

    In the end, they'd had no choice to run. As more of their blood stained the forest floor, it became evident that this was not a battle they could win. It stung his pride to order them to flee, for surely he should have been able to crush every single one of their mechanical mounts and then their bones, but his strength depleted quickly with exhaustion. If he couldn't keep up, neither could the others. A bruised ego would heal. Bullet wounds wouldn't. Not on the dead.

    Most escaped. They were smart, and retreated to the darker areas where the trees were larger and of greater quantity. Those hulking machines couldn't keep up. Most outran them quickly.

    Except for his Phenomenon.

    They'd shot her in the back as she'd bolted away from the tussle she'd engaged in. He'd heard her body hit the ground, as well as the pained cry that writhed from her chest. It announced to both Xace and the enemy that the bullet hadn't killed her. He'd turned back, returning from the refuge of the foliage to drag her to safety. But he hadn't ever made it to her. Their mounts were versatile. They carried their passengers, shot those around them, and also served as battering rams.

    She'd seen it before he did. She tried to warn him, but when he'd turned to see what it was she was yelling about, as the girl who moved so silently did scream so loud, he'd already been set in its path. The vehicle had slammed into him, knocking him unconscious, and breaking quite a few parts of his body in the meantime.

    Xace knew that the only reason he wasn't with her now was because he'd been knocked out. They'd presumed him dead and left him. But she was alive. Alive, wounded, and still too vulnerable. They'd taken her.

    Fortunately, one of the survivors was the opposite of him: while Xace could break anything, Jonath could put anything back together. So that's what he tediously did to Xace's various bones. Everything still hurt like hell, but Xace could move, and that was all he needed. Killing all of the Prosaic who stole his Phenomenon would be the easy part. He was actually quite excited for it.

    Reaching the door, Xace tried the knob. Locked. How pathetic. With a roll of his eyes, he tried again, this time with an intent. The lock shattered at his request. He strolled through, serenaded by the vulgar confusion of those inside. They were a crowd of typical looking Prosaic men - large in width, short in height. Their facial hair was unkempt, the hair on their scalps receding away from their beady, bloodshot eyes. They looked flabbergasted.

    "What the hell is this white-haired pompom doing here? Thought you said he was dead, Mike."

    "I slammed him full force with my truck. Damn freaks must be more like roaches than we thought."

    Xace scowled as they conversed. White-haired pompom? He was not a pompom. As the man opened his mouth to respond to the man he assumed we named Mike, Xace cut him off before another insult could spew from his mouth. The left half of his rib cage caved inside of his body, causing the man to first jolt and buckle before crumbling to the ground, screaming as he went. The five other men in the room staggered back, ogling their fallen friend.

    "Where is she?"

    The lot exchanged glances with one another, as though waiting for one of them to take a leadership role and to respond back. Angry and impatient, Xace shattered the kneecap of another one, sending him howling to the floor.

    "I'll ask again: where is she?"

    One made the mistake of taking a nervous glance towards a door. Following his gaze with his own, it didn't appear to be an exit to the outdoors, but rather one that lead to another room. Xace passed another threatening look back to them before turning and advancing towards it, quickly forcing his way inside.

    It was a disgusting, grimy room, and instantly Xace vowed to kill three of them just for keeping her in such an untidy room. Littered with trash and filled with stagnant air that stank of blood and mold, the walls were stained up to the ceiling, and the concrete floor was sticky to walk on. Looking down at its unusual brownish tint, he declared it to be old blood that he was walking on.

    Blue cans surrounded his feet and were stashed in every corner, and shards of tinted glass were just as common of a sight. Piles of plastic bags, paper wrapping, and crushed cups made it nearly impossible to see anything. But not impossible.

    His Phenomenon.

    His heart clenched as he saw her there, laying on the ground, motionless, pale, bloodied, and bruised. Now all of the men out there were going to die just for harming her. Xace crossed the room hurriedly, dropping to his knees before gathering her into his arms.

    One hand held her face as he convinced himself he wasn't the only thing holding her head up. But her arms were limp, her jaw was slack, and her eyes wouldn't open. Her skin was cold to the touch. Clenching his jaw, Xace lowered his ear to her chest to listen for the rhythmic beat of her heart. Silence. His quiet Phenomenon was too quiet.

    The chilling realization hit him harder than that machine had. She was dead. They had killed her. He held her lifeless body against his, willing himself to suddenly obtain the power to return life to one who has lost it. No matter how hard he tried, nothing came. Her lungs did not suddenly fill with another lively breath, her hand did not twitch, her eyes did not open.

    A click interrupted his grief. He turned to see who had come in behind him. One of the six. In his shaky hand was one of those weapons that had been used to take down his Phenomenon, aimed at Xace's head. The Preternatural's icy glare darkened. He must have been volunteering himself to let Xace stop his heartbeat first.

    Xace didn't hesitate.
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week two | heartbeat

Thu Aug 03, 2017 12:03 pm

    • Image non-spoiler-y spiderman fic
      features slight injury & emotional themes
      written in peter parker's pov


    • The entire school was attending another Decathlon at a large building in the city when the monster barreled through the doors. I could sense it several minutes before I saw it clamoring down the tile corridor, claws at the end of humanoid feet slipping over the slick stone surface as it ran toward me. I did everything in my power to slide beneath it's feet and knock its balance off with several shots of web but I was quickly losing strength and endurance.
      "Alone again, Spiderman." The monster's voice came out deep and gravelly, a human voice trapped inside an experimental travesty. Whatever this thing was, I could tell it had taken over its human host and every time it spoke a meek human voice called out for help. The monster and its victim were of the same body but not of mind. Each time I got close enough to hear the victim's desperate pleas for escape, every bone in my body urged me to turn and run. This creature stood several feet above me and everyone of its erratic, swiping movements matched my own.
      I jumped up over its head and began frantically entangling it in web. The monster began thrashing wildly, tearing down bits of ceiling and light fixture with every motion. The alarm in the building began to blare and the halls came alive with commotion at the sudden sound. My rapid breath was deep in my chest when a voice in my head warned me to slow myself down. I wasn't sure if it was panic or exhaustion taking hold of me but I sensed my vision narrow a bit and my defense lose precision. I crawled onto the creature's back, attempting to dodge each swipe of its massive clawed hands however I had been too slow and the creature was already in tune to my every movement. Before I could slip out of the way, the shadow of its hand came up on my right side and within seconds, its fingers were wrapped around my waist, pulling me from its back with such ferocity that my vision went black. My body fell limp to the ground. "You're not getting away this time, little bug." The monster growled, its baritone voice shaking the walls and vibrating in the pieces of shattered glass on the floor.
      I gasped for air, my hands patting around myself to assure I was secure. Pain radiated red-hot in my side and it hurt to even attempt to regain my footing. I could tell right away that the monster's grip on me had definitely broken a rib or two.
      I shook out the pain the best I could but I began to feel the muscles in my legs and back start to tremble with the effort of standing. My ears pricked at the sound of a crowd huddling toward a door in the hall. I made the mistake of looking in the direction of the Decathlon attendees, the monster made a disturbing, satisfied noise and immediately pounded toward the door and ripped it off its hinges. The building shook with the force of it and I suddenly felt a pang of unease remembering how high up we were. We were at the top floor of the corporate building where the conference halls were. Floor to ceiling windows lined each wall and now that the lights were out, the only light in the building was from the neon signage from the rest of the city.
      The monster tossed the mangled door to the ground, dust billowing from its final resting place. There was only so much my webs would be able to handle. I ran toward the creature, my side aching like a knife wound. Amongst all the noise in the building, I could still hear my voice and pounding heartbeat above it all.
      The monster tore through the doorway as students and teachers scattered toward the back walls of the conference room, attempting to hide under tables and behind display boards. I raced after it, my pace noticeably hindered by my exhaustion and injuries. I was breathing so hard it hurt, like deep breaths of ice cold air on a winter day tearing through my lungs with each struggled inhale. I could hear my pulse in my ears, tossing web after web at the creature in a vain attempt to keep it away from the large tempered glass windows. I finally got a thick strand of web lodged around the creature's waist and I squatted down against the floor to act as leverage while I used all my remaining strength to pull the creature back from the wall. My eyes fell closed several times, my body threatening to go black, the voice in my head saying: Peter, breathe. Slow down. Ration your strength... My fists were still tight against the web rope but my arms insisted on going slack every time I tried to put pressure on them. In my bleary vision, I saw the monster swipe at several of the students, striking them down in a cacophony of terrified screams and growls.
      With each tug back on the web, my body went weak but the creature didn't move. My eyes felt soft and I couldn't feel the web rope in my hands anymore. My vision went dark and the only thing I could hear clearly was the sound of my gasps for breath and the distant sound of the creature directing his attention on something else. I sensed the creature near me but only slightly. The voice in my head rang out again, piercing through my swimming mind. Peter, wake up!
      My eyes snapped open the moment I was thrown like a doll toward the crowd of students and teachers. I collapsed against the wall among other injured students. I can't do this... I can't save them. My brain ran over these words a mile a minute, defeated.
      My senses perked at the sounds of broken glass and the sudden rush of cold air in the room that seemed to wake me up a bit. It took me too long to figure out what was happening, my eyes focusing slowly on the creature dangling someone over the edge of the building through a broken window, but my mind only wanted to focus on the screaming pain in my side from my broken ribs.
      As much as I tried, I couldn't force my body to move. I shot half hearted webs toward the monster, attempting to pull its grip back inside the building.
      A scream shot through me and I felt several pairs of hands nudging me awake. 'Oh my god, it's gonna drop Ned!"
      My mind tried to climb out of the hole my exhaustion dug, struggling, a couple kids helped me back onto my feet. I wasn't going to let anyone die because I gave up even though my body demanded that I do so. My balance was shot, and I stumbled through broken glass and shredded dry wall toward the open window. Wind ripped past me, testing my already weak stance. I took a ragged breath in, sore from head to toe, tiny minuscule lacerations covered my body from being thrown onto broken glass.
      My eyes narrowed in on Ned. My best friend and the only other person in the world I could trust with my life. Now dangling hundreds of feet over the bustling New York City streets. He locked eyes with me, pleading for help. In his gaze, I saw every moment we spent together as kids, every time he raced to my side to help me, I couldn't let him get hurt even if I died in the process. That's the promise I made when I donned my suit. My body recharged on adrenaline and I shot toward the creature, its fingers loosening and allowing Ned to slip through his grasp, only to grab him again before Ned fell several stories to his death. None of the other students dared get close to the creature.
      I gathered all the strength I could muster and aimed both of my hands toward the creature. It all relied on timing.
      I shot a web first toward the monster's massive hand and right when it released its grip on Ned to turn around to me, I shot another web to grab Ned and swing him back into the building, far away from the creature or the window. Then, I attached webs to either side of the room, creating a catapult while shooting small bursts to keep the creature distracted. I ran back toward the web, applying tension to give me enough power and I flew through the air, straight legged. My feet landed squarely on the creature's chest and it stumbled backward and through the broken pane of glass.
      I skidded and landed in a heap, the adrenaline I had built up drained from me and I suddenly felt every sustained injury screaming in unison. The students gathered around me, including Ned, all pitching in to help lift me from the shard littered floor. They formed a stretcher with their hands and carried me out of the conference room, into the stairwell and down to the bottom floor lobby.
      With Ned stabilizing my neck, my eyes felt heavy and I allowed them to fall closed, every inch of my body pulling me off to sleep.

      ((sorry if this is shitty, i really wanted to write some spiderman stuff but i tried to make sure it didn't spoil anything in the movie. if it seems sort of vague, that's why^^ also, if there are any typos, forgive me, i wrote this at 3am.))
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⋆). week two // heartbeat

Fri Aug 04, 2017 5:06 pm

  • Image
    (author's note: be warned, there is some gore/violence in this one. i tried my best
    to show a change of character in this one, i hope you like it! i enjoyed writing this.)

    ───────────────────────────── WEEK TWO ──────────────
    • indentIn the world I live in, some people are real and some people are not. I'm technically artificial, a remarkable advancement in technology that is both praised and feared. As an android, I'd like to think that I'm more than a body of wires and metal but some people still think I'm not human at all and I can't be trusted. (Sci-fi has shed robotics in a negative light.) Maybe I don't have a heartbeat or need to breathe, but I'm still a person; you wouldn't know I was artificial if you saw me in the street. Marcellus, a true human, knows that I am more than that. I'm his girlfriend, someone made perfect just for him, and he loves me. I love him too. It's almost like he was the one created for me, but I guess that's silly. I may be partially programmed to love him, but I know that I truly do want to be with him until he dies and that's not just coding. I've lived with him all my life and I want to be there for the rest of his.
      indentIt's like any other day when I borrow his laptop to search up a recipe for dinner, but an unexpected result pops up after typing in the letter "n". He searched up "new android model prices". Shock jabs through my chest like a laser carving out my shape. Does he want to replace me? I feel hurt. It's been four years since the last android release, and it seems like they've just made a new model that he wants to know the price of. Maybe he doesn't love me anymore. I close the laptop and head to the living room where he sits comfortably on the couch. "Calida," He smiles at me warmly, rising from his spot to come kiss me on the cheek. Confusion pools in his gaze as he sees my pained expression. "What's wrong?" He asks, his brain working as quickly as a whirlpool trying to figure out what I had seen. I didn't know at the time, but he had a secret to hide in a mind as deep as the ocean.
      indent"Do you.. want to replace me?" I whisper, looking up at him tearfully. I have the ability to cry, and at the moment I almost wish I didn't. I don't like being sad, especially when he usually makes me so happy. "No, never! Why would you think that?" Surprise paints his face a new color and I sigh with relief. Of course he's telling the truth, he would never lie to me. I quietly explain what I saw on the computer and he reassures me that it wasn't him. "I don't know how that popped up. Maybe it was my brother, he came over on Tuesday and might have borrowed it. You do trust me, don't you?" I smile, happy to have a confident answer for something. "Yes."
      indentThat night while lying in bed, I think dreamily of what it would be like as a human. I'd be a real woman, and I grin lazily at the thought. I wish for all the things that would make me alive. I wonder what it's like to bleed. I think it would be beautiful for crimson to drip, drip, drip, down my chin, my arms, my legs like paint spilling from a can. I suppose it would hurt. I only feel mild pain. Wouldn't it be nice to feel true pain, just once? Humans don't realize how much they get to experience; they even get death. I would like to imagine a future where I die naturally instead of turning myself off after Marcellus dies and being taken back to a factory for recycling. They will take out the parts of me, the ones disguised to make me look like a real girl, and everyone will know what I truly am. Fake. Skin, hair, eyes and fingernails camouflage the gears working furiously underneath to keep me from ever perishing. The electricity running through my wires like veins lets me pretend to be alive, a fairy tale I will not get to grow out of. It's not like I had a childhood of stories and games anyways, I didn't have one at all.
      indentA few weeks pass by and I continue to randomly have these morbid thoughts at night of human life and what it would be like. Out of curiosity, I search up the new features of the latest android models. They fake breathing, a heartbeat, and dreams. They can dream. I know that if I could, I would be dreaming of my life as a human. They age faster, are more sensitive to pain and pleasure, can be flexible. So many things I have fantasized about, so close to being real. And yet they are not. I don't talk about my odd thoughts with Marcellus even though I usually tell him everything that crosses my mind. It's okay, I'll go back to normal, I've just been feeling weird lately. I'll shake it off. He asks me to pick up the package outside, so I do.
      indentBy our doorstep is a huge wooden box, the words "FRAGILE" and "THIS SIDE UP" printed on each side. The smell of it is strangely familiar, and I wonder if we've had a similar package before. I roll it in on wheels towards our living room. "Ah! Thank you Cali," Marcellus embraces me, excitement flashing in his eyes at the new package. "It's so big!" I laugh, trying to figure out what's inside. "Big enough to fit a person.. inside..." My words slow as realization hits me like a fatal blow, so hard my knees buckle and I fall to the ground. An android. He lied. It's a replacement for me. Tears come quickly, and Marcellus brings me no comfort.
      indentIt feels like I'm melting at the core, boiling in the heart of a planet. "You lied to me! You said you loved me!" I sob, feeling pathetic and naive. Of course I believed him, he's all I've ever known. The programmers should have made me smarter. "I did love you. But.. it faded, and I realized you're not good enough for me anymore. You're not... real enough. I need someone better." His voice is empty of all but pity, making him seem like the stereotypical emotionless robot. I try to stop crying, seem stronger than I really am. "Come on baby, stay with me one more night. I'll give you some money and you can live your own life now, see the world, do whatever you want. Cook me dinner, let me love you one last time. Please." How can I live my own life when mine was dedicated to being in yours? Looking up at him, I feel an emotion foreign to me. Anger. My core personality is called "Sugar", making me a generally pleasant and kind person. I have never needed to be angry in my life, and now it's crashing into me all at once.
      indentInstead of screaming, I smile a familiar smile and take his hand. "I'll make you steak tenderloin. Your favorite." He seems pleased with my answer and I head to the kitchen to make his perfect meal. As I cook, the sizzling of the meat resembles my fury I'm keeping tucked away in my apron. I'm afraid to take it out. It grows, making my skin tingle and my teeth clench. When I finish the dinner, it's presented beautifully on the table with the fresh-cut roses Marcellus bought yesterday. They were too sweet. He sits and digs in without a word, swallowing the lies he told me without a dash of shame sprinkled on top. Malevolent thoughts are drowning out my rational mind; I let the resentment build. Rage makes me feel possessed by a more violent force that I cannot stop. I don't want to stop it now. "Oops, I forgot the wine." I say sheepishly, stepping out of my chair to head to the fridge in the other room. I take my steak knife with me but Marcelles pays no mind. Nerves make my fingers twitch, but I don't hesitate, letting my innocence go in one fatal action.
      indentWhen I plunge the knife into his back, I decide it would be better to turn him around so I can see the love of my life die head-on. I imagine his oceanic mind slowly draining into the size of a puddle so he only remembers how to be in pain, his other memories floating at the unreachable surface. Letting out a shriek of anger to match his incessant screaming, I begin to carve into his chest instead. I watch as he becomes the paint can I envisioned spilling crimson pigment all over us both. It is beautiful; Marcellus always looked best in red. I didn't know it would be so warm. He's already dead when I finally get to his heart, something squishy and red and hot. I give it a kiss and then hold it to my chest, imagining it beating. I am as human as I will ever be. Smiling, I feel alive.
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Week 2 - Heartbeat

Sat Aug 05, 2017 5:30 am

Fandom: Three Days Grace, My Darkest Days
Warnings: a bit of cussing. c'mon, they're rockstars after all

indentMatt took a sip of his beer and leaned on the railing, settling in for his new nightly routine. It was always an honor to get to tour with the bands he grew up admiring, but it was something completely different to tour with the band that got him into music in the first place. As their intro music started to pick up, Three Days Grace began walking on stage one by one to uproarious cheers. First was Neil, the drummer, who Matt watched step up onto his drum riser in the dark back half of the stage. A few people, including Matt of course, noticed and applauded him before the others caught on once the drums started up. Following him was the guitarist Barry, who was easier to notice in the slightly better lit front half of the stage. Matt’s older brother and the bassist, Brad, strolled out after, who Matt cheered for from his balcony spot above Brad’s side of the stage. Then the audience grew tense with anticipation for the lead singer. As the intro song began morphing into one of Three Days Grace’s own, Adam burst onto the stage, sprinting to the microphone just in time to start singing. It was hard to hear the first few lines of the song over the audience going wild. The stage lights went up like a flourish to Adam’s entrance and the crowd started singing along and moving to the beat almost as if they had been cued in.
indentMatt shook his head and took another sip of the beer. He couldn’t tell if he appreciated Three Days Grace more from a fellow lead singer’s perspective or as a genuine fan of the band. It was only a few dates into the tour so far yet every night their opening went just as well. And every night Matt found himself just as entranced with it as the audience. Well, maybe excluding the ladies who threw their bras on stage mid-concert. It was hard to top that.
indentThe first song wrapped up and Adam yelled an energetic “How the fuck are ya?” to the audience. The guitar easily matched the high pitched cheers in volume and intensity, egging them on. “I said, how the fuck are ya?” Adam asked again, with more ferocity. He held a hand up to his ear as the crowd screamed back, this time Brad adding to the noise with a small riff on the bass. There was a brief lull before the band started up the intro to the next song. The drums felt like a second heartbeat in Matt’s chest as they barely managed to come through the ecstatic crest of noise.
indentA satisfied smile spread across his face, one he was sure he shared with the majority of the crowd. He moved his attention from Adam firing everyone up at the front of the stage to Neil up on the riser. Matt had watched the band practice in his garage when he was little, before they were even Three Days Grace, and while Adam and Brad had come out of shells since then, Neil had always played passionately. He had just as much charisma and sway over the crowd as Adam did, often ending sections with flips of his drumsticks or using a brief pause to rile them up in his own way. It was incredible to see drums played with such flare and so well so consistently. Not like My Darkest Days’ drummer was bad by any means, but Neil was a whole different level. It was mesmerizing to watch. Almost made him wish he had learned the drums at some point.
indentHe got through half of his beer and a few more songs without looking away from that talented son of a bitch. The thought of his own bandmates partying it up backstage without him itched in the back of Matt’s mind like most nights, but he knew they were fine without him for a while. After all, they spent pretty much the entire rest of the day together since the two bands mostly kept to their own groups, with the exception of him and Brad sometimes hanging out together. And besides, the drum solo was after this next song. Matt always left after the solo, usually craving another cigarette or beer to calm his remaining post-concert nerves by then.
indentThe pain in his feet was starting to make itself known as the song continued on. Being on stage before Three Days Grace then standing to watch them play afterwards wasn’t taking any less of a toll than it did on the first night. If anything, it was accumulating over time. Matt was becoming more and more aware of the pack of cigarettes in his pocket too. Half of him wanted to stay to show his support, but he was sure no one would mind if he left a bit early one time.
indentJust as he was about to turn and leave the balcony, Neil looked up, caught his eye, and smiled at him. Matt returned the gesture with a lopsided, nervous smile of his own. Neil gave him a small nod before returning all of his attention to the drums.
indentIt was only a brief moment but it gave Matt a sharp flash of adrenaline. He quickly glanced around the balcony and down on the side of the stage, but he was the only one there. Not even a stray staff member was nearby. Matt downed the rest of his beer at once. The rhythm of the drums in his chest was no longer enough to mask the driving beat of his heart.
indentHe was frozen there the rest of the night, stuck in place as if it’d been Medusa he made eye contact with instead. It almost didn’t feel real when the set ended and the band began throwing things into the audience before filing off stage. Matt knew they didn’t do encores, yet he waited as eagerly as the crowd for any sign of one. Only when the house lights came on did he feel like the spell broke and he could move again. He fumbled for his pack of cigarettes, stiffly making his way down the balcony stairs and towards a door that led outside, hoping his bandmates didn’t catch him in the hallway. Maybe he’d come up with some lie about running into an old friend in the audience and sticking through the whole show to catch up with them. Maybe he’d finally have to admit to himself that it was the drummer, not the drumming, he was entranced by.
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Week Two Favorite! BOOTS

Mon Aug 07, 2017 7:38 am

  • Congratulations to our Fan Favorite for Week 2 of the Vipera Prompt Event: boots!
    Congratulations on winning Week 2, Comeback Kid! You did fantastic and you should be very proud!
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