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Nym
17 July 2011 @ 04:44 pm

            Sitting on the plush couch, I couldn’t help but tap my fingertips on the microfiber material. He was running late, as always. He never got here on time. Never got to me on time.

            I heard a door slam shut behind me, startling my mind a little. Scuffling and a sigh. From around the corner of the hallway I could see him saunter into the room where I sat.

            The room where I sat waiting for him.

            Leaning an elbow against the wall he stared at me, his eyes glittering with boredom. His dark locks fell in soft waves around his face almost reaching his collar bone that was exposed behind the collar of his half-buttoned dress shirt. His fingers toyed with the hem of the silk material; silk dyed even that ugly dandelion yellow which would make any other person appear a fool was just plain on him. I could hear his watch ticking away.

What time was it?

            Shifting my legs, others would say I had parted them slightly; my tongue slid itself over my lips that were already coated in some shiny lip balm. His eyebrow raised and his mouth twisted into a crooked grin. Without taking his eyes off me he removed his jacket and tossed it somewhere into the shadows that lay beyond the light of the single double-wick candle that sat on the table between him and me on the couch. Moving toward me, his pace seemed slow with my impatience but before I knew it he was lazily leaning over my face. One hand on the couch arm supported his position.

I inhaled the air between us.

            Quickly he pushed himself back and fell onto the couch beside me. Slumping back into the cushioning, his lap looked enticingly comfortable. I took no time to waste as I reached a hand to his shoulder, I dared not smile yet though. Instead I pursed my lips, pushing the lower out to form a pout. I lifted my knee over his, swiveled my hips around, his strong fingers gripped my denim-skin thighs. My thumb caressed his defined cheekbone; his eyes were dazzling pools of melted dark chocolate reflecting my bright meadow grass-green irises that soon shut as I tilted my head to drop a soft kiss against his lips. One of his hands traveled up my spine sending little shivers downward, slowly his fingers had made their way into my hair while nimbly twisting between the blonde and faded pink strands.

            He pulled gently.

            A whimper escaped my throat through gritted teeth and behind a smile.

 
 
Current Mood: fine
Current Music: Natalia Kills - "Love is a Suicide"
 
 
Nym
08 July 2011 @ 01:06 pm

            A little sneakered foot tapped its toe on the floor as the short vocalist stretched his neck to the left and right, had to be comfortable even at rehearsal. Yomi glanced over toward stage left where Hitsugi wandered aimlessly in a three-foot radius wide circle.

            Hitsugi didn't notice though. His attention was caught by the many empty seats built into the arena in front of him, on the sides of the stage, and the great space just in front of the platform stage where just hours from now the devout fans standing outside in the cold will scavenge for close spots in front of their favorite member. A near-silent, hushed clearing of a throat brought his attention way across the stage to Sakito whom had just gotten over a weak head cold the day before.

            Sakito's fingers magically moved up and down the neck of his guitar as he practiced chords he knew by heart. Chord combinations he had compiled himself years ago, but he still loved the way they felt in his fingertips.

            Ni~ya stood somewhat behind the lead guitarist, his left hand steadying the swaying bass guitar hanging loosely from the pleather strap that tugged at some of his hair as it came around his left shoulder. He needed a haircut, and a touch-up. His roots were showing a little too much now.

            Meanwhile, Ruka was making his way to the stage itself. Not twenty minutes ago he had been laying down when he heard someone drop something near his head. With a groan he had opened his eyes to see no one else in the room. He hadn't heard footsteps leaving the room.

            But there was a box there, sitting next to his face. Long, thin, rectangular, about the length of his forearm. Yawning, he touched it. Was he still dreaming? Nah.

            There was no name on the box. Something in his subconscious told him to open it. Plain white cardboard, in the shape of a shoebox, sat in his hands for only seconds before he lifted the lid.

            Two shiny new drumsticks lay on pink tissue paper; a leopard spot pattern painted on the lower, thicker half. They seemed to glow, but without the actual fancy glowing effects.

 

            Sakito noticed Ruka finally take a grand leap up the last stair to the stage. Shrugging, he turned to grab a pick off a nearby amp. Hitsugi already had one in hand. Yomi watched Ruka settle in behind his drum set, putting on his gloves and fixing a cymbal's position to that of which was a more comfortable reach for the length of his arm.

            Ruka tapped the new drumsticks together in rhythm over his head.

            One-Two-Three-Four.

 

            A loud clatter grabbed the attention of the entire venue. Yomi, Hitsugi, Sakito, and Ruka looked around. Something was wrong. Something was... missing.

            Where Ni~ya stood seconds ago, there was now his beloved blue Killer bass guitar laying on the floor next to a very odd object.

           Sakito backed away at first, his eye wide with some emotion even he wasn't sure of. Hitsugi crept past Yomi, who was holding his chest trying to slow his heartbeat. Slowly the three of them made a circle around it, surely and silently they lowered themselves on their heels to investigate more.

            Hitsugi reached out for it. Small, cylindrical, and as he held it in his hand he realized it was strangely warm to the touch. The guitarist turned it over with his fingers so he could read the words printed on the label.

            Cream of Mushroom.

 

            Ruka sat with his mouth agape, staring at his hands. Or rather, the new drumsticks he held in his hands. Curséd? Nah, he didn't believe in stuff like that...

           

 
 
Current Mood: :]
Current Music: -cricket cricket tumbleweed-