Dustfinger/OC
AN: I just thought of this and was like, "OMG." :D lol, I know, worst author's note ever. XD Oh well. R and R please.
As Dustfinger trudged through the city streets, a droplet of rain fell to the ground in front of him, leaving a distinctly dark spot on an otherwise completely dry sidewalk. He looked up into the sky, dark with gathering rainclouds, just as the rain began to fall. 8 years… 8 years he'd been trapped in this world, away from his home…away from everything he loved. Dustfinger shoot his now soaked hair out of his face, hunching over in an attempt to keep his face dry. He knew he needed to get inside sometime soon, but he'd been walking so long it barely mattered to him anymore. He'd never return home at this rate.
Grimacing, he began to search for a place that he could enter without being looked at strangely or bothered. Restaurants were definitely out, seeing as he wouldn't be able to wait there for the storm to pass without having to buy something. Small shops…maybe. He still didn't want to be given strange looks from the shopkeepers. 8 bloody years he'd been here and still he wasn't used to the looks, the noisy vehicles, the constant commotion. He began to hear a low thudding noise coming from ahead. As he approached the building, the cement beneath his boots practically shook from the volume of the music coming from within. A glowing neon sign out front said "Club Paradise".
A grim smile spread across Dustfinger's face. A club. Of course. No one would give him odd looks, for strange people were abundant in clubs. When he crossed the threshold into Club Paradise, his senses were assaulted. Heat from the multitude of bodies all pressed together on the dance floor below had him sweating immediately, and the scent of alcohol and numerous little hors d'oeuvres wafted toward him from the bar that bordered the ground floor. He had to admit, the layout of the club was a bit neat. How you walked in and immediately before you was a grand staircase leading down to the dance floor, and to your right and left in a half circle around the entrance floor was a huge bar.
Deciding to go blend in with the crowd downstairs, Dustfinger walked down the staircase to merge with the huge group of dancers. Dodging a stray arm there, a wildly swinging braid here, he made his way through the crowd. He was tall, very tall compared to many of the other men in the room, so he could see over most of the crowd with ease. A group of men that had been dancing a few feet away from him suddenly moved to the side, breaking apart a bit. In those few seconds, Dustfinger caught sight of a girl. Her hair was black as a raven's wing, long, and curling wildly around her face. Her skin was tanned, like cappuccino, and was flushed pink around her cheeks. But, it was her eyes that had the real effect on him.
When the men had parted, her eyes roamed over the crowd of people and came to rest on Dustfinger. She held his gaze and smiled. For what seemed like an hour, Dustfinger stood there, unmoving while the crowd around him thrashed and writhed to the music pounding through the loudspeakers.
I see your dirty face,
Hide behind your collar,
What is done in vain,
Truth is hard to swallow,
So you pray to God
To justify the way you live a lie, live a lie, live a lie…
Her eyes were the color of the moss that grew at the bottom of the springs he bathed in back home…bright green, speckled with gold, blue and brown. Without a conscious decision, Dustfinger found himself moving with the crowd, gradually coming closer to the enchanting young woman. Suddenly, he found himself right in front of her, staring down into her face. She looked up at him, brushing her unruly hair behind an ear, and grinned.
"What is it you're staring at? Surely I can't be that interesting." She had to yell for him to hear her. Dustfinger found himself unable to do anything but stare. She smiled again.
"What's your name?" she asked, laughing.
"Um…" he managed to choke out. His name? He couldn't tell her "Dustfinger", she'd think him insane. His eyes darted around the room, looking for an idea. A man passed by, and Dustfinger caught sight of his shirt. On the front was a crude drawing of a man crucified upside down, and was captioned "St. Peter". On the back of the shirt, written as if it were on some wall in a subway with spray paint was "The Rock".
"Peter. My name's Peter." He blurted out. The girl smiled.
"Nice to meet you, Peter. I'm Brook. Brook Pritchard." She kept swaying to the music. "I've never seen you before, Peter. Are you new here?"
"Um, fairly new, yes."
"Where are you staying? If you don't mind me asking, that is."
"I…don't actually know at the moment. Nowhere, I guess." Brook raised an eyebrow.
"You can stay with me. If you'd like." Dustfinger stared. A woman offering to open her home to a man she'd just met wasn't normal. She was either drunk or just touched in the head, he decided. She grabbed his wrists.
Because when I arrive,
I, I'll bring the fire,
Make you come alive,
I can take you higher,
What this is, forgot?
I must now remind you,
Let It Rock,
Let It Rock,
Let It Rock…
"Come on! Really, I won't mind." She smiled up at him again. Something about that smile was just…so irresistible. Dustfinger made a split second decision.
"Okay." He surprised himself with the answer, but justified himself by thinking If she is drunk, she'll need help getting home safely anyway… Brook's smile widened.
"Good." She said. She then lifted her wrist up to look at her watch. "Shite!" her eyes widened. "I was supposed to be back home by now…my brother was going to call." Brook's eyes met his again. "Would you mind leaving now?"
"No, not at all." He replied. Brook grabbed his hand and led him through the crowds, out into the street. The last few lines of the song they'd been dancing to followed him out.
I wish I could be,
As cool as you,
And I wish I could say,
The things you do,
But I can't and I won't live a lie,
No not this time.
Brook tried keeping up a quick pace, but it was obvious she'd had quite a few drinks seeing as she kept stumbling and her words slurred every once in a while. Dustfinger took to holding her up, practically carrying her to her house, while she directed the way. A few blocks away from the club, they reached a small apartment building. It was old looking, with gargoyles leering down at them from the corners. Brook's apartment was on the second floor. When he entered, Dustfinger found it surprisingly cozy.
"Sorry…I guess I had one too many martinis back at the club. I'm usually not like this at all." Said Brook, giggling slightly. The sound reminded Dustfinger of the fairies that he sometimes heard in the forest.
"It's fine…" he said. Brook stumbled into a room that was right next to the entrance. Dustfinger followed slowly, not wanting to intrude. The room was of modest size, with a bed in the middle, a few drawers across from it, and more than a few bookshelves. A window that looked over a few of the rooftops was to one side of the bed, and next to that was a tiny bathroom. Brook rummaged through the drawers and pulled out clothes. Handing them to Dustfinger, she said, "Here. They were my brother's…he moved out a few weeks ago and left a bunch of his crap here. You can sleep here and use the shower."
"Thank you." Dustfinger said. Brook smiled at him again.
"I think I'll go to sleep now…my brother can wait till tomorrow to talk to me. Sleep well, Peter." She then got on her toes, tilting her face up to his, and kissed him, full on the lips. With that, she walked out of the room, closing the door behind her and leaving Dustfinger marveling at the wonders alcohol did to a person. After washing himself and putting on a pair of boxers, Dustfinger ventured out of the room to see where Brook had gone. He heard quiet snoring from a couch that had been turned toward the window, probably to catch the sunrise. Looking over the top, he saw Brook, sound asleep. Smiling slightly, he pulled the blanket that had been draped over the couch and laid it over her sleeping form. "Goodnight Brook." He said. Lying down in her brother's bed, which was by far the most comfortable thing Dustfinger had slept on for the past few years, he dozed off to sleep, wondering what he'd do tomorrow, and if Brook would remember any of tonight.
M'kay so, review please. :D Also, this chapter was all in Dustfinger's pov because Brook was kind of out of it.