AUTHOR'S NOTE: HELLO LOVELIES!
This is chapter two and I am proud of my ability to make this up on the spot. Not that I didn't put any effort into this, but I just can't believe I was able to come up with a whole chapter so quickly! Any who on with the story!
The next day started with Tavros prying open his sleep-crusted eyes. He managed to fall asleep quicker than he thought he would, though he supposed it was the exhaustion of the last few nights building up that had helped in that.
He let out a long yawn, the action bringing forth the rest of the exhaustion that had yet to wake up along with him. Sluggishly, he untangled himself from his beloved blankets, already missing their warmth. He pulled himself to the edge of the bed and pushed himself into a sitting position. He stared down at his legs, as they dangled off the bed. Thoughtlessly, he pinched his thigh, expecting to feel the sting of his nails digging into his skin.
He felt nothing.
It was like the limbs belonged to someone else. He didn't know why he expected anything different, as if one day he would wake up and magically regain the feeling in his legs. Still, he couldn't help but feel a twinge of disappointment. Sighing, he grabbed his wheelchair and pulled it towards him, before hopping into it. He checked his alarm clock and saw that he had overslept, not long enough to be late, but there was no way he had time for a shower. He wheeled himself over to his dresser and grabbed his clothes. He grabbed a pair of baggy cargo shorts and pulled them over his legs, lifting his hips to get them all the way up. Most of his trousers were loose and or stretchy, to make it easier to fit them over his legs. He put on a white t-shirt and over that went a sweater with orange and brown stripes. After putting on his brown flip-flops and fluffed up his mohawk, he grabbed his wallet and keys and rolled out of his apartment.
As he rolled by the apartment of his neighbour he chose not to make eye contact with the worn out red door lest he be reminded of his failure the other night. Riding down the elevator, he pulled out his phone and noticed several text messages from his co-worker. During the ride down he read through the fifteen messages that had blown up his phone. Most of them were incomprehensible babbling and or emoticons that he really didn't feel like deciphering; since it was likely she was going to repeat it all once he actually reached work.
He got out of the elevator and rolled into the old lobby of his building. The room was minimal at best, all worn furniture and stale air-freshener. The only indication of the landlord attempting to spruce up the room was a fresh plant planted in the cracking pot. Tavros' wheelchair made rolling noise as it passed over the grout of the worn tiles.
Exiting the building, Tavros used the wheelchair ramp and started his trek to his job. It was almost eight o'clock, so the sky was still a mix of pale blue and pink, and the air was still crisp with the morning coolness. Tavros was grateful there weren't too many people out yet as he rolled down the sidewalk. The couple people who were out passed by him with only a small glance in his direction, which he was used to. It was hard for him to get around the city, since he couldn't drive and he wasn't signed up for any of the handicap buses. Luckily for him his job was just down the street and there was a little grocery store near it, so he didn't have to go too far for food.
As he neared the corner he thought he heard music being played. As he reached the end of the sidewalk, not only was his thought proven right, but he found out where the music originated from.
He was one of the strangest people Tavros had ever seen. He was a tall, gangly specimen of a man, with arms and legs that looked too long for his body. He was wearing a grey, washed out hoodie that may have been purple once, with a whole mess of unkempt black hair creeping out from under the hood. He had black skinny jeans with paint splattered all over them as if the intent was to create grey polka dots. What stood out the most though was his face. He may have been a handsome young man, but it was hard to tell since his face was painted up like a clown. Most of his face was white, but around his eyes and mouth it was dark grey. The paint looked smeared and was starting to chip, giving the impression that it had been a while since it had been touched up.
This strange man was playing on a beat-up acoustic guitar, the pale brown wood covered in designs that looked like they were scribbled on with sharpie. The man was sing along as he strummed on the well-worn instrument, and that's what made Tavros stop and listen. His voice was far from angelic, though it wasn't terrible; it was actually quite gravelly, like he was a smoker. Still, despite its rather rough sound, the clown man's voice had a certain melodic quality to it, almost a smooth sort of growl, like bourbon.
Your lips are nettles,
Your tongue is wine.
Your laughter's liquid,
But your body's pine.
You love all sailors,
But hate the beach.
You say come touch me
But you're always out of reach...
It wasn't just the man's voice that had caught Tavros' attention, but just the look on his face. Underneath the makeup the clown man had the biggest of grins plastered on his lips, and his eyes were crinkled up in delight as he sang his heart out. Normally Tavros would have found somebody who looked like him rather intimidating, or even scary, but the way he looked like he was having the time of his life singing on a street corner made him look so harmless, though still strange looking.
In the dark you tell me of the flower,
That only blooms in the violet hour!
The man was practically bouncing with each strum of his guitar, doing a little dance while he stood in place. The rather playful song had Tavros humming along.
Your arms are lovely,
Yellow and rose.
Your back's a meadow,
Covered in snow.
Your thigh's are thistles,
And hot-house grapes.
You breathe your sweet breath
And have me wait.
The others who passed by paid no attention to the clown, unless they were staring at his strange appearance. Tavros was so enraptured by the singing clown that he didn't realize the sidewalk was starting to fill up.
In the dark you tell me of the flower.
That only blooms in the violet hour.
The young man only realized he had become a roadblock when he suddenly found himself being flung from his chair. Tavros let out a less than manly squeak when his face met concrete, and once out of his chair he began to panic.
"Son of a bitch!" Tavros looked up and saw a middle aged business-looking man with coffee spilled all over a rather expensive looking white shirt, who was glaring daggers at the young man.
"Are you blind?! Don't sit there in the middle of the street!"
"Uh I-I-I…" Tavros didn't know what to say, and when he looked for his chair he saw it had been turned over, and struggled to get it back up. He felt anxiety rising in him as the man continued to yell at him as he futilely tried to upright his chair with one hand, the other he used to prop himself up with.
"Hey man, back the fuck up!" Tavros heard somebody yelling at the man, but he couldn't really decipher any of it. He felt totally helpless there on the ground, unable to do anything about it. He jumped when he felt a large, bony hand grab his shoulder.
"Whoa there bro, didn't mean to make you jump and shit!"
Tavros looked back and was surprised to find the clown man staring at him.
"Uh…uh…"
"Here bro, I got this." Without a word the musician grabbed Tavros' wheelchair and put it right-side up. Tavros was trying to figure out what was going on, when something even stranger happened. He let out a yelp when in one fell swoop the strange man scooped him up in his arms and placed him back in his chair. If he wasn't busy stammering like an idiot he would have thought it bizarre that the seemingly beam-pole of a man had been able to lift him without effort.
"You okay bro?"
"I-I um…"
"Here, let's get you out of the traffic zone." Once again without warning, the guy grabbed the handles of Tavros' chair and pushed him near the side of the building and away from the pedestrians. Usually Tavros would have openly objected to anyone handling his chair for him without his permission, but he was so frazzled the thought didn't even occur to him.
"Hellooo?" A sing-songy voice called out. Tavros blinked and saw the clown staring at him, waiting for a response. The young man gulped and finally got his voice to work again.
"Th-thanks," he whispered.
"No problem man," the clown said grinning. "I don't know what that motherfucker's problem was. Shit was just a lil' coffee on a shirt, ain't nothin' to flip out over. Now if it had gotten into the dude's eyes I would understand, cause that shit hurt something wicked, but it didn't so he needed to calm his tits."
Tavros was surprised by the man's profanity, and the rather casual way he said it.
"Y-yeah," Tavros replied, not knowing what else to say.
"So what's your name bro?" the clown asked. Tavros was about to reply when he felt his phone buzz and saw a text from his co-worker asking where he was. That's when he saw he only had five minute to get to work.
"Crap!" Tavros stuffed his phone into his pocket and began speeding down the street.
"S-sorry, and thanks again!" he called back to the mysterious man. As he raced to work he thought he could hear the sound of music picking up again.
I turn the lights out,
I clean the sheets.
You change the station,
Turn up the heat.
And now you're sitting,
Upon your chair.
You've got me tangled up,
Inside your beautiful black hair...
In the dark you tell me of the flower,
That only blooms in the violet hour.
In the dark you tell me of the flower,
That only blooms in the violet hour!
AUTHOR'S NOTES: AND SO ENDS CHAPTER DOS! Who was that mysterious clown who saved Tavvy? (ha! As if I have to say anything!) Anyway, I'm having a lot of fun with this fic so a new chapter should be up soon! The song in this chapter is called Violet Hour by Sea Wolf for those who want to know. Reviews and comments are most appreciated!
