Kewlausgirl : I was thinking of having her reach out to Peter anyway, sad or happy way. For the sadish way I was going to have betrayal (dun dun dun), but I'm not sure it'll fit now. And, yeah, I tend to slip from first to third without noticing. Sorry about that.
Yuki Asao: here's me, aiming for a longer chapter! And I'm not sure how well I'm doing withthat.
A/n: I think I might head for the sadder path. It's not going to be completely angst-filled & GASP a fic of mine where no one will eventually die!
I'm sitting in the car, and the music is making me fidget. It sounds like someone is stepping awfully hard on someone's foot. And there are guitars and drums and little children singing. I think. I don't know. It's not my kind of music. I can't even tap my foot to a beat and pretend I like it.
"So," I begin, wondering if I should begin the conversation, or let him do so. Too late. "Who's going to be there?" I lean back in the seat. Casual, Pix, casual.
"Some local bands, really. Three Fingers Down, Anti-Curse, and Six Under Three are rather emo, but Drug Mules and Life Without Meaning are more screamo." These titles and bands just blow past me. I don't recognize them, nor do I have much of an interest in doing so. I'd rather stare at Padriac's lovely chiseled face, and hands on the steering wheel, his hair falling into his face. He's beautiful in my eyes.
"This band," he lets go of the wheel long enough to motion towards the radio, "is called Dimmu Borgir. Like 'em?" He isn't looking at me. Good, I can easily lie my way past this problem.
"Well, the do sound the slightest bit familiar. But then again, I'm not that great with band names. I'll check them out in depth later, and see if I know 'em-" He cuts me off sharply.
"I asked if you liked them, not if you knew them," His voice is just the slightest bit curt, and it irks me just a bit. He doesn't need to get an attitude.
"Sure, I like them." My arms cross, and I frown, aggravated that I haven't been able to break the habit of crossing my arms when I'm annoyed yet. I uncross them, and twist a tress of hair instead. Great, now I feel like ditz. I cross my arms again.
"That's cool. Most girls I ask that to tell me that they're actually scared." He laughs, and swerves left. I give him an alarmed glance, and turn to put my seatbelt on. "Well, I suppose it does sound like 'devil music.'" Another laugh, but it isn't followed by a crazed swerve, and I mentally sigh in relief.
After driving several minutes in silence, we arrive at large building, where some guys covered with piercing and tattoos are hanging out in front of. He parks nearby, and we end up walking to the building in silence as well. At the door he greets the crowd of people before brushing past them, and stopping in the doorway. I look past him at the man sitting in front of a small, primary school desk. Small pieces of paper-tickets- are splayed in front of him, and he grins at Padriac when he sees him.
"I thought emo wasn't you're style Paddy." I fully expect Padriac to glower at the man. Or curse him out, whichever one comes first. Instead he tilts his head to the side for a moment, then laughs.
"It isn't," Pointing his thumb back at me, he continues, "but it might be hers." The man shifts in his seat to look at me. I'm about to flash him a smile, hoping to pass this 'inspection' when he doesn't look me over. That, all by itself shocks me into stupidity. I don't smile. He flashes me a grin. "Never been to a show before?" I nod meekly, unable to figure out how to act. All my rules and plans about tonight are being ruined, one by one.
I know how to act around guys who louses, who flirt, who check girls out openly. But not around a guy who won't even check me out. He reminds me eerily of Peter.
"Just let go, is all the advice I'm going to give you." He motions for me to come over to the desk, and he presses a stamp into my hand.
"What's this for?" I ask, feeling ridiculously out of place. I turn my hand and read the words Happy birthday on my hand. Interesting. "And why does it say happy birthday?"
Padriac takes my hand, gives the man at the desk a wave, and pulls me through the corridor, where the sound of music is pounding through the closed doors. "It's so you can go in and out, and they know you paid," he answers quickly. He lets go of my hand when we reach the door, and he pushes it open for me. Semi-bowing, he grins at me—finally—and says, "Ladies first."
I smile back, a real smile, one that I don't keep in check so that my overbite isn't apparent. I don't have to worry about appearances with Padriac, I remind myself. I can be whatever I want to be. If it's rocker chick he wants, it's rocker chick, he'll get.
The music is throbbing, and the three guys on stage are thrashing with the music. "Awesome. This is Drug Mules." He takes my hand again, and I realize I like this feeling of having him be in charge. He can pull me anywhere, if feels, and I'll be fine as long as his hand's in mine.
We slither through the crowd, pushing and being pushed by some overexcited people. It's all absolutely, and deliciously new to me. The sweat, the smell, the noise, the people. Oh, god. I never realized that Punky Punks could ever be distinct from one another. But now I see that-
A girl bounds up to us, and launches herself onto Padriac's back. "Boo!" He cries out in surprise as she almost knocks him over. Grinning, and bouncing with apparent excitement, she laughs. "Sorry about that." Then turning to me, she shoots me a polite smile. "Hey."
"This is Pix." Then, motioning towards the girl, he says, "and this embarrassment's name is Juliette." She pouts, and her face contorts in a horrendous manner. She only keeps the expression for about three seconds before she cracks up. "You're a fucking asshole. I love you," she quickly adds. "Don't leave. Save me from Kirsten and her boyfriend. I can't stand just hanging about, watching them snog."
"They happen to be going out. I know the term is unfamiliar to you, but-" I feel left out. He knows this girl well, and she knows him well, and I'm the odd one out because I barely know him.
They continue teasing each other, and look over the girl carefully. Old habits die hard, I suppose. She's short, especially short, and her hair is cut in a strange fashion. There's a long bit of red hair on either side of her head, near the front, and the rest is cut rather short, and she's got long bangs. Her eyes are brown, and she's wearing a blue striped spaghetti strap and dark jeans. She's—plain, let's say and—
"What do you think?" she asks, interrupting my thoughts.
"Oh, I'm sorry, about what?"
"About how much dick Padriac sucks." She says this with a straight face, and I assume she's serious. My eyes widen in surprise. "I—what?" How am I supposed to answer a question like this?
She laughs. "Sorry about that, I was joking. I mean, don't you think Padriac should mosh? He's tall enough." She looks up at Padriac—who is several inches taller than she is—and glares. "Damn you, Padriac. The only reason I'm not in there is because I am an itsy bitsy little bug, and there are fat people moshing."
"You're not that weak!"
"But almost nearly as!"
"Will you mosh?" She turns to look at him, and I see Padriac is watching me too. What are they talking about? Well, whatever it is, there's nothing to lose by trying right? And everything—including his respect—to gain.
"Um, ok. Sure." I give Juliette a small shrug, and a smile.
Smiling back, she begins to walk—or perhaps skip is a more appropriate word—towards the mob of people. Their limbs are flailing, and there are grunts of effort and possibly even pain. I wince just watching them. They're all sweaty and—ugh, they're gross. I don't want to join them. What have I just accepted!
Juliette seems to see my hesitation, and chuckles. "Look, all that really is just pushing. Don't be afraid to use all your strength because," She points her thumb at the mob behind her, "they are." She grabs my arm—damn, she's pushy. I let her pull me, but only because Padriac is walking right behind me.
"Just go in!" she screams over the voice of the singer. Then, against all the things she had said to Padriac, she throws herself in. She's shoving like freak, and it makes me inch farther away from the crowd. I lose the girl in the mesh of people, but before I can turn away and say something incredibly witty to Padriac, a guy slams into me. I get knocked to the ground, and the air flies out of me.
Grunting, I pull myself up, with a few choice words on the tip of my tongue. But he's already beginning to shove himself in. Oh, no. I'm not going to let myself get pushed around—not in front of Padriac! I rush over to him, and I push him with both hands, as hard as I can. He falls forward into several people, and thanks to inertia, I follow suite.
There are too many people, and they're all pushing and shoving at me. I can smell—feel—their sweat rubbing against me. I want to gag. I suddenly remember what Juliette told me. Don't be afraid to push back. Okay, that doesn't sound too hard. I can't get my hands up, so I just shove lightly with my shoulder, just to get elbowed in the arm.
I curse loudly, and shove harder with my shoulder. Oh, I just want to get out! I push people left and right, and I shove and I'm about to start kick when fresh air rushes into my nose. Well, as fresh as air inside a building few of sweaty people can be. I move quickly away from the throng, and I wrinkle my nose in distaste as I feel the wet spots under my armpits.
I need to go to a bathroom, or something. I need to get this horrendous scent off me.
"Oh! Pix." It's Juliette.
I try my best not glare at the girl, but I don't know if it works. "That was horrible, I just want to you to know that." I turn away from her, turning my head this way and that in search for a bathroom. I hope our conversation is over.
"Padriac is looking for you. It seems he lost you." Her voice has gone from super friendly to serious. I spin around again to face her. She's not smiling. "Don't hurt him," she says slowly, carefully, as if she's unused to saying these sorts of things. "I don't know who you are, or how you two know each other, but you watch out." Then, a grin spreads across her face, and she points at a doorway behind the stage. "The bathroom is over there."
I watch her walk away, her walk calm, and sharp. I almost admire the girl, with her confidence and oddness. She doesn't seem to care what people think of her. That concept is new to me, and I've never really considered it. It is important what people think of you. When people think you're someone special, someone cool, you can—
You can . . .?
What can you do?
yay, my update access is back!
