Thanks guys for all the comments, it makes me feel so happy. And it's the summer, I'll be updating nearly everyday. It's also the end of the dance season, so this whole week I've got 5 hour dress rehearsals well, Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday, the whole weekend is nothing but recitals. Which are only 4 hours!
Okay, also, I know this note's getting long, but will someone please give me some ideas for how to make Iggy be a main character because right now, I've got him staying in a hotel and coming out to the theater to hang with Fang (ha a rhyme) and harass Maximum. So… PM me will you?
Also… I don't own any song in this thing. I sure as hell wish I did though.
R&R!
Fang P.O.V
Chapter 5: Beautiful
After I drop Iggy off at his hotel in the "city" I take Nudge with Max and me to the theater. I almost feel bad for leaving Iggy alone, his girlfriend, Ella, just left him. So he's become really… crude, let's just say.
Nudge is talking at 100 mile per hour, and I can see the gears in her head shifting from to topic to topic. I can see Max becoming antsy as we pull up to the theater, for the second time. I feel like an idiot for forgetting my own sister at an airport in the middle of nowhere, but I keep the muscles in my face as relaxed as possible, the perfect bored teenager.
The building is tall, at least 4 stories, and wide, taking up the majority of an acre of land. It looks like on of the high schools back home in Phoenix. I stare up at it, the deep brown wood looks sturdy, I guess, I'm not a carpenter and I failed my one semester of woodshop.
We walk through the doors, and immediately, Nudge shuts up. The floor looks like it's made of ivory and the walls, which is made of real slabs of granite and rock has writing all over it. Things have changed so much since I'd last been here. There are paintings, watercolors, the paper is thin, like papyrus and they are hanging from the ceiling, and twirling in the wind.
There is soft music playing, jazz, and Max hums along, her face away from mine, but I can still see the tears welling in her eyes.
The one wall on the left, is completely window, and in it there are statues made by teenagers from New Orleans trying to get a feel for the "country life" and I admire them, because I wish I was that creative.
We walk towards the auditorium quickly and quietly. I can't hear anyone in the room but I open the door anyway just to see.
There is a man, with chocolate hair, slightly graying at his temples and he is sorting through all kinds of musical scores. He keeps pinching the bridge of his nose irritably and I can tell he wants to punch something because he groans and sits down, nearly toppling out of his seat in the process.
"Excuse me, sir?" Nudge calls down the aisle. Max face palms and I just smirk at her as she shakes her head back and forth.
The man jumps out of his seat, this time with little accident, and reaches his hand out to Nudge, who has run up to him with a little too much enthusiasm.
"Hi, I'm Monique." She says politely, the man raises his eyebrows a little as he looks her up and down. My blood boils and my temperature rises a little.
"Don Martin. I run this place." He says smugly. I hate him.
"Hello, I'm Maximum Ride." Max says. She takes off her shades, which is good because it's dark in the room and it would be weird if she didn't. Don Martin shakes her hand also, clasping her small one in his large ones. She doesn't flinch or even blush but she does clench her jaw and swallow hard as he kisses her hand.
"I'm Fang." I say. He looks at me with disdain, and I know it.
He's a perv.
I can tell by the way he hungrily eyes Max's legs and I'm suddenly scared for her. It's not her fault that they're 10 miles long, tan, and smooth and toned and muscled and any straight guy would fanaticize about those legs after a jog or swim, any guy would love to see the way the water falls off of those legs.
Good God, this man is contagious.
Max P.O.V
Fang looks thoroughly uncomfortable. He winces with every step Don takes towards me and he's eyeing my legs with fear and sadness, and that's weird because guys have always said my legs are one of my best features. Not that I care.
Don Martin takes us on "Master Tour" of his theater and he keeps an arm around Fang's shoulder. He talks about the original layout of this place before he bought it and how lain and boring it was. Fang looks like his skin has been set on fire and Don is gouging his eyes out with a fork.
We make our way back to the auditorium, and sit right in front of the stage. The lights shine down on the wooden floor and glint like something special.
"Now… what are your talents?" Don asks. He looks at Nudge first and I know immediately she's going to say acting.
"I act, and play a little piano." She says. That's probably the shortest sentence I've ever heard her say, and it's grammatically correct, with a subject and predicate.
"Maximum?"
"Call me Max. And I act, I write, and I dabble in the singing." He looks at Fang, who's been muttering to himself since we passed the movie gallery 10 minutes ago.
"Fang, you say?" Don asks distastefully. Well, that wasn't polite.
"Yeah, Fang I did say. I play piano." He says.
"Can you sing?" I find myself asking. I didn't know he played the piano. But he did have those long delicate fingers, and he did like soft music.
"I dabble." he quipped, with a smirk. He runs his fingers through his black hair, flipping his overly long bangs out of his face and playing with his earrings.
"Well let me hear you. Fang, get you ass over to that grand piano, and play whatever Maximum tells you to." Don snaps his fingers and I quickly climb onto the stage, while Fang sluggishly gets his butt up to the piano bench.
"Do you know… Samson by Regina Spektor?" I ask him quietly. He rolls his eyes like I'm insane but starts playing anyway.
"Well? You gonna sing?" he snaps, as I stare at him. His eyes are big, wide, like he's trying to look innocent, but I can see them glossing over. He's about to cry.
"Um… yeah."
You are my sweetest downfall
I loved you first
I loved you first
Beneath the sheets of paper lies my truth
I have to go, I have to go
Your hair was long when we first met
Samson went back to bed
Not much hair left on his head
He ate a slice of wonder bread and went right back to bed
And history books forgot about us and the bible didn't mention us
And the bible didn't mention us, not even once
You are my sweetest downfall
I loved you first,
I loved you first
Samson came to my bed
Told me that my hair was red
Told me I was beautiful and came into my bed
Oh I cut his hair myself one night
A pair of dull scissors in the yellow light
And he told me that I'd done alright
And kissed me 'til the mornin' light, the mornin' light
And he kissed me 'til the mornin' light
You are my sweetest downfall
I loved you first
I sing the last note, letting it resonate through the room. Fang is hunched over the piano, his eyes downcast, staring at the keys as he played. He is moving his fingers quickly, making the song more intense, like he could see this girl himself. I am finished, but he isn't. I can see the words swarming my head and grabbing at my hair, the feeling making my heart stop and start at an abnormal rate. I cannot breathe, his notes are so deep they are drowning me, and I can't think because the Woman's blood clogs my veins and she's dead, and Fang's alive and he's too damn far.
He is done now. I am standing, center stage, my eyes wide as I stare at him. Breathing heavy, panting. Nudge is clapping, but I can see. I may not be able to think or breathe, but I can see. I see Fang.
And he is beautiful.
I jump off the stage, and walk over to the bench. He is crying, those onyx and gold eyes swimming in salt water. His face is totally overcome with grief, like the piano is weighing down on his chest.
"Fang. That was beautiful. That was amazing. You're amazing." I whisper, because I need him to know, before I say: "And I'm sorry. For making you do that song." Because I know that is what made him cry.
"It not you're fault. It's my mom's. She loved this song, she always sung it about my father. He was her sweetest downfall. And she… loved him first."
"I-I'm sorry. I didn't mean to…" I say, but he looks up at me, his eyes wide, and red, but the tears are gone. Don is talking to Nudge, who is smiling smugly.
"Nudge! Come play Transatlanticism." He says loudly enough for her to hear. His voice doesn't waver.
I won't forget how beautiful he is.
Fang P.O.V
The Atlantic was born today, and I'll tell you how
The clouds above opened up and let it out.
I was standing on the surface of a perforated sphere
When the water filled every hole.
And thousands upon thousands made an ocean,
Making islands where no island should go.
Oh no.
Most people were overjoyed;
They took to their boats.
I thought it less like a lake and more like a moat.
The rhythm of my footsteps crossing flood lands to your door
Have been silenced forever more.
The distance is quite simply much too far for me to row
It seems farther than ever before
Oh no.
I need you so much closer.
I look directly at Max as I sing this last line. I take in all the tan skin of her face. The planes of her high cheekbones, her slender, upturned nose, her arched eyebrows. Her cupid's bow and how red he full lips are. The curve of her jaw, and the way it fits perfectly with the slop of her neck. Her slender waist and the perfect way her hips look in that tank top. Those legs, ten miles long, make me want to get in my car and drive, drive to the country with her, her long hair blowing in the wind, listening to love songs by Regina Spektor.
She smiles at me, her chocolate eyes shining.
She is so beautiful.
