Hmmm...
Title: Dead To The World - Chapter One
Rating: M - NC-17
Pairing: Eventual Vam
Summary: A blue-eyed man discovers a poem and attempts to find the author, will his efforts be in vain?
Author: Me, myself and I
Disclaimer: I own nothing but the story line
A/N: This has quite a sad connotation.
Previous Chapters
“Shit.”
Soft pink lips uttered the foreign swearword as long fingers rifled through a book filled with loose-leaf sheafs of paper.
“Fuck.”
Another foreign curse as the fingers cast the book aside.
“Are you okay?”
Worried emerald eyes found stormy grey. “No. Linde, I’ve lost it…”
Linde quirked his eyebrows. “Lost what, Ville?”
“My poem.” Ville ran a long-fingered hand through his long dark curls and chewed his lower lip.
Rolling his eyes, Linde lent down to pick up the book Ville had thrown aside earlier. “Which poem?”
Ville pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes. “The one I wrote yesterday afternoon when we were on break and we were sitting on the bridge.”
Linde groaned. “The minun rakkauteni one?”
Ville pointed towards the ceiling, triumphant. “Yes, that one.”
A knock on the door and both whipped around.
“Come in.” Linde said.
The door opened four inches and a grimy stagehand no older than fifteen poked his head around the door. “You two are on in five minutes.”
Linde nodded and the stagehand left.
Ville was fretting. “Linde, what if someone finds it? Then I’ll never get it back!”
“Ville…” Linde said softly.
“And what if they come looking for me? I mean, how will I ever explain it?”
“Ville!”
“I wish I had never written it! Oh, Linde, what am I going to do?”
“Ville Hermanni Valo, listen to me!” Linde gripped Ville’s shoulders.
Ville stopped, eyes wide.
Linde spoke slowly, hoping the words would penetratate. “Firstly, I need you to stop worrying. Secondly, I want you to realise that the poem can always be rewritten.”
Ville scowled at the blonde. “A poem like that can’t be rewritten! It took so much out of me…” He buried his face in his hands, defeated.
Linde sighed, he hated seeing his best friend so defeated. “Ville, listen to me. We will find your poem. But right now, I need you to be that singer I know you can be.”
“I miss Finlandia…” Ville said softly.
“I know, I know,” Linde whispered, kindly. “So do I. But you know as well as I do about what's been happening all over the country; people jumping off buildings, losing heart and losing home, people losing money, family members, friends. We're not going to be like them, okay? We need to have a positive outlook. Everything's gonna be alright, as long as we stay positive, okay?”
Ville nodded. “I’ll try. We’ll try.” He lifted his head and smiled. “Let’s knock ‘em dead.”
Rating: M - NC-17
Pairing: Eventual Vam
Summary: A blue-eyed man discovers a poem and attempts to find the author, will his efforts be in vain?
Author: Me, myself and I
Disclaimer: I own nothing but the story line
A/N: This has quite a sad connotation.
Previous Chapters
“Shit.”
Soft pink lips uttered the foreign swearword as long fingers rifled through a book filled with loose-leaf sheafs of paper.
“Fuck.”
Another foreign curse as the fingers cast the book aside.
“Are you okay?”
Worried emerald eyes found stormy grey. “No. Linde, I’ve lost it…”
Linde quirked his eyebrows. “Lost what, Ville?”
“My poem.” Ville ran a long-fingered hand through his long dark curls and chewed his lower lip.
Rolling his eyes, Linde lent down to pick up the book Ville had thrown aside earlier. “Which poem?”
Ville pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes. “The one I wrote yesterday afternoon when we were on break and we were sitting on the bridge.”
Linde groaned. “The minun rakkauteni one?”
Ville pointed towards the ceiling, triumphant. “Yes, that one.”
A knock on the door and both whipped around.
“Come in.” Linde said.
The door opened four inches and a grimy stagehand no older than fifteen poked his head around the door. “You two are on in five minutes.”
Linde nodded and the stagehand left.
Ville was fretting. “Linde, what if someone finds it? Then I’ll never get it back!”
“Ville…” Linde said softly.
“And what if they come looking for me? I mean, how will I ever explain it?”
“Ville!”
“I wish I had never written it! Oh, Linde, what am I going to do?”
“Ville Hermanni Valo, listen to me!” Linde gripped Ville’s shoulders.
Ville stopped, eyes wide.
Linde spoke slowly, hoping the words would penetratate. “Firstly, I need you to stop worrying. Secondly, I want you to realise that the poem can always be rewritten.”
Ville scowled at the blonde. “A poem like that can’t be rewritten! It took so much out of me…” He buried his face in his hands, defeated.
Linde sighed, he hated seeing his best friend so defeated. “Ville, listen to me. We will find your poem. But right now, I need you to be that singer I know you can be.”
“I miss Finlandia…” Ville said softly.
“I know, I know,” Linde whispered, kindly. “So do I. But you know as well as I do about what's been happening all over the country; people jumping off buildings, losing heart and losing home, people losing money, family members, friends. We're not going to be like them, okay? We need to have a positive outlook. Everything's gonna be alright, as long as we stay positive, okay?”
Ville nodded. “I’ll try. We’ll try.” He lifted his head and smiled. “Let’s knock ‘em dead.”