dream ♪ 007
Warnings: Kat's Head-Canon and some swearing. And EVENT-DREAM~!
Effects: Exhaustion and turmoil at first, then betrayal and confusion, followed by searing, intolerable pain.
Haggard. He was exhausted, bleeding, and all but broken when he took that first, echoing step into the empty room, known by few and far between as the Room of Reckoning. Usually bright, deceptive lavender eyes were dressed in a guise of apathy. In the pale teen's hand was a gun, on his waistline a colorful line of pins that looked like they had been purchased from a nearby machine. Small bruises lined the pale boy's neck and arms, covering each and every expanse of skin that was visible. His clothes, still always an oversize blue shirt and dark jeans, were tattered here and there with the occasional blood smear.
A cold, lonely wind whipped through the dark hall.
"How are you in here!?" hissed the man standing a few hundred yards away, nearly tripping off the stone throne. He was just as frail looking, with wild red hair, piercing blue eyes, and tattoos on his arms that glowed in the dim light. His shoes made a resounding clunk as they hit the graffiti'd ground.
"Mmm... I suppose that question would be better suited for your Conductor," Joshua said.
"My Con-" the man began, bewildered, and when it hit him, his brows knitted together in the perfect picture of rage. "You killed my Conductor?!" he bellowed.
"Something like that," Joshua agreed with a casual tip of his head, but the usual lilt to his voice was gone, and his voice only sounded tired. "Erased would probably be a more accurate term."
"How dare you, you -! "
"I hate to cut this short, but I'd really just like to rest... so..."
Without warning, the gun in Joshua's hand took action. A hot metal bullet tore through the tense air, aimed directly at Shibuya's Composer. When it came within a foot of the fiery man, it fell to the floor, reflected by an invisible Wall. Joshua's brows furrowed in confusion.
"Idiot!" the Composer spat, face nearly the colour of his hair at that point. "Sanae. Sanae! Get rid of this pest now!"
If the man's anger had grown any worse, Joshua was certain he would have popped a blood vessel. The tired teenager gave a lengthy sigh and put away his gun, knowing it was instead futile.
Unexpectedly, a shimmer of white feathers gathered, and the built form of one Producer appeared. Mr. Hanekoma stood off to the side, dressed in usual garb, with the usual stubble, still smelling of coffee, but wore a visage of turmoil. And feathers sticking out from his back accompanied with a pair of Angel-like Wings.
Joshua started, uncertain as to what he was seeing. The Player instinctively clutched the Player Pin at his side, trying to scan the area, but nothing showed. How could his friend - his best friend for so many years after his Mother passed away - how did he never tell him and !
"I said get rid of him!" the red-head hollered, pointing a finger at Joshua who was dumbstruck.
Mr. Hanekoma looked conflicted, as if he couldn't meet eye-contact with either parties. Because really, he had betrayed both of them, hadn't he? "Sorry boss, no can do...."
"Why the hell not?!"
"This is for the best ... you know, us Angel-types... we're only looking out for the City's best interests .... " He trailed off, as if he really didn't believe that, but wanted to.
"You're disobeying me?!" the Composer shouted out the obvious, enraged and surprised all at once. "Fine! I'll do it myself, damnit!"
With a burst of ethereal light, a large, towering beam was shot at the skinny Joshua, sending the teen off his feet and crashing into the ground. Joshua thought that maybe, just maybe, he had heard his childhood friend holler in protest, or maybe the coffee-man had just stood there, he wasn't sure, but the attack definitely tore through his skin, leaving a nice cut on his shoulder where it chipped.
"Josh!"
Joshua struggled to his feet, gaze blurry, and clutched for a pin. But before he could counter, a sharp ray of light knocked him back over, gauging his chest.
And all went black.
[ Too tired to even care to filter that nightmare Joshua sat up, already having trekked to the kitchen to mend his wound. Somehow, someway, his chest was seeping blood through his thin shirt, and he wasn't in the mood to ruin the furniture. So he sat at the counter, in the middle of the night. A cloth lightly dappled the impressive gash over his chest, barely visible when he lifted his shirt just enough. And just like in the Dream - or so nightmare - his eyes are devoid of conviction. ]
And here I thought I was over that....
Effects: Exhaustion and turmoil at first, then betrayal and confusion, followed by searing, intolerable pain.
Haggard. He was exhausted, bleeding, and all but broken when he took that first, echoing step into the empty room, known by few and far between as the Room of Reckoning. Usually bright, deceptive lavender eyes were dressed in a guise of apathy. In the pale teen's hand was a gun, on his waistline a colorful line of pins that looked like they had been purchased from a nearby machine. Small bruises lined the pale boy's neck and arms, covering each and every expanse of skin that was visible. His clothes, still always an oversize blue shirt and dark jeans, were tattered here and there with the occasional blood smear.
A cold, lonely wind whipped through the dark hall.
"How are you in here!?" hissed the man standing a few hundred yards away, nearly tripping off the stone throne. He was just as frail looking, with wild red hair, piercing blue eyes, and tattoos on his arms that glowed in the dim light. His shoes made a resounding clunk as they hit the graffiti'd ground.
"Mmm... I suppose that question would be better suited for your Conductor," Joshua said.
"My Con-" the man began, bewildered, and when it hit him, his brows knitted together in the perfect picture of rage. "You killed my Conductor?!" he bellowed.
"Something like that," Joshua agreed with a casual tip of his head, but the usual lilt to his voice was gone, and his voice only sounded tired. "Erased would probably be a more accurate term."
"How dare you, you -! "
"I hate to cut this short, but I'd really just like to rest... so..."
Without warning, the gun in Joshua's hand took action. A hot metal bullet tore through the tense air, aimed directly at Shibuya's Composer. When it came within a foot of the fiery man, it fell to the floor, reflected by an invisible Wall. Joshua's brows furrowed in confusion.
"Idiot!" the Composer spat, face nearly the colour of his hair at that point. "Sanae. Sanae! Get rid of this pest now!"
If the man's anger had grown any worse, Joshua was certain he would have popped a blood vessel. The tired teenager gave a lengthy sigh and put away his gun, knowing it was instead futile.
Unexpectedly, a shimmer of white feathers gathered, and the built form of one Producer appeared. Mr. Hanekoma stood off to the side, dressed in usual garb, with the usual stubble, still smelling of coffee, but wore a visage of turmoil. And feathers sticking out from his back accompanied with a pair of Angel-like Wings.
Joshua started, uncertain as to what he was seeing. The Player instinctively clutched the Player Pin at his side, trying to scan the area, but nothing showed. How could his friend - his best friend for so many years after his Mother passed away - how did he never tell him and !
"I said get rid of him!" the red-head hollered, pointing a finger at Joshua who was dumbstruck.
Mr. Hanekoma looked conflicted, as if he couldn't meet eye-contact with either parties. Because really, he had betrayed both of them, hadn't he? "Sorry boss, no can do...."
"Why the hell not?!"
"This is for the best ... you know, us Angel-types... we're only looking out for the City's best interests .... " He trailed off, as if he really didn't believe that, but wanted to.
"You're disobeying me?!" the Composer shouted out the obvious, enraged and surprised all at once. "Fine! I'll do it myself, damnit!"
With a burst of ethereal light, a large, towering beam was shot at the skinny Joshua, sending the teen off his feet and crashing into the ground. Joshua thought that maybe, just maybe, he had heard his childhood friend holler in protest, or maybe the coffee-man had just stood there, he wasn't sure, but the attack definitely tore through his skin, leaving a nice cut on his shoulder where it chipped.
"Josh!"
Joshua struggled to his feet, gaze blurry, and clutched for a pin. But before he could counter, a sharp ray of light knocked him back over, gauging his chest.
And all went black.
[ Too tired to even care to filter that nightmare Joshua sat up, already having trekked to the kitchen to mend his wound. Somehow, someway, his chest was seeping blood through his thin shirt, and he wasn't in the mood to ruin the furniture. So he sat at the counter, in the middle of the night. A cloth lightly dappled the impressive gash over his chest, barely visible when he lifted his shirt just enough. And just like in the Dream - or so nightmare - his eyes are devoid of conviction. ]
And here I thought I was over that....