Racing demons...
Philammon left the party, immediately appearing in the center of his new temple on Neo-Olympus. Raking a hand through dark locks, he turned his view inward.
Taking his bike out on those delicious curvy California passes might not be the best idea for him. He knew that he was distracted, and it was the deepest part of the night, when the darkness was most complete. Dawn was close, but there was still time...
Music, then. His head was filled with confusion and desire and loathing and confusion, and he could feel scores and scores already spinning off his fingers... He needed something strong, something heavy... An organ.
He stepped out of the center inner courtyard of his temple, heading into the south wing. There, in the third room, he had ported a massive black organ. The pipes ran all across the back wall, spread like a cruxifiction, like a sacrifice. This is what he wanted tonight.
Seating himself at the bench, he closed his eyes. And then he let his frustration, his grief, his desire, everything flow from his hands and out into the rich movement of the tones of the organ, strong, powerful, overwhelming... It went on... He lost time. But tonight, it wasn't enough. His mind was racing, and his music... Tonight, his music couldn't catch up with him.
With a growl of something close to rage, he dropped the lid over the keys, mid-chord, and shoved the bench back.
Fine. The bike, then.
Taking his bike out on those delicious curvy California passes might not be the best idea for him. He knew that he was distracted, and it was the deepest part of the night, when the darkness was most complete. Dawn was close, but there was still time...
Music, then. His head was filled with confusion and desire and loathing and confusion, and he could feel scores and scores already spinning off his fingers... He needed something strong, something heavy... An organ.
He stepped out of the center inner courtyard of his temple, heading into the south wing. There, in the third room, he had ported a massive black organ. The pipes ran all across the back wall, spread like a cruxifiction, like a sacrifice. This is what he wanted tonight.
Seating himself at the bench, he closed his eyes. And then he let his frustration, his grief, his desire, everything flow from his hands and out into the rich movement of the tones of the organ, strong, powerful, overwhelming... It went on... He lost time. But tonight, it wasn't enough. His mind was racing, and his music... Tonight, his music couldn't catch up with him.
With a growl of something close to rage, he dropped the lid over the keys, mid-chord, and shoved the bench back.
Fine. The bike, then.