[ptm] 16.2 - drowning pool lyrics
You look at me but you don't see
Understand I'm a sinner
Don't corner me
Don't lecture me
"Sinner" by Drowning Pool
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“You are aware, Mr. Ryder, that you’re not above suspicion.”
There were a few things wrong with the Watcher’s presence at a gig, first among them being the fact that he was at a gig, the one place on the planet Ryder had the least amount of control.
“The killings have been taking place primarily in Las Vegas, with a handful occurring in Florence. Your movements correspond to both locations, almost to the second.”
Already, the recorded music playing in the hall, just loud enough to be heard over the din of the crowd was touching him, unlocking the chains on the thing inside him that came out when he played. It was the same before every show, wrestling with that barely leashed, screaming melody until he was ensconced protectively between the amplifiers and the crowd.
Onstage, man and monster converged in the music and made him safe for a time. He hadn’t played a single gig since Zee had died, and the monster was not only loose now, but unchecked.
“These murders are under investigation, and you are a suspect, your connections notwithstanding.”
The voice was getting fainter in his ears as he walked towards his guitar…silent now, but not for long. It wasn’t enough, though, because the guy kept talking and Ryder could still fucking hear his grating voice, sandpaper over already raw nerves.
“If you think your ties will save you should you be found guilty, you’re sadly mistaken this time. I’m here as a courtesy, Mr. Ryder, because of the Ambrogio--”
He never actually said it. The words never left his mouth, but Ryder’s ears were pounding in anticipation and his thoughts were hazy with fear and something else, something that came out when he played and got clearer. It was the Watcher’s fault for mentioning Florence, Ziyah, and an investigation all in the same tirade…
“Ry, no! Ryder, put him down!!! Jesus Christ…Sizz! Chan, someone come fuckin’ help me!”
He didn’t remember how he got so close to the wall, or to the Watcher, and he was beyond caring. His hand felt good, strong wrapped around the smaller man’s throat. The flex of muscle as he held him dangling just off his toes was a warm, satisfying burn up his arm and shoulder…
“Ry! RYDER! Let him go, man, c’mon!”
It was a long, scary moment before he could turn to look at Sal. The look on his face called to something like reason in his subconscious…the round, white rim around his irises visible, the horrified twist of his lips…
Hands were on him. Nez, Sizz…when had they showed up? And why were they pulling on him so hard? Hands on his bicep, arms around his waist, and yet he still stood there ready to kill this man for…he didn’t even know why.
“Let him go, Ry. C’mon.”
Slowly, Ryder let him go. Fingers loosened, the heat of his skin and the thud of his pulse leaving his palm cold and his grip empty, sad. He was an animal mourning the loss of his kill, and he knew it.
“Get yer guitar. Get out there, we’re comin’.”
It was easy to obey…it was too hard to think right then, and he trusted Sal. Turning on his heel, he finished walking over to where his Les Paul stood, hefting it easily into his hand…weighty as a sword and far more beautiful. Sal’s parting words to the Watcher followed him onstage and into the precious safety of the crowd.
“I dunno what the fuck you said to piss him off, dude, but guitar players got strong hands. You’re lucky I didn’t let him snap yer neck...nobody fucks with my brothers and gets away with it.”
Muse: Mays Ryder
Fandom: Highlander (OC)
Words: 627
Understand I'm a sinner
Don't corner me
Don't lecture me
"Sinner" by Drowning Pool
+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+
“You are aware, Mr. Ryder, that you’re not above suspicion.”
There were a few things wrong with the Watcher’s presence at a gig, first among them being the fact that he was at a gig, the one place on the planet Ryder had the least amount of control.
“The killings have been taking place primarily in Las Vegas, with a handful occurring in Florence. Your movements correspond to both locations, almost to the second.”
Already, the recorded music playing in the hall, just loud enough to be heard over the din of the crowd was touching him, unlocking the chains on the thing inside him that came out when he played. It was the same before every show, wrestling with that barely leashed, screaming melody until he was ensconced protectively between the amplifiers and the crowd.
Onstage, man and monster converged in the music and made him safe for a time. He hadn’t played a single gig since Zee had died, and the monster was not only loose now, but unchecked.
“These murders are under investigation, and you are a suspect, your connections notwithstanding.”
The voice was getting fainter in his ears as he walked towards his guitar…silent now, but not for long. It wasn’t enough, though, because the guy kept talking and Ryder could still fucking hear his grating voice, sandpaper over already raw nerves.
“If you think your ties will save you should you be found guilty, you’re sadly mistaken this time. I’m here as a courtesy, Mr. Ryder, because of the Ambrogio--”
He never actually said it. The words never left his mouth, but Ryder’s ears were pounding in anticipation and his thoughts were hazy with fear and something else, something that came out when he played and got clearer. It was the Watcher’s fault for mentioning Florence, Ziyah, and an investigation all in the same tirade…
“Ry, no! Ryder, put him down!!! Jesus Christ…Sizz! Chan, someone come fuckin’ help me!”
He didn’t remember how he got so close to the wall, or to the Watcher, and he was beyond caring. His hand felt good, strong wrapped around the smaller man’s throat. The flex of muscle as he held him dangling just off his toes was a warm, satisfying burn up his arm and shoulder…
“Ry! RYDER! Let him go, man, c’mon!”
It was a long, scary moment before he could turn to look at Sal. The look on his face called to something like reason in his subconscious…the round, white rim around his irises visible, the horrified twist of his lips…
Hands were on him. Nez, Sizz…when had they showed up? And why were they pulling on him so hard? Hands on his bicep, arms around his waist, and yet he still stood there ready to kill this man for…he didn’t even know why.
“Let him go, Ry. C’mon.”
Slowly, Ryder let him go. Fingers loosened, the heat of his skin and the thud of his pulse leaving his palm cold and his grip empty, sad. He was an animal mourning the loss of his kill, and he knew it.
“Get yer guitar. Get out there, we’re comin’.”
It was easy to obey…it was too hard to think right then, and he trusted Sal. Turning on his heel, he finished walking over to where his Les Paul stood, hefting it easily into his hand…weighty as a sword and far more beautiful. Sal’s parting words to the Watcher followed him onstage and into the precious safety of the crowd.
“I dunno what the fuck you said to piss him off, dude, but guitar players got strong hands. You’re lucky I didn’t let him snap yer neck...nobody fucks with my brothers and gets away with it.”
Muse: Mays Ryder
Fandom: Highlander (OC)
Words: 627