Bleeding Sepia [II]
Because apparently nothing I write goes in a chronological order, or comes with a title pre-prepared. On the plus side, the boa's come back, so all is well in my brain for now.
Hopefully.
Her first thought is that she's somehow stepped into a photograph. Her second thought is that it must have been an old one, because all of the colours are washed out. Everything is shaded in careful tones of sepia brown and grey, white highlights and black lowlights providing dimension. Somewhere in the distance, a car roars past, and she can feel the sound of the engine somewhere inside her chest, behind her ribcage. Even in the muted shades of grey and brown that colour her vision, everything seems sharper and clearer. The edges of the chair in front of her stand out sharply against the curve of the rusting car behind it, and she can make out every detail on the wall behind the car.
Something rustles behind her and she turns, hands automatically rising to chest-level as she searches for what whatever it was that made the noise. This other side of the room is darker, with cobwebs hanging from the ceiling like ghosts, but she finds that she can see just as well despite the lack of light. Something moves on the far side, and she focusses with an accuracy she was unaware she had, pinpointing the rat scurrying along the base of the wall. It's colourful, the only colourful thing in the room, and that throws her. It makes her head hurt, and she turns away, only to find herself face-to-face with a man who looks unaccountably familiar.
His hair is short and sleek, and it makes her think of an otter, and the way they always look so carefree, so free from all the burdens of the world. His eyes are hazel-brown, and look older than him, older than his smooth face suggests. Something about that face makes her think she knows him, but from where she has no idea. Somewhere recently, she thinks, she knew who he was. He smiles, and his teeth send shivers down her spine. They look normal, but, like the man himself, they seem wrong somehow.
(Peter looks at the girl, all long legs and shiny brown hair and thinks that he might hate her, but that's just petty. He has no reason to hate her other than the fact she just might be prettier than him, but that isn't a reason at all. It doesn't stop the unreasoning jealousy though. In fact, it almost makes it worse.)
The man stretches his hand out towards her, palm upwards in the old gesture of peace. She hesitates before she takes it, and the chill of his flesh surprises her. A thought flashes through her mind, but she dismisses it as foolishness.
He leads her further into the back of the room, past another car, and it occurs to her that this must be a garage. It's big, echoingly big, and she wonders what the house attached to it must look like. Before she has time to think about that any more, she finds herself pulled through a narrow door and up a flight of stairs. The stairs are surprisingly neat, and she notices that the carpet on them is worn through from the tread of feet. The stairs lead up to a long room, full of chairs. None of the chairs match, and they range from spindly, bulbous-legged ones that would look more at home in a stately home to a great, overstuffed chintz monstrosity that dominates one corner. Maybe six of the chairs have people in, and they all stand up as she enters.
(Again, there is a flash of that unreasoning jealousy in Peter's head. Nobody stood up when I came in, he thinks, even as he realises that he was the only one back then. Still, nobody stood up for him.)
This is strange, and she drops the mans' hand and backs away slightly. This is like nothing she's ever seen before, and she fights down an urge to faint. Fainting is a silly thing to do, she tells herself, winding one hand into the hem of her shirt. They're only people, it's not like they're going to kill you.
She looks up again, and tries to take stock of the people in the room. Besides the man who led her in, there are six others; five men and one woman. The first man, on the far left, is leaning against the back of an armchair. He has short brown hair and greenish eyes, and he's tall and long-limbed. (It doesn't occur to her to ask how she knows what colour his eyes are, if all the colours she can see are brown.) The second man is shorter, with reddish-blonde hair and faint stubble. The third is shorter still, with short auburn hair and a wicked grin. The woman is a little taller, with deep, coppery hair and a half-smile, and the man next to her has shaggy black hair and an arm half-looped around her shoulders. The last man looks the most normal out of the six, with plain brown hair and a faint frown, but even he looks just that bit out-of-place. They all look like that, like there's nowhere in the world they could be and not look strange. They watch her, silently, each waiting for someone else to make the first move. It's the man who brought her up that speaks first. He has a slight American accent, but his voice is plain and level, very calm.
"I'm Peter." Those two words draw her eyes back to him, and she finds herself looking at him properly for the first time. He's average height, maybe a little short, and skinny. There's no fat on him anywhere, but he looks like he could hold his own in a fight if it came to that. A scrapper, she thinks, and then she meets his eyes and half-forgets that thought.
His words seem to have been some kind of signal, because now they all start inroducing themselves. The woman is called Hayley, and the man with his arm around her is Brian. The tall man is called Gabriel, the the one with the red-blonde hair is called Robert, and the short man is called Benjamin. The last man, the normal-looking one, is called Alexander. They all look at her expectantly, and she falls headfirst into their combined gazes.
(Peter watches the way they watch the girl. Gabriel looks at her the way he looks at everyone, like they're just food and sex. Robert and Benjamin watch her with mischief and worry in their eyes, a strange combination, and Hayley and Brian watch her lik they don't care. Alexander, though, he watches her like he wants to memorize her. Like he wants to remember every gesture, every blink, every breath. Pete fumes, silently.)
"I'm Victoria," she says, the name rolling off her tongue like it was meant for her, and then her life is sealed.
I STILL HAVE NO IDEA WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON IN THIS. ON THE OTHER HAND, THAT DOESN'T SEEM TO BE CAUSING ANY PROBLEMS, SO LONG LIVE CONFUSION.
Also, random list of characters or what?
To clarify, we have:
Pete Wentz, Fall Out Boy
Patrick Stump, Fall Out Boy
Gabe Saporta, Cobra Starship
Alex Suarez, Cobra Starship
Vicky T, Cobra Starship
Bob Bryar, My Chemical Romance
Brian Haner (a.k.a. Synyster Gates), Avenged Sevenfold
Ben Kowalewicz, Billy Talent
Hayley Williams, Paramore
My brain needs looking at, y/y? AND LOOK AT ALL THE PRETTY PICTURES!
The first one of Ben is the prettiest though, tbh.
Hopefully.
Her first thought is that she's somehow stepped into a photograph. Her second thought is that it must have been an old one, because all of the colours are washed out. Everything is shaded in careful tones of sepia brown and grey, white highlights and black lowlights providing dimension. Somewhere in the distance, a car roars past, and she can feel the sound of the engine somewhere inside her chest, behind her ribcage. Even in the muted shades of grey and brown that colour her vision, everything seems sharper and clearer. The edges of the chair in front of her stand out sharply against the curve of the rusting car behind it, and she can make out every detail on the wall behind the car.
Something rustles behind her and she turns, hands automatically rising to chest-level as she searches for what whatever it was that made the noise. This other side of the room is darker, with cobwebs hanging from the ceiling like ghosts, but she finds that she can see just as well despite the lack of light. Something moves on the far side, and she focusses with an accuracy she was unaware she had, pinpointing the rat scurrying along the base of the wall. It's colourful, the only colourful thing in the room, and that throws her. It makes her head hurt, and she turns away, only to find herself face-to-face with a man who looks unaccountably familiar.
His hair is short and sleek, and it makes her think of an otter, and the way they always look so carefree, so free from all the burdens of the world. His eyes are hazel-brown, and look older than him, older than his smooth face suggests. Something about that face makes her think she knows him, but from where she has no idea. Somewhere recently, she thinks, she knew who he was. He smiles, and his teeth send shivers down her spine. They look normal, but, like the man himself, they seem wrong somehow.
(Peter looks at the girl, all long legs and shiny brown hair and thinks that he might hate her, but that's just petty. He has no reason to hate her other than the fact she just might be prettier than him, but that isn't a reason at all. It doesn't stop the unreasoning jealousy though. In fact, it almost makes it worse.)
The man stretches his hand out towards her, palm upwards in the old gesture of peace. She hesitates before she takes it, and the chill of his flesh surprises her. A thought flashes through her mind, but she dismisses it as foolishness.
He leads her further into the back of the room, past another car, and it occurs to her that this must be a garage. It's big, echoingly big, and she wonders what the house attached to it must look like. Before she has time to think about that any more, she finds herself pulled through a narrow door and up a flight of stairs. The stairs are surprisingly neat, and she notices that the carpet on them is worn through from the tread of feet. The stairs lead up to a long room, full of chairs. None of the chairs match, and they range from spindly, bulbous-legged ones that would look more at home in a stately home to a great, overstuffed chintz monstrosity that dominates one corner. Maybe six of the chairs have people in, and they all stand up as she enters.
(Again, there is a flash of that unreasoning jealousy in Peter's head. Nobody stood up when I came in, he thinks, even as he realises that he was the only one back then. Still, nobody stood up for him.)
This is strange, and she drops the mans' hand and backs away slightly. This is like nothing she's ever seen before, and she fights down an urge to faint. Fainting is a silly thing to do, she tells herself, winding one hand into the hem of her shirt. They're only people, it's not like they're going to kill you.
She looks up again, and tries to take stock of the people in the room. Besides the man who led her in, there are six others; five men and one woman. The first man, on the far left, is leaning against the back of an armchair. He has short brown hair and greenish eyes, and he's tall and long-limbed. (It doesn't occur to her to ask how she knows what colour his eyes are, if all the colours she can see are brown.) The second man is shorter, with reddish-blonde hair and faint stubble. The third is shorter still, with short auburn hair and a wicked grin. The woman is a little taller, with deep, coppery hair and a half-smile, and the man next to her has shaggy black hair and an arm half-looped around her shoulders. The last man looks the most normal out of the six, with plain brown hair and a faint frown, but even he looks just that bit out-of-place. They all look like that, like there's nowhere in the world they could be and not look strange. They watch her, silently, each waiting for someone else to make the first move. It's the man who brought her up that speaks first. He has a slight American accent, but his voice is plain and level, very calm.
"I'm Peter." Those two words draw her eyes back to him, and she finds herself looking at him properly for the first time. He's average height, maybe a little short, and skinny. There's no fat on him anywhere, but he looks like he could hold his own in a fight if it came to that. A scrapper, she thinks, and then she meets his eyes and half-forgets that thought.
His words seem to have been some kind of signal, because now they all start inroducing themselves. The woman is called Hayley, and the man with his arm around her is Brian. The tall man is called Gabriel, the the one with the red-blonde hair is called Robert, and the short man is called Benjamin. The last man, the normal-looking one, is called Alexander. They all look at her expectantly, and she falls headfirst into their combined gazes.
(Peter watches the way they watch the girl. Gabriel looks at her the way he looks at everyone, like they're just food and sex. Robert and Benjamin watch her with mischief and worry in their eyes, a strange combination, and Hayley and Brian watch her lik they don't care. Alexander, though, he watches her like he wants to memorize her. Like he wants to remember every gesture, every blink, every breath. Pete fumes, silently.)
"I'm Victoria," she says, the name rolling off her tongue like it was meant for her, and then her life is sealed.
I STILL HAVE NO IDEA WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON IN THIS. ON THE OTHER HAND, THAT DOESN'T SEEM TO BE CAUSING ANY PROBLEMS, SO LONG LIVE CONFUSION.
Also, random list of characters or what?
To clarify, we have:
Pete Wentz, Fall Out Boy
Patrick Stump, Fall Out Boy
Gabe Saporta, Cobra Starship
Alex Suarez, Cobra Starship
Vicky T, Cobra Starship
Bob Bryar, My Chemical Romance
Brian Haner (a.k.a. Synyster Gates), Avenged Sevenfold
Ben Kowalewicz, Billy Talent
Hayley Williams, Paramore
My brain needs looking at, y/y? AND LOOK AT ALL THE PRETTY PICTURES!
The first one of Ben is the prettiest though, tbh.