TS: continuation of Give 'Em Hell, Kid
TS info post is located here.
Part One is located here.
~~~~
A World that Sends You Reeling
It's in Toledo when everything abruptly goes to shit. Gee is twitchy, too much coffee and rapid patter not distracting any of them from the purplish bruises under his eyes. Ray is doing his best to distract him from Mikey's absence. So far, the best isn't helping much. Frank trades a glance with Bob; not a word passes between them, they just stand and make a hasty exit. As soon as they step out of the bus they hesitate. Frank is overly aware that they are at loose ends, with few places to go. Another shared glance and pause to light cigarettes though, and the pair of them head into the venue.
Frank feels watchers all around them; he waves to various members of the security team, sees Bob nod to Cortez as they continue onward. The venue is a familiar maze of concrete halls; the echo of techs and the fans queuing up out in front first echoes and then is muted as they turn a corner, heading down an corridor starkly lit with florescent lights.
Halfway down the corridor, Bob pauses, frowning.
"What?" The word is sharp on Frank's tongue. Something under his skin itches; he rubs his hands along his arms, fingers lingering on the Lady of Sorrows.
Bob glances his way, looking distracted. "Not sure. Something feels off." He looks back up the corridor.
"I think we should go back."
Frank feels the prickle under his skin intensify. The sudden scent of brine and ocean rot swirls around him. Frank sneezes. Bob looks at him; the grim set of his features remind Frank of the early days, back when Bob was still teching and the general opinion was that he was not a dude you wanted to fuck with.
"Yeah." Bob says slowly, looking around. "We should."
They start back the way they'd come. The reek of ocean grows stronger. Turning a corner, they find themselves in a dim corridor.
"This isn't the way we came..." Frank says.
"No." Bob says. The word rumbles out of him. "Stay behind me."
"What the fuck..." Frank's mouth snaps closed so quickly at the look Bob levels at him, his teeth clack together.
Franks voices start to clamour, warning of danger, telling him to listen. Frank hangs back, staring at Bob. He flows down the hall - the grace in each step and twitch of muscle is eerie. Frank feels his heart rabbiting in his chest as the voices murmur their approval of Bob. Frank just creeps along in his waks, skin prickling and breathing through his mouth. The reek of salt water and rot is overwhelming.
The light grows dimmer by the moment, as the overhead lights flickers. All the lights - but one, at the far end of the hall- flicker one more time and die. Bob shucks his jacket and shirts, practically leaping out of his battered trainers. Frank blinks at the sudden appearance of more skin than he's used to seeing from his drummer. He stares, only distantly aware of pulling off his own shirt, the press of warm, clammy air against the skin of his chest. Bob turns to check on him, frowns and then grins. His smile is downright feral; even as it makes Frank shiver, it makes something within him howl in accord.
They come out of the walls.
Frank registers tenacles writhing around a mostly humanoid frame, dripping almost dreads, bulbous eyes, the strange circular gap of curved shark teeth. Then Bob flings himself forward, fists flying.
Frank breathes deep, can't contain the growl when a wayward tentacle hits Bob's cheek. //Fuck no.// He thinks. Frank sees a flicker of pale fur, a glimpse of blue eyes... and Bob is surrounded by four of the nightmare creatures. And something inside of Frank snaps. //NO. MINE.// He howls, the sound echoing as he moves forward.
The voices chorus //YESYESYES//.
The multi-tongued haunts in Frank all unite and bray; then they sweep him back.
~~~
Frank blinks back to awareness leaning back against a wall, the concrete cool on his shoulders. He breathes in - the air is clean. The faintest tang of sea salt remains, makes him think of Atlantic City. Then he glances down. Splattered on his skin, soaking into his jeans, coating his arms from fingertip to elbow is blood. Thick, a shade darker than fresh blood should be, but it's blood. Frank sucks in a breath, and a coppery tang settles in his sinuses, coats the back of his throat. He remembers //Slick skin, slime against his hands// and he whimpers.
"Frank?" Bob's voice sounds very far away.
Then all that registers is flight, wind on skin, chilling him where the liquid lingers.
He returns to himself in a bathroom. Frank looks at his hands, breath hitching in his chest, takes in the steady drip from the nearest faucet and reaches for paper towels.
~~~~
Part One is located here.
~~~~
A World that Sends You Reeling
It's in Toledo when everything abruptly goes to shit. Gee is twitchy, too much coffee and rapid patter not distracting any of them from the purplish bruises under his eyes. Ray is doing his best to distract him from Mikey's absence. So far, the best isn't helping much. Frank trades a glance with Bob; not a word passes between them, they just stand and make a hasty exit. As soon as they step out of the bus they hesitate. Frank is overly aware that they are at loose ends, with few places to go. Another shared glance and pause to light cigarettes though, and the pair of them head into the venue.
Frank feels watchers all around them; he waves to various members of the security team, sees Bob nod to Cortez as they continue onward. The venue is a familiar maze of concrete halls; the echo of techs and the fans queuing up out in front first echoes and then is muted as they turn a corner, heading down an corridor starkly lit with florescent lights.
Halfway down the corridor, Bob pauses, frowning.
"What?" The word is sharp on Frank's tongue. Something under his skin itches; he rubs his hands along his arms, fingers lingering on the Lady of Sorrows.
Bob glances his way, looking distracted. "Not sure. Something feels off." He looks back up the corridor.
"I think we should go back."
Frank feels the prickle under his skin intensify. The sudden scent of brine and ocean rot swirls around him. Frank sneezes. Bob looks at him; the grim set of his features remind Frank of the early days, back when Bob was still teching and the general opinion was that he was not a dude you wanted to fuck with.
"Yeah." Bob says slowly, looking around. "We should."
They start back the way they'd come. The reek of ocean grows stronger. Turning a corner, they find themselves in a dim corridor.
"This isn't the way we came..." Frank says.
"No." Bob says. The word rumbles out of him. "Stay behind me."
"What the fuck..." Frank's mouth snaps closed so quickly at the look Bob levels at him, his teeth clack together.
Franks voices start to clamour, warning of danger, telling him to listen. Frank hangs back, staring at Bob. He flows down the hall - the grace in each step and twitch of muscle is eerie. Frank feels his heart rabbiting in his chest as the voices murmur their approval of Bob. Frank just creeps along in his waks, skin prickling and breathing through his mouth. The reek of salt water and rot is overwhelming.
The light grows dimmer by the moment, as the overhead lights flickers. All the lights - but one, at the far end of the hall- flicker one more time and die. Bob shucks his jacket and shirts, practically leaping out of his battered trainers. Frank blinks at the sudden appearance of more skin than he's used to seeing from his drummer. He stares, only distantly aware of pulling off his own shirt, the press of warm, clammy air against the skin of his chest. Bob turns to check on him, frowns and then grins. His smile is downright feral; even as it makes Frank shiver, it makes something within him howl in accord.
They come out of the walls.
Frank registers tenacles writhing around a mostly humanoid frame, dripping almost dreads, bulbous eyes, the strange circular gap of curved shark teeth. Then Bob flings himself forward, fists flying.
Frank breathes deep, can't contain the growl when a wayward tentacle hits Bob's cheek. //Fuck no.// He thinks. Frank sees a flicker of pale fur, a glimpse of blue eyes... and Bob is surrounded by four of the nightmare creatures. And something inside of Frank snaps. //NO. MINE.// He howls, the sound echoing as he moves forward.
The voices chorus //YESYESYES//.
The multi-tongued haunts in Frank all unite and bray; then they sweep him back.
~~~
Frank blinks back to awareness leaning back against a wall, the concrete cool on his shoulders. He breathes in - the air is clean. The faintest tang of sea salt remains, makes him think of Atlantic City. Then he glances down. Splattered on his skin, soaking into his jeans, coating his arms from fingertip to elbow is blood. Thick, a shade darker than fresh blood should be, but it's blood. Frank sucks in a breath, and a coppery tang settles in his sinuses, coats the back of his throat. He remembers //Slick skin, slime against his hands// and he whimpers.
"Frank?" Bob's voice sounds very far away.
Then all that registers is flight, wind on skin, chilling him where the liquid lingers.
He returns to himself in a bathroom. Frank looks at his hands, breath hitching in his chest, takes in the steady drip from the nearest faucet and reaches for paper towels.
~~~~