"Yeah, the lady with the blond braid at the far right of the bar. Her boyfriend requested it for her." Morrie gave a slight shrug of his own as he passed on the request, a little hesitant about adding even so small a concern to the lead singer's load just then.
For his part, Rory was just able to keep a wince off his face. Silky Touch wasn't Believer Girl or Word is Tender, but it still ranked near the top of the list of songs he'd rather not play tonight. But it was a request. He could handle just one.
One thing he wouldn't do, however, was sing it directly to the woman in question. Light flirtation was so often expected of musicians, especially those at the front of the stage, but he couldn't find it in himself. Not now. He murmured the request to Nil to pass on to the others, then stepped back to his mic.
But from the very first bars, the raw rasp of irritant came back redoubled and built even further. Someone out there was taking the twining melodies and voluptuous lyrics and twisting them into something -- something Rory's brain tried to pull away from, and couldn't.
Sweet like sugar on my tongue, light as misty morning rain/Burning slow and strong as whiskey fire, slipping through my veins. In an effort to distract himself for long enough to finish, Rory sought the blonde Morrie had pointed out, standing and swaying with a delighted smile on her face. And there next to her, her b--
God ... NO!!!
It only took an instant of eye contact to hammer down the last of Rory's defenses. He barely even saw the close resemblance to Anraí as his mind's eye was flooded with grotesque imagery laced with perverted triumph. Pippa, bruised, battered, screaming and then still and silent-- no! --broken on the altar of this man's loathing and then tossed aside to die ... and if she happened to live, that was easy to fix as soon as he left ...
PIPPAAA!!!
And still Rory couldn't pull away. Other scenes followed the nightmare images of Pippa's torment, other women, other violent deaths found only after every kind of torture their captor could think to inflict. Burned, dismembered, impaled, electroshocked, all by this monster ... this hideous disease in human form, who looked on suffering and laughed ... oh, Rory knew him now, a depth of knowledge he would have torn from his mind if he could.
Stupid sack of shit. Here I am, relieving you of your biggest weakness, and you'll never even see that I'm doing you a favor. Hell, you'll probably collect another one before long; your kind always does. Pa-thetic. Should probably kill you too, Rory Stone--
"Rory?! Rory!!!"
With a shuddering gasp, Rory yanked open his eyes to find himself on hands and knees, staring at the stage beneath him. His mic was gone, sparing the crowd the sounds of him trying to retch up a meal he'd never eaten. He looked up to find a circle of frightened eyes, Dave, Kreske, Sascha, Nil, Junie -- Junie, she was speaking ...
"--does it! Rory, you're going home right now, and no arguments! I shouldn't have let you back on stage to begin with ..."
He could barely find the sense of her words in the tumult of his own mind, but one thing cut through the chaos: his brothers' fear coming through the ward under his shirt. Finding the medallion with his hand, he pressed it into his chest.
Anraí, Tadhg -- he's HERE! No need to look to confirm where he was, he could tell the bastard's location as surely as he could feel the direction of an icy wind with his eyes closed. He'll kill her ... as soon as he leaves, he'll kill her!!!
no subject
For his part, Rory was just able to keep a wince off his face. Silky Touch wasn't Believer Girl or Word is Tender, but it still ranked near the top of the list of songs he'd rather not play tonight. But it was a request. He could handle just one.
One thing he wouldn't do, however, was sing it directly to the woman in question. Light flirtation was so often expected of musicians, especially those at the front of the stage, but he couldn't find it in himself. Not now. He murmured the request to Nil to pass on to the others, then stepped back to his mic.
But from the very first bars, the raw rasp of irritant came back redoubled and built even further. Someone out there was taking the twining melodies and voluptuous lyrics and twisting them into something -- something Rory's brain tried to pull away from, and couldn't.
Sweet like sugar on my tongue, light as misty morning rain/Burning slow and strong as whiskey fire, slipping through my veins. In an effort to distract himself for long enough to finish, Rory sought the blonde Morrie had pointed out, standing and swaying with a delighted smile on her face. And there next to her, her b--
God ... NO!!!
It only took an instant of eye contact to hammer down the last of Rory's defenses. He barely even saw the close resemblance to Anraí as his mind's eye was flooded with grotesque imagery laced with perverted triumph. Pippa, bruised, battered, screaming and then still and silent-- no! --broken on the altar of this man's loathing and then tossed aside to die ... and if she happened to live, that was easy to fix as soon as he left ...
PIPPAAA!!!
And still Rory couldn't pull away. Other scenes followed the nightmare images of Pippa's torment, other women, other violent deaths found only after every kind of torture their captor could think to inflict. Burned, dismembered, impaled, electroshocked, all by this monster ... this hideous disease in human form, who looked on suffering and laughed ... oh, Rory knew him now, a depth of knowledge he would have torn from his mind if he could.
Stupid sack of shit. Here I am, relieving you of your biggest weakness, and you'll never even see that I'm doing you a favor. Hell, you'll probably collect another one before long; your kind always does. Pa-thetic. Should probably kill you too, Rory Stone--
"Rory?! Rory!!!"
With a shuddering gasp, Rory yanked open his eyes to find himself on hands and knees, staring at the stage beneath him. His mic was gone, sparing the crowd the sounds of him trying to retch up a meal he'd never eaten. He looked up to find a circle of frightened eyes, Dave, Kreske, Sascha, Nil, Junie -- Junie, she was speaking ...
"--does it! Rory, you're going home right now, and no arguments! I shouldn't have let you back on stage to begin with ..."
He could barely find the sense of her words in the tumult of his own mind, but one thing cut through the chaos: his brothers' fear coming through the ward under his shirt. Finding the medallion with his hand, he pressed it into his chest.
Anraí, Tadhg -- he's HERE! No need to look to confirm where he was, he could tell the bastard's location as surely as he could feel the direction of an icy wind with his eyes closed. He'll kill her ... as soon as he leaves, he'll kill her!!!