Hello, ya'll. InnerPeace here. Though, you can probably tell by the title and the User Name. So yeah, I wrote some stuff outside the Roleplaying section. Is the fire and brimstone version of Hell about to freeze over? Probably not. If it does feel free to blame me.
These one shots started anywhere between a couple of weeks to a few months ago. And over the past couple of days, I got 'em done. And if I write more, I'll post them here. So yeah, feel free to comment, critique, and stuff.
These one shots started anywhere between a couple of weeks to a few months ago. And over the past couple of days, I got 'em done. And if I write more, I'll post them here. So yeah, feel free to comment, critique, and stuff.
Spoiler Show
Cigarette smoke filled the air along with the stench of betrayed feelings, dashed hopes, and broken dreams drowned out by liquid ignorance. Mixing with the other various smells are the aromas of other bodily fluids coming from the result of the mixed drinks. Jazz music lazily spilled from a jukebox in between the restrooms in the back.
Despite all of this, I found it easy to concentrate.
Doesn't mean my game is any better.
"Dammit," I cursed following the cue ball bounced around the table hitting nothing but the sides. A loud guffawing from my opponent came up shortly after that.
"Man kid, you suck," the gentleman commented while he chalked up his cue. I move away from the table to not be in the way. On my way, my hand ghosted over his glass sitting on another billiard table. Sparks that defied science flew from my hand into the drink then quickly dissipated.
Over the course of this match, I've been converting the molecules in the air into alcohol as well as balancing it out with the other contents of the drink to counter the stronger taste. I also have to do it in a way that doesn't dramatically increase the contents of the glass. Let me tell ya, it's not easy.
Some may call this practice "cheating." I call it "discreet winning."
Some time passed and we finally got to the eight ball. Well, I did. The other guy still has the two left on the table and was taking aim at it. The graciously donated booze is taking effect. His body was swaying. His eyes were blinking and moving around as if to concentrate on something and then refocusing them.
After about a minute and a half of him aiming, he finally made his shot and didn't hit anything like I did before. The difference between then and now is that he situated the cue ball right behind the ball he was supposed to hit.
Shit.
I analyzed my current predicament. The eight ball was a couple of inches away from the side pocket while the cue and two were shielding a corner. I could always just hit solid in front of the white orb and knock the black ball into the pocket. Or I can hit it off the walls, clip my target on its side and sink the eight. But where's the fun in that?
I finally took my stance and angled my cue. Instead of hitting it straight on like I always do, I'm aiming for between the rug of the table and the center of the ball. I take a breath and moved my arm. Oh no. The white ball jumped over the blue one as planned, but my angle was off a bit and it slowed down a little too soon. This meant that power was lower than I wanted. The white ball still collided with the eight. Except instead of the quick sink I wanted, the black sphere slowly crawled towards the place I was trying to send it.
I felt my heart stop when it rolled to the edge of the hole and stayed there. We all stared at it as if to impose our wills on it. Mine to fall. My adversary to stay. The few seconds it held that position felt like minutes to me.
Either because of some math or science I don't know or because the table was off balance, the ball finally dropped into the pocket.
I cheered while the my foe and his friends groaned. I took the money from the edge of the table. After I counted and pocketed my winnings, I politely said "Nice doing business with you gentlemen."
It was a boring, yet beautiful sunny summer day in Rochester, New York.
In an small ordinary bank, several people in line were waiting to to conduct their transactions. This included a man trying to keep control of his kids. Someone loudly talking on their cell phone. A young man is listening to music via earphones to drown everything out while he waited. At the front of the line was a man yelling at the teller for his lack of money and the teller responding in a professional manner. This resulted in a loop that will probably wind up on Not Always Right. In the next room, a woman is applying for a home loan.
All of this abruptly changed when a gunshot sounded in a bank.
In the middle of the lobby, a lone man stood there with his arm in the air holding a pistol in one hand and a bag in the other. This person's eyes were bloodshot and his hand is shaking as if he took drugs recently or was in the midst of withdrawal.
Most of the customers screamed and scattered to get as far away from the gunman as possible. The robber quickly grabbed the customer with earphones and walked over to the service counter.
After dropping the bag on the counter, the criminal ordered while pointing the gun at the captive "Put the money in the bag and no one will get hurt."
The druggie then felt something on his hand. When he looked down, he saw that his captive was messing with his hand. "What the diddly are you doing?" he asked in a even tone.
"Making adjustments," the customer replied with little care in his tone. "If you're gonna threaten someone, you should put your gun at about here to ensure the quickest death," he suggested after settling the muzzle on where he said. "There you go. Continue."
The robber growled in anger as he was not a fan of being made a fool off. "DON'T diddly WITH ME!" he yelled as he clocked him withe the bottom of the weapon's grip before dropping him. Now one would expect to see blood gushing everywhere, shocking and traumatizing all that were watching. Instead, his hostage didn't even spill a drop of the iron-tasting liquid. He actually got up without a scratch on him.
As he got up the music loving man whined "Duuude, can't you be a little more gentle?" as he popped his neck. "I know they should be mostly unconscious when you do that, but be a little more courteous."
"Don't move or I blow your diddlyin' brains out!" The robber screamed in fear, losing what little grip on his sanity he had.
"Try it," the former hostage ordered while walking forward. The criminal reaffirmed his point by aiming the pistol at him again. This didn't deter the music lover. It did the opposite actually as he sprinted at him. He then grabbed and lowered the firearm in the same move before punching the crazed man in the face, knocking him down. Wasting no time, the former hostage pointed the gun at the would be robber and yelled "Someone call the cops!"
Shortly after that, the police came to pick up the would be robber and his weapon. Following getting looked over by the medic that showed up with ambulance and telling the cops what happened, the young man got the okay to leave. Following concluding his business, he walked out to the parking lot.
While making his way to his bike, a bronze metal crept up from the bottom of his neck up to the lower half of his face as well as went from just under his elbows to his fingertips. To hide this gift, he wrapped a red bandana around to cover his face and donned brown gloves.
When he got to his vehicle, put on his helmet and he pulled his keys out. The moment he did that, he was rushed from all sides by journalists. They asked him a barrage of questions to which he didn't answer except one.
"Can we get your name?"
"I'm just a passing through hero," he said as if out of habit while he mounted his bike. "But you don't need to remember me," he added with a dismissive flick of his hand before starting up his ride and driving off.
It was Amateur Night at the restaurant I work at. It's essentially a showcase where people can sign up and show off their skills. The acts before us were alright I guess. There was a two-man comedy routine, a rapper, and even a magician.
"Are you ready?" my partner asked me when we were called up.
"I am," I replied as I did the finishing touches on tuning my bass for the eighth time. Yeah, I was a bit nervous.
We got up and walked up to the elevated area of the place that acted as a temporary stage. She got on first as if she'd done this a million times. While I on the other hand tripped on the last step, the noise echoing in the silence. I managed to catch myself, but the damage was done. This cued a few giggles from the audience. My face flared up red hot in shame.
She moved the keyboard and a chair to off center of the stage before she set herself up. At the same time, I moved a microphone then plugged my instrument into an amp and did a couple of test strums. Satisfied with the results, I took in a couple of deep breathes then put my attention towards the crowd.
The moment I did that, I froze up. This was not due to the naturally cold conditions of this frosty island or even the thermostat cranked lower than it should be. Despite this feeling, I'm sweating. My mouth felt dried up and I can hear my heart beating in my ears. Not to mention my stomach was churning with a sick feeling.
I never played in front of an audience before. I assumed, 'Hey, since I can kick all kinds of ass, I shouldn't have to worry about crowds.'
Hahaha. Ooooh, how wrong I was. I could feel their stares peppering me. I can feel them silently judging me. Along with the previous sensations, I can feel something gripping my heart.
No. It's okay. She and I have been practicing for weeks. All I have to do is play.
Wait... How do I do that?
I move my fingers, right?
... What are fingers?
A piercing sound knocked me out of my thoughts. So much so that it made me jump a little. I wanted to turn around to see what it was and where it originated from, but I knew already. It was a note. A G note to be precise and it came from her. I watched her continue to play from the corner of my eye. Her eyes were closed except for the occasional peek at her sheet music. In those purple glances, I saw a sharpness that rivaled my own when I get in a fight. Her fingers hit the keys in a cold precision that rivaled a surgeon's. She wasn't even giving mind to the crowd. With all our jokes and jabs at each other, it's almost like she's a completely different person on stage.
She's so cool. More than that. She's amazing. How can she be so calm and professional about this while I'm a nervous wreck?
I felt myself calm down and gaining a little bit of confidence back just by watching her.
It was at this point the notes started standing out for some reason... Shit! My part's coming up!
I took my eyes off her and leaned towards the microphone a bit to sing the practiced lyrics. My voice cracked and the microphone screeched which made the spectators and I flinch a smidgen. I continued anyway, backing off the mic a bit. From here on, there was no feedback.
By the time I grew slightly comfortable with singing, it was time to begin playing my own instrument. I moved my fingers on my right hand along the neck, pressing down on the strings at the appropriate places while I held the pick and strummed with my left. This song had a bit of a slow start but it was good, on my end anyway, to adjust to the setting.
We ended the intro which was followed with a couple of seconds of silence. I let in and out a breath through my nose.
Now comes the fun.
We shared a glance and exchanged smiles before we continued, upping the tempo. A few seconds passed and I began singing again. Compared to before where it was kind of solemn to suit the first minute or so of the song. This time it was filled with passion and it wasn't just to fit with the original.
This song has a lot of meaning to me. It was one of the songs on an album that helped me understand my feelings of losing someone. That same album got me into one of my favorite bands. It was also the jam that introduced me to one of my favorite shows. This is also the first song I'm playing in a duet with her. Plus, it's a badass song.
We are now approaching the end. On one hand, it gets me off this damn stage and into a chair. On the other, I sort of don't want this to end. I want to keep playing and singing at the top of my lungs. But all good things must come to an end. Doesn't mean we can't go out with a bang and what great timing.
We increase the speed of both the music and lyrics as the song races towards its end. My bandmate also contributed with the lyrics, providing more power behind the words. With the last word of the song I gave my strings one final strum. My bass' noise hummed out of existence as my comrade played the ending. These concluding notes streaming from her keys took the place of the beating of a marching band's drum and the boom at the end of the song proper.
After the last key was struck and the sound faded, the audience was still for a moment or two before they started... applauding? Holy shit, they're clapping! Hell, some of them are even standing and cheering.
I wanted to bounce in glee like a kid on too much coffee and pixie sticks, but I was too tired. My arms slacked to my sides as I grinned like a fool. My partner stood up, took my hand, and pulled me into a bow. She then pulled me offstage to a corner of the restaurant's main dining area. She assured me she'll return before going into the back to get something.
Accompanying a groan while collapsing into a chair, I murmured "How is it that I can walk into a room filled with mobsters and threaten to kick their asses without battin' an eye, but this makes me wanna barf?"
A bottle of water made its way into the edge of my field of view. "You did great out there," my girlfriend said to me.
"Thank you. You were flawless as always," I replied as I took it and pulled back the chair next to me. She sat down next to me as I chugged the contents of the container. When I was done, I gasped then pleaded "It was fun in a way. But if you can help it, please don't make me do that again."
She gave me a playful nudge with her elbow and replied "This was your idea."
"I can't deny that," I said back to her with a smile. Though I have my reasons for suggesting doing this. Ever since we got together, I always attended her concerts. All those times, I've watched her from the stands and backstage. Sometimes I get curious as to what it feels like to be up there. I wanted to stand by her side on stage. To see what she sees. To get a little closer to her.
Suddenly, I felt something soft land on my cheek. Familiar to the sensation, I didn't need to turn my head to know my girlfriend gave me a peck on the cheek. Though it doesn't mean my face heated up a little all the same. I kissed her forehead as we intertwined our fingers. We leaned against each other. Through this, I smiled as a sense of accomplishment filled my heart.
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