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Sep. 13th, 2010 02:47 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
turpsDW is being assy and won't let me edit my last entry, so prompted by a comment conversation with ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
krisipanics have,
Mikey lowers himself to the ground, back against a shredded tyre and sand under his feet. There’s always fucking sand, it chafes beneath his clothes and sticks to his teeth. When he spits his saliva is gritty and his skin constantly sore, pulled tight and red against his bones.
He hates the fucking sand, and the fucking sun, and this whole fucking world where all he can do is keep running, picking up shit and selling it to those too stupid to realise what he’s doing. Mikey’s good at selling, he never used to be but now he assesses the situation and goes in for the kill, tells poison-tipped lies and wears a shark’s smile as he sells with one hand and takes with the other.
He never slows, talks in quick fire bursts, shoulders hunched and hands clenched against the urge to claw at this new skin, through sinew and bone and flesh, black blood spreading against white-washed sand and sun-bleached stones.
Mikey’s going to do that one day. It’s just a case of when.
Not tonight though. Tonight Mikey’s celebrating, his thirtieth year around the sun.
Twenty nine years, three hundred and sixty four days, twenty three hours, fifty nine minutes. Mikey looks at his watch, the second hand ticking forward. There’s a glass bottle at his side and he thumbs off the top, holds the bottle in one hand and stares into the distance. At a blood-red horizon and a sky made even darker with smoke.
Fires rage in the north quadrant and Mikey’ll walk there tomorrow, claim things that aren’t his and wear his fake smile. How much will you give me for this amazing piece of shit? Highest offer gets it, fuck you very much. And they’ll fall for it. They always do.
But that’s tomorrow. Tonight Mikey brings the bottle to his lips, tips back his head and swallows, flames burning his throat as he marks a new day.
Tears sting his eyes and he rubs a grimy hand over his mouth, sand grating as he holds out the bottle and breathes through the pain in his chest, making a wish on stars that he can’t see.
I wish. I wish. I wish.
Mikey doesn’t know what to wish. There’s too much he misses. Too much he needs, and nothing he wants will come true.
Except.
There’s a rustle. A soft whistle, and Mikey drops the bottle, liquid drawn down into the sand. His hands are shaking and he tucks them under his legs -- which is stupid, because if it’s not.... if it’s not there’s no way Mikey will get to his gun in time -- and stares into the darkness.
Another whistle, a darker shadow moving forward, and then, “Mikey.”
Gerard’s dressed in a battered leather jacket, his hair a tangled mess. There’s a filthy bandage wrapped around one of his hands and he’s got a gun strapped to one thigh. He’s also smiling. A real smile that only brightens as Mikey scrambles to his feet and Gerard says, “Happy birthday, Mikes. I told you I’d come.”
krisipanics have, Mikey lowers himself to the ground, back against a shredded tyre and sand under his feet. There’s always fucking sand, it chafes beneath his clothes and sticks to his teeth. When he spits his saliva is gritty and his skin constantly sore, pulled tight and red against his bones.
He hates the fucking sand, and the fucking sun, and this whole fucking world where all he can do is keep running, picking up shit and selling it to those too stupid to realise what he’s doing. Mikey’s good at selling, he never used to be but now he assesses the situation and goes in for the kill, tells poison-tipped lies and wears a shark’s smile as he sells with one hand and takes with the other.
He never slows, talks in quick fire bursts, shoulders hunched and hands clenched against the urge to claw at this new skin, through sinew and bone and flesh, black blood spreading against white-washed sand and sun-bleached stones.
Mikey’s going to do that one day. It’s just a case of when.
Not tonight though. Tonight Mikey’s celebrating, his thirtieth year around the sun.
Twenty nine years, three hundred and sixty four days, twenty three hours, fifty nine minutes. Mikey looks at his watch, the second hand ticking forward. There’s a glass bottle at his side and he thumbs off the top, holds the bottle in one hand and stares into the distance. At a blood-red horizon and a sky made even darker with smoke.
Fires rage in the north quadrant and Mikey’ll walk there tomorrow, claim things that aren’t his and wear his fake smile. How much will you give me for this amazing piece of shit? Highest offer gets it, fuck you very much. And they’ll fall for it. They always do.
But that’s tomorrow. Tonight Mikey brings the bottle to his lips, tips back his head and swallows, flames burning his throat as he marks a new day.
Tears sting his eyes and he rubs a grimy hand over his mouth, sand grating as he holds out the bottle and breathes through the pain in his chest, making a wish on stars that he can’t see.
I wish. I wish. I wish.
Mikey doesn’t know what to wish. There’s too much he misses. Too much he needs, and nothing he wants will come true.
Except.
There’s a rustle. A soft whistle, and Mikey drops the bottle, liquid drawn down into the sand. His hands are shaking and he tucks them under his legs -- which is stupid, because if it’s not.... if it’s not there’s no way Mikey will get to his gun in time -- and stares into the darkness.
Another whistle, a darker shadow moving forward, and then, “Mikey.”
Gerard’s dressed in a battered leather jacket, his hair a tangled mess. There’s a filthy bandage wrapped around one of his hands and he’s got a gun strapped to one thigh. He’s also smiling. A real smile that only brightens as Mikey scrambles to his feet and Gerard says, “Happy birthday, Mikes. I told you I’d come.”
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Date: 2010-09-13 01:55 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-09-13 02:00 pm (UTC)Sand is very annoying at times. Especially when it gets in sandwiches :(
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Date: 2010-09-13 03:57 pm (UTC)This is AWESOME. My heart hurts for Mikey - but yay for Gee birthday surprises.
I'm just going to sit here and beam at this some more.
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Date: 2010-09-13 04:44 pm (UTC)It's weird because so much is uncertain, so it's a universe fan created in a way, and I think that's cool. It may turn out that we're all wrong, but that's okay, because what's being created is fantastic.
I'm glad you like, thank you for such a lovely comment.
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Date: 2010-09-13 07:00 pm (UTC)I agree. Even if we are all completely wrong, there's still an excellent new AU to play around in. Which is exactly what the fandom needed.
De nada. :) It's always a pleasure reading your work. ♥
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Date: 2010-09-13 07:07 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-09-13 07:30 pm (UTC)[He's not sure if it's a good idea, being this close to the Trottle bar. Between the high probability of the joint getting busted and sheer Wavehead anarchy, there are any number of ways this shit could go wrong. But the generator out-Zone's gone cold and until he can drum up some cash to get it humming again, electrical piracy is his only option. Ray shifts around, trying to shield the flickering glow from his screen while trying to make the most of the light streaming down the stairs. The music from the bar above thrums through the steel and concrete at his back, making his fingers twitch. He doesn't have time for that shit - there's a sandside meeting he has to make tonight, and fixing this hunk of junk requires steady hands. Ray takes a deep breath, blows some grit out of the cracked case and gets to work. ]
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Date: 2010-09-13 07:56 pm (UTC)I love where you went with this. It makes so much sense that Ray would be the one modifying old tech.
The idea of electrical piracy is delicious and how he doesn't have time to get nervous, because he has a job to do and Ray's the kind of person that will ensure that it'll get done.
But now I want to know about the sandside meeting and if he gets his tech running and just, everything!
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Date: 2010-09-13 09:58 pm (UTC)[Throbbing bass and drum loop samples fade to background vibrations as he puts the machine through its paces. The processor's whining high and it's putting out too much heat for Ray's liking, but at least it's running. Looks like the repair work took too - the basic programming slides through easy. Relief sings in him, clean water sweet and just as brief.]
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Date: 2010-09-13 10:13 pm (UTC)I'm so glad he got it working. Not that I ever had any doubt.
Reading in this verse always makes me thirsty, the heat, sand and dirt are a constant in each one so far, leaving me enjoying my beaker of water.
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Date: 2010-09-14 12:47 am (UTC)Oh yeah, I agree. Your fic above also made me itchy. That sand gets everywhere!
[Both have to be rationed, no matter where you are in the Zones. Hard luck's shown the quickest way to get dusted is to drop your guard. Not that *that's* much of a problem - at this point he's so fucking paranoid, Ray's not sure he remembers how to relax.
Good thing too - he might have relegated the music to the mental back burner as his fingers finesse the keys, but Ray's too used to listening hard and teasing feedback snarl away from melody. The dropped beat track and fuzzout, as brief as it is, kicks up his attention. He looks up, searches the shadows by the bar's generator. There. A gleam, pale and synthetic shiny, reflects the light back from the old whiskey purification center's security spots across the road.
White suits. Damn.
Well, it was was time to roll anyway.
He doesn't hesitate, just shuts the machine down and starts coiling cord as quickly as he can. Flick of cord looping between his hands wakes sense memory; the phantom feel of a scarred guitar neck heavy as the coiled wires in his grip. Ray grits his teeth and finishing packing up. Grinding gears and nostalgia get you nowhere fast. Nowhere but dusted, anyway.]
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Date: 2010-09-14 07:39 am (UTC)I love your Ray, and I think you should pull all these together and post them so I can tell everyone to read.
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Date: 2010-09-14 12:02 pm (UTC)I love your Ray, and I think you should pull all these together and post them so I can tell everyone to read.
Done and done. ['Twill be all cross-posted to LJ too.]
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Date: 2010-09-14 12:33 pm (UTC)Hope you don't mind me asking. What do you think of this, does it still fit?
Watching Mikey is like watching some fucked up movie, one where reality is warped and you’re left feeling sick. Reddened skin pulled tight over bone, eyes darkly shadowed and a mouth full of lies, his teeth sharp as he tears at strips of lizard, his fingers slick with juices.
Mikey’s changed, easy amusement replaced with cynicism and so fucking hard Gerard wants to shake him, scream into his face to stop hiding. Because Mikey’s in there, Gerard fucking saw him.
Gerard doesn’t. He knows he's lost that right.
It’s his fault they split up and Gerard stands by his reasons. That it was safer that way, that being together was too much of a risk -- they’re always running and doing so solo made sense. It does make sense, and Gerard reminds himself of that each time he gags in the middle of the night, on hands and knees and stomach aching, bile splattering the sand.
Ray’s one of the best runners out there.
Bob’s disappeared from sight.
Frank could have been captured anyway.
Mikey’s fine. Will be fine. Fuck.
Gerard knows he’s not fine. Mikey’s fucked up, screwed up, so fucking lost under that hard shell that Gerard wants to take him and run. Away from the zones and the conflicts, past Battery City and the constant terrifying buzz of drones.
“You have to go back,” Mikey says then, he’s picking at the last scraps of meat, tearing flesh from the delicate bone. When he looks up he smiles -- cracked lips splitting even further, so fucking, terrifyingly different that for a moment Gerard doesn’t know him at all.
Momentarily he considers saying no, but already he’s given up so much -- including Mikey. If Gerard runs now it’ll all be for nothing, and he won’t do that, cheapen the sacrifices already made.
What he’s doing is important. He’s a voice in the darkness and his words need to be heard.
Mikey takes a water pouch out of his bag and unscrews the cap. Taking a sip he hands it to Gerard, says rapid fire words, each one glittering and fake, “I’ll be okay. Fucking zone A’s up in flames and shit’s there for the taking.”
The lip of the pouch is grainy, the water inside tepid and tasting of metal. Gerard swallows, says, “Don’t.”
Mikey doesn’t pretend not to get it. He takes the water pouch from Gerard, tucks it safe in his bag and then stands -- gaunt and golden against the rising sun. He holds out his hand, and links his fingers with Gerard, tugging him to his feet, says softly, “They only play Dr Deathdefying on Planet Awesome.”
Mikey smiles again, the slightest curl of his lips, and Gerard drinks in this sighting then nods, forcing himself to pull his hand away from Mikey’s.
He’s got a broadcast to do, a rebellion to maintain, people that believe in him always.
It’s why he keeps going. Why he believes.
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Date: 2010-09-14 02:50 pm (UTC)Of course I don't mind! And yes, I think this still fits. Granted, I was working on getting the band together on my end, but this makes sense too. And this is *good*. As always, you have that reflective Way dynamic down cold. Though man, I want to hug them all.
So... Frank got captured? I was thinking about working the 'contemplation lane' tweet on in, and having him meet up with the others. Dunno though. Thoughts?
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Date: 2010-09-14 02:56 pm (UTC)Thank you! Well, it's an easy change to get Mikey going with Gerard and as Frank is a throw away line I can keep him on the move too.
Then you can get the band back together which would make me very happy. I'll stick to being mean to the Ways *g*
I think you should so jump on that tweet and get the guy back in the game. You're just the woman to do it.
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Date: 2010-09-14 03:36 pm (UTC)I think I have a plan... *is shifty*.
Oh, I fully support your being mean to the Ways plan. Amp up the angst! This AU demands it.
You are the best cheerleader, Terri. Or should I say instigator? ♥
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Date: 2010-09-14 04:23 pm (UTC)I will bring Ray to the fire and wait eagerly to hear your plan.
Also, delight in being given permission to amp up the angst.
I will never be sorry for encouraging you to write ♥
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Date: 2010-09-14 04:36 pm (UTC)Oh, if you have an idea about getting Ray there, then awesome, write him in. If not, leave it to me. Did you want to chat about plans or did you want to continue riffing off of each other?
Also, delight in being given permission to amp up the angst.
LOL. I thought you'd appreciate that. :D
And I will always be grateful. *hugs* You're the best.
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Date: 2010-09-14 05:33 pm (UTC)Whichever one is easiest for you. I'm enjoying this either way <3
A new ending. The start of togetherness I hope.
Mikey takes a leather water pouch out of his bag and unscrews the cap with a twist of his hand. Taking a sip he hands it to Gerard, says rapid fire words, each one glittering and fake, “I’ll be okay. Fucking zone six is up in flames and shit’s there for the taking.Crowds of gullible bastards ready to hand over their coin.”
The lip of the pouch is grainy, the water inside tepid and tasting of metal. Gerard swallows, says quietly, “Don’t.”
Mikey doesn’t pretend not to get it. He takes back the pouch and tucks it safe in his bag, then stands -- gaunt and golden as he holds out his hand. Reaching out Gerard links his un-bandaged fingers with Mikey’s and allows himself to be tugged to his feet. They stand still, facing each other and Gerard knows that right now Mikey isn’t seeing Dr Death Defying with his rallying message and wild plans. He’s seeing Gerard, Mikey’s big brother, his family and blood. Gerard’s missed being that man, and for the first time in forever he feels grounded, taking this stolen moment in the sun.
Mikey smiles, the slightest curl of his lips, and Gerard tightens his grip, his fingers clasping Mikey’s. “Come with me.”
It’s not what Gerard intended to say. He’s supposed to say yet another goodbye and walk into the distance, sand under his feet and dust in his hair. It’s what he planned, giving himself time to track Mikey, to be there for his birthday and then gone. It’s what Gerard does, he’s the voice in the darkness, the man in the shadows, his voice the rallying force in a world of chaos and pain.
Except. For all of Dr Death Defying’s followers, Gerard’s lonely. He misses his friends and his brother, and right now he doesn’t think he can let go.
“What about the plan,” Mikey says levelly, as if Gerard can’t remember Mikey’s blistering anger at Gerard insistence of them heading off alone. “I thought it was safer this way.”
Gerard clenches his bandaged hand, crispy skin crackling and pain flaring. He looks at the scar that curves along Mikey’s collar bone and the way that he twitches, as if even the act of standing still takes effort. It’s an all too visible reminder that Gerard’s plans didn’t work.
“Fuck safety,” Gerard says, and Mikey laughs, abrupt and bitter.
“Too right, sunshine, life’s in the shitter and we’ve all sold our souls to the devil. If we go down we go down screaming.”
“And we go down together,” Gerard says, and then adds as he thinks of his band, “Everyone together.”
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Date: 2010-09-13 09:18 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-09-13 09:34 pm (UTC)I can't imagine any world where Gerard wouldn't be there to say happy birthday.
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Date: 2010-09-14 06:59 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-09-14 07:36 am (UTC)I'm glad you liked!
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Date: 2010-09-20 08:00 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-09-20 12:40 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-09-13 02:02 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-09-13 02:10 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-09-13 03:41 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-09-13 04:41 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-09-13 04:53 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-09-13 06:02 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-09-13 08:32 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-09-13 09:06 pm (UTC)But your fuzzy guy has grown flowers! They are new, yeah? I'm not going crazy?
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Date: 2010-09-14 08:44 pm (UTC)This is an old icon, but I do have one without flowers as well so I might well have used that one before :-)
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Date: 2010-09-14 06:11 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-09-14 07:33 am (UTC)I have to admit, Dustverse has taken root in my mind, so maybe there will be more.
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Date: 2010-09-14 07:47 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-09-14 03:49 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-09-14 05:40 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-09-14 05:57 pm (UTC)And no /o\ to you writing more, I love what you've done and I'm very excited to read more!
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Date: 2010-09-20 07:43 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-09-20 12:24 pm (UTC)I really want an icon of Mikey and Gerard in all their killjoys glory. Sadly they don't stand close enough, but I'm sure it'll happen!
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Date: 2010-09-20 06:42 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-09-21 08:32 am (UTC)