It had been two weeks and 4 days since she woke up as a joke. Since she committed her last sin. Since she betrayed the last person. She vowed never to repeat it again, yet here she stood, the bustling and winding streets of Los Angeles, all alone, in the form of a human. Such form she didn’t know she could take. She was a monster. Not the helpful white bat young Crystal Rune found in the Everfree Forest in the jaws of a timber wolf. No. She wasn’t Nyx. But if she wasn’t who she thought she was, then who was she? Parts of her brain were screaming at the stupidity of her decision, while her instinct decided there was nothing better to do then to set off into the city, a place where she can start over, and not betray anyone again. With her dark makeup and neon green hair, the side-glances from strangers and whispers weren’t making this any easier. She heard every name being thrown at her, as if each word was a form of trash and she was the bin. Trying to run away from it was a childish thing to do. That, and she couldn’t. The big clock above the restaurant said 0:00 am. Nyx stopped in her tracks to stretch, yawning, then watching the warm inside of the restaurant with lust; she hadn’t had a bite to eat in a long while. As she was licking her lips, the familiar stings in her bottom lip appearing, her green eyes giving off a soft glow, her warm breath leaving a clouded stain on the clear glass windows. Soon, one of the waiters stormed outside. She had not noticed him, and when she turned to face the noise, she felt almost as if he would take her in and offer her a meal for free.
“Get lost, punk. Find another place to vandalize.” he waved his arm at her in disgust. Her eager smile turned to a sick, sad expression.
“I’m…I’m sorry…” she tried to make it up to him, putting her arms in front of her in a way proving she means no harm. The cold-hearted waiter didn’t give in. He crossed his arms.
“Get lost, or I’ll call the cops on you and they will take you to creature rehab.” Those words stung more than the cold fall wind on her delicate skin. She remained frozen. Shakingly, she brought up a bionic arm, gloved in leather, to her mouth feeling two fangs.
“I’m not a vampire…” she said softly, the words leaving behind a white fog in the air. The glow of her eyes gave in, forming round tears at each base. She let them fall like rain, running away from the restaurant, and trying to escape the horrible truth. Nyx ran until her legs could hold no longer. The abandoned shelter of a homeless man swayed softly in the wind, beckoning her to come in. She crawled inside the bigger cardboard box, hugging her knees tightly to her chest. This was the only situation she couldn’t get herself together in. Clearly, she was not a vampire. She didn’t have the fangs all the time and her attraction to blood or meat was limited. Every night in the cruel world made her regret her decision even more than the day before. She missed being Crystal’s pet bat, she missed helping her through her psychotic phase, and bringing her materials every time she built some new and quirky invention. She missed the feeling that brought her heart to life when Crystal fixed her wing ripped off by the timber wolf, replacing it with metal that did an even better job. She tugged the glove off of her bionic arm, wiggling the metal fingers in the darkness, feeling its coldness with her other hand. She threw her head back, hitting the soft wall of the box, letting more tears fall. She knew that her life as a bat was a game of pretend; a joke. She despised the fact that she had to find it out the hard way. Only a curse could change one’s form so dramatically. Oh, how she would do anything to find out who her real family was, and who placed this curse upon her. It’s gonna be okay…she grew up to a lulling symphony of those words. No memory of the owner of such a comforting sentence. The calm voice was repeating them, filling her up with echoey sounds. She rested her head on her knees, and slowly allowed slumber to take over her. She was ready to start the search again the next day. Becoming more bulletproof to the words and the bad impressions she was making by the second. Every time she got closer to a possible clue, the though of returning to the castle rushed back. Forget it. She’d think, what are the chances she will ever take me back anyway? Crystal was the most sensitive thing ever, complete with big tears that stained her dainty face deeply. The only tears Crystal hasn’t caused herself, but the only person, or bat, she had ever trusted entirely. Nyx understood the pain; she soon after felt it on her own skin. But unlike others, she couldn’t bear it! Sometimes all she ever wanted was just to be herself. And this wasn’t an issue of self-insecurity, but she was incapable of doing so. How can you be yourself if you have no idea who you are, what you are, and why you are here? It was even worse than waking up with amnesia. In fact that would have made Nyx’s situation much easier to bear, but erasing one’s memory was a sign of dark magic, such that only demons could perform. She wasn’t a demon either. There’s no such thing as a good demon anyway. If there was only a way to make people believe her without brainwashing of any sort. Helpless Nyx had tried every sort of potion shop, publishing her story to the witch in charge of it, explaining her symptoms, and trying to identify her species. None of them knew of any form of ‘bat curses’, mind that, or her funky species. If she hadn’t left the castle so rapidly, she was sure Crystal’s oldest sister would have some sort of book on unknown species or on bat spells. What if being a bat truly wasn’t a curse after all, what if it was her human form that was placed upon her to stir conflict and distract Crystal while a danger was ready to take the best from her. Otherwise she was caught inside this blurry glass case, she could see around her but she couldn’t see further. She couldn’t even sit on a bench without someone accusing her of doing or dealing drugs. What if all of this was just a bad dream inside a dream, and she would soon wake up clutching the bottom of her wooden stand with her claws, her wings wrapped securely around her. Dreams, as bad as they are, can’t hurt you as much as reality. She thought. She had been walking for a while that day. Reaching a port. She sat down on one of the edges, allowing her feet to dangle, barley reaching the water. She stared at her reflection intently; perhaps it was just an observation error that was the solution to all problems. The sky above was proving a white background, the weather not being necessarily cold as the night. It was silent apart from some footsteps and the water swishing. The footsteps quickened, getting louder, more joining into the symphony, certain voices were heard in the distance. Nyx listened, realizing there was nothing positive about the situation. Just as got up and spun on her heels, she was face-to-face to a familiar looking girl, just a little older than her. Now, there are many detailed and fancy descriptions of fire, but for this one it was simple: her hair. It flowed down to her waist in sturdy C shapes and despite its crackling and licking at the atmosphere, it didn’t affect her, or burnt her in other words. A glowing birthmark of a star, was attracting all the attention to her forehead. She was wearing a dark blue cloak, pinned up by her shoulder in such way that one would get a clear glimpse at the red one-piece and dark knee boots underneath. She adjusted her hat, a sly smirk spreading across her face.
“Hey.” She extended one arm, the sleeve of the cloak. There would be many words to describe her but friendly. Nyx hated judging people. She bit the inside of her cheek, hesitating to shake hands, “What’s wrong, pigtails? Cat’s got your tongue?” she sneered, chuckling soon after. Nyx flushed. If there wasn’t a deep body of water behind her, she’d casually turn and run away from this situation. “Name’s Ashton. What about yours?” she grinned. Nyx hesitated. She couldn’t say she was Nyx, for she wasn’t the white bat with the name meaning night because of irony. She thought for a second.
“Harlow. Name’s Harlow Blade.” She smirked back. Fragile, but not scared easily. Ashton glanced back warily. The voices were and foot steps were getting louder. She quickly shot Nyx a look implying she wasn’t done with her. “Good to know. See you around, pigtails…” she snickered, disappearing in a cloud of smoke. Almost as if she burned through the atmosphere. Interesting creature. There was something odd about her, but as soon as Nyx was putting the pieces of her puzzle together, six or seven SWAT agents invaded the port, looking everywhere until they locked their eyes on Nyx as if she was the target. She clutched her fists and gritted her teeth.
“She changed her form! There she is!” she heard them shout, approaching her. Ashton had set her up, for crimes that hadn’t belonged to her. Very smooth. Nyx thought. She barley even met the girl and her true side showed up.
“Confess of threatening to vandalize and cause murder by the restaurant ‘L.A Nights’, vampire.” Or not. The tip of the gun was leaving a mark on her forehead already. Nyx gulped. The only way she could prove herself right is to show them through her actions. She wasn’t given a chance to in this situation, and boy was she tired of being called that.
“For the last time. I’m. Not. A. Vampire!” she screamed, struggling from their grip. No success. She tugged left and right, though the gun had not budged any inch away from her forehead and the agents did not look the least pleased. She gave up, panting, her glare glowing bright, her fangs on full display. This time…I won’t hold it down. Her back gave off an unbearable pain. She shriveled forward, letting her ears extend and her nose to morph. Two bony and shattered-looking wings shot from her back, still dripping with gore, slapping the officers holding her back across their face, their guns dropping; choosing surprise over combat. She screamed, her palms pressing onto the cold cement. Choking back another storm of tears, she bit her tongue and rose up, hiccupping under her breath. Were they…scared of her? Without wasting more time to question the strange happening, Nyx took off running, daring not to look back. She needed to consult the supernatural energy of the Everfree forest. She needed to never be found by those guys again. Perhaps she would find that timber wolf. She had never run so fast in her life, trying to avoid crowds or any other agents of that matter. Her wings making her feel lighter, yet heavier at the same time. She avoided glancing at her reflection as well. For to bear all that pain to morph into an even bigger freak than you were before, and simply glance in a mirror to observe what you have become would simply shatter that mirror. Along with your heart. After running for what seemed like a lot of ground to cover, Nyx stopped in an alley, leaning on the wall and trying to steady her breath.
“Hey pigtails,” a familiar voice from behind her sneered. She didn’t need to turn around to know it was no other than Ashton.
“Get lost.” Nyx snarled. Ashton didn’t change her present, not even slightly to turn to leave. She tapped her on her shoulder. Nyx gave in and turned to her sharply.
“Looking for this?” Ashton grinned, waving an arm in front of her face, the space being replaced with a levitating mirror. What Nyx saw…she couldn’t run away from. She couldn’t keep staring either. She growled at the grim reflection in front to her, the negative energy shattering the mirror, leaving Ashton with a shocked expression.
“Stop following me.” Nyx said simply, pushing her out of the way and continuing her path towards the forest. Roads were getting steeper, and narrower, somehow obstacles seemed to be appearing in Nyx’s way as if someone was customizing an obstacle course based on her escape. Finally, the cement streets became soft, moist, and green. The energy swirled around her, her heartbeats quickening, a small smile growing. The forest had been her favorite place as a child. Grinning at the calm and creepy path of the fairy forest ahead of her, she spread her wings, flapping a couple times, and maneuvering through the trees with ease, snaking in a couple tricks, letting trills of laughter escape her from time to time. Her spirit lead her to the closed in meadow where she would come regularly, to take in more wise energy and embrace the magic of enchanted nature. The happiness giving off a rewarding stab in her limbs, her wings, ears, and nose disappearing, Nyx flopping down onto a pile of leaves under a maple tree, sending the brown and orange butterflies of leaves dancing around her. She was laughing so hard it seemed unhealthy. She giggled to a stop, snuggling to the pile of leaves still beneath her. Nyx felt around her, until she discovered the grassy covering. She pulled out an old acoustic guitar, running along its smoothness with her bionic arm. As a bat, she had always had a passion for music. Crystal had built her a bat-sized guitar, but it was the real thing Nyx had yearned for the real thing all along. Her following birthday, Crystal had created her a real-sized guitar that could change from acoustic to electric without requiring an amplifier. It had become her prized possession since, and built a special place for it in the meadow she claimed to be her muse. She let her fingers be caught, emitting a minor chord.
“Well I’m not a vampire, but I feel like one…sometimes I sleep all day because I hate the sun…” she sand softly. Pleased with her little verse, she strummed harder, “I’m insane, well I can feel it in my bones; coursing through my veins, when did I become so cold?” she made her song take a turn into a powerful solo, her hands gliding up the neck of the guitar skillfully, pushing down in all the right places. Her eyes gave off a satisfactory glow, her fangs reappearing, but that was about it. If she could live out here and play music for the rest of her life, she wouldn’t have to deal with bloodshot eyes, strange side glances, unwanted assumptions, and worst of all dangerously dark alleys. But she couldn’t. Nyx had to take her heart in her teeth and solve the enigma that had been hunting her for the whole of her life: who was she? She placed down her guitar carefully as the thought that the goodness was limited, and she’d be forced to return back to the city. She sighed, not really being the type to procrastinate, she anyways laid down in her leaves, turning away from her guitar almost as if she was doing it in shame. A frustrated teardrop left a light smudge in her messy make up. Scrunching her eyes shut, she gritted her teeth, forcing her scarred self into slumber. It’s gonna be okay…the voice returned, putting out all the flames inside Nyx’s soul. Temporarily at least. The phoenix family above her providing the warmth she needed in order to have a comfortable night. It almost felt as a 7 star hotel should feel like. It would have been even better if Crystal had been there. There was no going back to the past. Nyx woke up early the following morning, a pile of berries neatly stacked next to her bed of nature. Hunger beating her curiosity of how they got there and who placed them there, Nyx dug her way through the berries quickly, ending up satisfied for the first time in possibly forever. She stretched carefully so her only leather garments wouldn’t break at the seams. Just to be safe, and never miss music as much as she had, Nyx decided to take her guitar along, especially if she had stalkers. She made her way back to the city passing through the White Tail Woods. This time Nyx had her subconscious set on finding clues about her self. No matter how minor they would be. And if not a clue, perhaps a safe place to stay in or a way to collect money and hold herself alive until she’d find a vivid source of clues and hints. She had reached a part of the city she had never seen before; unlike the bustling city filled with lights and modern buildings coated in thin layers of dust, this part looked deteriorated, broken, and almost abandoned. The further she got, the poorer the buildings became. From golden, fancy and exclusive restaurants, to shacks and pubs meant for the ruffians of the streets most likely. It wasn’t the strange landscape that struck Nyx, but the huge hotel in front of her. The sign was hanging lopsidedly, reading in dusty and broken calligraphic letters ‘Darrington Inn’. Nyx could almost see the success this place must’ve had…in fact she could see the success this little part of the city must’ve had. It was almost saddening; as if it had taken a drastic change. Nyx oddly related to it. A happy town, a rotten outcome. Curiously, she cracked open the door to the hotel, leaving fingerprints on the glass. A sudden thumping was heard, slowly turning into a faded beat. Nyx listened so intently, she almost shrieked at the sound of the door closing behind her. The reception was dark and grim, the once lit-up chandelier hanging by weak wires from the worn out celling. The thumping got louder as she looked around the halls of the first floor, paintings of significant figures displayed askew, often times tilted and ripped. She passed by the elevator just as it dinged, announcing its arrival to the floor. She gasped, pushing her back to the wall, clutching her guitar for protection. Out of the elevator stumbled two girls, tipsy and most likely drunk. Looking rather similar to Nyx, one had half her hair shaved, leaving the rest in a wild, bright red mess, the other had a large bleu Mohawk. Either way, they looked as if they mistook their faces for pin cushions and washed their hair in hairspray. They wore the same dark makeup as Nyx, as well as clothes, one would say. They both straightened up, or terribly attempting to, and nodded at Nyx.
“And what are you doing here?” the red-head slurred, smiling sheepishly at Nyx, “The party’s down there!” she pointed a tipsy finger to the ground, laughing as if that was the most hilarious joke she had ever made. The blue-head rolled her eyes and shoved her.
“Excuse her, she can be an idiot sometimes. What she meant to say is that performers should make their way down for the gig.” She motioned to Nyx’s guitar, “You play, right?” Nyx nodded.
“Yeah, for quite a while actually. Never performed in front of a crowd before…” giving it some thought, the gig didn’t seem like a bad idea at all…perhaps she could even gain money if she won.
“Sweet. Perhaps you can show them what you got. Would love to see that six-string in action.” She jutted her chin at the Nyx’s guitar again. Nyx grinned.
“Looking forward to it. I’m Harlow Blade.” She extended her bionic arm to perhaps make acquaintances.
“Wow! That’s so messed up!” red-head slurred again, gaping madly at the robotic structure of Nyx’s right arm.
“I’m Rox, and that’s Scar.” Mohawk spoke up, rolling her eyes again. Nyx noticed the sides of hear head; tattoos of music with a deep meaning behind them probably. Rox had two drum sticks shoved in her side pocket, and unlike most drumsticks that get replaced usually by every performance, those looked special.
“You play too?” Nyx wondered.
“Sure she does! Rox bangs the shit out of drums every night!” Scar piped in. This time she didn’t roll her eyes, but smiled.
“Yeah, I’m sort of decent…” Rox admits humbly.
“Oh. My. Chemical. Romance! We should tots start a band!” Scar squeals. Nyx’s eyes widen
“Great idea! Guys wanna play together?”
“Well, we’re gonna have to eventually…” in a blur of time, Nyx was being dragged onto the spotlight with Rox and Scar. Scar took her stance at the microphone and Rox gave her an assuring glance from behind the drum sets. This was it. The empty hotel hall was filled with punks with allover, loud and impatient, waiting for music. With a switch of a button, Nyx began strumming whatever came to her mind, just to find that Scar was naturally making up lyrics, Rox hooking them with what sounded like some difficult pattern of rhythm. They synchronized as if they had been rehearsing the song for months. Nobody realized their last minute impromptu song. Once Nyx brought it home with her solo, she stopped thinking about her fangs or glowing eyes, despite them being on full display in front of people who could be making assumptions and judging her with every chord she strummed. She swung her guitar on her back, and jumped off the stage, following Rox and Scar’s lead. She felt like a rock star; it felt as if she was finally being appreciated for who she was…was that it? Nyx froze. In the middle of her tracks. A smile spreading wildly across her face. This was it then. One clue down: she was a performer. She stayed there, stupid smile and all, letting self-achievement and light fill her insides until Scar started waving her hands in front of Nyx’s lost face.
“Um…dude, are you alright?” she heard a confused Rox say, as soon as her focus shifted back to reality.
“Yes!” she shrieked, smiling, “yes, yes, yes, yes!” gathering them up into a surprise group hug, jumping up and down and spinning around. Stirring up more confusion between them, as well, that is. However Rox and Scar shrugged it off, ushering Nyx to the bar where all the most likely stolen liquor was, to toast their musical victory. She had never placed her lips upon a glass of alcohol before, but watching her new soul mates, so to speak, enjoying its taste so entirely and have a good time was causing an impossible atmosphere for her to refuse such offer. She lifted a bottle from the counter, reading it slowly, her hand shaking knowing that was a sin. ‘Tequila’ it read. She brought the bottle to her lips, tilting it slightly, taking a proper taste from it. She coughed at the way it burned its way down her intestines, leaving her wondering how the others could handle it as if it was water. She took yet another sip, this time feeling as if it was salt she was rubbing in the burned wounds the last gulp left. She slowly placed the bottle on the counter, the room suddenly spinning in all directions, her head feeling as if it fell on broken glass. Some pasty substance was crawling its way slowly up her throat but she couldn’t spit it out. Her eyelids protested, gluing themselves shut, revealing a black curtain before Nyx’s eyes. Everything around her was soft. However it felt too soft. So soft and comforting it hurt, both her head and her stomach. Almost as if she was laying down on ‘soft’ pebbles. When the glue of fatigueness faded from her eyes, she let the dim light of a bulb fade into her range of view. Rox and Scar were standing over her, concerned expressions on both of their faces. Soon to be crossed with reviled looks that is. Nyx failed at attempting to stand up, the similar spinny feeling from last night returning to the room, the agonizing throbbing of her head returning shortly. She groaned, spitting at the sordid taste her mouth decided to provide.
“Where…where am I?” great. Nyx thought, I have just added to my enigma.
“Home!” Scar giggled excitedly, while Rox was shoving a large glass of milk into Nyx’s face.
“Drink. It cures hangovers.” She instructed. Nyx took a small sip, this time aware of how much to drink, moving it around in her mouth; hoping to wash the putrid taste away. It worked slightly, and she stood up, looking around. What Rox called ‘home’ was a room, belonging to the hotel and equally as old and as beat up. The furniture was only one couch and two mattresses, the cupboards and closets have been tightly wrapped in bubble wrap, clearly implying not to disturb their state because they are uselessly fragile. Despite its simplicity, it appeared to be doing its job as a home pretty well.
“Nice…place…” Nyx slurred softly.
“I know right? And since you’re here too, me and Rox though you should live with us!” Scar smiled, as if deciphering people on severe hangovers was something she could do with her eyes closed. Rox nodded in approval.
“If you want to, that is. No pressure.” Her words echoed even more than the lullaby that speaks to Nyx every night. She rested the glass on the floor and laid back down, groaning, rubbing at the pain in her temples but only making it worse. Not because of the overly kind offer. She would do anything to be in the city but not sleep out on the streets in some sort of uncomfortable temporary shelter. In fact, living with Rox and Scar would be perfect.
“Too soon?” Scar blinked at an unamused Rox innocently.
“What do you think, dipshit? You can’t just overwhelm people with hangovers like that, especially first-timers like her!” Rox pushed scar rather roughly, she splattered onto the floor next to Nyx, laughing as if that was their form of tickling.
“That would be a great idea….guys…” Nyx managed to say after a minute or so of Scar’s mad, nonstop laughter, “I don’t really have anywhere else to go…” that statement even stopped Scar from laughing.
“What do you mean?” She sat up, balancing forward slightly on her hands. There was absolutely no instinct or feeling or anything that made Nyx happy upon discussing the topic. She was not willing to either. A hurt look that had nothing to do with her throbbing skull caused her face to scrunch.
“Look, if we’re gonna go ahead and swap life stories, I think I should have dibs on going first.” Rox spoke up, noticing Nyx’s reaction. She took a deep breath, and allowed the story to cascade from her mouth.
“I was 12 when I decided that music was my life and that everything I ever wanted to do was linked somehow to music. I was playing drums in the school band even before that, and pretty much lived up to a rep. of being a popular and great drummer.”
“Yes you did! Yes you did!” Scar gushed.
“Don’t interrupt me.” Rox snapped, “As I was saying, once I hit the age of 12 I knew drumming was…my destiny! The school band wasn’t really giving me much freedom in creating rhythm patterns and usually the songs we played…wouldn’t be something I would necessarily l listen to now…or even showcase and play to the world. So I decided to quit school and become a rouge. Which…well it was pretty dumb of me; I was a fugitive at the age of 13, with no money or shelter, mind that or food. Sadly enough, my family hadn’t even bothered to look for me. That would’ve made sense…all that was left of my family was my father, who was an alcoholic, and well…abused a lot. When I left I wanted to reconstruct myself…start over. That is when I got this baby…” she stroked her Mohawk proudly, “bright blue n’ bold! And these things?” she motioned to her tattoos, “When I got the Mohawk, it looked pretty bad; the places where you see cool tattoos and designs were the places of scars that abuse has left me with, and had somehow formed a pattern which I soon designed into tattoos from. I’ve used drumming as a way to reserve my anger, stress, frustration and passion all at once, that’s why Scar doesn’t lie when she says I ‘bang the shit out of drums’. I discovered this place a year later. I’ve met people…” she sighed deeply, “who either died of overdose or moved on. I lived off of performing, hopping from band to band but not moving my place.”
“And…a year later….you met me!” Scar exclaimed enthusiastically. Rox rolled her eyes, smiling though,
“That’s right! Then I met Scarlett Madeline Van Proben.” She sneered. For the first time Scar did not look amused, “But even though her name sounds completely regal and I should probably stay away from her life story otherwise she’s going to jump at me, Scarlett over here prefers you call her Scar…or else…” Rox chuckled at the evil glare she was casually receiving from Rox.
“Wait, so…how come you’re who you are yet you have the name of some royalty?” Nyx chuckled, the fact that stories can be almost as bad as hers helping her hangover ease slowly. Scar rolled her eyes.
“I come from a noble family, but I’ve always hated that life. The singing lessons I took were too disciplinary and oh so…terrible! I didn’t even require singing lessons, when I can be up on stage singing whatever hits my mind and forming it as a strong opinion.” She summarized shortly. Clearly she dreaded bringing up this topic. Ruined her image of a punk.
“What about you, Har?” Rox nodded at Nyx. Her heart froze. She knew her turn to pour out her heart would come.
“Well…it’s kind of a long story.” She said quickly.
“Oh goodie! Long stories are my favorite.” Scar smirked. There was no way out of this.
“I used to be bat…then I turned into this.” She motioned to her human form, that statement really got their attention, “I was princes Crystal Rune’s pet, believe it or not. Afterall, I did owe her everything after she found me in the jaws of the timber wolf in the Everfree Forest when I was a baby. This?” she took the glove off of her bionic arm, “This was the left wing that had been torn off when the wolf had clasped its teeth around me. Crystal had repaired it for me so I could fly again, and I suppose it stuck. If you want a story about me…I’m sorry but it’s hard to stay honest. That’s the main reason why I’m here in the city: I want to find out who I am! Hell, I don’t even know if my name is Harlow or fucking Nyx!” her eyes were giving off a soft glow, outlining the words of despair coming from her mouth. Of course, soon enough, her fangs aroused as well. “And please,” she sniffled, “don’t call me a vampire and accuse me of wanting to cause harm. Because…” turns out she wasn’t over the fact that she had betrayed Crystal so badly, “because leaving someone in pain is the last thing I want to do!” she used that as an excuse to dissolve into tears, little neon green droplets smudging yet even more of her eyeliner in tiny streaks down her face. Rox and Scar didn’t have the same reaction others would have had. They exchanged looks, then waited for Nyx’s fit to be over.
“Look, unlike the rest of the world, this place is for people like us. The minute you leave, you won’t be putting us in pain but yourself. There is no way anyone can throw you out.” Rox spoke up.
“Besides vampires are totally awesome!” Scar smiled comfortingly, but just hearing that word slip out of her mouth was driving Nyx insane. Rox glared at her, “what? They are to me!”
“This only happens when I get a strong feeling of something. And when I get angry…” Nyx sighed, “I turn into a monster. Not by killing people…by simply being myself.”
“They’re gonna clean up your looks, with all the lies in the books, to make a citizen out of you…” Scar sang, drifting off.
“Because they sleep with a gun and keep an eye on you, son so they watch all the things you do...” Rox chimed in. Nyx recognized the song.
“Because the drugs never work, they're gonna give you a smirk 'cause they got methods of keeping you clean!” Nyx finished. They laughed, as if that song had been the explanation to all their issues and concerns about the overly judging society outside the safety of their broken-down hotel.
“There ya go!” Rox winked, “Scar knows exactly what we’re talkin’ about. Even if it’s in the form a My Chemical Romance song.”
“Speaking of songs, we have to participate in the band battle tomorrow night. It’s the biggest event and if we win, which I know we will, our band will get so much admiration!” suggested Scar enthusiastically.
“I’d be up for a little competition; but we don’t have a title to be known under…” Nyx tapped her chin in thought.
“I’ve been thinking about that and I’ve always wanted to be in a band called ‘Death by Dolls.’ You know?” Rox admitted. Scar smiled,
“I’m in! Nyx?”
“Hell yeah!” Nyx laughed.
The spotlights were deflecting glittery illusions in the corners of Nyx’s eyes. The whole room was packed; Scar wasn’t lying when she said this was one of the biggest events of the year. The competition had been tough on them too. Every word sang; every chord being strummed drove the crowd insane; and it was true for all bands. As they got on stage at last, Nyx’s gaze shifted to the judges sitting patiently in the front row. One had an orange trihawk and heavy sleeves of tattoos up his arms, one had shaggy black hair that covered his eyes, but behind strands of thick hair you could see his lip rings and eyeliner heavier than Nyx’s. Then, sitting in the lap of the one with dark hair, stood a hot pink-haired girl, her bangs covering one eye, and her long straight hair was pulled back in two low pigtails. She was wearing the skimpiest ‘punk’ outfit one could ever find, complete with a huge pair of pink headphones resting casually around her neck. She seemed to be having a great time, rocking out to the music, and smiling friendly at the competitors who just have stepped onto the stage. She has done so with them.
“Next we have….Death by Dolls, performing a cover of hmm…Let Yourself Go, from Green Day! Well, guys, I’m out, I think we have a winner!” She cheered. They flushed, not commenting back, and launched straight into song, Nyx playing violently and on beat at the same time; exactly what made a good punk song a good punk song. She even let her ‘powers’ go even wilder this time, hence the song. The judges seemed to be approving of their choice and performance as well. Since they had waited to be the last number, ‘so they can see why you save the best for last’ according to Rox, they didn’t have to wait much until they selected a winner. The pink-haired judge sashayed onto stage, the pulse throbbing in Nyx’s eardrums as the winner speech was being made. She fiddled with envelope which enheld the money and the name of the winning band.
“Now, I wanna say that, that was the best concert ever!” She squealed loudly, causing everyone to wince, “but well, as you may know, I can only pick one winner, and because I hate suspense I’m gonna just say congratulations to Lonely Glitch!” She turned around to give the hardcore boy band a flirtatious wink, “well done guys! I’m Theme Song, and this has been Punk Battle Xtreme! See you next year!” she hugged each one of their members, handing the lead singer the envelope, and hopping off stage in the storm of applause. Nyx, Rox, and Scar had the most blank facial expressions ever. They trudged their high-platformed feet back-stage, in shame, similar to all of the other bands.
“It’s my fault, I totally stretched the vocals and it threw Har off.” Scar said in a low, guilty tone, looking down.
“Don’t worry Scar, I think I didn’t even have good grip on those chords up there.” Nyx sighed, disappointed in herself.
“Well a song needs rhythm in order to be good, and because of my incompetent lack of rhythm look what we’ve done!” Rox spat, throwing her drumsticks randomly in rage. “Let’s hit the bar before I end up eating one of those so-called ‘punkers’ who claimed our prize.” Rox hissed, already making heavy steps towards the direction of the bar. Nyx and Scar followed behind, still in deep dismay. The crowd was filling up the lobby so much, Nyx lost Scar into the crowd soon. Since she found it impossible to make her way even at least another two meters in the room of sardines, she tried to nudge her way towards the door and take the hidden entrance to the bar. She pushed the squeaky door open, gasping at the crisp air outside, sending chills of relief down her spine. She recognized the pink judge, being pinned to the wall by the dark haired one, viciously making-out without interruption. When she saw Nyx, her eyes widened, and pulled away.
“Hey you!” she pointed, walking up to her. Nyx stopped and turned around, giving her a dull expression. “Look I know you’re upset your band didn’t win, but it was hard enough for me as is to become one of the judges. If they let me pick the winner…well I’d have to sleep with…” she motioned to the guy she had just been kissing discreetly, then shuddered in disgust, “this band battle thing…I wanted you to know the judging isn’t fair. The only reason they won was because they shared a premium joint with Axel and Jace! At least, I think that’s the reason.” She spoke quickly in a low voice. Axel was lighting up a cigarette, puffing desperately the numerous chemicals into his lungs with pleasure. “I’m Theme Song, founder and co-Founder of the music production company, magazine, and radio station MyMusic Teenz!”she pulled out a business card out of what seemed like her fluorescent bra, handing it happily to Nyx, who smiled sympathetically but shook her head, refusing to take them. Theme rolled her eyes and smiled, and shook her hand instead.
“I’m Harlow Blade.” She was a little surprised at Theme’s sudden energy.
“I know! I’m a huge fan of music; and I always remember good musicians like you!” she ruffled Nyx’s hair playfully.
“Great…” she tried fixing it back.
“Well, cool then. If your band ever needs support of any kind…you know, like stage costumes, eyeliner, new instruments, gigs, boyfriends…” she faded off, “I’m your girl!” Theme winks, giving Nyx the air guns, then waving, and returning back to an impatient looking Axel. Looking down at her leather glove, she noticed that Theme somehow had scrawled the information on her business card onto her glove in a pink glittery ink. She smiled; at the same time feeling bad for judging her without knowing her true generosity. Her band could have really benefited from the offer, however she feared it would count as cheating; that was what Theme said about show business after all. She made her way into the bar which was surprisingly empty, sliding into the seat in the booth between Rox and Scar who were playing some sort of rhythm drinking game. Rox was winning.
“Har! Nice of you to show! What are you getting?” Rox laughed, consuming down a blue liquid out of a small glass.
“Aw man! You obviously heated, you dipshit!” Scar revolted, knocking over her glass accidentally, letting the liquid drip to the floor.
“Guys. You won’t believe who I just met outside!” Nyx didn’t want to wait past the drunkenness to share the news.
“Jimmy Hendrix’s ghost?” Rox laughed, Scar joining in soon. Nyx rolled her eyes.
“No, but something miraculous.” They didn’t stop laughing. “Listen, will you!” she roared, her fangs flashing, freezing them in shock. Nyx as well, had no clue where that came from.
“Woah...sorry, that was childish of me. Who did you meet outside?” Rox placed her empty glass on the table, giving Nyx the desired attention, Scar did the same only still speechless.
“I…I’ll be upstairs.” Nyx said, her eyes clouding up. Stay tough, crumbling is pathetic. “S-s-see ya...” she spun around and slalomed through the crowd, throwing herself at the stairs, desperate to hear the handle of the door lock behind her. She was pacing inside the room like a lion in a cage. Quickly, anxiously, hyperventilating, knowing what the overload of feelings would bring to her, knowing that within moments she’d be lying on the floor in a puddle of her own sorry gore, wings sprawled out brokenly, fangs bighting into the wooden floor. There was no escape from that. She sat down on her mattress hugging her knees, trying to focus on anything but transforming, or feeling in her case. It’s gonna be okay, it’s gonna be okay, it’s gonna be okay. For the first time those words came quickly, aggressively, trying to harm her rather than comfort her; like bullets of a machine gun. They were getting louder, hurting her even more. She felt her back ache, as if two edges of a knife were trying to push out of her skin. It’s gonna be okay, it’s gonna be okay. Demanding comfort, and respect.
“Stop! Stop! Make it stop!” Nyx grasped her head, not uncurling from the little, weak ball she created, rolling around on her mattress, screaming, kicking at the pain. The trampling of boots outside the hallway was as audible to her as summer rain dripping from a window. The volume of the ringing of the words got higher and higher. The door slapped the wall loudly, Rox scampered inside, her facial expression looked ready to feed payback to anyone, and feed it painfully. Her expression softened a little, and both her and Scar kneeled down next to Nyx.
“Harlow! Calm down! What happened?!” she was trying to scream over Nyx, but nothing could beat pleas of pain. One wing shot out of her back, blood splattering over Scar’s face, she backed up a little just to see the other one spring out.
“I’m not okay!” Nyx screamed, “Leave me be!” her fingernails extending feeling as if someone were pulling them out one by one with hot tongs. She was bighting down her tongue to calm her screaming, but it only made it worse, she sputtered saliva-coated blood onto the mattress, her ears and nose extending and changing shape. With the last stretch, the pain faded. Not drastically, nor spontaneously. She felt able to get up this time. Shaking drastically, she managed to force her organism to stand up. She was panting in a scattered pattern, Scar paler than before apart from the blood stains on her face. Rox looked as if she was tyring hard to have the situation under control.
“Look, Nyx…whatever you are, you need to breathe. Take deep breaths, it’s gonna be oka-“
“No! Don’t you even go there!” Nyx screamed, covering her ears.
“Nyx calm down. I’m not trying to hurt you.”
“But I’m sure you think I am!” she replied snappingly.
“No, no we aren’t. Nyx you can’t over feel things.” She knew it wasn’t the fact that they didn’t listen that caused it. It was the trigger, but not the cause. Nyx was a nervous wreck before going up on stage. Performing gave her adrenalin. Nyx found out that was one of the dangerous feelings. Then the assuring feeling she had felt when she met Theme, that had also been rather powerful. After she approached Rox and Scar she was emotionally unstable even though she was in a good mood. She had been on the verge of this all this time and she wasn’t aware of it. Just what kind of species caused you so much pain for being normal?!
“It’s not that...” she gulped, gasping at the sudden pain as one wing contracted into her and disappearing quickly. “I think…I think it was because of adrenalin, and insecurity!” she cried, the other wings doing the same.
“Wait…so this has happened before?” Rox asked, referring to the messy state she was in.
“Every time…every time I felt a strong pattern of emotions.” She grimaced as each nail became normal.
“I’ve never met anyone more emotionally unstable than myself.” Scar said in a small voice.
“Yeah, Scar’s right…your symptoms are unlike any form of personality disorder, and this? Now this whole transformation-glowy-eyes thing isn’t normal either.”
“Thanks for…stating the obvious…Rox…” Nyx grasped her ears as they shrunk and edited their shape.
“No, I’m not stating the obvious, Nyx, I’m putting the pieces together!” Rox protested, “And you, my friend, would be better off seeing a therapist.”
“No one else must know about this otherwise they’d place me on the pedistool of being one of the largest dangers to society.” Nyx said in a low voice. Rox nodded curtly.
“But, isn’t telling someone else better? Like, an expert? Aren’t you just as curious to find out what you are as me?” Scar inquired.
“I’ll have to admit that no matter how much I hate it. Yes, Scar, I really want to find out what I am. But I have a theory to the reason of why I have become what I have become.” She began, watching their intrigued expressions, “I think that my current form is due to a curse. I mean, how would remembering nothing before my bat state be explicable if my human form just occurred out of nothing?”
“Wait. Let me get this straight. You think that someone has cursed you to become human?”
“Yes! That’s it!” Nyx pointed at Rox enthusiastically, “That’s just it! It must be it!” She was smiling, pleased with herself that she had at last found out the reason. Well at least that was one clue down for sure. But then…if that was the case, why has she left Crystal instead of questioning her for the antidote? This made even less sense than her theory itself.
“So…who do you think cursed you?” Scar tilted her head, combing down her messy hair with her fingers but didn’t really succeed much.
“Yeah, and can we get revenge upon them?” Rox cracked her knuckles and practiced a couple punches through the air, looking a tad too violent to the inexistent people. Nyx and Scar exchanged strange glances. “What? It’s like, animal cruelty, right?” Nyx grinned, wiggling the fingers of her bionic arm.
“I’ll have you know, having arms separate to wings is weird.” Scar and Rox chuckled, “And these things you guys call fingers! The dexterity of these sticks attached to my hands is simply horrible!” Nyx exclaimed in fake despair, causing more laughter.
“Wow, now, let’s be careful with how happy we feel…” Rox stopped abruptly, eyeing Nyx warily, who waved her off.
“It’s usually the negative or dangerous emotions!”
“Oh, like the restless heart syndrome?” Scar questioned. Nyx had no idea what that was, yet she still shrugged, nodding in agreement.
“Alright, bedtime suckers.” Rox checked the small blue digital clock; not having its specific place, just hanging out on the floor all alone. Nyx swore that there was something even about the architecture and the whole idea of everything being alone, broken, and out of place, adding a mysterious touch to them; she felt a connection with every object, every building, heck, every brick in the wall said something to her. Of course, they weren’t building blocks to a clear pathway of self-discovery, but weirdly, Nyx felt just like them.
“Bedtime? Who are you, my mom?” Scar sneered, poking out her tongue.
“No. But we’re starting fresh tomorrow. I wanna show Nyx where I go for inspiration.” Rox retorted.
“Ooh! Where’s that?” Scar wonders enthusiastically. Nyx gave an intrigued look at Rox as well.
“The ‘bawogas.’” Rox said with a smirk, that word seemed alien to Nyx; and she figured it most likely was code for some other term or even terms.
“Oh yeah!” Scar seemed to have remembered the special moment when Rox brought her there, “The bowagas! I love that place!” Scar fangirled, “Don’t forget your vats then!”
“Not even planning on it. Got new packs and I’m excited to try em’ out.” She gestured her thumb towards a small, suspicious dark bag leaning against the wall. Nyx felt her pupils contract. She knew there would be a time when she would get drunk, but she vowed never to do drugs. Mind that, she never even expected Rox and Scar to be like that at all! Her gaze shifted back to them suspiciously. Rox shrugged almost innocently.
“What’s the problem?” Scar grinned. Betraying them was already crossing the line. Besides, Nyx trusted them with her deepest, darkest secret in the first place. She shrugged, unsure of how to continue the conversation safely. She simply laid down giving the signal that she was tired and indeed was following Rox’s order to hit the hay. The voices have not visited her that night. She spent half of it tossing herself about, feeling so cold no blanket could warm. She was forced into sleep by her tiredness who took no more of staying up. Whatever will be will be. It was around 6:00 am when a toxic smell entered the room. She woke up coughing drily at the odor, covering her mouth and nose in her hands.
“What…what the hell?!” she grumbled tiredly, he vision still blurry to the light. A sudden movement was seen and a zipper was heard quickly.
“Sorry, I can be really impatient sometimes.” Rox laughed nervously. Scar woke up calmly as if no commotion had ever happened. She nodded at them both, getting up with a long yawn and stretch, holding out her hand to Nyx, to help her up. Nyx took it, dragging herself to her feet.
“To the bowagas!” Nyx pointed ‘excitedly’ at the door.
“You mean the bawogas.” Rox corrected, swinging the strap of the suspicious bag over her shoulder.
“And those are the vats.” Scar pointed to the bag in such way it looked as if she was presenting a historical monument of great importance. Nyx nodded slowly. “Hey Rox, how we gonna get there?”
“Simple.” Rox smirked, unlocking the door without looking back at them. “We take Harley.”
“Hold up, I though Harley didn’t cooperate anymore.” All of this code-talk was making Nyx more anxious, and by each new term she had to assure herself that everything will be safe and that whatever happens it will be okay.
“Sure she does. I’ve done some fix-ups when you spent the night at Ryder’s.” Scar cringed, clearly that being one of the embarrassing sins. They were climbing down so many steps, Nyx felt like it took just one more flight to take them straight into the underworld. A large room that was most likely 95% gray concrete lay silent, their boots drumming on the ground. The same crisp air from outside invaded the place, causing them to rattle in coldness like an earthquake. Laying against one of the thick, gray columns, an electric blue motorcycle was holding it’s balance with the aid of the wall. Only it would be a sin to have it called a motorcycle. That model was definitely a proper, hardcore road bike. Black designs had been carefully brushed onto the sides, and the many pipes were glistening in silver, despite the lack of pretty much any form of light.
“Harlow meet Harley, Harley meet Harlow.” Rox grinned at her handy work. Scar smiled as brightly as Harley’s silver pipes.
“Ooh! Nice and artsy!” she exclaimed, running a finger over the smooth designs.
“Now that’s more like it!” Nyx smirked, “Makes all the other bikes look weaker than they think they are. Kind of like you, Rox.” Rox shrugged as if she couldn’t help it, and kicked the stand that was pushing it against the wall and threw her legs over it, seating herself in what seemed like a not very comfortable seat.
“Hop on, Har!” She took off the bag and handed it to Scar. Nyx sat down obediently; one couldn’t simply argue with a badass with a blue mowhawk, over ten piercings, and a roadbike after all. She had always had the secret desire to ride a motorcycle, and this was far beyond her wish. She hopped on, wrapping her arms around Rox’s waist for support, soon Scar did the same to her. Harley began purring, then roaring so well, it sounded as spot on and perfect as Scar’s singing. Soon they were off, hair flying carelessly around, enjoying the freedom of speed on an open road. Rox was as good a rider as she was a drummer. She was defiant, quick, agile, and wasn’t afraid of going all in on the drifts. The traffic wasn’t very promising despite the early hour, and for a long while they have ridden through modern, populated, landscapes; unlike the ones they were used to. The vauge excuse for buildings (caused by the speed, of course) were getting smaller, cement blocks smeared in graffiti arose instead. Taking an almost impossible sharp turn down an alley, the sudden break Rox pushed almost threw them off the bike.
“Behold,” she said proudly, leaning the bike against the back of the building behind them, “the bawogas.” In front of them was a massive wall, almost covered in words. Words used in a form of street art, similar to the designs around Rox’s mowhawk, and on Harley. Nyx gaped at the design. Then she remembered this was the safe place they got high in. She rushed over to Scar who was holding the bag, and unzipped it, ready to prove them guilty of carrying drugs, when instead she found ten colorful cans of spray, still in their neat packaging, organized just as neatly according to their colors.
“But…I don’t understand! Where are the ‘vats’ ?” she asked Rox, who shook her head, motioning to the cans.
“Those are the vats.” Scar said as if it was obvious.
“Those aren’t the vats. They aren’t pills!” Nyx exclaimed, frustrated at the confusion around her.
“Oh, Har!” Rox giggled, “it’s not that type of place!”
“Yeah! We don’t even do high! Drugs are pathetic.” Scar joined in. Nyx looked more perplexed than before. Rox rolled her eyes.
“The bawogas,” she stood in front of it, “stands for the big-ass wall of graffiti and stuff. I come here once every end of the month to design a word that describes my life so far. I save up my performance money to buy the vats, which you dipshit, aren’t drugs. That stands for vital art supplies. I’m used to doing this little ‘ritual’ thing since I ran away from home. It gives me the feeling of achievement; reading the titles to various chapters in my life, and starting new ones.” She explained, her tone softening as she spoke. Some of the words seemed deep, while some seemed light. Outsider. Arrived. Defied. Nyx read some of them. “I brought you guys here because I want you two to try this out! I promise, you’ll get addicted. And no, that reference to drugs was not intended, Har.” She grinned, pulling out three gas silly-looking gasmasks and handing them one while pulling one on herself. Nyx dragged it around until it popped into place. Breathing through one of those was very audible.
“Can we pick colors, Rox, please?” Scar pleaded, almost slobbering over the fresh new colors. Rox rose one finger, as in telling her to wait and selected a blue to match her motorcycle, pulling of the cap after shaking it. She searched the wall for a clean place then outlined the word `memory’, then pulling out some sort of paintbrush, she went back and made the outline of the lettering more clear. Her hand glided with grace over the grooves and bumps the worn out bricks on the wall created. Scar took that as a sign to start herself. She pulled out a red-glittery spray and outlined the word ‘fame’ in a different font; the edges of the letters had arrows pointing in random directions. Nyx was still looking for the perfect place. A meter away from the bawogas was the back of another building, an old, dark blue to green bench was leaning its back against the wall with paint chipping off and bricks visible in places. The bawogas wasn’t going to last for one wall forever, she thought, rattling a can of neon green paint. Nyx thought hard on what word to pick to symbolize everything. She could use something like ‘monster’ or ‘betrayal’ but she knew there must be something more neutral to her past than the crackling self-hate she had been throwing at herself for the past couple of weeks. ‘Unstable’ would also not be a good way to put it. She was determined to find out who she was and her unstable emotions would have nothing on bringing her down. The word she hated most came to her mind just then. ‘Vampire’. There was no number of people claiming she’s one of them that would make Nyx believe that was her true self. Finally, she sprayed carefully the word ‘wild’ in edgy bubble letters, receiving the feeling that it basically summed everything up; the unstableness, the mystery, the betrayal…everything. Without using the aid of a paintbrush to make the outlines bold like Rox or Scar’s, she simply took the can of black to outline the letters. She stepped back to view her work. Thinking about it now, being wild didn’t sound like a bad idea to Nyx, as long as she was unwillingly harming someone she loved, of course. Almost like Rox claimed it to be; the feeling of achievement and memory when she read the title of that chapter of her life. She made her way back to view the others’ work. Scar had really gone into it. Her simple word of ‘fame’ and its arrows were all over it, the letters looked like they were covered in vines, however instead of vines there were staffs of music with notes and sol keys hanging loosely from the curves, the arrows piercing through some at times. And Rox’s? It was the best word art on the wall. She used other colors, giving it a metallic deflect, filling in her letters with more words, almost as if they were the windows to the story of her past. Nyx wondered if it was the retelling of her backstory that influenced her decision on what word to pick. Rox also had cleverly used the chipping paint to exaggerate the effect of crumpled, rotten paper that was peeling of the walls. Nyx thought of her simple design of her word, almost feeling bad for wasting their time. But then Nyx recalled that making it fancy wasn’t a required rule. Maybe that was the reason why Rox only wrote one word; less was more. She congratulated them on their designs, describing hers as well. Scar took out the polaroid camera out of the vats’ bag. She snapped a couple of the words, then some of them pulling silly faces at the large lens of the camera. By the time they got back, Nyx forgot what sadness felt like and that negative times existed in life. She forgot she was an unknown species. She forgot she didn’t know who she was. She forgot she ran away from the good life in search for the true life. As they were loudly trampling down the hallway, an arm extends out of nowhere, pulling Nyx briskly into the janitor’s closet, too powerful for her to protest. She was pinned to the wall, the darkness tacking her down; making it impossible for her eyes to adjust.
“Listen.” A rough voice whispered into her neck, and not even in a loving way, “I don’t give a fuck about what Theme told you, but I overheard she was mentioning the darkest secrets of this underground society.” She squeaked, feeling as if the voice was pushing pushpins into her neck. “I don’t know who you think you are, but I don’t tolerate goodie-two-shoes noobs like you. And neither does anyone here.” Another pushpin went in. “If let you go, you will go call the police crying about some drug-addict who assaulted you, aren’t you?” his tone got louder, as he shoved her tighter onto the wall. She gulped. “Well you wouldn’t do that now would you? And betray your friends and this community to the police? Everyone will hate you more than they do already.” He sneered, “All you have to do is get your hands on some goodies for me, and we can forget about all this.” His tone got lower. Nyx had no idea why this was happening. “The dudes who won the battle have what I want.” He growled, “and I’ll do anything to get them back, mark this!” Another pushpin went in. Nyx blinked a few times, her eyes illuminating the room a little. It was Axel, and he was holding a knife; more or less one inch inside Nyx’s neck. She wasn’t shedding any blood though. She opened her mouth about to scream, but it was soon covered by his thick-skinned hand. It smelled of Tabaco and most likely cannabis. She scrunched her eyebrows and used the benefit of her fangs to bight into his pointer finger as hard as possible. Her fangs sliced through the skin with ease. She shuddered at the taste of his blood, soon her removed his hand, shaking it in pain, but pushing the knife in deeper. “Am I being clear, vampire?” vampire. That’s it. She thought, bringing her bionic arm to the knife, pulling it out and twisting her hand so it pointed at him instead. It was the great benefit of being half robot.
“How nice. You’re one of those people.” Nyx spat at him, her eyes glowing a deeper shade of green. She felt her shoulder blades modify but this time the pain felt reveling. She didn’t even wince when blood powdered everything around her. Or when her claws extended, or when her ears and nose modified. She dug her foot into his stomach, still holding his arm in a good grip. He wilted onto the floor, shriveling, looking weak. “You listen here. What Theme said to me is none of your business, d’yhear?” She yanked the knife from his grip, his arm falling to the floor. He was a shocked as her when he dragged her in. “Stay away from me if you don’t want trouble.” She threatened.
“Well…aren’t you one of the feisty ones…” he mumbled, pushing her back with his legs. She hit a shelf, something rattled loudly, and then she felt her whole body collapse in pain. Her eyes must’ve stopped glowing because she was captured in the claws of darkness again. She awoke with an uncomfortable and a proper piece of material shoved in her mouth and tied securely around the back of her head. After a while she had also noticed her arms were tied in two places around her back, her legs clasped in chains that dug into the floor, to heavy for anyone to not remain static. She tried squirming but that didn’t really work. She looked around the dim room anxiously. She sighed in relief to notice it wasn’t creature control or the house of correction. Shuddering at the idea, she heard an eerie noise. Suddenly the door popped open, before her stood Axel, his pissed off expression from before hadn’t altered. He had a joint in his mouth that he was puffing enthusiastically from. In one hand her held Rox up by her collar, and in the other he held Scar by her hair. Rox had a black eye, and Scar’s bottom lip was bleeding. Nyx gasped, or attempted to, her eyes clouding up. She tried to run to them, but she clattered along with her chains onto the floor. After two other thugs came from the back of the room; both as muscular as Axel and equally as tattooed. They tied them up in almost the same way, except without the chains, then thrown carelessly next to Nyx, as if they were two insignificant pieces of dirty laundry. Rox wasn’t pleased with the situation, but wasn’t inflicting her anger upon Nyx at all, and neither was Scar. One would say they couldn’t inflict their anger upon anything as talking was not an efficient way to communicate in this given situation.
“Rocth! Fcaw! Imf fo thorry!” Nyx attempted to speak her apology. But it wasn’t really her fault in the first place. Of course, if I delivered the drugs or whatever Axel wanted, I wouldn’t be here. If she could move she could kick herself for her negligence of this delicate situation. Their attention slowly shifted to some soft yet muffled whimpers coming from a corner the dim light
“Woth thwere?!” Scar looked rather alarmed, looking to the corner, then at Rox who’se eyes showed the greatest of concern, she shrugged, glancing at Nyx, almost telling her to go look. Nyx tried to move but didn’t get much father then where she fell on the floor. She did notice a tiny blue light, which softly illuminated a hint of pink headphones. A model of pink headphones Nyx had only seen once before.
“FEME!” she exclaimed loudly.
“H-hurloth?” she stopped whimpering. Rox was dragging her face onto the floor, trying to weaken the grip of the knot and pull it off her face. Scar stared weirdly and so did Nyx until after a while of frustrated grunts, the rag around her mouth fell around her neck.
“Victory!” she said in a low tone, “We must find a way to get rid of the other tie-ups and get the hell out of here.” Even if she didn’t look like it; Rox was more alarmed than Scar. “Wait! Maybe I can tug at the knots with my teeth!” She sootched up behind Scar and bit at the knot holding her voice captive, until it finally came loose.
“I can speak again!” and yes, it must’ve been torturous for a singer as great as Scar to be kept away from her voice. Even for such a short amount of time.
“Yeah,” Rox gritted her teeth, “time to do the same with your hands.” Once again, she tugged, bit and growled at the knot holding Scar’s hands captive, similar to a puppy playing with a stuffed animal bigger than it; showing it who’s boss. As soon as Scar’s hands were free, she untied Rox’s hands as well, both of them untying their feet. Scar went to Nyx, untying the fabric away from her mouth. She licked her dry lips, happy not to have anything but her tongue and teeth in her mouth.
“Um…Nyx?