run through with spice
Surviving. What a difficult word and meaning. Too difficult to break down; sort in categories. Can mean many different things in a being’s head, though the same bare reason. To survive. Live. To win.
Win. Another difficult word and meaning. A heartless one. A tragic, bare, selfish word. A word and meaning that can put you on your death bed. Bipolar. Means good, but not for all. It’s full of badness.
Heroes. Villains. Too complex, non-simple things. Meanings. Heck, humans. Humans. Jeez, what difficultness all these words and more lingers. Even the kindest people are bad. Why? Because they aren’t nice to themselves. Therefore there is no good people, only bad. Sigh. Well I guess the meanings I have for now are pretty difficult. Maybe I’ll find a new meaning.
Or will it support my own meaning?
“Rigby?” A hand waved a few inches in front of me. “Hm?” I blinked, glancing to the being. “Drinks. Now.” The man ordered. Nodding, I turned around to grab a few cups and bottles. Where are we, you may ask? Well, we are in a bar.
Yes, a bar. Ah-ta-ta-ta. Not just any bar, a bar that seems to be stuck in the past. It’s wooden seats and tables rarely shined by the dimmed lights. If lucky a neon one. The stand constantly sparkling, but not from the repeated wipe downs. No, from the liquor. Simple as that.
The most eye-catching attraction would be the band. The well-known band that plays here every once in a while. A band that anyone would want to see live. Loved by all. Even if not a fan, the music would still pull you in from desire. The desire to listen.
Was it a quirk? No it wasn’t. All of them are quirk-less at the least. Since the band is a ‘drop to your knees’ kind, a channel just for them plays on television. It’s scary though. The channel never misses a performance.
Today is a day that they can play. Live.
Do I like them? I enjoy their presence. You can say we are on pretty good terms. Simple chats, one-sided drinks, guarding was all we would do. By one-sided drinks, only they would drink. I just made sure they didn’t get laced or spiked.
I mean the bar is full of criminals. The range can be a endless. Old men and women. No young adults or kids or teens. The only ‘young’s’ were myself and the band. The band members seemed at least mid or late 30′s and early 40′s.
I am just a teen. Why at a bar? Like I had mentioned. The bar is full of criminals, me working here, would not really matter. A plus is that I look, ’early 20’s′ usually, as I’m told. Compliment? Or insult?kjk
Lining up the shots on a flat, cheap board. Pouring them to the brim, streaks of the extra spilling over. I slid the board to the end of the table and picked it up to drop them off. “OI! Over here!” An older man called. Yes, I know how to do my job. Unlike you not knowing your limits.
Walking over to the lust-soaked table, I placed the drinks all down. Picking one from the board, “I never seen you here, malady.” One grinned. “Yeah~ I mean how could we miss this beauty?” Another dragged their words.
“Let me buy you a drink.” The man, parallels to me smirked. I’d rather, willingly, jump off a building first. I didn’t look up at any once. Only focusing on the filled shots and correct placements. To my least surprise, a hand leached itself on my arm.
It’s not like I would say, ‘no hands on workers’. Uh hello? We are in a bar, you are bound to get grabbed, but I am still my own person. “Hands off.” I sharped. “Oh she talks.” The men sitting down growled full of sexual desires.
“Hands. Off. Now.” Standing my ground would be a good option for now, I guess. “Feisty are we?” He lowered his mouth to my neck. This is more than hands on workers. I internally smirked. The meaning of ‘no hands on workers’ mean no non-consent sex or constant touching. This is a good way to use ‘no hands on workers’.
Though it does not apply to things like, smacking ass. If the customer does not follow the ‘no hands on workers’ rule, the worker has all right to use force to get out the situation. And you don’t have to tell me twice.
I headbutted the man right on the temple, he stumbled, but his arm stayed. Another thing was the rest of the men at the table stood up. What a pain. The man to my right was marching towards me giving me a range to hit.
I kicked him in the shin causing him to bend over. What a defenseless being. Pushing him by the shoulders, he fell back into the other men. I just need out of this grip. It wasn’t strong, but it isn’t weak. If this man was sober, it could possibly be stronger. I twisted his arm with my free hand and yanked myself away.
“I need you to leave if you will continue to be violent towards the workers.” I said. “Punk!” One yelled throwing a punch. It never came, because I knew it wouldn’t. Another hand collided with the man’s fist, stopping it from moving forward any more.
“You heard them. Leave.” The owner spoke. He held a lot of respect; like have you seen the bar? The men glared and looked at me up and down, before leaving. I grabbed the untouched drinks and poured them out before anyone could spike it and re-serve it to someone.
It happened before. And the person who was forced to drink the mixed liquor was me. What a sob story, am I right? It’s for another time, dearest. The owner knew I did this every time an untouched drink sits there. And he’s fine with it, I quote, “I do the same thing now.“.
“You alright?” He did a quick scan for injuries. “Yes, I’m fine. Thank you.” I cleared the table and wiped it down. “Okay, back to work for the both of us then.” He sighed. “Mh.” I only hummed in agreement.
The owner was an old, but strong man. If he had to work a bar, he had to be strong. Some people who come in here can be oddly strong while high or drunk. He goes by the name Wilbur. He monitors the bar from above, a second floor. To see below the floor is glass, one way glass. He’s pretty nice to everyone, mostly the band of course.
I went back behind the bar and cleared the tray. My hands wrapped around the cold barrier where the bottles of liquor sat, leaning and sighing, again. “You okay?” The bartender asked. “Hm? Oh yeah, I’m fine.” “Uh-huh.” He dragged and went back to serving drinks.
Say, the band hasn’t started yet. It’s odd for them to be this behind. Sure, they would come here a bit behind, but never this late. I lifted myself up making it to the swing door. “Where you going?” The same bartender asked. “Checking on the band.”
I kneed the swing door lightly to avoid another round of the already dented wall. I walked towards where the band usually meet. I didn’t even have a chance to see what was happening until I was pulled away.
“Rigby!” The person huffed. “Jesus, what is it?” I relaxed. “Elliot isn’t feeling too hot last minute.” Oh don’t even ask. “Do you think..?” No, the answer is no. “You can fill in?” Fuck. “I don’t know Will, I mean I can’t sing.” I tried to reason. Plus the biggest lie just fell off my tongue.
“Liar.” Tch, whatever. “Please, we only asked you because we trust you. How you make sure our drinks don’t get spiked; how you guard us from every one else.” He begged, shaking my shoulders.
You noticed? “Yes we noticed. Please we need a singer.” I gave in. “Okay, I’ll do it and stop reading my mind Will.” I rolled my eyes playfully. “Thank you so much! Come on!” He grabbed my hand and led me to the familiar backway.
I didn’t have to worry about changing or anything since I was wearing a dress already. No heels of course. I’d kill myself first to wear heels. Will is the drummer of the band while Elliot is the lead singer. He opened a door to reveal Elliot slouched over on a chair and a water bottle in his hands, a bucket was beside him as well.
“Hey Elliot.” I greeted and walked in. He looked up and you can clearly tell he wasn’t feeling okay. His face was sunken in, drained of color. His lips weren’t the usual pink just pale. The bags under his eyes were more notice-able. His nose and eyes were red too.
“Hey Rigby.” His voice was strained too. I kneeled in front of him, “Jesus, you look a mess.” He laughed or tried too. Will and the rest of the band came around him as well to discuss on how we would do this.
“So Rigby, you up for it?” Sam, the guitarist, said leaning onto Dorian, a guitarist and supporting vocal. “Sure, I’ll do it.” “No-” Elliot tried to protest. “It’s okay, Elliot. You need to relax and take time on you as well, I bet it’s not easy being the number one band and having to preform almost everyday.” I reasoned. A few shifted in defeat.
“Okay..” He trailed. One final deep breath and I stood up, “Let’s get this going.” The rest of the band nodded and started heading out. Elliot decided to move himself closer to the curtains to see what would happen.
It was still dark on the stage, not letting anyone in the audience to see. We all got into position and I went to the front. “Ready?” Dorian whispered away from the mic. I only nodded. May not seem like it, but I was shitting bricks. Stage fright always got me. The lights came on with slanted cheers ringing through the sea of criminals.
I gripped the microphone a bit tighter once the fact that this was also live struck me.
Point of view somewhere else:
Watching the blank screen with the only thing it has was the neon colored words ‘live’ in the corner. Waiting, some impatient, some patient. “They’re taking longer than expected. The usual time they would play would be 5.84 minutes before.” “Mh.” “May-maybe they ran into a problem.”
“That’s a manly reason.” “Shut it shitty hair.” A low sound of cheers came from the television that hanged above us. You could see the band in the back, but there was a different person in the front. “Who’s that?” “Who knows dingus.” “Are we even sure this band is playing?” “Positive.”
“Then who-” “Shh~” Some people dragged. Visibly see the mystery singer grip the microphone tighter. They’re nervous, well no heck. Some sighed, uninterested in the singer. Some glued to the screen, interested.
And they began to sing.
Back to us:
“Don’t sweat it. You got this.” Dorian whispered to me. I only nodded, what song do I even sing? Then they began to play a random beat. Fuck. Fuck. Curse me. Okay, shut up. I swallowed my anxiety and looked among the crowd.
And I sang.
“She wanted to test her husband.
She knew exactly what to do.
To fool him
She couldn’t have made a worst move.”
My expression was at a calm, though singing always grew upon me. Taking over me. Becoming me. Gave me something other than being numb, feeling pain. Gave me a second chance. A reality. One that I created. Or even visited. I saw the shocked faces along everyone. The ones who turned away, uninterested, now not looking away once.
“She sent him scented letters..
And he received them with a strange delight.
But how she was before the tears”
Slowly I swayed my hips gently to the ‘unknown beats’. All the prying eyes towering on top of me. Forcing to perfection. One mistake and the tower would snap. Crushing beneath me. Killing me one way or another.
“And how she was before the years flew by,
And how she was when she was beautiful,
She signed the letter..”
I was clueless on how I would drag the chorus. Hell the song was popping up in my head one word after the other. No practicing if it even sound good or made sense. Nothing, just bare live singing. So would it be good? This performance? The chorus? The ‘catchiest’ part of a song?
Only one way to find out.
Babooshka, babooshka, babooshka ja, ja.
Babooshka, babooshka, babooshka ja, ja~”
Singing it, my expression grew more. Flowing into the music, the words, the beats. My eyebrows were inwards, yet pointing upwards. Slightly smirking, getting cocky. Eyeing no one, nothing. Just barely moving my eyes.
“She wanted to take it further..
So she arranged a place to go.
Would fall for her incognito.”
I scrambled the last word in beats, dragging it longer. It would be boring to keep the same momentum right? Or do people like that? Or am I doing okay? Do they hate it? Do they want me to get off? I don’t blame them. Shut up and keep singing.
“And when he laid eyes on her,
He got the feeling they had met before.
Reminds him of his little lady;
Capacity to give him all he needs.”
That made sense right? Sure right? It didn’t sound terrible. Shut it, it going well, keep going. Gain the confidence. Fuck, grab it by the horns if needed. I had a trick up my sleeve for the last set of chorus.
“Just like his wife before she freezed on him;
Just like his wife when she was beautiful.
He shouted out..”
Here goes nothing. I grabbed the microphone off the stand with one hand and turned to the side of the stage. I could already feel the confused stares. Interested ones. Lustful ones. Just stares. Just push through.
“I’m all yours.”
I bent backwards, my heads going to my heels. My free hand going limp next me, outstretched. My dress, a dark navy blue, layered with an oversized mesh on top with a thick curled ending. A slim, hugging my curves. As long down to my ankles. The top of it caved in, hiding my collar bones yet exposing my shoulders. A second skin, it felt like.
Your shoes. Simple high-tops. Drowning from your long socks crunched against them. Your hair, simple. The shoulder length, cinnamon brown. Soft, fluffy, full of curls. Styled with two small pigtails that sit right on the top corners of your head, above the ears. Bangs covered your eyes. What a mess, most said.
My necklace. Something prized to me. Something dangerous to me. Killing me? I’m not sure. Maybe the fact in not able to take it off or break the chain would somewhat support that. It currently hides under my dress, my clothes..as always.
Your dress fell to the sides as you bent back. ‘Falling’ you could call it. In everyone’s point of view, it was a shape of a sharp ‘C’. You hair fell lowly to the ground and your bangs flipped up. Revealing your one black and one purple eye. A beauty you were. You didn’t like the attention you drew. Yet somehow you only made more grow towards you.
“Babooshka, babooshka, babooshka ja, ja.”
I quickly flipped back up-straight. Now I was very cocky. I circled my hips, swaying. I moved around the stage more, holding the microphone in one hand. Getting more confident, was it?
Babooshka, babooshka, babooshka ja, ja.”
I put my feet together and bent down, squatting type. I used my free hand to stretch it out. It made the words become onto me. The expression was a lot now. It felt like power. I stood up.
Babooshka, babooshka, babooshka ja, ja.”
Placing both my hands on the microphone, I pulled away dragging “All” and pulling in on “Yours”. My hair was following, delayed movements I made that racked my body. The soft footsteps under me. My dress and hair following, mimicking them.
“Babooshka, babooshka, babooshka ja, ja;
Babooshka, babooshka, babooshka ja, ja”
Small, rhythmic beats tore in between the lines. Filling in the silence of. Now for the final, finishing words, I guess. Pssh.
“Babooshka, babooshka, babooshka ja, ja~!”
The final line. Yup. Trailed the last word back. I threw my head back, belting the last few seconds on the song. Instruments backing me up. The loss of air in me felt, amazing. To even sing was nice. Let out your emotions. That build up. The ’I’m fine’s and ’I’m okay’s build and create an explosion. One that can kill you. Getting it out if in the form of many ways.
Mine is singing. Yes I have others, but singing and dancing is mine.
I came back into a ‘normal’ position. Out of breathe. Saliva glistening my parted lips, pants escaping them. The strong gush of air releasing only to take a sharp one. Eyes pouted, begging to be closed. Sweat sliding down the edge of your face. Making your hair stick on your face slightly.
The roars of cheers. People whistling. Yelling. A pleasant sound, right? Yeah, but not from here. You can even hear the small pants of the band. Will had nudged you out your thoughts and said, “Come on, we’re taking a break in the back.” I only nodded--barely nodded.
Walking behind the curtain, the second being hidden by the outside eyes, I was consumed in a hug. “Elliot?” I asked, recognized the batch of black smoky hair. “You did amazing! That was beautiful!” He pulled away and grabbed my shoulders as I internally thanked him for not shaking me.
“Yeah that was so cool, the bends you did were nice.” Dorian came behind him. “Right?!” Will exclaimed. “Like you do you do that?” He tried to do it, but only fell on his butt. “Hm? Oh.” I said in realization, doing it again.
“Wow. That’s really cool Bee.” Sam complimented. Bee was a small nickname by me. Rigby. Either can be Rig or Bee. Not a lot of people say my nickname. Hell, they don’t even think of one. I’m just a multi-worker here. A no one. They rather only say my full name. Like everyone else.
“Are you guys preforming anymore..?” I asked unsure, I hope not for their sake. “No, I called our boss saying what had happened after he saw you there. Thankfully he understood and let us leave early.” Elliot spoke getting his stuff together. “Good, if other wise, I wouldn’t let you sing.” I glared at him.
He needed to rest. He and his crew preformed 25/8. On his ‘free days’ he is just singing, still not giving himself rest. “Yeah you’re right.” He put his head down in shame. “Look, you are a human. Still flesh and blood. You can get hurt and sick, take it serious. Especially your ‘free days’. Go out with them, have fun. Go be people for once instead of being a popular band. You still need to eat, rest, etc., like everyone else. No shame in having to rest or take a break. You’re all doing more than enough. I’m proud.” I said to him and the band.
“Jesus, you’re making me cry while I’m sick. How disrespectful.” He sniffed. “Oh whatever.” I pulled him in a hug. He calmed down after a while and they packed up their things with my help, leaving.
I waved a final goodbye and closed the door. Leaning my head on the cold metal door, I took a few deep breaths. “That was really good Rigby.” Wilbur said. I had heard him coming down the hall, but never decided to look up. I never had the chance to catch my breath completely. During that ‘speech’ and helping pick up the heavy belongings without claiming my complete breathe made start seeing black spots.
So much for my ‘speech’. Hypocrite. “Thank you.” I huffed out. “It was live. Who could have thought that you preforming the first time here, would be live on television?” He chuckled. “Yeah, who would have.” Finally claiming my breath.
“You know the schedule, the band plays and finish, then we close up. ” Wilbur said leaning on the wall with his arms crossed. “Yes sir.” With that we both walked back to see some leaving, a few empty spots, and a handful of passed out people.
Quick point of view change:
I watched as the kid, ‘Rigby’ from what I heard, walk towards the stage. My heart almost flew out my chest when I saw them get pulled away suddenly. I had to keep my cover though, as much as I wanted to see what was happening.
A little while went by and my nerves were only rising. I couldn’t stop moving. Constantly shifting in my seat. Tapping the table. Crossing and re-crossing my legs. Running my hands through my long, messy hair. Swishing around my untouched cup.
Then the light upstage went on. There they were. In the lead singer’s position. Where was the lead singer? My expression grew in slight confusion. They started to sing and slightly dance to the roaring beats behind them. I have to say, they are very good.
The part that surprised me the most was when they bent backwards and I’m sure many others were too. You could practically feel all the lust soaked stares at them. Sure they were pretty, but at least I have my sane. I mean, I have my own love.
My husband, bitch.
You could see their bangs fly up and over. All though you only saw the bare outlining of their eyes, never their eye color. Why did they cover it? After, the song had ended and it seemed like the band was leaving very early.
You may be asking why am I here? It’s not unusual. Sure me, a hero, being in where criminals are filling and me doing nothing is odd. But hey! It’s a place I can relax. Relief stress, have fun, like I would have any. Whatever, but I guess I can get going. Once the band leaves, that’s when everyone leaves. It was like a unspoken rule.
I cleaned up my table and dusted off my regular clothes. Yes regular clothes. ‘Rigby’ walking along with the owner of the place to the bar. Cleaning up, avoiding the drooling passed out people. I wasn’t here for gathering information on anyone, just took an odd interest with the only, what? teen?! here.
Blowing my ‘cover’ as a hero could lead an unwanted fight and attention. But now I can go home. ‘Rigby’ went by my table and wiped it down once I was by the door. A final look and I left outside. A hushed location of the bar, it was. Thank god it wasn’t to far from my place.
Jeez, me in my civilian clothes. I have to act and get to places as one. Guess we are walking.
After a 20 minute walk, we are home. For it to be 2 in the morning, it was nice out. Clear in the cold air, stars pouring in the sky. I shivered slightly feeling my cheeks and nose turn red from the air hugging me.
I opened the door and was immediately indulged in a hug. Their arms wrapped my torso and their head imprinted sideways on my hips. “I couldn’t even make it through the door huh?” I teased. “Shut up.” Closing the door, I looked down. A small blanket wrapped around them, bits on the floor. “What am I going to do with you?” I sighed.
“Actually go to bed with me and sleep.” They muffled by how tight they were holding me. “More than that of course, but sure we can do that now.” I chuckled, running my fingers through their hair as they held me tighter.
Back to us:
After closing up and cleaning the usual horrendous mess, I said my goodbyes and left. The moment I opened the door, cold air decided to slap me. My nose and cheeks instantly heated up while my fingers began to cramp and pale. “Not even a minute outside?” I murmured to myself.
Silently walking back ‘home’, if you can call it that. It wasn’t far nor close by. Not in a good neighborhood or a bad one. Just in the middle, I guess. I would do some patrol, but I am exhausted.
I bet the first roof I scale today, I’ll fall straight down. Quicker than I came up. Sounds peaceful.. One thing I could do is quirk practice. I don’t use them often or like an everyday thing you can say, only small practices. Growing up I had to do deadly training to keep my head above water.
Like I said, surviving. Winning.
Quirk training was also a type of training I took. Decided if I trained, got stronger, I wouldn’t use it much in the future. I don’t really enjoy quirks--that’s a fat lie. Let me rephrase it. I don’t like how quirk are so over-looked. Like a prize, a chance for fame, money.
Body and strength training was just training without your quirks. Pure strength. Who trained me? My now dead sensei. I continued to train myself though; the last thing I need is me slacking. Too much thinking and self explaining.
I threw my head back a bit then snuggling in my trench coat. My favorite red trench coat. Some would say it looked nice with my dress and shoes, but we are outside in the middle of the night. Sigh. Oh hey--looks like we made it!
I went inside, tried my hardest not to wake up my shit father, changed in some pajamas, and flopped in bed. I’m too tired to even explain myself. Now a re-look on what we are doing tomorrow.
I stared at my ceiling in pitch darkness. Under the covers, practically feeling the cold seeping in by the shadowed, closed window. One thing we are doing tomorrow is training. Second thing is school. Online school. Third can be patrol. Fourth can be jobs. Hm, sounds like a regular day to me.
Add in your daily chaotic shits into my everyday life and there you go!
Well who knows about you, but I am certainly tired. Night!
A/N: I kind of hate this chapter.. Oh well--needed the scenario to be in action~Like trust me, I can’t even read this, bc how embarrassed I am, but i’m too lazy to make a new beginning and it actually may impact the story in the future