nebulous.

“Well… I’m going to talk about how he made me love music again after my dad up and fucked off. How his gleaming shiny way of it just gave me the ounce of optimism I needed to get through that. How I’d sing his songs to my mom when she’d cry herself to sleep, just so we could make it to the next day. How his stuff prompted me to get into the music making world and how I wouldn’t give it up for anything. And then I’m singing. I brought my guitar, obviously.”

❝   LAYING  IT  ON  A  BIT  TOO THICK.  humour would be good. confident, but not cocky. talk about the charity they’ll love that, and all that stuff you do on the side.  ❞  axel’s own head is starting to spin with the DISBELIEF that he’s actually bothering to do this. ❝   you know he’s not that much older than you right, you make him sound like he’s 50.  ❞  

Oliver follows behind like a puppy dog. Except this time was different, as Oliver was actually being let into the building and not bothering Axel during his show. Of course, it was clearly Axel’s off day.. so it was bothering anyhow, but Oliver would just show up with more gifts at a later date, and shrug it off. “Alright, I’m ready. Ready to prove that I need this! I want this! I deserve this! I’m gonna meet my hero! Well… again. And he will see my shining talent and take me under his wing and it will be magical.”

THE  ARCH  OF  BLACK  BROW  rises so far up his forehead, it nearly disappears before eyes roll all the way into his skull. oliver has optimism in spades, it’s almost tragic. magical is something it is likely not going to be, but it seems he’s taken a page out of axel’s book and developed selective hearing about the subject.  ❝   what’s your plan for this exactly ?  something unpredictable — out of the box...  ❞  out of the box,  a cliché in itself.

When Axel compliments the cookies, Oliver all but cries. He throws so much of himself into his friendships, no matter who the recipient is. But he knows that Axel is a bit different than most, and that from him, compliments don’t come easily. Not only that, while Oliver often tends to have his head far up in the clouds, he knows that he tends to annoy those around him, Axel more than others. But a compliment, nonetheless, was given. “Any time… but you know that.” He laughed, nodding along. “Alright, fine. Though, I do have a great backstory. I mean my father abandoned my mom and I, and I went from scholarship to scholarship, chasing the dream. I’m like the poster-child for depressing backstory for a reality show competition series… and this really isn’t so far off.”

Oliver is left salivating at the smell of the tacos alone, but it’s the taste that really gets him. “Okay, I admit, it’s nice to look clean for once. But hey, I’m known for the whole starving artist thing! Is this too out of the ordinary?” He pauses, with a smile. “Thanks Ax… seriously.” He scratches the back of his neck, closing his eyes for a spell. “This means the entire world for me. And I think this might be the moment that changes my life forever. I don’t know quite how to repay you yet, but… I know that I’m forever in your debt.”

And suddenly, Oliver was off like a rocket. He couldn’t stop the beam on his face, glowing as if he were made by the sun. “Thank you, thank you, thank you!” He had to slow his breathing, saving himself from exploding. “You’re not going to regret this, I swear. You’re gonna make my dreams come true! And not the bad ones.” He paused, cocking his head. “Hey! But I like my floppy hair… not too short okay? I want to keep the curls.”

                                                    TIMESKIP                                                      

“It’s like an ancient guitar or mandolin… we learned about them at school. And I would totally rock one, by the way. But that’s not the point!” He groaned. “Also… you’ve made an appearance in one or two of my dreams. But it’s just you being an emo prince as per usual… so it didn’t seem that weird, anyhow.” He shook his head. “I can’t afford meds, man. So I’m just, being frightened awake, really? I play a lot of music to try and settle my nerves, but my neighbors hate me a lot. I spend a lot of time with Ty too… but he’s been going through some stuff and I don’t want to worry him.”

All of a sudden, it feels like the air has been sucked out of the room. Axel looks serious, which isn’t uncommon. But serious in a way that isn’t shrouded in annoyance, and rather is replaced with rapt attention. “Umm… well. My best friend is in them a lot. She keeps falling down a hole, and I can’t save her. And that makes me really upset, but it seems she’s fine, in real life anyways. My boyfriend’s there, partying like no one has ever partied before. Which… isn’t exactly out of character, but mildly concerning anyhow.” He paused. “I can never really see myself, but I’m always holding a lute?”

❝    THE  FUCK  IS  A  LUTE  ?  ❞   features twist without cover.  is this a coincidence or is there some design of cosmic proportions, tickling conscience with the ghosting touch of its CRUDE cruel feather ?  nightmares are NIGHTMARES.  every person has their own demons. there can be no relation. it’s impossible. that caustic blackness that seems to fill your lungs like you’re being suffocated from within and the faraway desolate moans that give you a potent sense of despair.  ❝    are you taking any medication for this ?  or do you just . . .  what, not sleep ?  ❞

Oli couldn’t help the beating in his heart. It was so fast that he felt it could split through his skin, if he wasn’t careful. He had the energy and drive of a hummingbird, and even Axel’s way of being wouldn’t stop his mind from racing to the next thought. “He heard me sing, Axel! And he didn’t hate it! Sure, it might have been wildly inappropriate but I had to go out on a limb. And there’s something there. You’d see it… if you saw us interact. I swear it.” He paused, stilling his breath. “Look, just give me one day of happiness. I keep having these bad dreams that are causing me to not sleep, I’m barely making enough to afford pizza at this point. Just give me one day of dreams, and then I’ll slink into a hole and die happy. I need this.”

THE  FURROW  THAT  CUTS  PALLID  SKIN  is deep and immediate, gaze a swift slice, darting to pierce through oliver’s imploring expression.  ❝   you’ve been having dreams ? the kind that keep you up, those dreams...  ❞   it almost feels  IRRATIONAL  to ask, to ascribe some kind of meaning to a seemingly imagined coincidence.   ❝    what kind of dreams ?  what’s in them ?  ❞

This was it. The very moment Ambrose fought against for months. Nightmares, weird thoughts, and a complete loss of control over his life were just a few of the things that brought him there for the night. After brain scans, blood tests, neuro consults and a few unsettling comments about how healthy he actually was, it was either a sleep clinic or a psychiatrist, and Ambrose wasn’t exactly looking forward to that other option. He was forced into therapy for a lifetime after his wife died, this wasn’t going to happen again. Not if he could help it.

After all, he didn’t need a stranger telling him how to grieve. Specially not one that would remark on how five years was enough time for him to get back on his feet, when said person had never met Lara in the first place. And besides, Ambrose was almost sure all that shit had nothing to do with her. On the bright side, it could be just sleep depravation. On the more likely side, Ambrose was losing his mind and visiting a shrink would only bring confirmation. For now, though, Ambrose just wanted to get enough rest to function properly during the day. His expectations were pretty simple, and so was his goal.

But it still felt weird. To be sitting there, quietly, watching the only other guy give his name and sit down to do whatever the hell he was doing. Ambrose couldn’t concentrate on his book, couldn’t even control the urge of getting up and walking away. He needed a smoke, a drink. Or maybe just to distract himself until he could go in. So he stared at the stranger, regretting his idea before he could even act on it, and said: “Excuse me… am, do you have any idea of how this works?”

IN  THE  RELATIVE  QUIET,   the foreign voice is a pendulum, slicing through consciousness with a kind of inevitability axel should have seen coming. finger stills on the words he’s tracing to keep focus; a focus that’s now wrenched from him. the pause draws out, and all of a sudden AWARENESS becomes amplified, he can hear himself breathe. 

the silver shield slips off his nose, before he cricks his neck and turns, pallid features twisting into an unearthly contradiction of indifference and scrutiny.  ❝   no.   ❞   his eyes are blue. a thick ring of pale DEAD blue contrasted by impossibly dark irises. it’s like looking into the mirror.  ❝   do i look like someone who would ?   ❞  leg crosses, one over the other as he leans back, not bothering to withdraw the full weight of his attention, and with it comes registration a dull ache at the back of his skull, like the NIGHTMARES have seized his fatigue, into strange ideas of enormous black wings, an unseen cold breeze, and pinpricks of glowing gold in the blackness, outlined by obsidian gates. 

“I pay attention to everything and everyone.” She shook her head, slight annoyance reaching her eyes. “Everyone seems to forget that. But I always know.” She crosses her arms, leaning against the railing. “We’ve met at parties and functions and things. Running in the richy-rich circuit. You know how these things go.” Did he? She pauses, thinking on it. “So spill, Axel. I’ll find out anyways.”

Oliver can’t stop his giddiness, as he feels his emotions buzz through him like ecstasy. “It’s got everything to do with you! You run the best radio show.  This contest was like… tailor made for me, and you can help me win this. You have to help me win this. I might never bother you again if you do.” He pauses, catching his breath. “I met him, you know.” Of course Axel knew. Oli had been talking of little else besides Adam Lake and Ty, for the last few months. “And I felt like we had this… deep connection. Deeper than deep! Cut from the same cloth. I need this, Ax.”

HAD  HE  POSSESSED  ANY  LESS  than the modicum of self-restraint he exercises in that moment, empty blues would have rolled into the back of his SKULL.    ❝   you had one conversation with a celebrity. doesn’t mean you know him. you’re setting yourself up for disappointment.   ❞    deeper than deep. he doubts that bubblegum, cotton candy maestro of blonde hair is any deeper than a dog dish himself.  ❝   'sides, it’s ONE day, even if you win, once your time is up it’s back to the other side of the fence.    ❞

❝   BYRNE . . .  AXEL.   ❞    voice is quiet, he might as well be speaking to a grave, but the silence of the sterile grounds is almost stifling. the brain scan had felt like a surrender to instability, and when it’d yielded nothing, he’s indulging now in what he would perhaps ordinarily call DERISION. a bloody sleep clinic. 

it’s not insomnia that GNAWS its way visceral beneath his skin, barbed and unwavering, after a particularly unsettling dream. it’s an insipid unwillingness to let his mind wander, to maintain the control he’s wound himself around so TIGHTLY. it is derision, being here — DESIRE: derision.  

Axel stood there, confused. Ella could only roll her eyes. This is who he was, and she knew it. This is who had coaxed her, somehow, out of misery, all of those years ago. This was the man who had, in some ways, become somewhat of a confidante. They were exact opposites, in many ways, and yet, in a strange way Ella found him endearing. 

“You’re staring at Odette. And I fucking knew it! I’m so good at this.” She took a sip of her own drink, but she replaced the amusement in her eyes with a look of concern. “Axel, you gotta tell me what’s wrong. Don’t cheat out on me now.”

THE  SOUNDS   AROUND  THEM  ARE   HOLLOW.   the  din  of  delirium.  he  is  being  pulled  swiftly  from  the  muddled  abyss,  hook  attached  to  his  neck,  line  reeled  in  at  an  alarming  pace,  until  head  breaks  the  surface.  ❝   odette ?   ❞   eyes  rove  over  the  crowd,  keen  to  see  how  plain  it  had  been,  only  for  his  head  to  whip  to  his  flank  coldly  to  pierce  his  gaze  sharply  through  her.    ❝   you  know  her  ?  and  knew  what  exactly ?   ❞

she does not believe in coincidences, for they do not exist in her world. however, as she steps out of the office building, ready to blend in to the endless crowd that roams the streets of new york city, atropos’ eyes land on a man — and she stops in her tracks. seeing him here is unexpected, yet not entirely unsurprising, considering the dysfunctional predicament axel and odette, as they are called in this existence, have found themselves in.

“my boss’ character is eccentric. that much is correct.” atropos admits, amusement tugging the corners of her lips upward ( what a coincidence that the description is apt for sonya’s boss and her own ). “but i consider preaching little more than a waste of my valuable time.” she continues as she, with confident steps, walks until she is standing right beside him. “i do not need followers for my cause. its foundation is stronger than the feeble minds of people.”

call it the awakening of some deeply hidden, thoroughly concealed,hint of familial affection, but his words elicit a true chuckle out of her. “oh i know exactly where you are going, axel byrne.” before he can object, her nimble fingers snatch his cigarette from him. she takes one brief drag before letting it fall to the ground, ready to be crushed by her heels. “tell me, is it you or odette who has done a better job of getting there?”

THERE  IS  SOMETHING  ALTOGETHER  unearthly,  in  the  keen  way  her  lips  peel  back  —  he  can  derive  real  no  humour  from  it.  her  own  amusement  perhaps,   but  no  humour.  his   own  thick  shadow  of  SUSPICION  is  cloaked  by  the  tendrils  of  ash  and  smoke  emitting  from  inside  him.  

it  isn’t  his  name  spoken  like  an  imminent  storm  that  has  his  spine  stretching  that  much  further,  but  the  name  she  gives  to  the  bottomless  PIT  in  his  chest.  it  begins  to  burn  now,  SEARING  with  urgency.  fingertips  come  away  from  his  lips,  watching  as  the  stub  falling  from  hers  to  be  crushed  with  the  crunch  of  his  shoe.  alarmed  or   not,  axel’s  never  been  one  to  show  his  cards.  maybe  that’s  always  been  his  problem.

 ❝   if  you’ve  met  her.  i’m  sure  she’s  spun  you  some  thrilling  tales  with  those  hands  and  wild  eyes  of  hers.  but  here’s  a  free  tip  hm ?  leave  before  she  devours  every  ounce  you  have  left  for  yourself  and  retches  it  out.   ❞

“Ah, the usual New York City cocktail of substances, then.” Tyson snickered, watching with a kind of judgemental curiosity as to what this man would pick out off of his extremely well stocked supply.  He’d been bartending ever since he’d left home, and he knew alcohol better than he knew most anything else - and when the tall, dark stranger picked the bottle of Dead Man’s Fingers out from behind the rest of the rum bottles, Ty coloured himself impressed. “They don’t, really. Owner of the bar goes across the pond a ton, we reckon he’s got a secret side-piece over there, but he brings back all sorts, and I reap the benefits. There’s only one, I think. But you’re welcome to open it.” Ty shrugged. “Shit’s too good to use on the usual plebs who come in here, but you seem like you could appreciate it.”

“Bees.”

She cannot recall when she first called in to the radio program or what moved her to do such a thing. All she knew was that, in the darkness of early mornings when she often sat up late doing work,  it was Axel Byrne’s voice that kept her company. Calling in had become something of a ritual usually when the nights were at their darkest and she was at her loneliest. 

“They communicate through dance. Did you know that?”