ISIAH.
it sounds good in theory. that’s the only thing that’s really settled in isiah’s mind at this point, the smoke filling the confide space engulfing his already hazy mind – off the back of another performance in another shitty town – influenced by the thing the trio had been racking brain for what seems like forever. he’s sat opposite the other two, gathering high from the second-hand smoke – eyes narrowing as thought is deep, mind is moving a million times per second before the question in hand is brought up by the other male. “it’s… a lot, don’t you think?” his words are quiet, almost afraid to speak his mind to dominating personalities. questionable motives are pushed to the side as his arms push his body weight up, resting against the length of his arm, tongue darting over lips for a second. “i mean, sacrificing some virgin for a record deal? how’s it going to work… like realistically.” isiah laird is a realist at heart, possible outcomes always outweighing the motives of situation – he thinks in the long run, not the fifteen minutes of fame the band might have off the back of this all going… to plan. well, he’s certain if they do go through with it that it’ll be smooth sailing, but there’s a doubt that sits in the male’s head; one that he’s all too familiar with. “we’re talented at the end of the day, you didn’t see some of the biggest bands doing this shit. we’re better off working for it, aren’t we? make this shit organic, or whatever.” there’s a lot of questions that fall from his mouth at this point, but that’s only because the male is leaving it out in the open. the two that sit in his company are two of endearing personalities, persuasive words that seem to have him being the ultimate push-over in the majority of situations. and apparently, this seems to be the exact same as others. a sigh leaves chapped lips, swallowing thickly before eyes dart from ciaran to gia, then glancing down to his lap. there’s a moment of silence that sits thickly between them all, hand extending for the drug that has settled in gia’s hand. “fine,” he begins, the answer that he knew the others wanted fall from his lips almost expectingly, taking a hit from the blunt and beginning to inhale, exhale. “i’m in. but only if you promise things won’t get weird.”
eyes glint with something bright and sharp, far to clever and cunning to be good. even inebriated, manipulation comes easily. questions have answers spoken with charisma. con artist that he is, ciaran could sell gasoline to firefighters. destruction is a talent. “easy. this demon i looked up, mammon, he’ll be pleased as punch with our devotion to him. and because we make a sacrifice in his name, he'll reward us with fame, success, and riches beyond our wildest fucking dreams.” annoyance by the integrity displayed is masked, muscles spasm to firmly clench his jaw. suggestions of an honest come up inspire darkened eyes to roll back with bleak cynicism. what an actor !! “do you know how many indie bands there are out there trying to make it ?? no shit we have talent, but unless we luck out and get on one of those late night shows or some supernatural teen romance movie soundtrack, we’re fucked. face it, dude. satan is our only hope. besides, do you really think any other band that’s done this would just openly talk about it ??” arrogance becomes him, pleased to have coaxed out the answer desired. rough palm clasped against the back of isiah’s neck, lips press against his forehead with ferocious, triumphant pride. victory splashes gasoline into the fire scorching a baleful heart. meeting gazes, sinister grin splays from cheek to cheek. “you’re making the right fucking choice, man.” symbolic bond between the trio tightens like rope around guilty necks, it could be the death of the three. or maybe just one.
chills prick along length of vertebrae. utterly intoxicated by the promise of being loved, adored, worshiped !! everything they wanted --- one vicious stab to the heart away. dreamy look upon sweet features, starkly different from the black thoughts that bloom behind it. how much of her is malevolent and how much of her is manipulated ?? though gia doesn’t dare to examine, even she isn’t certain. whether she’s a villain or victim, conviction and belief in ciaran are strong. hence why he does most of the talking. not that she minds, despite the darkness of his words, something in the roughness of his lowered voice comforts her. fear and love met where ciaran began. through thick lashes, irises lazily drift over to the other boy, moral conflict evident in his demeanor. he’ll learn to hide it, she thinks to herself. or he’ll lose it entirely. sweet angel boy, untouched by evil ( till now. ) piercing ache of sympathy clutches calloused-over heart for a millisecond before dissolving. they deserve this. they deserve this. they deserve this. warm fingertips brush against one another as their drug is exchanged. his answer inspires bittersweet excitement. innocence will die on two counts, but their music would outlive them all. extending slim pinky finger, the gesture invites him to interlock his with hers. “pinky swear.”
