#;fear

still, he stands behind the microphone, feeling extremely bare without a guitar, and grips it because he doesn’t know what else to do with his hands. “do you want to start or should i?” he asks, and since the beginning is the rapper’s part, it’s deemed his. he waits for a moment, takes in the crowd, and feels that familiar fear, just like the song says, but he starts anyway, and he's glad he can sing too.

when i turned around i saw that i came farther than i thought i was alone and i suddenly got afraid when i saw myself i didn’t know i was exhausted i was lonely and i suddenly got afraid

he almost chose this song for his mga performance because honestly, he relates to it. he didn't realize how far he came until the arrival of the fifth season of the mgas made him look back at last summer's daniel, completely different than he is now. even though daniel was the one that had to make this progress, thankfully, he didn't do it alone; he had his friends beside him, and relied on them every step of the way, and could even credit him for some of this progress. still, he's been through so much in recent months. when he sees himself-- when he really sits down to think about it, he didn't know he was exhausted. he's recovering now, with his own apartment, and empty enigma's album released-- a month of peace before life ramped up again.

you’re doing a good job when i get confused, i tell myself that and just go be yourself, know yourself i practiced about several thousand times being in despair once or twice is child’s play now opportunities are always ways to get up from moments of crisis, you know going on a trip to heaven? hurry and pack your carrier

to really capture this emotion, he needs to travel back to that summer of the fourth season of the mgas. even if he went on with sungwoon, he went through so much of it without him-- alone. no, maybe he doesn't need to venture that far. maybe it's just him, crushed under the iron fist of his mother, and if not that, crushed underneath the weight of his own lies. he ran and ran from his reality, believing if he kept cameo separate from daniel everything would be okay, but he ended up not even knowing himself, and how could he be someone he didn't know? he spent all day at work and at school and cramming his schedule full of studying, and crammed the band into the rest of his time, a necessary escape, like lungs for him to breathe, the only cure for this despair.

don’t stop, there’s still a lot to do look at the photo of your parents, providing for you you’re the mirror to your younger siblings, you’re the star of your family only when you cut back on your sleep, can they peacefully sleep hey you idiot, don’t make it obvious be strong, i know you’re lonely but you need to get through it, are you crying? be a man stop crying and take responsibility once more

this part stings. maybe he winces as he raps it, if only because it's so far from the truth. maybe it didn't have to be. maybe, if he did what his mother wanted, and stayed picture perfect, never straying from her wishes-- studying economics and becoming a successful business man, six figure salary, happy, conservative family-- he would be the star of his own. no, that's his brother, already vastly out of daniel's league, impossible to keep up with. instead, here daniel was, pursuing music, disappointing them. his mother made that much clear. but he had to get through it; he had to be strong, and he is now.

he pauses, and lets his partner sing, looking over at him with a close-lipped smile, nodding along. it's only then that daniel realizes he doesn't even know his name. after, then. it’s also then that he realizes he recognizes his voice, and if he recognizes his voice and face, he puts two and two together. mgas. soon, it's his turn to rap again, and he only ever practiced this song within the two minute timeframe, he realizes. nerves creep up in his stomach. he can do this, right? sure. sure he can.

i used to say this like a habit that i always believe in myself that i have no worthy opponent but enemy was in my mirror maybe i lost my reasoning in this continued fight i killed myself, even my mom is careful with me

this part doesn't require much reaching. daniel never believed in himself; he found everyone a worthy opponent, or someone that could easily defeat him. he's still unlearning that-- still outgrowing it. his mom isn't as much careful with him as he is careless with him, tossing him aside, but he thinks he'd rather this than what he had before.

receiving the interest of the public living inside a cctv i only crazily dug one well but i was afraid that could become my grave

he enjoyed his life of obscurity. it's strange to think that he'll appear on a tv screen again, but he's doing it because he wants to-- he wants more support and attention for empty enigma-- wants the others to show off their talents. soon, they'll be receiving the interest of the public, and he hopes it won't become their grave.

dad, if you’re looking at me, tell me the answer i’m too young and soft to become an adult i still don’t know how it hurts too much to just crash into things now i know, it’s too late to foolishly whip there are still too many unhealed wounds

he still does feel too young and soft, like a kid, tossed out of his house and forced to grow up on his own now, but he's doing it, even if he's crashing into things-- even if it hurts. growing pains. they'll be for the best in the end, or he hopes so, even if deep down, it takes his soul too long to recover.

his newfound friend sings next, and daniel realizes with slow-sinking dread that he doesn't know the bridge. he only bothered learning the first and second verses, trying to decide which he actually wanted to perform, and never got that far.

"i don't know this part," he admits into the microphone, nervous laugh bubbling up, instinctively choosing to laugh at himself instead of be embarrassed. he looks over at the one that invited him up here for guidance, or some sign that he's incredibly disappointed, but doesn't quite find it. he keeps the smile on his face, still trying to play this off, and chooses to clap along to the beat for the part he doesn't know, until it finally fades into the next singing part. he smiles, looking over at the singer, cheering him on.

Arriving home in West Egg, I felt an uncomfortable warmth flood the veins in my arms as I worried momentarily about the well-being of my house. At first glance the silhouette of the building with light cascaded about it gave off the illusion that it had been cast alight. In these late hours of the night I was concerned that a mishap was left unattended in my absence and had blazed the entirety of the place I lived. As I found my way closer to home and after I blinked the sleep from my eyes I was able to recognize that the light was being emitted from the windows of Pitch Black's house in spurts of dancing strobes.

Unexpectedly, the cacophony of Pitch Black's usually jubilus parties was not found highlighting the atmosphere with its usually fluttering sounds cascading from the dubiously decorated West Egg manion. There was silence in the night's air as twinkling stars from above answered the flickering of the lights from Pitch's mansion from the violet horizon. It was when my taxi shred through the distilled air as it drove away from where it left me that I saw the persnickity shadow of the curious figure approach from the edge of his yard. 

"Your place reminds me of the Northern Lights," I spoke out to him when I knew for sure that he had seen me.

"Does it? I'd say there are certainly shadows at play in some of the rooms. Let's go to Coney Island, Old Sport. In my car."

"I'm not the night walker you are, Pitch."

"We could always go swimming, Jack Frost. I'd love to make use of my pool this summer."

"Swimming isn't exactly my thing, I'm afraid. I've ought to go to bed."

"If you say so, Old Sport."

I noticed in Pitch that he was being patient. Waiting for something to come of this encounter that would bring him swell news. I wasn't one to make a gleefully anxious friend wait any longer what I had to tell him, so I chanced a longer conversation before bidding him farewell for the evening, "I heard of Toothiana, and I've decided I'm going to call her up tomorrow about an afternoon of tea."

"I wouldn't want to trouble you. I understand if you'd rather not."

"When would you best like to join us?"

"Any day you see fit. It is your home after all, Jack."

"Day after the next then?"

In the darkness, I saw Pitch nod with reluctance as he looked back at the lights of his own home. It was decided then that tea would take place on the Thursday of that week, but there was something still troubling Mr. Black.

"I'll find time to cut the grass before then, I'm sure." Pitch kicked at the distinct edge between my grass and his cleanly trimmed lawn, and I knew that it was my yard Pitch found to be currently unpresentable. For such a gentleman concerned with Toothiana's opinion of him he could still most certainly be a prick.

Sleep consumed me, disallowing me from recalling the rest of the night as I fell into a mindless stupor the moment I walked through my door. It wasn't until I had the phone in my hand the morning after that I remember blinking my eyes open once more. It was then that I called Toothiana to invite her to tea. 

"Don't bring Aster," I joked with her whilst on the phone.

"What?" Toothiana's soft voice responded with an airy chuckle that sounded of scattered tapestries blown by the wind through a window.

"Don't bring Aster," I repeated myself, my grin heard in the tone of my voice.

"Who's Aster?" She asked innocently, disregarding the existence of her husband to ensure me that the afternoon would be ours and not his to intrude.

As promised, a man dressed for the weather showed up before noon on the Thursday with a lawnmower in hand. As he set to work trimming the grass I drove into the village to retrieve some last minute items and flowers. As the afternoon ticked its way upon the clock in my living room, I listened as my doorbell rang and answered the noise to find that Pitch Black had already arranged more flowers than ever necessary to decorate the entire season. I recall hoping then that Toothiana couldn't possibly grow sick of flowers for the amount was overwhelming to me at least.

Pitch was wearing a white flannel suit no doubt bought that morning considering the crisp colour of it and a hastily put on golden tie. I knew by the dark circles beneath his eyes that he had not been sleeping and wonder now if I should have offered him a place to rest whilst we had waited for Toothiana to arrive. T'was a while that we waited, a couple hours even for the next and final guest to arrive, and the nervous Pitch Black was unable to cope with the passing time. He pulled at his suit and twisted about his tie as he paced across the living room and cast a watchful eye out the windows. 

"Nobody's coming! She cannot possibly be coming now! It's too late!" Pitch muttered as he clenched and unclenched his pale fist. 

"It's only almost four."

"It's been all day. A millennium, I'm sure. Where else could she be at this hour other than at home with tea absent from her mind!"

"She will come, Pitch. She said she would come!"

It was the promise that seemed to calm the madman for he dropped himself upon the sofa in a huff and buried his face in his hands. It seemed he was well enough to wait a few minutes more in silence, and we were fortunate that we didn't have to wait any longer. The sound of a car pulled into the drive and I ran out to meet up with my cousin, Tooth.

"Jack Frost, I never took you for one to settle down so humbly. I absolutely adore where you live." The sound of Tooth's voice was a legacy to be remembered as one wild yet soothing in all of its fluctuations.

Upon returning with Tooth to my living I was left in shock at the site of no other sitting there in wait, "That's funny," I murmured as I looked to the back exit where Pitch must have let himself out. Why ever would he have left? It seemed in a moment of being promised a thing he had waited so long to receive, that being Tooth's company, Pitch was rendered incapable of handling the greatness of it. 

"What's funny?" Tooth asked as an ominous knock sounded at the front door in response. When I opened the door I was faced with a site that looked not like a joke but was more the image of a monstrous death craning to scamper out of the cold rain once more. Pitch's clothes were drenched from the weather, and his face was frozen solemn from the cold. Without a word he made his way to the living room where Tooth still stood. 

The next thing I heard was Tooth's melodic voice saying, "I certainly am awfully glad to see you again."

Pitch had no response for Tooth's lullaby greeting so he stood awkwardly by the mantelpiece lost and astray. In his eyes I saw the truth in something I did not before realize. There was a longing set deep into the features of his face that casted shadows as if in the absence of Toothiana, and now that he was able to look upon her petite frame as she sat idly on the couch there was a sliver of a chance that she could shed some light upon his being. Still though, in the shadows Pitch stood, waiting and watching. 

He was remembering something. I recognized the knowledge filling his eyes with a focus on Toothiana's being. It appeared as though he was looking directly at the past and the future was looking back in uncertainty. It seemed all Pitch remembered was something that had once been carved into stone between the two of them, and I noticed as I watched him watch her that he was willing her to see the memories he carried securely within his heart. 

Sam really likes anchovies, spinach, and bacon sandwiches on toasted bread.

Which I don't know how many of you have caught this, but Sam still doesn't fully remember her past.

And there are parts that she is still repressing

*a dull 'just a moment, what' is heard in the distance*

.....Nothing! *closes sound proof door*

Yeah, but she is only about 8 months I think from that bonk on the back of her head. So I'm going to explain her memory a bit.

She remembers her family, but only a few moments with each of them. She can't think back to 10 different moments with her family. And occasionally she remembers something. Smells are said to be what most triggers memories, and that's true with Sam. Also certain phrases or sights or acitvities, those 4 are what triggers new memories for Sam.

At the moment Sam is a bit away from her home and where she used to travel (because she's avoiding a group of people), so if she ever goes 'I've been here before' she probably hasn't but it's triggering a memory of some sort.

Which I will really only have memory triggers happen in threads where we are having a sort of storyline or plot. Because unless you use a specific phrase, just talking isn't going to trigger anything. (Well normal talking, intense talking can start to get memory flashes, see bottom for a paragraph to undersand what I mean when I say memory flash, dream memory, ghost memory, etc.)

Now Sam has great memory from after hitting her head, so she won't forget your name if you tell her, it's just her past, really.

Which she has a problem with talking with people who remember her/her past, because she doesn't fully remember them, but they do. It's something she can't really put her finger on and I'd rather not explain it, because writing. Which she likes talking to new people and doesn't have that underlying fear/anxiety.

This is important for INTIMIDATING MUSES, when I write I will let you know when Sam is scared, but she can keep it hidden for a good-ish amount. Sam has had to fight vampires and thus has had to learn to hide it from them, and she is scared whenever there is a vampire, but she will push it down and/or act fine, and unless you're Pitch Black, you will not figure out that she is actually scared. And she will not ever say she was scared, but she is actually not hard to scare. But if you scare her past the normal fear of a fight, then some signs will start to crop up.

Now the first signs she shows that she is scared actually are disguised (this is not when she is first scared, but when she can no longer fully push down/cover the fear) but there aren't many, she'll grip weapons tighter than is actually good for fighting, flare her nose, and kind of stomp on the ground. Basically these are suppose to look like she is mad to scare off who she is fighting, but they are slightly different and a big indicator of that these are actually when she is scared and not mad is that she will not yell at them or shoot them furious looks.

Now if you scare her just a bit more she will do a lot of obviously scared signs, backing away, wide eyes, shifty eyes, flinching, her voice will fluctuate, and anyone will be able to tell she is scared, don't worry.

If you scare her just a bit more at this point, she will run away. Her flee instincts will override her and she will run away, or if there is anyone with her she will go to them and most likely tell them that they have got to go, reasoning there are too many enemies/too strong.

And if you block her escape or chain her down. Basically when she can't run away at this point is when she start to completely break down.