@lightning-arias!

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i would like to send some love on over to @lightning-arias! they've got an amazing roster of muses and it's always a blast writing with them!

Piper tried to make herself smaller, less noticeable, here. It wasn't out of fear, or because she was an outsider or whatever so much as she just didn't want to go into a new place and try to make it match her when she could, instead, match it.

The bar was cozy, really. Cozier than the one she worked at. As all bars did you could smell the old cigarette smoke that lingered in the wooden fixtures, the old stale beer and liquor that never got cleaned just right. In a way, it felt like a home away from home, like any good bar did.

The music helped with that. Lifting her whisky sour to her lips for the last time, sharp green eyes lingered on the woman preforming. The way her fingers moved, how her lips formed words just so. Good. Not the best Piper had ever heard, but good. There was something about it that poked at her soul, sparking a sense of longing for something she had never known before.

When the set was over some people clapped, others slapped their palms against the table or their leg if they couldn't be bothered to let go of their beer bottles. And Piper? She finished her drink, stood, and approached. Long, languid steps carried her up to the musician, movement like a river.

From a pocket, Piper produced a wallet. From that wallet, she produced a folded bill, the corner denoting a twenty.

Neurology bleeds money—or at least that's what the board has told me. They love my results but dislike my methods, which is why they've forced me to lend a hand at Bronx General's charity gala, sending my interns to work the ER.

"Ughhhhh," he honestly looks like he has two massive black eyes. He should say no and he should go home and pass out in his hotel room. Instead he slides off his chair at the bar and follows like a pathetic puppy dog. In his hand is a beer he's barely touched, probably too out of it to realize he has a fucking bud light, which is the worst thing that could possibly ever happen to him.

Stillwater is finally starting to take off, and after a few good nights have led to hours and hours of drinking himself into more of a stupor than usual. At some point he's gotten into a fight and tossed out of the bar he was in only to drag himself into...here.

He does as told, though, slumping down on a seat and peering into the bottle with his red eye as if he's seeing something fantastical in there.

@lightning-arias liked for a starter from Rob

Something's off with Leslie, and Rob can tell. He's not sure of the specifics—hell, he's not even close—but it's clear she isn't herself. The sharp wit, the creative spark, the things that made her such an intriguing collaborator—all of it seems to be dimming, leaving behind someone he barely recognizes: A pretty face with nothing much going on upstairs, and the industry already has more than enough of those.

So, when he gets a call from an unknown number explaining what's happened, he's floored, shocked, relieved, and trying not to think too hard about the logistics of body swapping (assuming that's even a thing). Still, he'd tested her with questions only the real Leslie would know, and she'd passed with flying colors.

By the end of the call, he's made a promise: He'll take advantage of the long weekend coming up and make his way to Virginia.

They agree that they'll meet at a café downtown, somewhere neutral, the day he arrives. Getting there first, Rob orders himself a drink and tries not to overthink what he's getting himself into.

When she arrives, it's… surreal. The girl standing before him looks a lot like Leslie, but not quite. Different enough to set his nerves on edge.

But then she speaks, and her attitude sells it immediately.

// i feel like 'annoy' might be the wrong term for what i'm about to yap about but it's on my mind so here we go.

so, i'm a relatively new blog all things considered, just over a month old, and it's been interesting coming back to tumblr after 10+ years away because everything just feels so closed off compared to what it used to be.

and like, i get it, right? people find their people, their groups, their friends. and they also don't know these total strangers (new blogs) popping up and there's no one to vouch for them so how do you know they aren't going to Get Weird(tm) later? and obviously you have all this history with your group, and partners and are so invested in your stories-

but gosh is it so, so hard to break in as a new blog.

there are so many unspoken rules, and social codes that are never explicitly stated, and it's an intimidating and scary thing to reach out to established blogs and hope they give you a shot.

i'm finally feeling like i'm starting to get my feet under me and find my place but there's this feeling like being an outsider.

"Awful terrible. I've had a terrible time," the metal section is full of the usual popular bands; Metallica (boring), Iron Maden (also boring), though the new Dark Funeral is a welcome sight, even if the tab is empty beyond that. The punk pile is also the more popular stuff, though the recent repress pf Plague Soundscapes by The Locusts was an exciting find and he already has the recent Squid Pisser. These days it seems like every store he ventures to has nothing of what he listens to, and he doesn't even consider his taste obscure (everyone knows Fit for an Autopsy....right??)

"As much as I don't wanna admit we kept the electropop shit as a way to keep collaborating and makin' money, I wish I coulda convinced everyone to do at least one rock song...."

Everyone knows who he is, even when they say they don't. Murdoc sees no need to announce himself. Record stores are the last sacred place on this earth.

M. N. O. P. Q. R... S. Abandoning his search for something to carefully finger through each LP with rapt interest before he finally spots it.

"Doesn't matter now," excitedly he pulls out an EP reminiscent of the 90's of death metal: cheap paper, jet black sleeve with a horrible looking drawing of Murdoc himself on the cover with the somewhat mismatched words "Stillwater Pizza Incident" scrawled in a black metal font.

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