#toad biscuit

The motel had all the charm of a forgotten ashtray. One flickering lamp. A window that didn’t open. Air conditioner growling like it wanted to die.

Rexar sat in the desk chair, long legs kicked up, idly exhaling a thin ribbon of smoke that smelled faintly of burnt maple. The scent was warm, grounding—something human in a room that wasn’t.

Across the room, Vaelyn Hawthorne was already losing a fight with the air.

He sat cross-legged on the bed, surrounded by a battlefield of tissues, dark green hair sticking up like he’d been electrocuted. “Oi,” he muttered thickly, glaring at the ceiling vent. “That thing’s spewin’ bloody sand, I swear—”

His voice hitched mid-complaint. “Hang on—gonna sneeze—!”

“Eishh! Ishh! Ish! ’shh! …hehhHH!—EEIISSHHuhh!”

The last one nearly folded him in half.

Rex didn’t even flinch. “Good lord, man. Sounded like a choir falling down a flight of stairs.”

“Shut up,” Vee croaked, scrubbing at his nose. “S’dot fuddy.”

“It’s a little funny.”

“You’re a bastard.”

“Been told.”

He barely got two seconds of peace before his nostrils flared again. Another round loaded.

“Ah, you’ve gotta be kiddin’ me—Eishh! Ishh! Ish! ’shh! …hehhHH!—EEIISSHHuhh!”

By the time the fit died, his chest was heaving and his eyes were glassy. Rexar leaned over, tossed him a fresh tissue box, and grinned. “You done tryin’ to exorcise the dust demons or you goin’ for round three?”

Vee sniffled. “Shut it, bate. I’b allergic to your fuckin’ existedce.”

“Yeah? Then how come you’re still breathin’?”

“Tragic oversight.”

Rex laughed—low, rasping, real. The sound filled the room, steady as a heartbeat. “You’ve been like this since you were six,” he said. “Remember that summer in Aleda? You sneezed so hard you fell off the dock.”

“I was pushed,” Vee argued.

“You sneezed and flung yourself sideways.”

“Semantics.”

Rex shook his head, a half-smile tugging at his mouth. “You’re lucky you can sing, man. Any other job, you’d be fired for this kind of noise pollution.”

Vee blew his nose with a honk that could have woken the dead. “Bugger off. At least I don’t sou’d like I gargle gravel every borning.”

“Better than sounding like a dying accordion,” Rex shot back.

Vee laughed, nose twitching again, but he tried to fight it this time—hand fluttering in front of his face like a one-man semaphore. “Nah, nah, nah—hh’Eisshhuhhh! hh’tsschhhuhhh! hhEhh’EhhESSHHhhuhh!”

“Yeah,” Rex said dryly. “That’ll teach the dust.”

He got up, grabbed one of the crappy motel washcloths, and dropped it on Vee’s chest. “Ice bucket’s still half full. Cool your face before you melt.”

Vee pressed it against his forehead with a groan. “You’d bake a terrible durse.”

“I’d make a terrible lotta things.” Rex leaned on the bedpost, arms crossed. “Lucky for you, babysittin’ your sorry ass is part of the job description.”

“You don’t get paid.”

“Exactly.”

They fell quiet for a bit, the hum of the air conditioner filling the space between words.

Rex watched him, something like nostalgia flickering behind his grin. “You know, you always did this,” he said after a while. “Try to act invincible till your body tells you otherwise.”

Vee squinted at him. “You sou’d like by fuckin’ codsciedce.”

“Nah,” Rex said softly. “Your conscience sounds smarter.”

Vee snorted—and sneezed immediately after. “Ish! Ish! Hh’ish! Shh! hh’TSSHHhhuhhh!”

Rex laughed again, shaking his head. “Still an idiot.”

“Still your idiot.”

“Unfortunately.”

The words weren’t tender. They were familiar—the kind born from years of scraped knees, bad gigs, and nearly getting each other killed more than once.

Vee smiled faintly, rubbing at his nose. “Aye, I’m not ibbortal,” he said, voice rough but wry. “Just irritatingly resilient.”

He gave a wet sniff, eyes glinting with that strange mix of pride and loneliness only Vee could pull off. “Still here. Still breathin’. Mostly sdeehhh—hh’Eisshhuhhh!—sdeezin’, apparently.”

Rexar huffed a laugh, shaking his head. “You’re a damn tragedy in stereo.”

Vee smirked, already half-asleep. “If I die frob this, tell the tabloids I wedt out brave.”

“Yeah,” Rex said, voice low and amused. “Brave, dumb, and full of antihistamines.”

“Perfect,” Vee mumbled, and that was the last thing he managed before the room went quiet again.

He drifted off not long after that, face half-buried in the pillow, muttering something about bad air quality.

Rex stayed where he was, smoke curling around him, the lamplight catching on the edges of Vee’s tattoos. He took one last drag, exhaled slow, and shook his head.

“Dumb bastard,” he said, fond as sin. “The world never deserved you anyway.”

“Hate to say I told you so, but you did let this place back on the schedule,” Rexar added, the grin on his face unmistakably smug.

Vaelyn shot him a sharp glare, his blue eyes rimmed with red and watery from the irritation. “Yeah, thanks for the reminder, Captain Obvious,” he rasped, his voice already thick with congestion. “It’s not like I’ve been regretting it since the second I walked in.”

Rexar chuckled, the sound rumbling low in his chest. “Oh, this is gonna be fun to watch.”

Vaelyn huffed in annoyance, giving another forceful sniffle as the itch burrowed deeper into his sinuses. He was already regretting every decision that had led to this moment. The night was only just beginning, and he knew The Burning Bush wouldn’t let him off easy.

The backstage corridors twisted and turned in an almost endless labyrinth of scuffed walls and faded posters from concerts long past. The manager, a wiry man with a clipboard permanently attached to his hand, hurried ahead, ushering them toward the stage. His clipped instructions barely registered in Vaelyn’s ears, drowned out by the relentless battle raging in his sinuses.

Every breath Vaelyn took seemed to stir up a fresh assault of dust, each particle igniting the already fiery tickle deep in his nose. His nostrils flared wildly, the sensitive skin around them twitching as his breath began to hitch uncontrollably. His throat ached from the persistent, dry burn that had settled there since walking into the venue.

“Hh… hhh-HHhh—hahhh—” Vaelyn twisted away from Rexar just as the fit exploded. “Hhh—Eishh!-ishh!-ish!-’shh! …hehhHH! -EEISSHHuh!!”

The sneezes ripped through him in rapid, breathless bursts, his tall frame buckling under the sheer force. His guitar case dangled precariously from his grasp, while his free arm acted as a desperate shield against the onslaught. With each sneeze, the itch seemed to burrow deeper, like an unstoppable fire coursing through his sinuses.

Rexar, a few paces ahead, stopped to glance over his shoulder, his sharp grey-red eyes gleaming with amusement. “Bless you,” he said casually, though the smirk tugging at his lips betrayed his lack of sympathy. “You know, maybe we should start billing this place for your allergy meds. Seems fair.”

“Funny,” Vaelyn croaked, his voice hoarse and strained as he fumbled for a tissue from his pocket. He swiped at his streaming nose, already raw and pink from the constant irritation. “Why don’t you go breathe in the walls and see how it feels?”

Rexar chuckled, shaking his head as they resumed their walk. Vaelyn trailed behind, sniffling wetly as his nose refused to cooperate. Each step seemed to stir up more of the venue’s allergens, keeping the maddening tickle alive and thriving.

As they approached the stage doors, Vaelyn felt the itch creeping back, teasing and relentless. His blue eyes were glassy and rimmed with red, and he blinked rapidly, trying to dispel the allergic tears pooling in the corners. His breath hitched again, the telltale prelude to another fit that he desperately tried to fight back.

“Man, you’re struggling already, and we haven’t even started soundcheck,” Rexar remarked, tossing a glance over his shoulder.

Vaelyn glared weakly, his face crumpling with irritation as the sneeze hovered on the edge, just out of reach. “This plahhh… place is a damn death trap,” he rasped, his voice breaking as the sneeze finally overwhelmed him. “Hh’EISSHHhh! ISSHHH! ISCHh! Ish! —Shh! —hhHh— …hehh’EESHHhhhuh!”

By the time they reached the backstage area, Vaelyn’s body felt drained, his sinuses raging like a storm. The low hum of the stage’s sound system filled the air as they passed through the last hallway, stepping into the controlled chaos of the pre-show setup. Kriia waved from the merch table, her usual calm energy an anchor amidst the bustle.

“Ready to get this over with?” Rexar asked, his smirk widening as he slung his guitar strap over his shoulder.

Vaelyn sniffled miserably, his hoodie sleeve pressed to his nose as he tried to compose himself. “Define ready,” he muttered, his voice muffled and dripping with sarcasm. The venue may have been alive with excitement, but Vaelyn could already feel the night spiraling into an allergenic nightmare.

The stage was alive with activity as crew members hustled to and fro, setting up lights and adjusting sound levels. Kriia stood to the side with her arms crossed, a satisfied grin tugging at her lips as she admired her neatly arranged merch table. Rows of Toad Biscuit shirts, vinyl records, and posters were perfectly aligned, ready to lure in fans the moment the doors opened.

Vaelyn, however, wasn’t basking in the pre-show buzz. His focus was locked on his guitar, but the burning itch deep in his sinuses made it nearly impossible to concentrate. He slung the strap over his shoulder, his long, deft fingers moving across the strings as he tested the tuning. The notes rang out cleanly, but his nose had other plans.

Hh-hhHhh—h-hang on,” he stammered, his voice breaking as his breath hitched violently. “G-godda sneeze—hh’EISHHhh!—ISSHhh!—ISCHHHh! ISHH! —ish! shh! sh! ……….. hhH’EISHHHhuhh!”

The sneezes burst from him like fireworks, wrenching his body forward and forcing him to catch himself on the mic stand as his guitar swung slightly against his chest. His blue eyes, already glassy from the relentless irritation, streamed with allergic tears as he wiped his face hastily with his sleeve. His nose, bright red and dripping, showed no signs of calming down. He barely had time to catch his breath before another itch flared to life, teasing him mercilessly.

“Bless you,” Rexar drawled, already holding his guitar in place and watching Vaelyn with an amused smirk. “If this is how you’re starting, we’re never getting through soundcheck… At this rate, we might as well cancel the show.”

Vaelyn shot him a glare, his voice gravelly as he retorted, “Why dod’t you play while I—hh-hhh-Hhh—ISSHHHhh!—deal with this?”

The congestion in his voice made Rexar smirk, but Vaelyn didn’t have the energy to fire off more sarcasm. Instead, he fished another tissue from his hoodie pocket, blowing his nose with a wet honk. It barely helped; his nose twitched incessantly, the stubborn itch burrowing deeper like it was mocking his attempts to clear it.

Soundcheck felt like an uphill battle. Every time Vaelyn tried to start a song, his breath would hitch halfway through, his focus completely obliterated by the maddening tickle crawling through his sinuses. He managed to play a few chords cleanly, only for the relentless sneezing to overtake him again.

“Hhh-hhh—Hh’ISSHHHhh!—hh-ISCHHh! ISCH! Ishh —ish!… sh! huhhh… hh-Hhh’ISSHHHhhhuhh!”

The force of the sneezes left him swaying slightly, and he pressed the back of his wrist against his nose, trying in vain to steady himself. His nose was bright red and raw from constant rubbing, and his hoodie sleeve was damp from wiping at his face between tissues.

“Think the mic stand’s about to give out from all your leaning,” Rexar teased, plucking a few random chords while Vaelyn glowered at him. “Maybe just get a bucket or something and let the sneezes play for you.”

Vaelyn groaned, his voice strained as he muttered, “Yeah, real fuddy, Rex. You’re—hh—so—hhHhh—ISSHHHuhh!—helpful.” He sniffled loudly, rubbing his knuckles against the underside of his nose in frustration.

Despite his misery, Vaelyn somehow managed to drag himself through the final minutes of soundcheck. It was a struggle every step of the way. His fingers, usually so deft and precise on the guitar strings, felt clumsy and heavy. The constant sneezing fits and the unrelenting tickle deep in his sinuses shattered his focus, leaving him distracted and increasingly frustrated. His nose was a raw, throbbing mess, the constant sniffling and wiping only making it worse. The itch behind his eyes never fully subsided, and his vision blurred with allergic tears that he kept swiping at with the edge of his sleeve.

Every time he fumbled a chord or missed a cue, Rexar didn’t miss the chance to pipe up with another quip. “You know, Vee, maybe we should market this as experimental sound design,” Rexar mused, plucking his strings with mock seriousness. “The art of sneeze-core. Bet the critics would eat it up.”

Vaelyn shot him a withering glare, though his puffy, red-rimmed eyes and streaming nose took all the bite out of it. “Why dod’t you go write that dowd, Rex?” he croaked hoarsely. “I’d hate for you to forget your dext brilliadt idea—hh-hhh!” His breath hitched violently, and his retort dissolved into yet another sneezing fit.

“Hhh’EISSHHhh! EISSHHH! hh-ISSHhh!—shhh! …hhHh’EISSHHhhuhh!”

The sneezes bent him double, his guitar strap tugging awkwardly at his shoulder as he braced himself against the mic stand for support. By the time the fit ended, he was left hunched over and panting, his chest rising and falling heavily. His fingers trembled slightly as he reached for another tissue, blowing his nose with a wet, miserable honk.

Rexar chuckled, shaking his head as he adjusted one of the dials on his amp. “Man, you sound like you’re auditioning for a jazz brass section with that nose. You sure you’re not dying?”

Vaelyn waved him off weakly, the tissue clutched in his hand as he straightened up. “I’b fide,” he muttered, though his strained voice and defeated posture said otherwise. He sniffled hard, the sound congested and wet, and turned his attention back to his guitar.

But even as he tried to finish the soundcheck, the constant interruptions from his body’s rebellion kept derailing him. His fingers would falter mid-chord as the ever-present itch teased him relentlessly, leaving him hovering on the edge of another fit. His playing grew sloppier, the irritation boiling under his skin, and it took everything he had not to fling his guitar aside in frustration.

By the time the last note of soundcheck rang out, Vaelyn felt completely wrung out. His head throbbed in rhythm with his pulse, and his nose showed no signs of calming down. All he wanted was a moment to breathe—both figuratively and literally—but the evening was just getting started. He leaned against the amp, scrubbing at his nose with the back of his hand as Rexar grinned at him from across the stage.

“Well, that was… something,” Rexar quipped, slinging his guitar over his shoulder. “Can’t wait to see what you bring to the main event, Sneezy.”

Vaelyn groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose and muttering under his breath. Tonight was going to be a long, long night.

The buzzing of the crowd outside reverberated through the walls of the venue as the hours before showtime ticked away. Vaelyn stood backstage, leaning against the cool concrete wall with his guitar resting beside him, feeling the weight of exhaustion settle into his bones. His sinuses were in full revolt—his nose a raw, irritated mess that refused to let up. Each breath felt shallow, as though the air had thickened in response to his allergies. He snuffled wetly, wishing he could just take a break from the constant irritation that gnawed at him from within.

His thoughts were cut off by Rexar, who strolled past with his usual swagger. “You gonna be able to make it through this show, or should I start writing up your obituary now?” he teased, flashing a smirk.

Vaelyn, already on edge and feeling like he was teetering on the brink of complete meltdown, gave him a look that could have melted steel. "Shut up, Rex," he rasped, though the congestion in his voice made it sound less like a statement and more like a plea. He scrubbed at his nose with the edge of his hoodie sleeve, only for the fabric to irritate his already-sensitive skin. The itch surged, his breath hitching as his body prepared for another round.

“Hh-hhHHh… Hh-! Hh’ISCHHh! EISHhh! H’ISHHhh! —ish! shh! —sh! ………………hh’EISHHhhhuhh!”

The sneezes hit like a freight train, each one bending him forward violently. His long hair fell into his face, and by the time the fit subsided, he was left blinking through watery eyes and panting for air. His guitar strap nearly slid off his shoulder, and Rexar had to steady him before he fell off the stool.

“Bless you,” Rexar said, his tone light but his expression edged with concern. “Seriously, Vee, you sure you can do this? You look like you’ve been hit by a truck.”

Vaelyn sniffled wetly and waved a hand dismissively. “I’b fide,” he muttered, though his red-rimmed eyes and the constant stream of tissues he kept stuffing into his pocket said otherwise. “Just… deed to ged through it.”

Kriia appeared at the edge of the stage, her purple eyes sweeping over Vaelyn with concern.

She had seen Vaelyn push himself past his limits countless times, but tonight, she could tell that he was barely hanging on. She placed a hand gently on his shoulder, offering silent support.

"Don’t go out there if you can’t do this, Vee."

But he was already shaking his head, his expression stubborn. "I’ll be fide,” he said, though his voice cracked with strain. He could feel the weight of his fatigue settling deeper with each passing minute. The soundcheck had already drained him, and he hadn’t even started performing yet. His nose twitched again, and he stifled a frustrated groan as the pressure built.

“Alright, then,” Kriia said softly, giving him a quick squeeze on the shoulder before heading off to get things ready. “But I’m keeping an eye on you.”

Left alone back stage, Vaelyn took a deep breath, ignoring the pounding headache that made every movement feel like a chore. He could hear the crowd outside now, their energy palpable even from backstage. The thrum of anticipation made his heart race, but his body screamed at him to rest. He didn’t have the luxury of doing that, though.

With one last, frustrated sniff, he straightened up and grabbed his guitar. It was time to face the crowd, allergies be damned.

The stage lights were blinding as Vaelyn stepped out, the roar of the crowd crashing over him like a wave. The energy in the room was electric, and despite his exhaustion, a small spark of adrenaline flickered to life in his chest. His guitar hung heavy across his shoulders, the strap digging into his sore muscles as he trudged toward his mic stand.

Rexar was already in full showman mode, greeting the audience with his signature swagger. "Let’s hear it for The Burning Bush, huh?" he shouted, his deep voice reverberating through the packed venue. The crowd responded with a deafening cheer, their enthusiasm infectious.

Vaelyn adjusted the mic stand with shaking hands, trying to appear nonchalant. His sinuses, however, had other plans. The burning itch that had been plaguing him all evening surged with a vengeance, and he barely had time to turn away from the mic before the sneezes erupted.

"Hhh—Hhhhh-! Hihhh—! Hh’ISCHHh! EISHhh! H’ISHHhh! —ish! shh! —sh! ………………hh’EISHHhhhuhh!!" The fit bent him at the waist, his long frame jerking forward with each sneeze. He clutched the neck of his guitar for balance, his other arm hastily shielding his face.

The sound, amplified slightly by his mic, drew a few surprised murmurs from the crowd. Rexar turned, raising an eyebrow as Vaelyn straightened up with a watery sniffle. “Bless you,” Rexar quipped into his mic, eliciting a ripple of laughter from the audience.

Vaelyn shot him a withering glare before stepping up to his mic. His voice, thick with congestion, cracked as he addressed the crowd. "Yeah, yeah. Real fuddy, Rex. Let’s just play."

The first chords of their opening song thundered through the venue, and the crowd erupted in cheers. Vaelyn forced himself to focus, his fingers flying over the strings with practiced precision. The familiar rhythm was a welcome distraction, even as his nose continued to twitch and run.

Midway through the second song, the relentless tickle returned, gnawing at the back of his sinuses like a persistent itch he couldn’t scratch. His breath hitched audibly, and he stumbled over a chord, turning his head just in time to avoid sneezing directly into the mic.

"Hhh… ...hh’ESHHHhh! Hhh’ISSHHhh! ISHHhh! ...ish! ...SHh!—sh! ………——hh’EISSHHHhew!"

The sneezes rattled through him, and he wiped at his nose with his wrist, glaring down at the floor as if it were to blame. The crowd, ever enthusiastic, didn’t seem to mind, cheering louder as Rexar took over the melody seamlessly.

Between songs, Kriia slipped onto the stage, pretending to adjust some cables near Vaelyn’s mic. She leaned in close, her voice low and urgent. "You don’t have to do this, Vee. You’re struggling."

"I said I’b fide," he croaked, his voice barely audible over the ringing in his ears.

Kriia hesitated, her gaze softening. "Just… let me know if it’s too much, okay?"

Vaelyn nodded curtly, his throat too raw to argue further. As Kriia disappeared back into the wings, he turned back to the crowd, forcing a smirk that he didn’t feel.

“This dext ode’s called ‘Obliviod’s Edge,’” he rasped into the mic, his voice cracking slightly. “Hope you’re ready for it!”

The audience roared in approval, and Vaelyn launched into the next song, determined to push through. Every note felt heavier than the last, but he clung to the music like a lifeline, even as his body screamed for relief.

As the set wore on, Vaelyn poured every ounce of energy he had left into his performance. His nose remained a constant, infuriating distraction, twitching and tingling as if the dust in the venue had a personal vendetta against him. His sniffling was almost as rhythmic as his guitar riffs, and every so often, he’d have to turn away from the mic to let out a rapid, desperate sneezing fit.

“Hh’iISSHHhh!! ISCHHHhh! Hh-ISHHhh! —ish! …ish! ...sh! ……..…hh’ISSHHHuhhh!”

Each fit left him blinking back tears, his breath hitching as he fought to keep the maddening tickle at bay. The crowd, however, didn’t seem to notice—or if they did, they didn’t care. Their cheers were thunderous, and the sheer energy of their enthusiasm helped Vaelyn keep going, even as his body protested with every chord.

Rexar, ever the consummate showman, covered seamlessly whenever Vaelyn faltered. He threw in extra solos, bantered with the audience, and even made a few quips about Vaelyn’s predicament between songs, earning loud laughter from the crowd. Vaelyn responded with wry smiles and exaggerated eye rolls, wiping his nose on the cuff of his hoodie as if it were part of the act.

By the time they reached the final song, Vaelyn was running on pure adrenaline. His fingers moved instinctively over the strings, though his mind felt foggy and sluggish. When the last note rang out, the crowd erupted into deafening applause, their cheers shaking the very walls of the dusty venue.

Rexar stepped up to the mic, his grey-red eyes gleaming with mischief. “Alright, everyone, let’s give it up for Vee’s allergies, huh? Real MVP tonight!”

The room exploded with laughter and cheers, and Vaelyn threw his head back with a tired laugh, his cheeks flushed—partly from the exertion, partly from the relentless sneezing. “Thadks a lot, dickhead,” he rasped, his voice hoarse but warm as he turned to the crowd. “I love you guys. I swear, I’b better whed there isd’t so buch dust everywhere!”

The audience roared with approval, some fans shouting their love back at him, while others waved homemade signs in the air. Vee wiped his nose with a tissue for what felt like the millionth time, flashing the crowd a crooked grin. Despite his exhaustion and the torment his sinuses had endured, there was a lightness in his chest—a reminder of why he did this in the first place.

As the band bowed and left the stage, Vaelyn gave the crowd one last wave. His body was spent, his nose still running, and his head felt like it was packed with cotton, but their cheers followed him backstage, carrying him forward like a second wind. Even through the haze of misery, he couldn’t help but feel a deep sense of gratitude. This was his life, chaotic and exhausting as it was, and he wouldn’t trade it for anything.