There are so many things that one can say about darkness, but to say that it was comforting after a series of uncomfortable events, would be just about right. Otrahun felt at ease as the lights slowly went down. The darkness slithered over like a prehistoric creature that has finally found its resting place.
The voice on the microphone continued in an almost whispering and conspirational tone.
"Tonight, we have with us, the prince of percussion, the Badshah of beat, the sultan of skins and he is here to perform just for all you lovely dead tonight."
The crowd hissed back in response. "So, without further ado, let me present to you, our drum striker of tonight, the gentle-demon Ooooooooooak."
Huh, Otrahun thought. I know someone in here finally and so what if he is on the stage.
The crowd's voice rose like a wave of jubilation and even Otrahun threw up his arms and yelled along in his incomprehensible imitation of the words that the revelers were yelling.
A single spotlight lit up the drums and like a magic trick, Oak was sitting there. His headgear had changed to display massive horns that made him look even larger than he was. The sticks looked like toothpicks in his massive hands and Otrahun realized that the drum-kit was scaled up in size, but it was still not enough to meet the massive size that Oak presented.
The magic started when he began playing the drums. The beat rose up like a trampling horde crushing civilizations under clawed feet. It was angry and gentle at the same time. It crested and flowed through the crowd and they all moved with the drums, swaying like marionettes strung by crazy strings. As the tempo of the beat increased, Otrahun found that he was swaying with the crowd too. The beat of the drums got crazier and complex. He could feel his blood throbbing with every hit of the stick on the drums and his heart felt like it was going to explode through his chest.
He opened his mouth but no words came out. He tried to suck in a breath, but all he did was gape wordlessly at the stage. He could not breathe, but there was no panic in his head. Death was only another possibility that he would have to handle to listen to the sweet music again and again. He'd stand here with his dead brethren and listen to Oak play night after night till the world ended.
A hand landed on his collar and he was violently jerked out of his reverie. Someone grabbed him as he fell on the ground and put a pair of headphones on his head. Silence flooded into his ears and he had to shake his head to clear the cobwebs of the tune that were lingering there like uninvited guests.
What the fuck, he thought. All he knew that he was extremely thirsty and he wanted, no, he needed to listen to that music again. The lady's face swam into view and she slapped him hard on the face.
"I didn't want to do this, but you left me no choice." She was also wearing a pair of headphones and her voice was clear in his ears. "We need to get out of here. Can you walk?"
Otrahun just nodded. He could no longer hear the beat of the drums, but he could still feel it reverberate through his ribcage. The sudden stop of that vibration made him look behind him.
It was not the first mistake he made, it'd not be the last.
Oak was standing on his chair and his hand with a stick in it was pointed right at Otrahun. As one, the eyes of the crowd found him, too. The empty sockets and the leering, broken grins turned to face Otrahun.
Otrahun saw Oak's lips move and he said four words that froze his blood.
"I need new skins."
The crowd surged towards Otrahun and the lady as a single creature devoid of any thought but the one demand by its master.
"I hope you are as good a runner as you say, Mr. Yaway."
The voice on the microphone continued in an almost whispering and conspirational tone.
"Tonight, we have with us, the prince of percussion, the Badshah of beat, the sultan of skins and he is here to perform just for all you lovely dead tonight."
The crowd hissed back in response. "So, without further ado, let me present to you, our drum striker of tonight, the gentle-demon Ooooooooooak."
Huh, Otrahun thought. I know someone in here finally and so what if he is on the stage.
The crowd's voice rose like a wave of jubilation and even Otrahun threw up his arms and yelled along in his incomprehensible imitation of the words that the revelers were yelling.
A single spotlight lit up the drums and like a magic trick, Oak was sitting there. His headgear had changed to display massive horns that made him look even larger than he was. The sticks looked like toothpicks in his massive hands and Otrahun realized that the drum-kit was scaled up in size, but it was still not enough to meet the massive size that Oak presented.
The magic started when he began playing the drums. The beat rose up like a trampling horde crushing civilizations under clawed feet. It was angry and gentle at the same time. It crested and flowed through the crowd and they all moved with the drums, swaying like marionettes strung by crazy strings. As the tempo of the beat increased, Otrahun found that he was swaying with the crowd too. The beat of the drums got crazier and complex. He could feel his blood throbbing with every hit of the stick on the drums and his heart felt like it was going to explode through his chest.
He opened his mouth but no words came out. He tried to suck in a breath, but all he did was gape wordlessly at the stage. He could not breathe, but there was no panic in his head. Death was only another possibility that he would have to handle to listen to the sweet music again and again. He'd stand here with his dead brethren and listen to Oak play night after night till the world ended.
A hand landed on his collar and he was violently jerked out of his reverie. Someone grabbed him as he fell on the ground and put a pair of headphones on his head. Silence flooded into his ears and he had to shake his head to clear the cobwebs of the tune that were lingering there like uninvited guests.
What the fuck, he thought. All he knew that he was extremely thirsty and he wanted, no, he needed to listen to that music again. The lady's face swam into view and she slapped him hard on the face.
"I didn't want to do this, but you left me no choice." She was also wearing a pair of headphones and her voice was clear in his ears. "We need to get out of here. Can you walk?"
Otrahun just nodded. He could no longer hear the beat of the drums, but he could still feel it reverberate through his ribcage. The sudden stop of that vibration made him look behind him.
It was not the first mistake he made, it'd not be the last.
Oak was standing on his chair and his hand with a stick in it was pointed right at Otrahun. As one, the eyes of the crowd found him, too. The empty sockets and the leering, broken grins turned to face Otrahun.
Otrahun saw Oak's lips move and he said four words that froze his blood.
"I need new skins."
The crowd surged towards Otrahun and the lady as a single creature devoid of any thought but the one demand by its master.
"I hope you are as good a runner as you say, Mr. Yaway."
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