redrosid
She smiled and breathed in the sweet smell of coffee. Staring at the blank canvas in front of her, her mind began to swim with thousands of little ideas all taking off at once, yet not a one seeming to grow to the potential that she wanted it to have.
She studied him carefully, taking in every movement and facial expression. She did not want another manager like the last one. "I will not," she continued, "stand for any tardiness. Not even if the world is ending, because I'll need as many people as I can working during that time."
He laughed and a small smile crossed his face, "Of course."
She walked into the kitchen and groaned. The water still wasn't boiling. She turned to walk away, shaking her head when she heard that familiar chuckle. "Forgetting something, Ana?" She spun around to face the tall, lean man as he took several steps forward and turned on the stove, "It has to be on to work, Love."
"Did you ever hear the story?" Daniel asked, a mischievous glint in his green eyes.
"What story?" Alex asked, leaning forward in anticipation.
"The one about the angel whose wings were ripped off. These guys ripped them off and filmed it. Anyone who watches the tape goes mad and the angel comes to kill them," he purred.
"You're lying," Alex laughed, tugging on Daniel's coppery hair.
Daniel grinned and swatted at her hand, "Whatever you say, Dollface."
He was smiling as he took that first step out of the house. He didn't seem to notice the blood on his hands, nor how the wind managed to lift away what was left of his shirt. The ribbons of it fluttered about but he payed them no heed. He ran a hand through his disheveled brown hair and laughed as the wail of sirens reached his ears. He'd done it. Finally.
"Just try it," she purred. A slow, sultry smile made its way onto her lips, "If you can amuse me, I'll let you go." She raised the glass of wine to her painted lips and took a sip, never breaking eye contact, "What do you say, boys?"
She stared down at the old band t-shirt and sighed. It was old and a few sizes too large for her to wear, but it still held so many memories. She traced the faded signatures with her index finger and smiled as that day came rushing back. She folded it up and shook her head. "Not today," she murmured.
There was a loud clap of thunder. "No one will recognize me," he whispered, his voice hoarse.
As always, there was that harsh voice responding to him, "Then make them."
He shook his head violently. He just had to move a little faster, then maybe he could outrun it. He didn't want to listen to that voice anymore. He didn't want to be recognized. "Just a little faster," he breathed as the rain began to fall violently, "Just a little. . . ."
"Dude, are you ill? You look like shit," Alexander said as he tossed a sideways glance at Davy.
"No," he muttered, his voice hoarse, "Just fucking exhausted. I spent all day in a mosh pit yesterday."
Alexander snorted and shook his head, "Idiot."
Felix stared up at the ceiling. He was stressed and afraid to think about what he was going to do. Violence was all he had ever known. It was second nature to him, and now he was being asked to stop and try to throw it all away. He felt the strong hands pulling at that part of him, his past, and violently ripping it from him. He struggled to resist the urge to cry out in frustration and simply buried his head in his pillow.
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