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interstellar55552016-02-19 10:22 am
tigermillionaire) wrote in interstellar55552016-02-19 10:22 am
Entry tags:
[OPEN] if i could begin to be
Who: Steven/Tiger and YOU.
What: Sad glowing child attempts to play music and wanders Pride HQ, doing various things, in anticipation of upcoming concert.
When: Any time around nowish.
Where: Around Pride HQ.
Warnings: Possibly mentions of torture and child abuse.
SYSTEM CRASH PENTHOUSE (OPEN TO BANDMATES AND VISITING CR)
He’s been trying. At least there’s that.
Ever since Trucy made her announcement to the band about her flash concert plans, he’s known that having to get up on stage again is an inevitability, no matter how messed up he is. The inhuman features of his broken appearance can probably be concealed by pretending as if they are intentional special effects, but the difficulty he’s had focusing is another matter entirely.
So, he’s been practicing. For the last several days, he’s often been found camping out in the living area of the penthouse, trying to work over his parts, and trying to remember how they’re done. Sometimes it feels impossibly difficult, like every time he tries to piece a new part of it together, the rest of the puzzle falls apart. Other times, it almost seems to flow, and he feels just a little bit like how he’s supposed to be.
Right now, he isn’t sure which it is. It seemed like it was going well earlier, but now he’s hit a dry spot. In one particular song, he keeps trying to play his keyboard part but every time it feels like he’s losing track of the rhythm until it falls completely out of line with the rest of the synth arrangement.
He’s getting frustrated, which only seems to make it worse. The glowing pink crack lines only seem to form more frequently when he feels like this. But he’s trying.
AROUND PRIDE HQ (OPEN TO ALL)
When allowed to wander the residential areas of the Pride tower, he kind of sticks out like a sore thumb. The glowing pink crack lines that have formed across his body have remained there since he returned from his punishment, moving in constantly shifting patterns across his flesh. He’s been dressed in sweaters and full leggings or pants most of the time to try to hide them, but they still appear on his face and hands from time to time. Sunglasses have been covering the glowing expanses of his eyes.
There’s probably a body guard lingering somewhere nearby, while he’s out and about like this, within range of sight but not closer. He spends his time lingering on the balconies and star watching in the evenings, a series of space related books brought along with him and left hanging open across his lap. He’s been trying to learn the constellations recently, and part of him wonders why he never learned them before.
During the day he’ll sometimes be found having zoned out of dozed off in public, in a number of the different lounges, sometimes in the middle of drawing a bunch of pictures that range from normal to surreal to mildly disturbed. The quality is pretty good, for his age.
He hasn’t been wearing makeup recently, which is perhaps one of the most glaring differences, despite everything. The bratty and obnoxious child of months ago has never seemed further away.
What: Sad glowing child attempts to play music and wanders Pride HQ, doing various things, in anticipation of upcoming concert.
When: Any time around nowish.
Where: Around Pride HQ.
Warnings: Possibly mentions of torture and child abuse.
SYSTEM CRASH PENTHOUSE (OPEN TO BANDMATES AND VISITING CR)
He’s been trying. At least there’s that.
Ever since Trucy made her announcement to the band about her flash concert plans, he’s known that having to get up on stage again is an inevitability, no matter how messed up he is. The inhuman features of his broken appearance can probably be concealed by pretending as if they are intentional special effects, but the difficulty he’s had focusing is another matter entirely.
So, he’s been practicing. For the last several days, he’s often been found camping out in the living area of the penthouse, trying to work over his parts, and trying to remember how they’re done. Sometimes it feels impossibly difficult, like every time he tries to piece a new part of it together, the rest of the puzzle falls apart. Other times, it almost seems to flow, and he feels just a little bit like how he’s supposed to be.
Right now, he isn’t sure which it is. It seemed like it was going well earlier, but now he’s hit a dry spot. In one particular song, he keeps trying to play his keyboard part but every time it feels like he’s losing track of the rhythm until it falls completely out of line with the rest of the synth arrangement.
He’s getting frustrated, which only seems to make it worse. The glowing pink crack lines only seem to form more frequently when he feels like this. But he’s trying.
AROUND PRIDE HQ (OPEN TO ALL)
When allowed to wander the residential areas of the Pride tower, he kind of sticks out like a sore thumb. The glowing pink crack lines that have formed across his body have remained there since he returned from his punishment, moving in constantly shifting patterns across his flesh. He’s been dressed in sweaters and full leggings or pants most of the time to try to hide them, but they still appear on his face and hands from time to time. Sunglasses have been covering the glowing expanses of his eyes.
There’s probably a body guard lingering somewhere nearby, while he’s out and about like this, within range of sight but not closer. He spends his time lingering on the balconies and star watching in the evenings, a series of space related books brought along with him and left hanging open across his lap. He’s been trying to learn the constellations recently, and part of him wonders why he never learned them before.
During the day he’ll sometimes be found having zoned out of dozed off in public, in a number of the different lounges, sometimes in the middle of drawing a bunch of pictures that range from normal to surreal to mildly disturbed. The quality is pretty good, for his age.
He hasn’t been wearing makeup recently, which is perhaps one of the most glaring differences, despite everything. The bratty and obnoxious child of months ago has never seemed further away.
no subject
"Too much trouble? What sort of trouble?" And what can he do about it? There has to be something.
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It was all so terrible he doesn't even know how to discuss it. All his friends have told him it wasn't his fault but he's paying the price anyway.
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Sabo slams the side of his fist into the wall, feeling the plaster give and dent and crack but not much caring. When he speaks, though his voice is tense and low.
"No... It wasn't your fault. I don't care what-- Listen who was it? Who did it?"
Sabo can't fix what has already been done but maybe he can prevent it from happening again. He feels like he has to. He feels like he needs to. Like holding a steel pipe and feeling reverberations along its length.
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"Miss Santiago," he says in a very small voice.
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What the hell did the kid do to deserve it? That was the first thought, sudden and fierce. He must have done something. Miss Santiago was only looking out for their best interests after all and she wouldn't have reacted unless seriously provoked.
Right?
No that was all wrong.
It felt wrong. It tasted wrong. Everything about it-- because punishment was one thing but that-- that looked like torture. And he was so young-- whatever he was. There couldn't be anything... Sabo runs a hand through his hair. Shakes his head. His hears a buzzing in his ears.
When he speaks it's softly.
"What did you do?" Curious but not accusing and yet... he has to know.
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"We...broke in somewhere she didn't want us to. And...and we wrecked her stuff, and...and it was stupid and bad. I'm so stupid."
He clutches at his hair, leaning forward against the table.
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"Why did you do that? It's no excuse for... what happened but... these people... Pride are our benefactors..."
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"Well your contract should be up soon, right?" He doesn't actually know. He hopes so. A part of him is screaming for him to do something but another part rebels completely going against this label that's given them so much. "You'll just have to be patient." Though he says so kindly. Or tries to.