Nobody on the road, nobody on the beach

[mildwildchild]

Who: Flashstep and YOU
What: assorted shenanigans with the Flashbabes
Where: Pride HQ and all around Vista City
When: mid-late April-ish??
Warnings: probably some manpain


The world tour looms, all of Pride Records is feeling the strain, and Flashstep is certainly no exception. There are new song and dance routines to be memorized, public appearances to be made, and promotional stunts to be undertaken, in between which the boys have to wrangle with the burgeoning reality of their situation and maybe try to have some semblance of a social life.

Life is stressful for the band, but stable, maybe even predictable - at least, until Sora's unexpected firing.

[Individual prompts below!]

Comments

Jamie

[mildwildchild]

A. I'm falling apart, I'm barely breathing (4/22, open to bandmates and hangers-on)
It's dark when Jamie wakes up to find Sora missing from the bed they're sharing, and at first he doesn't give it much thought - maybe he had to use the bathroom or something, it's happened before and Jamie knows he'll be back. The spot where he'd been curled up beside Jamie is still warm; he's only been gone a minute or so. Jamie sinks back into sleep, taking for granted that Sora will be there when he wakes up again.

Except that he's not, and his spot in the bed is cold.

A familiar twinge of unease flutters to life in the pit of his stomach as he shuffles out of Sora's room, blearily tapping out a text - sometimes it's quicker to locate a wayward bandmate via phone than to search the penthouse room by room.

hey where u at?? we can get in some smash bros before breakfast if u want

The regular pings back and forth between Jamie and Sora have become almost a ritual, something whose significance is unspoken but clearly understood: are you still around, or did someone make you disappear again? Jamie's gotten more paranoid about it since the excursion into Lesedi's office and the subsequent disappearances of some of the people whom he'd accompanied during that break-in - but he'd labored under some kind of delusion that his attachment to Sora, his sheer need for him, would keep him around, keep them both anchored and safe. It's almost unthinkable that Sora wouldn't respond to a text, for any reason.

So when he doesn't this morning, the prickle of anxiety becomes more pronounced.

for srs man where are you? imma keep poking u until u answer me

...

sora?

...

dude?

--------

Patil's announcement only confirms what Jamie already knows. He sits in numb silence off to one side when the band is gathered and leaves almost immediately afterwards, disappearing into his room to be alone.


B. with a broken heart that's still beating (4/22-???, OTA)
For the public, he's largely the same as he was before - maybe his smiles are more strained and he doesn't quite radiate the same joy and enthusiasm when he performs, but he does his best to keep projecting the facade that his fans expect. He chats them up, answers questions, signs autographs, poses for photos, and tries to imbue his performances with as much enthusiasm and excitement as he can muster - he's gotten pretty good at whipping the crowd into a squealing preteen frenzy, and they'll be able to tell if he's slacking off. Everyone will. The only thing overpowering his grief now is his terror of being singled out for failure by the label.

In private - on his own time around town, back at HQ, around friends or bandmates - he just sort of shuts down and quietly withdraws from everything. Being around other people is torture but he can't stand being alone, so he's just miserable pretty much everywhere he goes. He buys meals he doesn't eat and coffee that goes untouched; he's drinking more, but he's pensive and quiet when he does so.

It might take a couple of tries to get his attention, but once roused from his melancholy he makes an attempt at focusing and pretending like he's not dying of angst. "...yeah, sorry. What's up?"

A

[traumatizing]

Terry leaves it a little while before he comes over — well he doesn't leave it so much as he thinks the band needs a little time before he storms in and starts checking up on everyone, but he knows Jamie has to be hurting. That's why he turns up armed with a care package of sorts and knocks on Jamie's door. Lets the quiet sit for a moment before he speaks.

"Jamie?" He leans against the doorframe, voice low but enough to carry through the door, "it's Terry. Can I come in?"

[mildwildchild]

It takes a bit for Jamie to reply. He feels heavy and half-here and not completely sure that he can still function like a normal person. Eventually, though, he calls back: "Sure."

The lights are off and the curtains drawn when Terry comes in, because the Laws of Brooding demand it. The canopy around the four-poster bed is closed too, though Jamie won't protest Terry invading. He's just sitting there in the center of the bed, back to the door. Trying, once again, to pretend that he doesn't have feelings.

[traumatizing]

He hesitates a little at the canopy, wondering if he should just leave or stay out here to give Jamie some time or space or whatever, but he's lost people who mean the world to him over the last few months; being alone is one of the most dangerous things imaginable after a loss like that.

Terry heads back to turn the light on first, and then he comes back to sit on the edge of the bed. He leaves the canopy drawn around the two of them, a little insulation from the world outside, and sits quietly for a moment or two.

"Have you eaten?" Terry asks first, voice soft. He doesn't need to ask if he's okay, they both know he's not.

[mildwildchild]

Jamie is about the furthest from "okay" he's been since he was knifed in the chest during Solstice.

"No." His voice is just as quiet as Terry's, and a little rough - from disuse or from emotion is anyone's guess. He lifts one shoulder in a listless shrug. "Haven't really been hungry."

Which would be a sure sign of Things Amiss even if one didn't know he was reeling from sudden trauma. Teenage boys are remorseless eating machines. Jamie is never not hungry.

Text

[yellowcopycat]

Jamie. I can't contact sora. Is something wrong? is he okay?

[a little later]

Jamie? What happened?

Why is everyone disappearing??? Jamie I hate this!

text

[mildwildchild]

i dont know why


it sucks

[yellowcopycat]

Jamiecchi I'm really scared.

B

[worthlesspride]

Tooru doesn't like Jamie, but... with what he's talked about with Squalo about those who had gotten fired... and well, something had been going on between the two littlest Flashstep members.

They're in the elevator, Tooru had watched Jamie sinking into despair, and while grief is necessary they really don't have the luxury of it at the moment.

"You know," he said. "Revenge is far more affective then self-destruction. More fun too." The door opened and Tooru took a step to towards the exit. "I am sorry about your friend."

[mildwildchild]

The elevator had been crowded when Tooru had gotten on and Jamie had been too wrapped up in his own misery to notice, once everyone else had gotten off, just who remained in the elevator with him; so when Tooru speaks up he gets a startled glance, rather than the studious attempt at ignoring his existence that Jamie would have put forth under normal circumstances. He looks away after a second, his jaw tightening and slouched posture becoming a little more defensive, but it's a pale shadow of his usual level of antagonism and hostility. There's just nothing left in him to muster that kind of effort.

"Yeah, standing up to Santiago's always worked out before, hasn't it." There's no scorn or derision or even an implied look how it turned out for you and your leg, gimpy in his tone; he's simply pointing out a dismal fact, his voice completely hollow.

"And you're not sorry about anything. You didn't even know him."

[worthlesspride]

"You're right, I didn't. But I-" he's about to say 'I know he deserved better than you' but stops himself from saying it. He's looking for allies, not more enemies. Ever since Baryl told him what Santiago and Blanche were doing... "But I know loss, and I am sorry you're experiencing it. I don't like you, but no one deserves to feel that." He's not sure if his real parents are dead or not, but real or not he knows it.

"I know what we're going up against now, we can plan better now. But I can't do it alone. Think about it." He gave Jamie his 'I believe in you smile'. "Something tells me you have good eyes, and extra pair of those is always nice to have."

4/22, later

[notahobby]

Maxxie waits a little while before he comes to Jamie's door. It's after he's gone to his own room to wallow in it a bit - Sora was one of his closest friends here, and now he's just gone. Patil didn't even seem to care, or think it was a bad decision, or anything, but Maxxie can't bring himself to fight on this one. He texts Terry immediately and lies in bed for a little over an hour before he finally shows up at Jamie's door. He knocks softly and chews on his lip a moment before he announces himself.

"Hey, J... you alright in there?"

[mildwildchild]

There's a lengthy silence after Maxxie speaks; he might be forgiven for thinking Jamie's asleep or ignoring everyone or just not there. Finally, though, he calls back.

"No."

It's probably not a big surprise that he sounds completely wrecked.

[notahobby]

There's a pause as Maxxie deliberates what to do next. Maybe Jamie needs some time alone. Maxxie doesn't think that's necessarily the best thing, but different people have different needs. Just because he wants to be surrounded by his own support system doesn't mean that's what works for everyone.

On the other hand, Jamie probably really needs a hug right now, so Maxxie puts his hand on the door knob. "I'm coming in, alright?" he warns him, before he opens the door.

Wildcard after her supposed death.

[faithfulflame]

It's out and about around town that Rei Hino ends up running into someone she hadn't seen in a while. Someone who's...basically sitting alone in a TGI Fridays with an untouched platter of ribs. And someone who she'd very much like to speak to again.

Sliding into his booth, she pulls down her glasses and gives him a ghostly smile.

"Boo."

[mildwildchild]

He looks startled when the girl slips into the seat opposite him - little things like this seem to startle him a lot lately, like he's so zoned out he's just not aware of what's going on around him - and for a moment or two he doesn't recognize her. And when he does, well - his reaction is kind of embarrassing. For him, at least.

"I thought you were dead," he croaks. Is he tearing up? He's tearing up. It's been an emotional week, okay.

[faithfulflame]

Rei smiles gently, leaning down closer and keeping her voice low, warily letting her eyes flicker to the server that largely seems to be ignoring the two of them. Maybe it's just because he's such a mess he wasn't recognized, or maybe she just looks like an ordinary groupie. Either way, she reaches across and squeezes his hand.

"I'm not dead. Swear it. I'm...it's a long story, but I'm free from Virgo. Some people got me out. Friends from home."

B

[cleartranquil]

Yuffie is surprisingly quiet when she sees Jamie. She's not an idiot, okay. She can tell when one of her friends wants to pretty much curl up and stop. It's a specialty of hers, it seems.

"Hey, Jamie."

She walks up behind him in the bar, with her phone in her pocket for once and drink absent. For all that everyone else seems to be drinking like fishes, Yuffie is mostly doing less of it. It doesn't agree with her as much as it did, and getting drunk just seems like an excuse to be open to something horrible happening. Instead, she sits down next to him, and when he doesn't immediately respond she taps him on the shoulder and repeats.

"J."

And then when he does respond she smiles at him.

"Hey there, you." She taps him again, being less rambunctious than she would be normally.

"Nice to see you're actually in there."

[mildwildchild]

Jamie looks over at her, blearily, and it takes him a second or two to focus on her. He'd already been drinking pretty heavily before she showed up, though he's been morose and almost silent for the duration of it.

"Hhhheeyyyy," he says slowly, his voice heavily slurred. "Howz...howzit goin'?"

[cleartranquil]

"Oh, J."

Yuffie's face probably shows exactly what she thinks of his current state, and Yuffie's response is to lean over and steal his glass while making eye contact with the bartender and making the universal sign for 'you will cut him off or I will cut you'. The bartender, wisely, decides to ignore the two of them after that.

She then proceeds to down his entire drink in one go to get rid of it, making a face because it's not the kind she'd normally go for.

"Okay. It's time for you and me to make our way to somewhere not the bar."

Demyx

[melodiouspacifist]

A. Shattering, splintering torment (OTA)

The bombshell he'd had dropped on him had made his smiles a lot thinner, the light in his eyes a little duller. It was harder just to push forth cheer he wasn't feeling.

And God, was he feeling. That was the root of the problem. His mind was muddled, his memories mixed and blended and most importantly the thumping of his heart in his chest. Was it even his? Probably not. It was probably as fake as the memories he remembered but didn't actually have.

Internally, Demyx was a mess. He'd gone to Maxxie's party and wound up so far out of his mind, but it was temporary. He'd already been withdrawing from the group before Sora vanished and now that he had, everyone else was wrapped up in that, which suited him fine. Thinking about it made his head hurt, his heart ache and he was so terribly confused, even after talking to Roxas.

As much free time as he could manage away from the situation, Pride HQ, the loft with his bandmates, he spent outside, looking for ways to distract himself. He'd never been a deep thinker.

B. Stupid mistakes as tensions spark...(Bandmates)

He had never been punctual. His tendency to be late, to forget important things and be a little scatterbrained was nothing new. The label was getting ready for a world tour and they needed reliability.

Demyx was not reliable.

Occasionally he was turning up, not just late, but out of sorts or hungover. Between that and Sora's firing, it was inevitable that when he came in one morning late for rehearsal, Patil tore him a new one. He just listened impassively, arms crossed as he half-listened.

B

[mildwildchild]

The scary thing about Manish Patil is that his disapproval starts out very quiet and firm, as though he's giving the offending party one last chance to redeem themselves and fall back in line. He is clearly displeased with Demyx' flippant attitude, something that is plainly visible in his dark, snapping eyes, even as his tone remains steady and cold.

"Demyx. I, and the label, have been extraordinarily tolerant of your laziness and bad attitude. We don't expect much of you but to pull your weight in the band and be places on time, ready to perform. Shape up, or there will be consequences."

His eyes bore into Demyx'. "Is that clear?"

[melodiouspacifist]

If that was the best Manish Patil could do, he'd have to do a lot more to leave him quaking in fear. Now that he remembered who he was, this was an incredibly feeble attempt to get him back in line.

As such, he sighed, rolled his eyes and waved his hand dismissively.

"Yeah, yeah, fine. I'll be on time."

[mildwildchild]

This is exactly the wrong attitude to take with Patil at this particular moment in time.

His expression never changes - it's the same unamused frown it's been since he started going into lecture mode - but with almost inhuman speed his hand snaps up to grab Demyx' wrist and twist. In one smooth gesture, he whips the man around and pins his arm behind his back at an uncomfortable angle - applying just enough pressure to hurt without doing damage, although there is the unmistakable implication that he could do much worse without a lot of effort.

"Maybe I didn't make myself clear," he says, his tone still icily calm. "Adjust your attitude. This is no longer a request, Demyx."

[mildwildchild]

SUDDENLY, MUSIC WIZARDRY (forward dated to 4/29, mostly narrative, open to anyone who wants it??? idk)

The nights alone are the worst, when there's nothing to distract his thoughts from Sora's absence, from the fact that Sora is being held somewhere Jamie can't get to him and used for some bullshit purpose Jamie can't begin to guess at. It eats at him and he lies awake sometimes for hours, wracking his brain to think of something, anything he can do to help him and the other people who've been taken away. Ultimately, nothing occurs to him - at least not anything that he thinks would actually work. He could sing at Lesedi and try to mind-fuck her into choking on a dick releasing everyone, but something tells him the only result that would yield would be his own swift and horrible death.

Mornings are almost worse, because coming out of sleep he forgets sometimes that Sora's gone and then has to realize it all over again and feel that leaden weight re-settle into the pit of his stomach. It's strange how he can feel so heavy and yet so completely empty at the same time, on those mornings.

He doesn't know sometimes if he can come back from this like he has from everything else that's happened over the past few months.

This morning is different, partly because he dreamed about Sora last night - him and Sora and those animal robots that have figured so prominently in his visions and hallucinations. That combination of subjects is...unusual, in its own way. He's dreamed about both of them, separately, often enough, but never together. He wonders what it could mean. If it means anything at all.

The other difference is that he doesn't feel quite as broken and despondent as he has previously - he's still sad, definitely, and there's still a hollow feeling of grief and guilt in the pit of his stomach that feels like it will never go away, but there's something beneath it, twining through it like a thread. An energy, a restlessness, a need for activity. It puzzles him, and curled in his nest of blankets he pokes and prods at the feeling, trying to figure it out.

It resists examination, demands action, and coaxes him out of bed.

It's not quite dawn when he leaves the penthouse and walks out of HQ. April makes for balmy days in Vista City but nights and early mornings are still cold; he takes in a lungful of brisk air and moves off down the sidewalk in the dim twilight.

Without thinking he moves west through sidestreets and alleys, eyes raking the shadows but his focus turned firmly inward, on the thrumming tension inside him. It's like raw emotion, anxiety and turmoil and sorrow and rage all tumbled together into a seething mass that demands expression. He hums to himself, the noise irritable and frustrated and tuneless.

The scent of brine and seaweed and water hits him suddenly. He's near the ocean, its incessant roar faint but distinctly audible at this range. With no other plan in mind, he emerges from a gap between buildings and continues across a parking lot toward the grey expanse of sand and water. The hum takes on a distinct tune, one he doesn't recognize but that he somehow knows intimately, as the restlessness builds.

He doesn't quite know where the words are coming from, or if the music is truly surrounding him or all in his head - but it's irresistible, and somehow a perfect outlet for the energy he feels building up in him.

I found a memory of you, whoa oh
That hijacked my world last night
To a place in the past we've been cast out of, whoa oh
But now I'm back in the fight

Already he feels better. More right, somehow, as though something misaligned inside him is easing back into place as he lets the music flow over him and the words come forth.

I'm back on the train, yeah
Oh, back on the chain gang

He reaches the beach proper, scrambling down a sand dune to reach level ground again; somehow his movements are in perfect cadence with the rhythm of the song, so that his voice remains steady and even despite his physical activity. The shore is hazy with early-morning fog and the sky choked with clouds that the barely-risen sun can't quite penetrate; seagulls browse along the waterline or wheel overhead, but Jamie is the only person on the beach at this hour, or so it seems.

Circumstance beyond our control, whoa oh
The fortune, the fame and the ways of the world
Got in the house like a pigeon from hell, whoa oh
Threw sand in our eyes and descended like flies

Put me back on the train, yeah
Oh, back on the chain gang

Further down the shoreline a massive driftwood log juts out the side of a dune, wedged in amongst exposed rock. He climbs the broad, weathered stone faces to poise on the behemoth, wind whipping his short-cropped hair. The fog swirls around him, clinging to him and the surface of the log in little wisps, almost as though for dramatic effect.

The powers that be that force us to live like we do
Bring me to my knees when I think what they've done to you

The mist seems to shift in accordance with his emotions, surging wildly and accumulating to form cloud-like masses behind him, twisting and curling in damp grey corkscrews. It's something he's barely aware of, a vague sensation that there's something malleable in and around him, something that he can latch onto and control.

But I'll die as I stand here today: knowing that deep in my heart
They'll fall to ruin one day for making us part

The fog falls to either side of the log, clearing its broad, smooth surface like a runway. Spurred by nothing more than the surging energy inside him, Jamie takes a running leap off the far end of the hunk of driftwood, limbs stretching with ridiculous grace. The musical energy surrounding him feels like a physical presence he can latch onto with his outstretched hands. He hits the sand and rolls to his feet, never losing the rhythm in his head, the unerring steadiness it lends to his voice.

I found a memory of you, whoa oh
Those were the happiest days of my life

Making his way effortlessly to the top of another rock, facing the grey, roiling ocean, Jamie sings into the wind with everything he has, willing his voice to carry above it and the mists to settle. A flock of gulls bursts into flight from behind him, the sound of their wings and raucous squeals reduced to little more than background noise for Jamie's performance.

Like a break in the battle was your part, whoa oh
In the wretched life of a lonely heart

The sun finally breaks through the cloud cover, warming Jamie's back, and the fog gradually subsides, pooling around the base of the rock on which he stands and stretching across the sand in silvery, root-like tendrils.

Now I'm back on the train, yeah
Oh, back on the chain gang

For a few more long moments he remains atop the rock, buffeted by the wind. He breathes, slow and deep, feeling a sort of catharsis as the music he hears nears its own conclusion. Mist curls from the hands clenched loosely at his sides, a phenomenon of which he's only tangentially aware while he gazes out at the water, thinking. Feeling.

Something has changed. He doesn't know exactly what, or why, but maybe it's something he can use.