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ageeksnerdyworld · 5 years

Text

A Facade Well Fed

Characters: Zale Young, Emery Becker, Dexterity Burrows, Zephyr Allen & Esteem Wells

Word Count: 4,934

Trigger Warning: Drinking, Drunk Shenanigans, Drug Mention, Death Mention

Notes: Good news is I figured out what to do with my cow boy. Bad news is this story is like all over the place. As always The Cyber World and the viruses therein belong to @voiceoflarka

Summary: After finishing a set at local bar the members of Midnight Decoy decide to celebrate. With drinks, and friends, to go around everyone seems to having a good time. Except for Zale who's having a very difficult night. His past won’t leave him alone tonight. So he heads off on his own to clear his head. But the night is just about to get even worse. Click that read more if you'd like.

~~~

"Now get the hell out," Emery shouts into the mic.

The small crowd, that actually stayed to listen, yelled. A few people called for an encore. But that wasn’t their shtick. Emery yells again, more vulgar and aggressive than the first time, and a few people back off.

As the band dismantles their equipment, and instruments, they chat about the show. It seemed that tonight, for whatever reason, was one of their better performances. They all thought so anyway. But the band didn't care. They made music they wanted to hear. It didn't matter to them if anyone liked it. A few people stuck around and voiced their opinions. Some were fans but most were wannabe critics. Most of them were screaming their thanks for the end of the impromptu concert. It seemed that everyone had something to say about each band member.

“Everyone always thinks they know music better than we do,” Zale mutters as he sees a few people approaching the stage.

The other three nod in agreement. Emery notices that he doesn't want to deal with any of the people tonight. So he gives Zale a nod; a verifiable go ahead to sit this one out. In turn Zale mouths his thanks before heading upstage. He starts to pack their equipment in the respective cases.

Alone, with the sound of chatter at his back, he feels a hand at his back.

Biting his lip he tries to ignore it.

Most of the comments Dexterity receives weren't really about their drumming. The viruses who walked up talked about the music, but, the words were nothing more than an excuse to get close. Dexterity approached whoever was speaking with a smirk. They did what they did best; flirted excessively. Dexterity pulled some of the viruses aside and spoke to them in private. Those then left with the drummer's number and the promise of a good night.

Emery just smiled, eerily, in each angry face. When each critical roast was over he told them all the same thing.

"I don't give a flying fuck what you think."

Zephyr was always the nicest of the group when it came to fans and critics. He knew of course that nothing anyone outside the band could've said would make a difference. Midnight Decoy was never going to make music everyone enjoyed. The band wasn't going to go on tour. Nor would they mass produce an album. That was selling out; something none of them wanted. But Zephyr Allen still spoke to each person with a genuine smile and an interested brow.

As the others dealt with the people as they saw fit Zale stayed upstage. He didn't say anything to any of the viruses who called out to him. Despite the excited screams, and the occasional jeer, he kept his head down. He was focused on packing up the amps and his guitar. Or so it seemed.

Something else was occupying his thoughts.

Someone else.

“You alright, man,” Zephyr asks; stepping behind him and putting a hand on his shoulder.

“Yeah, I’m fine.”

Liar, liar, a voice whispers darkly in his ear.

With the meet and greet, and clean up, done Emery hops off the stage. He lands on the barroom floor with a light thud. His bright purple eyes shine with excitement and leftover adrenaline. The lime green veins that cover his skin pulse rapidly. Hollering to the others he points out the bar. Zephyr nods and also jumps off the edge of the stage. When he lands he runs a hand through his long dark blonde hair; moving it out of his eyes. Dexterity smirks and gives the young man they had been flirting with a soft kiss goodbye. They rush over to catch up with the group.

Zale, somewhat reluctantly, follows the others’ lead.

As the group makes their way a very excited virus rushes up to them.

The virus wears a black leather jacket over a thin, green tartan, shirt. Light blue jeans are tightly tucked into his black boots. Dark boysenberry colored veins glow beneath his gingerbread brown skin. Wide, round, ears emerge from either side of his face. A brown tail, matching his skin tone, hangs lazily behind him. Small, curved, white horns poke through his side-swept hair. The virus’s hair is a light orchid purple with a few streaks of dark eggplant running through it. His eyes are blue at the edges but shifted to green. The bright green colors the rest of his irises.

Eyes that shine brightly with enthusiasm.

"That was your best set ever, guys," he says passionately.

Zale, Dexterity, and Emery simultaneously roll their eyes. This guy came to every random concert they had. His name was Esteem Wells and he was the group’s, self proclaimed, biggest fan. Every time he saw any of them he talked rapidly about how he wanted to buy merch and hear their music on the radio. In reality he annoyed the whole group. He completely missed the point of their band and the music they made.

But as always Zephyr talks to him with a smile and an open ear.

“Thanks, man. Glad ya liked it.”

“It was awesome. And the way Emery did his screaming thing when you played that riff? Epic.”

Before he could ramble on Emery pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs. This guy was full of shit and he knew it. There was something else he wanted. It couldn’t just be the music. No one in their right mind would go see the same band over thousands of times. Running his hand through the hair at the base of his skull he looks away for a split second. He gathers the words and then outright asks the cow virus.

“E, my dude, my guy, how the hell can you be this excited about something I do every show?”

“I’m getting a drink,” Zale mutters to Dexterity. “Meet you at the bar.”

“See you there,” they reply with a wink.

As he leaves the others the thoughts come floating back again. It happens whenever he's not occupying every thought and movement with something else. He tries to shove them out and focus on something else. But he knows that neither his mind or his body are truly occupied at the moment. He's alone and oh so helpless against it.

Against her.

Bonsai Warner haunts his mind like a ghost. An ever present feeling, but, only showing up when no one else is around.

As he winds his way through the other patrons he feels her presence slowly materialize. He can see her in his peripheral. Every part of her is a pristine version of the last time he got a good look at her. Her white skin and long, midnight black, hair. The light coffee brown eyes and bright tangerine colored veins. She wears a white tank top, one of his thicker hoodies, ripped jeans, and thigh-high black boots. A silver and blue ring sits on her right hand. Thin, leather, bracelets cover her wrists. A thin metal ribcage, with a small red stone, hung from a chain around her neck. Her winged eyeliner is perfectly done. Bonsai takes his hand and leans her head against his shoulder.

He doesn't resist.

Her voice whispers in his head.

You did great out there, Zay. I miss you so much.

He looks down at his feet and smiles; embarrassed. To him their relationship never made much sense. She deserved to be with someone who could give her things she wanted. Not a punk with a skateboard, a guitar, and a drug problem. Not to mention the fact that Bonsai Warner was completely out of his league. But he doesn't say anything.

Zale makes it to the bar without any sort of incident. He sits at the only empty seat, the last stool at the very end of the bar, and signals for the bartender. The centaur virus nods and returns a half-empty bottle of scotch to the shelf. He trots over at a causal pace.

He orders a double bourbon with no ice.

The others still haven’t arrived.

A minute or so later his drink is placed in front of him. The drink comes in a tulip shaped glass with a short, round, bottom. The liquor itself is a rich and see-through amber color. The hanging lights above the bar hit the glass and reflect a bright orange glint in the bourbon. Zale picks it up and brings the glass to his lips. It has a strong caramel smell with a small hint of vanilla. The liquor is smooth going down and tastes sweet. As he swallows, the caramel and vanilla flavors linger on his tongue, he turns around on the stool.

The image, only he can see, of his once girlfriend stands next to him.

Looking for the others he accidentally makes eye contact with a woman on the opposite end of the bar.

Her hair is a deep, dark, red. It flows down her back in large, swooping, waves. She wears a black ribbon style choker around her neck. A tight, black, dress with a plunging neckline, and a slit along her right thigh, leaves very little to the imagination. Even from the distance he can make out the ink in between her breasts. The tattoo is of a knife surrounded by peacock feathers. This mysterious woman gets up and makes her way to where he sits.

Zale downs the rest of his drink as the woman steps through his vision of Bonsai. The image of her dissipates like fog clearing. He turns back around and rests his arms on the bar. She whispers one last message before she goes.

Say hi to Mayor Whiskers for me. I bet he misses me.

"Hey there, stranger," the woman says as she sits. She speaks with a slight twang and a soft, comforting, voice.

"Hi," he says; staring straight ahead to avoid really looking at her.

"Heard y'all playing earlier. You were really good."

He shrugs and puts his glass down. Signally for a refill he mutters; "It's just the bass. Nothing special."

"Don't sell yourself short, sugar. Name’s Lotus, but, you can call me Lo."

With the drink quickly refilled he picks it up again. Zale smiles at her comment but tries to hide it with the rim of his glass. This is the last thing he wants right now. The memories, and the love he felt, are far too recent. Far too strong.

"You seem familiar," he says; turning to look at her.

As she starts to speak her face shifts. Her nose changes shape; becoming shorter and more round. The woman’s eyes change color. Shifting effortlessly into a light coffee. The crisscross of veins lining her face also turn from a light daffodil yellow. The woman's face morphs into Bonsai's and he freezes.

"Like your dead girlfriend?"

Deep down he knows that wasn't real. He knows this woman didn't say what he heard. But his mind and his heart drown out his common sense. His eyes go wide and his lips part, just barely, in shock.

What the fuck?!

He mutters the expletive to himself and quickly turns away from her. She gasps, audibly shocked and offended, loudly. Her thin, white, fingers grasp whatever's nearest. They close around the short, thick, glass some other bar patron was drinking from. She throws the rest of the drink on him and stomps away. The liquor soaks his hair and plasters the fringe on his forehead. He sputters; spitting out the bit that landed in his open mouth.

Apparently I said that out loud, he thinks as he watches her leave.

He downs the rest of his drink and orders another.

Bonsai materializes once more at his side. Zale wipes the liquor from his face with a napkin. He blinks as the image of her comes into focus. But before he can say anything to her the voices of his band-mates ring loudly through the bar. He sighs, relived, and turns to see the group with their unwanted groupie close behind. Dexterity sits on the open bar stool to his left. Emery sits on the opposite side.

“Can’t believe Zeph invited this shithead to drink with us,” he says through grit teeth. “Why can’t the guy grow a fucking backbone?”

Dexterity nods in agreement. They lift a hand to get the bartender’s attention. The centaur virus trots over and takes the order. But before he goes to fill the drinks Dex touches the man’s tattooed hand. The bartender blushes at the touch and turns back to face Dex. They lean in to whisper in the man’s ear. The man takes a napkin from somewhere behind the counter and hurriedly scribbles a phone number on it. As he passes the napkin to Dex they take the pen from his hand. They take his non-inked hand in their own and writes an address on his skin.

“I’ll leave the door unlocked,” they say as the bartender leaves.

“Dude, what the fuck?” Emery exclaims with an annoyed expression. “Some of us wanna get shit-faced, Dex!”

“Oh, you will,” they reply with a wink.

Let’s get out of here, babe.

He thinks about it and his gaze shifts to where Zephyr and E sit. They’re in deep conversation about the logistics of doing a pub crawl/concert tour. His gaze moves back to the friends sitting on opposite sides of him. Dex and Emery started a shot contest. Both are currently on their fourth shot of vodka. The bartender is excitedly watching the face off and pouring shots. But his infatuation with the drummer makes it more difficult than it normally is.

Zale reaches over the bar and takes a bottle of bourbon from the shelf. Thankfully the bartender is far too busy with the others to notice. He shoves the bottle in the inside pocket of his hoodie and zips it up. Flipping the hood over his head he steps off the bar-stool. He quickly gives his goodbyes to the others. Emery seems the most upset by his hasty exit. But Zale has his reasons; a lonely and starving cat at home.

So they let him go.

He weaves his way back through the crowded bar. Shoving past other viruses he heads straight for the backstage area. Zale quickly finds his way to the greenroom. Looking around he takes a minute to find his backpack. The faded blue material blended into the gaudy 50′s decor. Almost everything in the room was blue. He swears that the place didn’t look like this when the band came in earlier in the night. Unless it was and he just didn’t notice.

Thankfully his board is still sitting underneath his bag.

He slings the bag over his shoulder and carries his board under his arm. As he walks through the room to the rear exit someone loudly clears their throat. He turns to see Esteem leaning against the door frame.

“Need a lift?” he asks with a surprising sincerity.

“Nah, man, I’m good,” Zale says; gesturing with the skateboard.

“You sure? My bike’s right outside. Pretty sure I can get you home faster than your board.”

An annoyed growl escapes Zale’s lips as he steps up to the cow virus.

“What’s your plan here? Weasel your way into the group? You want an in and you’re trying everybody. And that’s why you’re offering me a ride. You want some reason to have an input on what we do.”

Esteem shakes his head and pushes himself off the wall. He chuckles and closes the remaining space between the two of them.

“You’re a helluva lot smarter than you look.”

Zale scoffs but says nothing. He turns away and crosses to the exit. The last thing he wants to do is talk with this guy. But the other man isn’t backing down just yet. He follows Zale like a shadow; barely even a step behind. He puts his hand on Zale’s shoulder as he pushes the door open.

“Hear me out, okay,” Esteem says. “I know what I’m talking about. My uncle owns Renegade Records so I can hook you guys up. Think about it, Zale. Do you really want to spend your entire goddamn career playing in shitty bars?”

“Newsflash, asshole, we’ve hated you the entire goddamn time,” he says; turning on his heels and walking through the door.

~~~

He walks through the cold night air with hands in the pockets of his hoodie. The dark gray hood is pulled over his head. His light brown fringe pokes out from the edge of the fabric. As he walks he lays his board down on the concrete and steps on. Using the bit of momentum he had he pushed the skateboard forward with his left foot. Cars, and a couple motorists, pass by ignoring him. Headphones in both of his ears, blaring music, block out the sound of the cars. The sidewalks are empty. Zale is as alone as he could have ever been.

But he wasn't.

He feels her at his back; looking over his shoulder. He hears her voice despite the music.

I miss you. Come with me.

He ignores her words and keeps his eyes forward. He knows that she isn't really there. She can't be. Ghosts don't exist. But he still feels her body against his, her arms around his chest, her head on his shoulder. He hears her familiar melodic voice in his ear.

Zale, c'mon baby. You know you want to.

He shakes his head violently as if he's trying to physically push her off him. That doesn't work. She's still there. Digging his foot down on the concrete he tries to move away from her. But she stays on him like a fly on a wall. His thoughts can't escape her on nights like this. She's always with him whenever he's alone.

As is his guilt.

Biting his lip he brings his left foot down again; pushing as hard as he can. He places that foot on the back portion of the board. Gliding down the sidewalk from his own force.

Zale rides his board for a couple blocks before turning into a driveway. The driveway turns into a gravel covered lot that leads up to a fence. Two sections meet in the middle to form a gate. A large lock and chain runs through the front of the gate. Thanks to the streetlights he can make out that much. But everything else beyond that is dark shadows against pitch black night.

Stopping with a hard grind he simultaneously slips the backpack off his back. He unzips the front pocket and takes out a flashlight. Setting it down on the gravel next to him he fishes a large pair of wire cutters from the bag. Picking up the flashlight he clicks it on. The light illuminates the ground in front of him. He shines the beam on the fence and the gate. A pair of bright yellow signs with black symbols warn of the dangers within. One has a silhouette of a fire and the other has a skull and cross bones.

Leaning in closer to the fence he moves the light around to attempt to make out what sits inside.

This isn’t what I meant.

“Yeah, I know,” he says aloud. “But this is what I’m doing so deal with it, babe.”

Picking up his board he walks to the eastern side of the fence; away from the front gate. Holding the flashlight in his mouth he kneels down a few inches in front of the metal. He makes quick work of cutting the thin metal. Returning the wire cutters to the backpack Zale then grabs hold of the cut fence. He’s careful as to not grip the sharp bits. His face scrunches up in a grimace as he pulls the fence away enough to move through.

Before crawling through the gap he shoves his board and his backpack through.

With flashlight in hand he wanders the area.

He walks quietly, passing building after building, with the presence of Bonsai at his side. Surprisingly she stays quiet for the moment. After some time he sees an open door to a building on his right. With an excited smirk he rushes over.

The door is barely open but he squeezes through.

“Well, would you look at that,” he mutters to himself.

Standing in the doorway he looks around the building. A series of furnaces line the farthest wall. Large, grate covered, windows hang high above the structures. Everything about this place forms the coolest looking ramshackle indoor skatepark he could have ever wanted. Thick, curved, metal sheeting forms a half pipe. One overturned metal table sits in the middle of the empty floor. Just looking at it he knows that it would make a good rail.

He sets his backpack down near the door and takes out the bottle. Opening it he takes a long drag and returns the cap. Carefully setting the bottle down by his backpack he gets on his board.

As Zale rides around the empty building, landing a few tricks, exhilaration rushes through his body. He runs the same routine and tricks until he gets bored of it.

With a tired sigh he slowly cruises back to his backpack.

Clutching the bottle by the neck he takes the cap off and throws it behind him. Taking a long chug from it looks around and sees a staircase near the door. Pulling the bottle from his lips he wipes the excess off with the back of his hand. He walks to the staircase and stumbles on his feet.

Sitting down on the bottom step he drinks his way through the rest of the bourbon.

When the bottle’s empty he throws it on the ground and it shatters. He chuckles. Rushing over to his board he picks it up and throws his backpack over his shoulder. Zale trips on his own feet and almost falls on his face but he catches himself. He rapidly turns the edge of the bottom step; his hand grazes against the rail.

Climbing up the rusted steps he grips the side rails as tight as he can. Looking down he sees the glass, and dust, covered floor. He can see the furnaces that sit along the far wall. The metal structures have large black spots around their doors. Signs of the fires that burned in them some time ago. Something near one of the furnaces catches his eye and he slips.

But he quickly catches himself.

You’re gonna get hurt, you know.

"I'll be fine," he says to no one.

At the top of the stairs he sets his board down and carefully steps on. The metal underneath him shifts and creaks loudly. Zale can feel that it’s dangerously close to collapsing. He feels his heart jump in his chest as he grabs the rail to avoid falling. He laughs out a shaky breath. Righting himself on the board he pushes off.

As he skates the air whips through his hair. The feeling sends a shock of euphoria through him. He rushes from one end of the catwalk to the other. When he realizes that he did so and made it out without a scratch he laughs. Pushing harder this time he shoots off and immediately turns the corner instead of stopping. Much to his surprise Zale makes the turn without a problem. Slowing down just a bit he cruises atop the catwalk and feels the air on his face.

Remember what else felt like that, but, times a million?

“Yeah, I do,” he says to the voice of Bonsai in his head. “But this doesn’t come with a side effect of death.”

Not a problem for you anymore, though, is it? Guess it isn’t for me either since you already killed me.

“I didn’t know,” he cried to the empty building. “I wouldn’t have done it if I did and I sure as hell wouldn’t have let you do it.”

THEN MAKE IT RIGHT!

"I'm sorry. If I could take it back I would! I'd trade places with you in a heartbeat but, dammit B, I can't."

He sighs audibly with frustration and turns another sharp corner. But his mind is otherwise occupied and so he misjudges the timing. Instead of cruising with the rail he sharply collides with the rusted metal. The half-broken rail gives way and he crashes to the floor.

Zale lands on his board and his head harshly hits the concrete. The force of the impact knocks him out almost instantly.

Toldja.

~~~

An hour or two, he has no idea, later Zale wakes up. He’s lying on his back facing the night sky above. As his consciousness returns he feels something poking his back. He smells the uncanny reek of lighter-fluid. With a groan he reaches behind his back and grabs hold of the object. He pulls it out and looks at it; more confused than he already was.

In his hand he holds a small plastic wheel.

Once again her voice floats through his head; Don’t you remember? Or is your mind that worn?

He ignores her. Struggling to his feet he stumbles slightly. He barely notices when the wheel falls from his fingers. Zale reaches out to the nearest thing in an attempt to keep his balance. His hand touches a cold concrete pillar and he latches onto it. Even with that stability he feels like he can’t stand. Bile rises up in his throat and he puts a hand over his mouth.

“Hey kid,” someone yelled from across the street. “You’re not a kid anymore. What the hell are you doing?”

“That doesn’t make any sense,” Zale shouts back.

The stranger says something else but thanks to the blur in his head and the white noise in his ears Zale doesn't catch a word of it.

Shaking his head he tries to shake the fog from his mind. Nothing about this makes any sense. But then again not much made sense when it came to Bonsai. Sometimes he felt like he never actually knew her. And now he’ll never have the chance to see her again. To hear her voice.

He hears her in mind, but, that isn’t really her.

With a sigh he pulls his phone out of his back pocket.

He isn’t the least bit surprised when the screen is shattered. Small bits of glass fall out into his palm. Muttering under his breath he curses himself for putting his phone there. Carefully as possible he taps the screen; bringing the phone to life. The images of the screen and the apps are a mess of static lines and blocks of black.

Oh, poor baby. Calling for help?

Clicking the small white text box icon he opens his messages. He stares at the screen; scanning for the group text. After a minute or so he finds it. The text thread sits near the bottom of the list. He hadn’t sent anything through there in awhile. But the thread underneath it had been empty for a very, very, long time. It had been at least a year. Maybe verging on two now.

Her name glows brightly through the screen.

Zale’s thumb hovers over it for a minute.

But he clicks the one above it. He doesn’t type a message to the others. Instead he simply sends an emoji. A red square with a white capital “B” inside it. Leaving the phone in his hand he leans against the pillar. It’s cold and strangely comforting in the moment. He slides down into a crouching position as he closes his eyes. Closing his empty hand into a fist he taps it against his forehead.

Times melds into nothingness as his consciousness fades once again. Blackness covers his vision and he lets it overtake him.

Wake up, Zale.

“Go away,” he says with a tired, drunken, voice.

“Zale,” the voice repeats over and over again. Each time the voice repeats his name it’s louder than the previous time. But with each new iteration of his name the voice of Bonsai Warner fades away. It deepens and drops a series of octaves. The typical subtlety on her tone is replaced by a brash, loud, attitude.

He blinks slowly. His vision is blurry and he can only see swatches of color. Most of what he can make out is white. The edges are black. But there is a bright, almost blinding, watermelon pink at the top of what he can see. Zale blinks hard but the sensation of a harsh slap across his face brings him to.

“Wake the fuck up, dude!” Emery shouts.

“Hey,” Zale says, still tired and drunk but, happy. “You guys came for me.”

“You texted us,” Emery replied as if that explained everything.

“Of course we came, man,” Zephyr says; wrapping his friend’s arm around his shoulders.

“You think we’d leave you when you need us the most? I’m hurt.” Dexterity says with a fake pained voice.

They shoot Zale a wink and a smile. They take the other side of Zale, wrapping their arm around his waist, and help Zephyr walk him out of the building. Emery leaves and comes back after a few minutes with Zale’s bag in his hand. The parts of his skateboard are in Emery’s other hand. He apologizes to Zale and promises to buy him a new one. Zale shakes his head and declines the offer.

The quartet exits the building and walk out into the night.

#my writing #larka's virus community #lvc #zale young #emery becker #dexterity burrows #zephyr allen #esteem wells #bonsai warner #tw drinking #tw drunk shenangians #tw drug mention #tw death mention #ageekwrites

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