(no subject)

[pummelgranite]

WHO: Punk and Hip Hop fans, goths, malcontents, the faithful, skeptics, kids, anyone
WHERE: "Devil's Dance Floor" ballroom in Maurtia Falls
WHEN: Forward dated to evening of October 8th
WHAT: another concert! I'll be putting up a couple of toplevels but feel free to toss in your own
WARNINGS: Less than her last show, but topics of trauma survival, depression, grief, irresponsible substance use likely to come up

Comments

[OPENING ACT]

[pummelgranite]

[ Just the first couple of shows had pulled her enough cred to actually manage warranting an opener. It's a local band, a woman-lead avant-guard industrial something. Hard to describe but with great energy, and a really cute drummer.

Persephone's has a reserved table up in the (siiiigh) all-ages lower balcony, and seems in a good mood. Even making friendly with the few fans brave enough to come say hello.

Wonder of wonders she has even deigned to order a plate of mozzarella sticks that she's slowly munching at. ]


Americans are fucked up about cheese, but this innit bad.

[alreadyhuman]

[ Vivi has wandered in solely because he happened to hear music, honestly. The sound of it isn't like anything he's used to, but it's kind of nice, in its own way. Loud, but it makes people happy. So it's okay.

He sees Persephone at her table and wanders over because it looks like the least crowded place to be. Also, she looks kind of lonely to him. People don't come up to talk to her much. ]

Um. Hello! Is it okay if I sit here...? [ He peers up at her hopefully with as much puppy-eyeing as he can muster and also amazed at how colourful she is. Wow. ]

[pummelgranite]

[ Wow this... who the hell is this kid? But sure there's an empty seat, and she's in a good mood. ]


Sure, come on up.

[alreadyhuman]

[ He hops up onto the seat (boy he's small) and makes himself comfortable, looking out at the crowds and attempting to make sense of the music. His hat is crammed low onto his head to hide his face; he just looks like he's dressing weirdly and has a hat too big for him, rather than being obviously inhuman.

Nobody seems to blink at his clothing, and that's pretty much how he likes it.

After a while, he says something that's been niggling at him for a bit - it was part of the reason he'd come over in the first place. ]

You're really colourful! It's nice. Are you always like that?

[pummelgranite]

[ As she sees him waddle up into the seat and speak does she realize just how young he must be. But the first thing he says is so forward, she's taken a bit aback. How to be a badass death goddess and also talk to a small child? ]


Uh-huh. Usually.

[abandon_hope]

[ Here's a gangly teen with a serious skull motif going on. He's close to Persephone, but brightens to see someone else show up. ]

Who are you?

[alreadyhuman]

Oh! I'm Vivi. What's your name? [ He kicks his feet a little, looking over at the person who'd just spoken to him. He seems to have absorbed some of the energy of the crowd, in a strange way; he doesn't seem quite as nervous.

(Or maybe it's because he thinks that in a place like this, nobody will care as much about what he is or how he looks. Always self-conscious; it's a defense mechanism.) ]

...Wow. You must really like skulls!

[ That is some serious skull aesthetic going on there...Vivi's not judging, though. It's not to his tastes, but it's definitely self expression! ]

[unfortunatechemistry]

[This Persephone said something that sounded cool enough so if he's stuck here for now, why not just waste time listening to good music? Of course he stands out pretty well with the bird head, even if he tried going for the black hoodie look.

The music he can dig pretty well, he's simply being a decoration for the wall waiting for Persephone to go on when he sees who else but the main event at a table with mozzarella. He's not hungry, but he'll say hi.]

...nice place.

[He's just approaching the table, not sure if he should sit just yet. He only defaults to his hands in pockets hunching mode.]

Know the band over there?

[pummelgranite]

Hey! Bird guy! You made it. Sorry I didn't get your name before.


[ She tips her head, and a chair down-table from her seems to pull itself out for him. A keep eye will catch a bit of greenery under the table. Normally she isn't this friendly, but normally people don't have awesome bird heads. ]

[unfortunatechemistry]

[Oh hey. That's convenient. He takes a seat, taking note of the greens under the table before sitting down.]

Tokoyami.

I should thank you for inviting me...do you serve cheesticks to everyone?

[new_world_wotan]

[ 'All ages' usually denotes the possibility of those not yet old enough to drink. It isn't necessarily meant to cover older gentlemen, who are perforce unwelcome in this revel of youth, this temple to the new. Yet for all that older men at hip concerts tend to rightfully come off as creepy, Wednesday's self-possession preempts most skeptical glances. He exudes the presumption of belonging, despite the staidness of his storm-grey suit.

It's not long before his long strides find him standing by Persephone and her plate of delicacies. ]

It's quintessentially American - take the product of time and care, craft and tradition, and fry it into oblivion. Nothing is enough on its own- the wheels of desire must be greased, and what better way than with actual grease?

[ He smiles a smile that is as bright as chilly as the gleaming silver tree pin that punctuates his lapel. ]

I haven't seen one of you in a long while. I thought you people had retreated into Latin classes, storybooks, and Renaissance paintings.

[pummelgranite]

[ She tips her head back to get a good look at him. There's something wonderfully unpleasant in his smile, something wolfish. It prickles the insides her head- another god? Somehow, the lines across his face seem far too stark to have been carved in only one lifetime.

She returns his pleasantly unpleasant smile with the same, head still tilted back. The picture of careless confidence. ]


One of what, Olympians? Are you kidding? We've got brand recognition on lock.

[new_world_wotan]

So I see... [He scans the room with his pale gaze - the reflection of the stage lights reveals a slight mismatch there, like one of his eyes is false, though it's hard to tell which one. ]

When I saw the flyers, I thought it was a bad joke- like American cheese, a bland facsimile. I was ready to sneer. [His gaze returns to Persephone, to her youth and heedlessness.] I'm pleasantly surprised.

[ He extends a broad hand, rough-palmed but with neatly trimmed nails. ]

I'm Wednesday. More Baltic than Mediterranean, though we're all of us in the same boat, this side of the Atlantic.

[grimreaping]

[ Kid isn't here in any kind of official capacity, but the concert is taking place in Maurtia Falls where he lives and it's not like he has anything better to do. He's used to watching these sort of venues, particularly late at night, for people who are getting rowdy and want to cause trouble. Normally it's just a case of attendees having too much to drink and think that trying to smash a few car windows is the way to cap off a night.

Maurtia Falls is a lot better now, granted. The efforts of the ambassador had evidently been having some effect, and crime overall was down. So Kid is 'attending' the concert, insomuch as he's there.

Not to mention, crowds gathered like this were an easy way for him to get a soul sense on them, assuring himself that there was nothing alarming. So Kid's gotten a bit of height on one of the balconies and is standing oddly still, eyes at half mast-- until Persephone's remark catches his attention, and yellow ringed eyes open again and he answers her with a wry amusement. ]

You'd be surprised how many things get deep fried in the United States.

[pummelgranite]

[ The shadiness of the locals suits her just fine. It's easier to know where you stand with people when they're upfront about hating you.

But hey, here he is. Grim Reaper Junior? She turns to give him a lazy grin. ]


Oh yeah?

[grimreaping]

Not all of them good... but that's one of the better ones.

[ He makes a vague gesture around the club. ]

You do enjoy eclectic venues, don't you?

[THE MAIN EVENT]

[pummelgranite]

[ It's a different set list than last time, barely any of her songs repeated. The music on the whole is a bit more up-beat, less harsh.

Oh, it's still angry. It's still very angry. But it's a nice, energizing sort of rage. Listening to her sing, it's like feeling someone put a finger accurately and perfectly on the nature of an injustice. Like hearing a wildfire perfectly articulate why a city had to burn. It's hard to disagree with.


At some point, a girl up front manages to pass Persephone her phone. The song stops and Persephone scrolls through the messages a moment, then crouches down to confer with the girl. When she stands back up she heads back over to her mic and dials. ]


Hold on, hold on everyone this won't take a minute.


Hey, uh? Brad, right? Hi, no, yeah. This is a friend of Sarah's. Mate, you can't call someone "manipulative and unstable," for not dropping everyth-


Uh-huh. Uuuuh huh. Uh, no. Actually.


Nah, you can't talk to her. She's done dealing with your shit. Never contact her again or I'll show you what a crazy bitch looks like.


Won't I, everyone?


[ She holds up the phone to the crowd, who roar their affirmation. Whatever she whispers back to "Brad" is drowned out by the din. Then she tosses the girl back her phone with a wink, and the music goes on. ]


((OOC: please see here for song effects drop me a PM if you'd like custom mindfuck. i am very happy to provide))

open ▸ during & after(?)

[mantlepieces]

( cw: super vague "drug" effects & stalking implications )

[ Reggie wouldn't be able to pinpoint the exact circumstances that led him to being there tonight given that he doesn't live in Maurtia Falls, but by now it's a city well-reputed for its active nightlife -- the kind that would appeal to most quasi-delinquent 19-year-old boys, especially the mean ones who use acting out to deflect their own problems... feelings... vulnerabilities. Whatever. The ones in need of distraction, any kind of distraction.

It's actually been quite some time since music has actually helped in that regard, so in that way especially Persephone's music reaches Reggie like an oasis in a desert. He's prepared to just assume it's a mirage, maintain cautious skepticism and apathy, but it's impossible; his heart races, flooding his veins with adrenaline and amphetamine, and he feels hooked. Not quite obsessed, not that desperate passion that can take over his mind like a drug at the expense of all other rational thought, to be seen and understood like he's felt before, but... he can feel something. It tingles at his fingers, buzzes at his temples, numbs his lips, flushes his face and knuckles. Then--

The interruption hits him like a record scratch, nails on a chalkboard; his teeth grind together so hard he feels it at the back of his skull and eyes like a hammering migraine. He doesn't know why he feels pissed off so suddenly, she wasn't talking to him, so why should he care, let alone take it personally? And he wasn't, of course not, but still... it sticks in him like a thorn, the dead voice of a dead girl in his ear whispering accusations as if to challenge the perceived purity of his feelings.

He mutters, barely cognizant that he's speaking: ]

God -- crazy bitch is right.

[ And the anger he feels, it's almost malevolent, vindictive and confused and radiating from him like sparks from a frayed electrical cable until the music starts again and his mood is caught between the two extremes, passion and fury. ]

[ Afterlife with Archie Spoilers ]

[pummelgranite]

[ 1, The downbeat to a new verse: Her eyes catch his from the stage, and the moment stretches out infinitely. The sounds becomes louder, and louder, and louder, and louder and louder. Until it's the only thing he can perceive, until the sounds of it could rattle his bones apart, until the pressure should be more than enough to stop his heart.

2, A new measure: Her lyrics are still nonsense, but somehow they're also the sound of the dead's cries, and an intimate description of a dog's soft flesh connecting with steel of a bumper. The sensation will likely be one of exposure. Surely she must know, must see his thoughts and horrible secrets, to be singing a song that speaks just to him and him alone.

3, Like she's whispering just to him, and like he's got his ear pressed against a sound system meant to fill an auditorium. If he is in hell, then that is only because that's where he belongs. That truth is obvious.

4, But it doesn't matter, to her. It doesn't matter whether he deserves to be in hell or not. As long as he is down here, she will be his hostess and queen.

The whole moment is only seconds long- four repeats of 4/4 time. Then her eyes move on. This is the point where most people throw up or pass out, but hey, maybe this kid has the stomach for it. ]

cw: gunshot mention/vague suicide implication, & ... vomiting...

[mantlepieces]

[ When their eyes meet, it's like time stops. Reggie's eyes widen, but it's impossible to tell if it's panic or excitement he feels -- maybe both. His head is going to explode, his teeth feel like they're burning their way through his skull, his cheeks feel... wet. Sweat or tears? Who the fuck knows or cares. He experiences all this but is barely aware of it; even if he were stabbed right now, he might not feel it until he could literally no longer stand.

Is he angry or is he afraid? Does he hate this, or does he love it? Maybe there's no difference between the two, for him. His head's a mess, the hammering relentless. This is how it must feel to be shot in the head, he thinks idly, though the idea fills him with a strange sort of reverence. Standing there, feeling like she sees right through him and what he's done -- can the people around him feel that, too? -- Reggie does feel exposed, but not only that.

There's a part of him that also feels chosen.

Surely he can't be imagining it, can he? That she's singing to him. The crowd is there, but he's the one that really hears her, that she's really speaking to. Surely he can't be imagining that. Maybe he's not afraid, even if he should be; if she knows, maybe she's meant to know. He's denied it for so long, but he does belong here. His mouth tastes bitter like he just bit his tongue, sour like he has to vomit -- which then he does, thankfully managing to make his way to one side to do so in the garbage.

But then he's fighting his way to the stage, clawing and punching and climbing over whomever he needs to mindlessly like he himself were a zombie. ]

[heckblazer]

[ John is slowly getting better at tech. He's still not sure what the bloody hell emojis are or how some of these websites work. But, he does manage to get a video of Effy (he will never, ever tell her about that nickname) doing her bit on the phone. It's a shame that the world still produces teenage boys that dim, but it makes for good theatre.

He grins as he fiddles with his device, figuring out how to upload the clip online. A little viral marketing never hurt anyone. ]

[pummelgranite]

[ WELL THAT PART IS CUTE, but now there's an actual brawl down in general admission. The world still produces boys dim enough for thay too. She still doesn't seem to mind it much, just kind of watching it beatifically as it quickly heats up. ]

[meancuisine]

[ Eliot hadn't been planning to go to the concert, but he's still learning the city and tonight this is where his wandering has taken him. He's not above grifting his way inside (he's just here to scope the place out, why pay for a show he's not even going to stick around for?) and he gets in just before Persephone takes the stage.

He's got just enough time to recognise her as that girl who was at the bar a little while back before the music hits him like a freight train and he stops dead, fists clenching. There's screaming, and the the scent of blood - of death. Memories that he usually keeps well below the surface, his own private underworld, bursting through into his mind. And threading through it all is anger at that very first injustice, at the system that took an 18 year-old kid and turned him into a weapon. The same system that keeps hurting people, more people than he or his crew could possibly hope to help.

Persephone's in Hell, and at this moment Eliot's right there with her.]

[pummelgranite]

[ Her song doesn't stop speaking to that violence. Yes, they will use you. Yes, they will violate you. Yes, they will throw you away. And you will fall. There's no denial of it, no attempt to deny or mitigate his agony.


Just company for the miserable. ]

[meancuisine]

[The break in singing while she talks on the phone is just about long enough for him to start coming back to himself a bit. Long enough to realise there are tears in his eyes and literal blood on his hands from his fingernails digging in so hard - although his palms have already healed. He's not quite transfixed anymore, but the feelings roiling in his head are still just about more than he can bear. So Eliot does what he always does when he's overwhelmed: he gets the fuck out.

He doesn't go far from the building, far enough to work off some steam (there's a couple of alleyways with newly cracked walls) and return when he's feeling a little better, approaching carefully until he's sure the concert's over. He heads for the back entrance, hoping to catch her as she leaves.]