amaranthh (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
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rainbowfic2014-06-28 03:32 am
greenling) wrote in rainbowfic2014-06-28 03:32 am
Entry tags:
Daffodil #6, Famous #22
Name: Greenling
Story: Shatterverse/Standalone
Colors: Daffodil #6 (new growth), Famous #22 (I could be anything, I could be everything)
Supplies and Styles: None
Word Count: 1,345
Rating: G, outside of some swearing and really unfortunate metaphor choices.
Warnings: None specifically.
Summary: Bird's day does not get any better; the sequel to New Beginnings.
And now I'm going to put this aside for a bit so I can finish out AGT Arc 1 and progress my other existing fics. Really. Comments, criticism, and questions are all appreciated.
Cherry. Mahogany. Plush, dark, violet velvet, gold embroidery, red stain. Stain. Lush, burnished red shining everything speckled all over pale cream sweet luscious wallpaper like tiny sensuous mouths nibbling at the middle of a goddamn Hostess cupcake.
Cupcake. Food.
Bird's stomach growled loudly and his skin tingled with synaesthesic overload. He groaned and pinched his eyes shut, but it was still less painful than with the light on; further, he'd identified hunger as at least one of the sources of his pain. Progress had been made. After a brief rest, he pushed himself out of bed and made his shaky way to his feet, managing not to outright destroy anything else when he fell into a really, really old-looking dresser.
Seriously- now that his eyes were open, the place was even more disturbingly Not Familiar. The chandelier had LEDs and the wallpaper was probably midcentury, but everything inside the place was antique. The room itself was huge, filled with velvet curtains, huge musty chests, random and elaborate chairs, a drawing-table, a bureau, an open overflowing closet, and random objets d'art. His mother had friends who would die of orgasm just glancing over the place. Which, come to think of it, wasn't any more pleasant as a line of thought than his headache, so instead he continued stumbling towards the other door in the room, the one which was hopefully a bathroom and not the wind-swept balcony of Tara.
It was cracked open, and the inside glared with only moderately less skin-tingling color. The walls were done up with a green and red holly-rosebush pattern, and the fixtures were all porcelain- mostly candy-apple red- or silver metal- hopefully not actual silver. Everything was clean and overtly well-stocked: fresh towels, paper, soap, and toiletries were sitting out, and there was even a brand new toothbrush still in its package sitting on the sink next to a bunch of fancy shampoo and shower things. His feet echoed on the chilly, green-swirl stone floor.
He considered what exactly his plan was. Showering seemed potentially dangerous at the moment, and he didn't know if he had time for a bath. A quick sniff told him he smelled, but not night-of-drunken-sweating smelled, so that was something, at least. Despite everything else being spotless, the mirror was smudged; his face was wavery and blurred, like it'd been soaped or something. Bird grabbed a washcloth to wet- dropping it with a start when a few painfully frigid drops splashed on his hands. He hissed under his breath, one arm leaning on the sink-counter, and tried to pick the cloth up by a bit that wasn't too wet. Wiping the mirror mostly made things even blurrier, so he didn't try anything else. Not like it was his place, probably. It occurred to him that he was getting pretty familiar with his surroundings when maybe he should be running for the hills, but then, being dressed and clean gave him a better chance of dealing with whatever the hell it was- right?
One thing at a time makes the head less hurty, he rationalized.Besides, this is some swank shit.
It was then, looking through the assorted bottles on the counter, that his eyes caught on a single electric blue container in the middle of all the red and white. He froze. Gingerly, eyes wide, he pushed aside a giant conditioner bottle to see-
It was.
Whatever this place was, it had his brand of hair gel. He picked up the bottle and hugged it gently. His day could no longer be that bad.
About fifteen minutes later a cleaner, happier Bird walked out, toweling off his hair to the optimum damp-but-not-wet state for spiking. Clothing was the next goal. The closet and wardrobe were filled with clothes of most every description, from pajamas and jean shorts to something trimmed in real fur and gold that looked like it was meant for Prince Charming's visit with the Queen of England. After a bit of sorting and consideration, however, a pattern emerged; for one thing, they were all guys' clothes of roughly his size. Given none of them were his clothes, as far as he could tell, and his size was... not common...
Bird searched his memory while he found clothes, trying to remember if he'd become a rock star recently, or maybe signed up for a reality show. Something, anything. Last he remembered, he had a shitty apartment and a shitty job and was lying to his parents about being financially stable. Most of his friends were in a different state, and working an erratic third shift made it hard to get to know anybody, so he spent most of his free time working out or watching anime. The idea that he'd woken up in some alternate universe where he was the prince of a galactic kingdom briefly crossed his mind, but didn't seem exactly likely.
The intensity of his surroundings and the aches in his head and stomach had largely settled down to a dull roar. On the other hand, as the pain had faded, he'd started to twitch slightly, but outside of accidentally ripping a shirt in half trying to get it off the hanger (sudden soft things were apparently a no), he hadn't even bumped into anything since before he'd washed. He was probably safe to leave, and now, he was clean and clothed. He even found shoes, though they made his feet feel weird. There was no remaining reason to stay in the room.
Nope. None at all.
Unless, well, he'd broken in someplace and was drunk or high on something he didn't remember taking. Or this really was a reality show he'd signed up for by accident and he was going to be humiliated on TV, and also possibly drunk or high. Or if this was some kind of fucked up Saw thing.
On the other hand, maybe they had cupcakes. He really wanted one now.
The door was heavy, but it swung open easily; the handle made a deep, satisfying clunk as it turned. The hallway was just as old and overdecorated as the rest of the place. It branched off to the right about midway down, and on the main stretch, half a dozen closed doors broke up the dark textured wood and deep red carpet. Everything looked more or less the same, so- quietly, gingerly- he just started walking.
Further down the hall, he bagan to hear the faint sound of people talking. His hearing was still really sensitive, so it could have been quite a ways away, but at least it seemed to be normal conversation and not screaming. He began to tip-toe, focusing his attention; something about it made the hair on the back of his neck stand up. He was starting to get more than nervous.
Footsteps. Bird froze.
To the right, down the hall. He stared. A door clicked; adrenaline screamed.
*
His head was fuzzy.
He was- laying down. Somewhere. It didn't feel like he was waking up. His head was- a hand brushed his forehead. Safe.
He felt safe?
The events of the morning drifted back into Bird's consciousness. Waking up in a strange place, sick. His head still hurt, he still felt hungry, but less so; there was something warm settling into his stomach. Other, hazier thoughts danced through his brain, of people, and time passing, and... feathers.
"You are awake."
Bird winced. The voice was calm, slightly amused, and familiar, though he couldn't place it. It was also coming from the person whose lap his head seemed to be in, which was not a comfortable position. An image flashed into his mind: a girl, black hair and glasses, turning to smile at him. There was a girl in the hallway.
He opened his eyes.
"How do you feel?"
In the space of a moment, a hundred strange emotions swam through his head, triggering hallucinogenic images that faded as quickly as they came. He stared up at the face of a kid in a fancy suit.
"Nngk," Bird replied through gritted teeth.
Story: Shatterverse/Standalone
Colors: Daffodil #6 (new growth), Famous #22 (I could be anything, I could be everything)
Supplies and Styles: None
Word Count: 1,345
Rating: G, outside of some swearing and really unfortunate metaphor choices.
Warnings: None specifically.
Summary: Bird's day does not get any better; the sequel to New Beginnings.
And now I'm going to put this aside for a bit so I can finish out AGT Arc 1 and progress my other existing fics. Really. Comments, criticism, and questions are all appreciated.
Cherry. Mahogany. Plush, dark, violet velvet, gold embroidery, red stain. Stain. Lush, burnished red shining everything speckled all over pale cream sweet luscious wallpaper like tiny sensuous mouths nibbling at the middle of a goddamn Hostess cupcake.
Cupcake. Food.
Bird's stomach growled loudly and his skin tingled with synaesthesic overload. He groaned and pinched his eyes shut, but it was still less painful than with the light on; further, he'd identified hunger as at least one of the sources of his pain. Progress had been made. After a brief rest, he pushed himself out of bed and made his shaky way to his feet, managing not to outright destroy anything else when he fell into a really, really old-looking dresser.
Seriously- now that his eyes were open, the place was even more disturbingly Not Familiar. The chandelier had LEDs and the wallpaper was probably midcentury, but everything inside the place was antique. The room itself was huge, filled with velvet curtains, huge musty chests, random and elaborate chairs, a drawing-table, a bureau, an open overflowing closet, and random objets d'art. His mother had friends who would die of orgasm just glancing over the place. Which, come to think of it, wasn't any more pleasant as a line of thought than his headache, so instead he continued stumbling towards the other door in the room, the one which was hopefully a bathroom and not the wind-swept balcony of Tara.
It was cracked open, and the inside glared with only moderately less skin-tingling color. The walls were done up with a green and red holly-rosebush pattern, and the fixtures were all porcelain- mostly candy-apple red- or silver metal- hopefully not actual silver. Everything was clean and overtly well-stocked: fresh towels, paper, soap, and toiletries were sitting out, and there was even a brand new toothbrush still in its package sitting on the sink next to a bunch of fancy shampoo and shower things. His feet echoed on the chilly, green-swirl stone floor.
He considered what exactly his plan was. Showering seemed potentially dangerous at the moment, and he didn't know if he had time for a bath. A quick sniff told him he smelled, but not night-of-drunken-sweating smelled, so that was something, at least. Despite everything else being spotless, the mirror was smudged; his face was wavery and blurred, like it'd been soaped or something. Bird grabbed a washcloth to wet- dropping it with a start when a few painfully frigid drops splashed on his hands. He hissed under his breath, one arm leaning on the sink-counter, and tried to pick the cloth up by a bit that wasn't too wet. Wiping the mirror mostly made things even blurrier, so he didn't try anything else. Not like it was his place, probably. It occurred to him that he was getting pretty familiar with his surroundings when maybe he should be running for the hills, but then, being dressed and clean gave him a better chance of dealing with whatever the hell it was- right?
One thing at a time makes the head less hurty, he rationalized.Besides, this is some swank shit.
It was then, looking through the assorted bottles on the counter, that his eyes caught on a single electric blue container in the middle of all the red and white. He froze. Gingerly, eyes wide, he pushed aside a giant conditioner bottle to see-
It was.
Whatever this place was, it had his brand of hair gel. He picked up the bottle and hugged it gently. His day could no longer be that bad.
About fifteen minutes later a cleaner, happier Bird walked out, toweling off his hair to the optimum damp-but-not-wet state for spiking. Clothing was the next goal. The closet and wardrobe were filled with clothes of most every description, from pajamas and jean shorts to something trimmed in real fur and gold that looked like it was meant for Prince Charming's visit with the Queen of England. After a bit of sorting and consideration, however, a pattern emerged; for one thing, they were all guys' clothes of roughly his size. Given none of them were his clothes, as far as he could tell, and his size was... not common...
Bird searched his memory while he found clothes, trying to remember if he'd become a rock star recently, or maybe signed up for a reality show. Something, anything. Last he remembered, he had a shitty apartment and a shitty job and was lying to his parents about being financially stable. Most of his friends were in a different state, and working an erratic third shift made it hard to get to know anybody, so he spent most of his free time working out or watching anime. The idea that he'd woken up in some alternate universe where he was the prince of a galactic kingdom briefly crossed his mind, but didn't seem exactly likely.
The intensity of his surroundings and the aches in his head and stomach had largely settled down to a dull roar. On the other hand, as the pain had faded, he'd started to twitch slightly, but outside of accidentally ripping a shirt in half trying to get it off the hanger (sudden soft things were apparently a no), he hadn't even bumped into anything since before he'd washed. He was probably safe to leave, and now, he was clean and clothed. He even found shoes, though they made his feet feel weird. There was no remaining reason to stay in the room.
Nope. None at all.
Unless, well, he'd broken in someplace and was drunk or high on something he didn't remember taking. Or this really was a reality show he'd signed up for by accident and he was going to be humiliated on TV, and also possibly drunk or high. Or if this was some kind of fucked up Saw thing.
On the other hand, maybe they had cupcakes. He really wanted one now.
The door was heavy, but it swung open easily; the handle made a deep, satisfying clunk as it turned. The hallway was just as old and overdecorated as the rest of the place. It branched off to the right about midway down, and on the main stretch, half a dozen closed doors broke up the dark textured wood and deep red carpet. Everything looked more or less the same, so- quietly, gingerly- he just started walking.
Further down the hall, he bagan to hear the faint sound of people talking. His hearing was still really sensitive, so it could have been quite a ways away, but at least it seemed to be normal conversation and not screaming. He began to tip-toe, focusing his attention; something about it made the hair on the back of his neck stand up. He was starting to get more than nervous.
Footsteps. Bird froze.
To the right, down the hall. He stared. A door clicked; adrenaline screamed.
*
His head was fuzzy.
He was- laying down. Somewhere. It didn't feel like he was waking up. His head was- a hand brushed his forehead. Safe.
He felt safe?
The events of the morning drifted back into Bird's consciousness. Waking up in a strange place, sick. His head still hurt, he still felt hungry, but less so; there was something warm settling into his stomach. Other, hazier thoughts danced through his brain, of people, and time passing, and... feathers.
"You are awake."
Bird winced. The voice was calm, slightly amused, and familiar, though he couldn't place it. It was also coming from the person whose lap his head seemed to be in, which was not a comfortable position. An image flashed into his mind: a girl, black hair and glasses, turning to smile at him. There was a girl in the hallway.
He opened his eyes.
"How do you feel?"
In the space of a moment, a hundred strange emotions swam through his head, triggering hallucinogenic images that faded as quickly as they came. He stared up at the face of a kid in a fancy suit.
"Nngk," Bird replied through gritted teeth.