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Post by Dincht on Mar 6, 2007 3:32:06 GMT -5
The lights of the stage flooded his vision as he panted slightly. Sweat trickled down the side of his face, though he didnft bother to wipe it away. More would flow down its path anyway. He looked out at the crowd before him. Hundreds, possibly thousands of people writhed about in an orgy of chaos. The man could feel the heat from the crowd before him, warming the entire concert hall they were in, even though it was below 30 degrees Fahrenheit outside.
He took a swig from a water bottle that was at his feet and turned around to look at his band mates. All had the same look that he was feeling, one of euphoria, of energy waiting to be released and reciprocated. He smiled at them and they smiled back, a single devious facial expression shared between friends.
He couldnft believe they were taken with so much popularity, especially with this being their first major performance. It was a privilege that few people shared in, and he was excited, thankful, nervous, scared, and confident, all at the same time. Things were going extremely well.
He turned back to the crowd, who were now chanting something. He could barley hear from the speakers located around them, but in time, he heard and appreciated what the crowd was chanting.
gSkinwalker!h
Marco grinned goofily and raised the mike to his face. gAre you sick mother fuckers ready for this shit?!h he yelled out. The crowd roared back their approval to him. He nodded. gYou better be!h he replied to them.
He raised the mic to his mouth and began belting out another tune, full of passion and energy. Once again, the crowd responded, cheering, singing along, moshing, jumping around, and many other things that people wouldnft normally do in their every day life.
The set played on, meticulously going through the motions of the band like a weaver goes through her work. The heart-pounding music echoed through the hall, resounding and amplifying the strength of the loudspeakers.
He sung a song about the ancient shaman for which his band was named, of their deceptive nature and malicious intentions against those of the innocent. The song, although quick, was haunting in its music.
He rose is head and roared into the microphone, almost damaging it, as he ran through the chorus of the song, no longer caring who or what new about his powers.
Ifm a Skinwalker
A shape shifter
a lone wolf stalking in the night
Skinwalker
Dream stealer
a demon in disguise!
As the song went into a solo, he walked about the stage and jerked his head back and forth violently and rhythmically, in tune to the guitarfs wailing notes. He looked into the crowd again and saw them writhing and struggling to get to the stage through the barricade, in hopes of touching these gods of music that played like demons.
Each time was the same, yet they were different at the same time. This was his experience. His feeling. No one was going to take it from him. Ever.
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Post by Mr. Bennet on Mar 6, 2007 4:26:54 GMT -5
A writhing mass of chaos. Surging emotions. Raging hormones. pure animalism in a form so rarely seen since the days of Rome and its colloseums. Screams echoed through the crowd and reverberated off of the stage. 'Concerts' of this sort were truly a young man's game. A man much younger than the one that now stood hands clasped and leaning against a wall behind the stage. Younger even than his silent companion.
And yet, at this moment, there were no men nor women better fitting to be standing where they were for this assignment. The recruitment of a new super. An interesting study of a unique kind. How much of the body had mutated to allow this? How controllable could it be? How could it be enhanced? And most important...how could it be used?
These were questions he was very good at answering, he and his friend, who had the handy ability of turning off the powers when said people became too ornery. There was one question even he could not grasp the answer to, however.
Would this one be easy, or hard?
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Post by Dincht on Mar 7, 2007 1:34:36 GMT -5
((OOC: All italics are translated Spanish))
Marco sighed in euphoria and giggled to himself as he and his band walked offstage. Oddly enough, he wasn't partiallydeaf, like most who were close to speakers during concerts were immediately after a show, though most sounds didn't bother or hurt him nowadays.
"Great show, huh?" a female voice yelled at him in Spanish. He turned around to see his friend and bass player of the band, Celia. He smiled at her and nodded. "Where are we going next?" She asked him.
"I don't know," he answered truthfully. "I'm gonna go walk around for a bit," he said. She nodded and walked away with some of the other band members as a sea of roadies ssed between them. He smiled and walked away, humming quietly to himself.
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Post by Mr. Bennet on Mar 7, 2007 22:04:50 GMT -5
Sometimes life resented you and tried to eliminate you from its existance. He'd survived too many days like that in is lifetime. Other days life was ecstatic to see you. Life was like a middle-aged wife, he had concluded that long ago, and his dark-skinned seemed to agree. Or at least he took his silence as such.
Today life had enough chocolate, and his target was alone. Which was fine with him, as long as it didn't expect him to let his guard down around it...because that was one thing he had learned the hard way never to do.
Wearing his smooth 'company man' smile, he pushed off from the wall and walked up toward the approaching would-be superstar. The screamer with a talent that was most interesting. Although his companion was silent, he knew he was only a step behind.
"Hello, Marco." He said in a crisp, friendly voice. "The name's Bennet. I love your act...it holds a special place in my heart."
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Post by Dincht on Mar 7, 2007 23:24:48 GMT -5
Marco looked at the man in surprise. He hadn't even heard him walk up. He quickly took in the man with the horn-rimmed glasses' features and quickly dismissed him as a non-threat. The black man, however, was another story entirely. He hadn't said anything, but something about his expression gave him the willies.
He waved the feeling aside and smiled warmly. "Gracias, compadre," he said. "This was definitely one of our best nights. I was actually pretty surprised." He moved forward to shake the man's hand. "My name's Marco Fernandez. Nice to meet you."
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Post by Mr. Bennet on Mar 8, 2007 3:48:09 GMT -5
"It certainly was the best I've heard." He said with 20 years of practiced warmth, as he shook the young man's hand firmly. "It was a pleasure meeting you, Mister Fernandez. I sincerely hope we get the chance to know eachother better some day."
Tipping a non-existant hat to the young man, he bid him a quick farewell, before walking on down the hallway, looking for all the world as if he had an important place to be, and only crossed the singer's path by happy coincidence.
The dark skinned man behind him paused, presumably to give the young man a once-over, before moving in long strides to catch up to him once again. When they had gotten a few feet away, he nodded to the man beside him, and paused to watch as his companion made his way back on silent feet to the target to incapacitate him.
It would be interesting to see how this one would react, and what information and uses this one would provide. Perhaps this one would not be such a disappointment as the last few had been. He sincerely hoped so.
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Post by Dincht on Mar 8, 2007 3:54:54 GMT -5
Instantly, Marco went on the defensive as the black man began walking to him, even if it was subtle. "Can I help you?" he asked the man carfully, eyeing him with a calculating gaze.
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Post by Mr. Bennet on Mar 8, 2007 4:06:59 GMT -5
For being a screamer, the man was more observant--or paranoid--than he gave credit for. Most lesser beings would have no sooner noticed the Haitian's steps than a kitten's. But what would he do to defend himself against a man that could shut down abilities, the mind, and memories?
The Haitian, being mute, simply continued to walk toward him, concentrating, and no doubt aiming his abilities at the man. Bennet himself simply crossed his arms in disaffected interest as he watched the scene play out.
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Post by Dincht on Mar 8, 2007 12:44:18 GMT -5
Marco couldn't help but feel that whatever reason the man was walking toward him wasn't a good one. The look in his eyes-or lack thereof- scared him to no end. There was just something about him, especially since he didn't respond. Who was he? Why was he coming toward him?
Without thinking, Marco let out a blood-curtling scream that reverberated through the halls of the stadium. The walls began to vibrate, and the air seemed heavier as the pitch of the scream increased.
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Post by Mr. Bennet on Mar 8, 2007 13:10:47 GMT -5
He couldn't fault the Haitian for flinching against the scream, and nearly falling to the floor--he was double the distance and was damn near tempted to do the same. Of course, the attack was not unexpected, and his companoin quickly recovered, breaking into a sprint to reach the man before he decided to run.
"You really shouldn't make such a commotion, Mister Fernandez. You wouldn't want people finding out about your 'talents', would you?" He shouted over the scream that seemed only to be intensifying, while inwardly relishing at the chance to see the limits of his abilities.
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Post by Dincht on Mar 14, 2007 23:31:59 GMT -5
Marco saw the man fall over, disoriented and probably in pain from the scream. He'd only tested the scream with an offensive intent twice before. The first time had sent the person he'd tested on to the hospital with ruptured veins in the head and busted eardrums. The cops never got an explanation. The second time had caused the person to pass out. Any other times were accidental and usually blew out speakers when he sang. It was odd to see this man still standing.
It was then that the man decided to run, while he was still disoriented. He could hear the other man's voice fade off in the distance, warning him not to resist. He cursed mentally. Today was really starting to turn out like a bad action movie.
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Post by Mr. Bennet on Mar 15, 2007 0:37:38 GMT -5
His smile grew somewhat, but he resisted the urge to laugh--that would have been cliche. They always ran. Didn't matter what he said or what they did before the capture...they eventually always ran. Not that it mattered...he wasn't getting far, and the Haitian, who was already chasing him, could simply wipe his memory of all the unpleasant things they may be forced to do to bring him in.
A sonic scream...it would be most interesting indeed. "Mr. Fernandez, we can do this the easy way, or the hard way!" He started, moving to follow after the two. "Either way, you are coming with us, so I suggest you reconsider your choice!"
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Post by Dincht on Mar 17, 2007 5:50:05 GMT -5
Marco quickly darted left down a corridor in the staduim, weaving his way left and right. The sounds of his panting and the heavy fall of his boots echoed loudly. He cursed himself for wearing those boots, but who would have known that he would be running this night? Surely he hadn't.
He began running toward the cacophony of cheers and adrenaline-inducing music, letting the noise drown out his steps. Opening a door that seemed to serve only as a thin barrier between the noise and himself, he was greeted by the messy environment of the area below the stage. He smiled to himself. Perfect.
Moving around, so as to avoid contact with live wires and such, he looked for a place where he could hide. After a minute, he found a small niche near the front of the stage. He curled as much of himself as he could in there, and waited for whatever was to happen next.
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Post by Mr. Bennet on Mar 17, 2007 6:27:56 GMT -5
The sad fact was, their prey knew this place better than they, and was quickly increasing the distance between them. Normally their chases weren't so messy...he wondered idly what might have been on the Haitian's mind to distract him. It was a shame he was mute.
As the man ducked through a doorway to the messy under-stagel, he clamped a hand on the Haitian's shoulder. "Enough. Its too messy to follow him into there."
His dark-skinned companion nodded silently, and moved to lean against a nearby wall, awaiting the next course of action. He frowned slightly, and motioned for the man to follow him back down the hallway. They were not mindless thugs, and they would not be led on a merry chase through their prey's territory. No...this would be done on his terms. No one else.
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Post by Dincht on Mar 18, 2007 5:25:22 GMT -5
He stayed there for a long while, cramped in that space that was entirely too small for his too-large frame. His head was pounding from the music, which was a rare thing for him. It was a clear sign that he'd been down there for a few hours. He decided then that it was time for him to get out of there. Slowly he worked his way out of his position, pain flooding his body as blood began to rush to his cramped limbs again. He winced as he moved forward, winding his way through the maze of wires and beams until he was at the door that led him there in the first place.
He opened it slowly and looked down the hallway for any sign of the man in the horn-rimmed glasses or his black companion. Satisfied that the hall was emmpty, he walked out of the door and down a hallway, his ordeal already gone from his mind.
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