Sequel: The Federation ›
Legion Of Rockstars
Ashley
+Jimmy+
I sat cross-legged in the center of the baby blue room I’d been stowed in after being kidnapped. The instant I’d woken up, I began to search around the room, peeling back posters and looking for any slits in the walls, weak spots in the drywall, an opening somewhere where I could slither my way out. Mostly, Miley Cyrus posters plastered the walls all around me, her Photoshopped, grinning face staring down at me from every angle. Underneath the posters, though, the wallpaper was simple baby blue, as was the ceiling, and the floor, and even the lights seemed to have a bluish hint.
I hadn’t even found a door. There had to be one, of course, unless they dropped me down into the room from the ceiling. After combing every millimeter of the blue room, I sank down in the middle of the room, right beneath the center light, and closed my eyes. The first time I’d closed my eyes, my last image before darkness took over flashed behind my eyelids: the image of Asher staring at me from the other side of the Buick, her face an equal mixture of shock and panic. Since then, I’d only worried.
Okay, so I’ve been an agent for several years—about five or six years, I’d say. I’m what you might call a seasoned agent. Asher, on the other hand, has only been an agent for three or four months. She’s never been in this sort of situation before—honestly, neither have I. But at least I have a bit more experience as an agent than she does. If they tortured me—well, it’d be awhile before I gave any information out, and even then, it probably wouldn’t make any sense to them. If they tortured Asher, well, it wouldn’t be very difficult to get answers from her. She’s tough, I’ll give her that. She’d be able to handle torture for a while. But she’d begin to break, begin panicking and start to feel fear, and she wouldn’t think straight as she spewed out the Legion’s deepest secrets.
Or maybe I’m just underestimating her.
I opened my eyes and lifted my head when the wall began to shift. I realized the door was opening, the door I couldn’t find. I blinked at the bright lights as two shadows shifted in the hallway outside of the room. My jaw dropped as two people stepped into the room, their hands linked.
I instantly recognized Joe Jonas, the pop moron. Sadly enough, I recognized the woman standing with him as well.
Asher didn’t look like Asher anymore. She’d dyed her hair platinum blonde, a look that just didn’t seem right on her. Also, she traded her skinny jeans for a pink mini-skirt and her Paramore shirt for a glittery tank top sort of thing. On her feet, instead of the usual Converse, was a pair of silver ankle boots with her toes sticking out of them—even her toenails were painted hot pink. She wore pink eye shadow and a very small amount of eyeliner.
Essentially, she’d transformed into your basic pop clone.
“I’ll handle this one, baby,” Asher said quietly, turning towards Joe. He nodded and they exchanged a simple peck on the lips before Joe stepped out, closing the door behind him. For several moments we just stared at each other, Asher fiddling with the silver chain necklace draped around her neck.
“Asher...?” I finally inquired, just wanting to make sure I knew who I was dealing with.
Something flashed in Asher’s caramel brown eyes, but it was gone before I could pinpoint it. “I go by Ashley now,” she answered coldly, her hand sliding away from the necklace. She turned her back on me and walked over to the posters plastered all along the wall, looking up at Miley’s face. “Pretty, isn’t she?” Asher continued. Her expression changed, and her voice softened. She was in awe. In awe of her number one enemy.
“Asher—”
“It’s Ashley!” she barked harshly, whirling around to face me. Her face scrunched up in anger as she clenched her fists.
“No, it’s not! It’s Asher! You’re Asher Tallarico, daughter of Steven Tyler from Aerosmith! You’re a rock chick who loves rock and breathes rock and lives rock and YOU LOVE ROCK!” I yelled back, rising to my feet.
“My name is Ashley,” Asher snapped, her eyebrows dropping low over her eyes. “I have been enlightened, James. I have learned that darkness is not light. Darkness is not happiness. I am happy now.”
I stared at her in shock. She still looked angry as hell about me calling her Asher. Had it really been that easy for her to turn her back on rock? Maybe she wasn’t made out to be a LOR agent after all.
“But...you’re a pop clone!” I protested, trying to convince Asher to come back over from music’s equivalent of the dark side. She looked at me for several seconds, her head tilted slightly towards the side. And then, slowly, she smiled, and I knew there was no way I’d convince her to be herself again.
“I am happy now,” she said softly and happily. I watched in dismay as she walked over and stepped back out the door, sealing it shut behind her.
I sat cross-legged in the center of the baby blue room I’d been stowed in after being kidnapped. The instant I’d woken up, I began to search around the room, peeling back posters and looking for any slits in the walls, weak spots in the drywall, an opening somewhere where I could slither my way out. Mostly, Miley Cyrus posters plastered the walls all around me, her Photoshopped, grinning face staring down at me from every angle. Underneath the posters, though, the wallpaper was simple baby blue, as was the ceiling, and the floor, and even the lights seemed to have a bluish hint.
I hadn’t even found a door. There had to be one, of course, unless they dropped me down into the room from the ceiling. After combing every millimeter of the blue room, I sank down in the middle of the room, right beneath the center light, and closed my eyes. The first time I’d closed my eyes, my last image before darkness took over flashed behind my eyelids: the image of Asher staring at me from the other side of the Buick, her face an equal mixture of shock and panic. Since then, I’d only worried.
Okay, so I’ve been an agent for several years—about five or six years, I’d say. I’m what you might call a seasoned agent. Asher, on the other hand, has only been an agent for three or four months. She’s never been in this sort of situation before—honestly, neither have I. But at least I have a bit more experience as an agent than she does. If they tortured me—well, it’d be awhile before I gave any information out, and even then, it probably wouldn’t make any sense to them. If they tortured Asher, well, it wouldn’t be very difficult to get answers from her. She’s tough, I’ll give her that. She’d be able to handle torture for a while. But she’d begin to break, begin panicking and start to feel fear, and she wouldn’t think straight as she spewed out the Legion’s deepest secrets.
Or maybe I’m just underestimating her.
I opened my eyes and lifted my head when the wall began to shift. I realized the door was opening, the door I couldn’t find. I blinked at the bright lights as two shadows shifted in the hallway outside of the room. My jaw dropped as two people stepped into the room, their hands linked.
I instantly recognized Joe Jonas, the pop moron. Sadly enough, I recognized the woman standing with him as well.
Asher didn’t look like Asher anymore. She’d dyed her hair platinum blonde, a look that just didn’t seem right on her. Also, she traded her skinny jeans for a pink mini-skirt and her Paramore shirt for a glittery tank top sort of thing. On her feet, instead of the usual Converse, was a pair of silver ankle boots with her toes sticking out of them—even her toenails were painted hot pink. She wore pink eye shadow and a very small amount of eyeliner.
Essentially, she’d transformed into your basic pop clone.
“I’ll handle this one, baby,” Asher said quietly, turning towards Joe. He nodded and they exchanged a simple peck on the lips before Joe stepped out, closing the door behind him. For several moments we just stared at each other, Asher fiddling with the silver chain necklace draped around her neck.
“Asher...?” I finally inquired, just wanting to make sure I knew who I was dealing with.
Something flashed in Asher’s caramel brown eyes, but it was gone before I could pinpoint it. “I go by Ashley now,” she answered coldly, her hand sliding away from the necklace. She turned her back on me and walked over to the posters plastered all along the wall, looking up at Miley’s face. “Pretty, isn’t she?” Asher continued. Her expression changed, and her voice softened. She was in awe. In awe of her number one enemy.
“Asher—”
“It’s Ashley!” she barked harshly, whirling around to face me. Her face scrunched up in anger as she clenched her fists.
“No, it’s not! It’s Asher! You’re Asher Tallarico, daughter of Steven Tyler from Aerosmith! You’re a rock chick who loves rock and breathes rock and lives rock and YOU LOVE ROCK!” I yelled back, rising to my feet.
“My name is Ashley,” Asher snapped, her eyebrows dropping low over her eyes. “I have been enlightened, James. I have learned that darkness is not light. Darkness is not happiness. I am happy now.”
I stared at her in shock. She still looked angry as hell about me calling her Asher. Had it really been that easy for her to turn her back on rock? Maybe she wasn’t made out to be a LOR agent after all.
“But...you’re a pop clone!” I protested, trying to convince Asher to come back over from music’s equivalent of the dark side. She looked at me for several seconds, her head tilted slightly towards the side. And then, slowly, she smiled, and I knew there was no way I’d convince her to be herself again.
“I am happy now,” she said softly and happily. I watched in dismay as she walked over and stepped back out the door, sealing it shut behind her.
♠ ♠ ♠
Asher/Ashley*cue dramatic music*
I just want to thank everyone who commented, read, or subscribed to this story. And I would really love more comments, too! =}