Status: active ?
Pray For The Dead
Oliver.
"Eh, Oli! Hurry up in there, we need to get in there too, ya' know!" Jona yelled through the metal door as he rapped his knuckles against it in a deafening matter. Oliver spat in the porcelain sink and replied with a sharp curse. He took another swig of his tequila to rinse out the taste of peppermint from his mouth. The tequila had no effect on him, for his use of it daily was enough to make it taste like water mixed with heavy apple cinnamon. He continued to shake his head, endeavoring to get his hair in his famous style. There was a second attempt to hurry him up, followed by a third and final attempt. Finally, Oliver opened the door and walked out of the bathroom of their near destroyed tour bus.
Jona offered a glare as he preceded into the bathroom, giving a slam that was louder than the music playing from Lee's electric guitar. Oliver's response to the gesture was a mere, "Jona! Have some respect for the fucking bus, why don't ya'! Don't take your damn anger out on the doors!" He removed a lone cigarette from the now empty pack he had retrieved from his pocket, and lit it up, taking a long and unremitting drag. Removing the cigarette from his lips to blow the excessive amount of smoke from his throat out his nose, he strode over to his black vintage suitcase and searched it for his black skin tight jeans, and a clean shirt.
At long last, the finally destroyed tour bus came to a halt. Oliver stood up, and rummaged through his suitcase a second time to obtain his last pack of cigarettes. He effortlessly packed it, and removed a cigarette from the untouched pattern of white mixed with the brown flakes of tobacco. He grabbed the half empty bottle of the cinnamon apple tequila from the table set in front of him, and took his time to remove himself from the booth. He followed behind Jona and Lee, Matt Kean at his elbow.
"The girls over there look like good fucks." Jona commented, his expression registered his ideal thoughts to the whores, and Oli's eyes wandered over to the girls, who were glancing over the boys from head to toe. Jona winked at the girls as they passed, and the sluts were thrown into a pit of giggles. Oliver paid no attention to them, at this point, not interested in having any sexual amusement. He followed the boys through the VIP entrance, and down a long hallway, doors lining the walls. He read the words written on a small whiteboard at the end of the hallway, as they took a right down where it branched off. The finally entered the room with the words "Bring Me The Horizon" scribbled neatly onto a piece of white printing paper.
They entered the room, where a few fans were gathered, standing beside the door to greet the band. Oliver, who was clearly no longer tipsy, staggered to a black leather love seat that was positioned parallel to a spray-painted brick wall. There, he stared off into space, having no real time conception.
The lights flashed bright in the eyes of the boys as they strode onto the stage. The crowd pulsed with energy as they chanted the name of the group over and over, and finally burst into cheers as they realized who had just stepped onto the stage. Oliver and the boys gallantly began to set up their instruments, receiving assistance from the pit crew to hold back the riot of the fans. Cigarette smoke filled the air, and it was quite obviously mixed with the unmistakable scent of marijuana.
"Check, one two three. Check, check, check." Oliver said into the microphone. It sounded perfectly clear to him, and soon after, he heard the pattern of drumsticks signaling his drunken mind that the show was going to begin. The lights dimmed out, and the crowd fell silent.
The sound of a siren emanated from the speakers lining the stage. Oliver nodded his head fervently with the pattern of beats before passionately crying out, "We will never sleep, 'cause sleep if for the weak! And we will never rest, 'til we're all fucking dead!" As Oliver repeated the words over, and then burst into the song, remaining to repeat the words, strobe lights brightened and darkened the auditorium. The music was deafening, even to him. The fans in the crowd were bursting with energy, as he looked out, reaching out to them, crossing the stage several times, and finally standing off to the right side, setting a foot onto a speaker, and bending over to scream the final word of the song.
What the substance abusive Oliver Sykes didn't know, was that standing in the front row of the crowd was the girl that he had left behind so many years ago. And as the song came to an end, his eyes finally grazed the row of fans closest to the place he had been standing, and saw her, staring up at him with those impetuous green eyes.
Jona offered a glare as he preceded into the bathroom, giving a slam that was louder than the music playing from Lee's electric guitar. Oliver's response to the gesture was a mere, "Jona! Have some respect for the fucking bus, why don't ya'! Don't take your damn anger out on the doors!" He removed a lone cigarette from the now empty pack he had retrieved from his pocket, and lit it up, taking a long and unremitting drag. Removing the cigarette from his lips to blow the excessive amount of smoke from his throat out his nose, he strode over to his black vintage suitcase and searched it for his black skin tight jeans, and a clean shirt.
At long last, the finally destroyed tour bus came to a halt. Oliver stood up, and rummaged through his suitcase a second time to obtain his last pack of cigarettes. He effortlessly packed it, and removed a cigarette from the untouched pattern of white mixed with the brown flakes of tobacco. He grabbed the half empty bottle of the cinnamon apple tequila from the table set in front of him, and took his time to remove himself from the booth. He followed behind Jona and Lee, Matt Kean at his elbow.
"The girls over there look like good fucks." Jona commented, his expression registered his ideal thoughts to the whores, and Oli's eyes wandered over to the girls, who were glancing over the boys from head to toe. Jona winked at the girls as they passed, and the sluts were thrown into a pit of giggles. Oliver paid no attention to them, at this point, not interested in having any sexual amusement. He followed the boys through the VIP entrance, and down a long hallway, doors lining the walls. He read the words written on a small whiteboard at the end of the hallway, as they took a right down where it branched off. The finally entered the room with the words "Bring Me The Horizon" scribbled neatly onto a piece of white printing paper.
They entered the room, where a few fans were gathered, standing beside the door to greet the band. Oliver, who was clearly no longer tipsy, staggered to a black leather love seat that was positioned parallel to a spray-painted brick wall. There, he stared off into space, having no real time conception.
The lights flashed bright in the eyes of the boys as they strode onto the stage. The crowd pulsed with energy as they chanted the name of the group over and over, and finally burst into cheers as they realized who had just stepped onto the stage. Oliver and the boys gallantly began to set up their instruments, receiving assistance from the pit crew to hold back the riot of the fans. Cigarette smoke filled the air, and it was quite obviously mixed with the unmistakable scent of marijuana.
"Check, one two three. Check, check, check." Oliver said into the microphone. It sounded perfectly clear to him, and soon after, he heard the pattern of drumsticks signaling his drunken mind that the show was going to begin. The lights dimmed out, and the crowd fell silent.
The sound of a siren emanated from the speakers lining the stage. Oliver nodded his head fervently with the pattern of beats before passionately crying out, "We will never sleep, 'cause sleep if for the weak! And we will never rest, 'til we're all fucking dead!" As Oliver repeated the words over, and then burst into the song, remaining to repeat the words, strobe lights brightened and darkened the auditorium. The music was deafening, even to him. The fans in the crowd were bursting with energy, as he looked out, reaching out to them, crossing the stage several times, and finally standing off to the right side, setting a foot onto a speaker, and bending over to scream the final word of the song.
What the substance abusive Oliver Sykes didn't know, was that standing in the front row of the crowd was the girl that he had left behind so many years ago. And as the song came to an end, his eyes finally grazed the row of fans closest to the place he had been standing, and saw her, staring up at him with those impetuous green eyes.
♠ ♠ ♠
yess? no?