YAH Rewrite Snippet #2 (Patreon)
Content
A longer and adjusted snippet for the rewrite of YOU and HIM.
Note that this is still in the drafting stages and could be subjected to change for the official release.
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Carnifex 19:3
“Those who abandon the will of their God will face His divine judgment, and their spilled blood used to enrich the soil of a world shaped by His vision.”
Prologue:
HIM
He offers the crowd a beatific smile paired with a small wave.
They scream his name, fans clamoring to get closer past the lineup of security creating a barrier with their bodies. A few of them try reaching around the line of defense, their fingers desperate and outstretched, clawing at empty air.
“We love you!”
“Marry me!”
“Have my babies!”
A cacophony of voices makes his ears want to bleed. He resists the urge to curl his lip in disgust.
They're all so fucking annoying—placing him and his band mates on a pedestal for the simple fact they're attractive and can carry a tune.
The world around him proves how shallow every single human being on this planet is.
Day after day.
City after city.
Dead body after dead body.
There's not a single person out there who's line of thinking he can't predict—not a single person who stands on equal ground with him in the slightest.
They're all fucking worthless.
But some are worse than others.
And those people are the ones that he hates the most, the ones he placed his vows on.
He moves with his band mates towards the awaiting bus ready to ship them off to the next destination, when he feels a buzz in his pocket.
The purple haired singer pauses at the bottom steps of his tour bus, glancing down at his phone.
It's a text, or rather, an alert.
He smirks as he skims over the details, studying the location, name, and basic information given to him by an unknown number.
???: “Hey.”
The purple haired singer peers up from his phone and another man stands at the top of the steps, fingers hanging loosely from his belt loop as he stares down at him.
He can practically smell the smoke coming off of his band mates clothes.
Disgusting.
He's always hated that smell and his hatred for it intensifies because of the man standing in front of him and what he says next, his gravelly voice grating on the purple haired man's nerves.
Tired looking man: “Let's go. You're holding up the bus.”
It's a command.
As though he's got the fucking right to order him around.
He withholds a sneer, knowing full well they've got an entire audience behind them and he can't let his mask slip, not until they're on the move again.
The purple haired singer gives the tired looking man a smile as he plants a foot on the first step.
Purple haired singer: “Sorry. I got distracted. My bad.”
For anyone else, the purple haired singer comes off across as apologetic.
But the other man's eyes narrow, telling the purple haired singer he's not fooled by his act, but cannot say as much out loud or call him out for it.
The tension between the two is palpable when they are finally standing on even ground as the purple haired singer reaches the top step, forcing his band mate to take a step back.
The tour buses doors close behind him.
And the facade drops.
Purple haired singer: “Don't ever fucking order me around again or I'll make your life a living fucking nightmare.”
Tired looking man: “Traveling on the same bus with you already fucking is.”
The purple haired singer curls his lip and shoulder chucks the other man as he storms past and there's a low whistle that comes from one of the seats.
???: “Mom! The kids are fighting again and it's tearing our family apart!”
Says a different band mate with an easy going grin, his arms laced behind his head while he remains seated on one of the plush leather couches, his legs out in the center aisle.
The purple haired man knocks his feet out of the way with a shove of his boot.
purple haired singer: “Oh fuck off.”
Easy going guy: “You know, for as many times as you've told me that, I'm starting to think you need a swear jar. Maybe if you collect enough it'll pay for some much needed therapy bills.”