Sound of Madness

by **Azcan** on September 14th, 2018, 10:00 pm

2nd of Autumn, 518. 20th Bell.

It was disgusting, to tell the truth, to bare witness to the heavy rainfalls that plagued the city of Sunberth this season. But, Azcan found his thoughts as torrential as the rainfall that cascaded upon him. His chest was bared to the world, his shirt instead guarding, with varying degrees of success, the fabric that covered the top of the drum that was his release from the pains that life set forth. He felt a killer headache coming on, the last vestiges of his hangover from the night prior. He'd only risen several hours before, a heavy night of drinking carrying him from the Song's Rest to the Pig's Foot before his return to the Drunken Fish had him passed out on the floor of his small bedroom. All in all, an ordinary night for the young musician, but nonetheless he felt the pangs cast on his senses. The downer was real as fuck, and he wasn't about to suffer t for much longer. His sensibilities called for pleasure to replace the pain, the constant back and forth of his abuse of such pleasures creating friction. But, what was life without a bit of friction. The musician carried through Baroque Bay, and really, it was no trouble finding someone who'd sell him what he was looking for.

Light brown eyes cast their gaze, somewhat spidered with red lines and dry from his recent awakening. He raised his head, letting the rainfall cascade upon his features, his sopping hair fallen flat against his skin. Shivers from the cold poured down his spine, the sensation a real and very comforting presence. Slowly, he felt his senses fall back into line, the relief of which was indicative that he truly needed to brush his lucid state aside and surrender to the clutch of intoxication. He'd find such a being, covered under a tarp within the Seaside Market. His shifty eyes and his hand dipped into the overcoat were more than enough to show the musician that he had every inclination of being a mother's best example of who to avoid in the dead of night. Azcan, however approached the man with ease. His back was straight, one hand lowering to reach at the metallic drumsticks held in his pocket while the other fingered along the soaked fabric of his breeches to pilfer through his coinpurse.

"What'cha got?" the drummer asked, his dulcet tones easily reaching the dealer's ears through the rain. There was no point in keeping it down. Everyone who bothered to look knew what was going on, and what was there to hide? There were probably three other encounters such as this happening just in the market, let alone the city in full. The dealer shrugged his shoulders, looking to the drummer with an air of disdain. Clearly, the man wasn't used to shirtless men coming and propositioning them? In Azcan's eyes, money was money, so he didn't really care what the dealer thought or what his eyes showed the drummer.

"To be honest, I've done a lot of shit in my life, but I never learned the names. I like the rush feeling, though. Something stimulating is always better than the downers." he asked, to the answer of a reluctant groan. Were businessmen really such pricks? Azcan shrugged it off, a gesture becoming more and more tiresome as the evening pushed forward.

"Have it your way... I've got some shit for you to try. Great deal on some dust for you. Five hits landed in your hand for 10 mizas."

The musician hummed in thought. If the dealer was talking about the dust he'd known with the Svefra... he'd take that any day of the week. The Bolt Hole offered smaller, weaker drugs, because it was hard to tell just how acclimated people were to such effects. Azcan? He'd been through the wringer many a time and was more than happy to go along for the ride.

"Fuck yeah, let's go then," he said, reaching for ten shining golden mizas and placing them in his right hand. He reached for the bag that held the pale treasure, placing the mizas in his new friend's palm before moving away from him, skittering off with more than a few pinches of glee in his pace. The drummer passed through the weave of people, stowing the bag in his pocket while easy, vibrant laughter spilled from his lips. He was so fucking ready, it clawed at his senses: the want. The drummer made his way through the Seaside Market and towards the mouth of Baroque Bay, steering his step to the beaches with an eagerness undisguised by anything. The sands were rigid, absorbing the moisture that cascaded throughout Sunberth, but Azcan was too absorbed in the thought of what came next that he didn't care the slightest bit.

Ledger :

by **Azcan** on September 16th, 2018, 1:33 am

Azcan settled into the rigid sands of Baroque Bay, his light brown eyes cast up towards Leth as his fingers sifted into his pocket to retrieve the leaf-wrapped baggie he'd stowed in his pocket. One hand raised over the opening, protecting it from the downpour as his other hand slid into the depths. With the moisture clinging to his fingertips, it was a simple matter to pick up the dust that languished within. The difficulty came when he pulled his forefinger out. He closed the baggie between his thumb and index finger as he tipped his body forward. Azcan's head protected his white encrusted fingertips as he forced his fingers into each nostril. The young man had to deal with rain before, the rocking tides of the Wayward Tabernacle so fresh in his memory. He twisted his digits in his nostrils before pulling them back. The force backward was met by steep inhalations, the snorting motion pulling air into his lungs with force as his head rolled back. Once his fingers were somewhat purged of their unnatural discoloration, a chill forced its way down the drummer's spine. He found a grin catch upon his features as those light brown eyes met with Leth, transfixed on the sight of the celestial body as he continued to inhale. The crust was awkward to take in, and he forced the issue. As the particles surged through his nasal passage, he felt tremors of pleasure course down his spine. His lips parted before he felt the effects begin to take hold.

Azcan felt a release within as his thoughts unhinged from the trajectory of the Wayward Tabernacle. The exhaustion, the vestiges of his hangover, the innermost worries that plagued his heart... all surrendered to the raving beat of his heart. It began as a calm, steady beat before it ticked up in his chest. He felt the wind fill his lungs as his toes curled into the sands, laughter bubbling from his full lips.

The laughter grew louder as his eyes glazed over, the pace within his chest growing stronger still as his hands set firmly on the sopping sands, his elbows facing the sky as his legs stretched out. He flexed his arms, pushing up as his back arched. He suspended himself for a moment, feeling the tension within his shoulders and back before he released, pulling his legs underneath him and lurching forwar. He found himself in a seated position, the bubbly laughter spilling forth once again. It wasn't often that Azcan enjoyed being alone, but there was something to the solitude tonight, basking only in the delights of a strange stimulant and the pouring rain that cooled his heated skin. He felt the flush carry through his body, his eyes spidered with red lines as he pulled the fabric of his shirt off from the bongo drum that was his prized possession. He pulled that drum towards himself, crossing his legs beneath him and placing the instrument in the center of his lap. Immediately his fingertips played along the surface. A teasing pitter-patter along the center of the drum sent sound pouring from it, the echo muted by the pouring rain, but no one but him was meant to hear its music regardless.

Those fingertips bowed to the rhythm of Azcan's indulgence. They surrendered to his palms first, then the heels of his hands that began to beat against the left side drum before he complemented it with the other. Both hands beat against the surface as he began with a basic tone, letting it serve as his pace. Azcan's knees shifted up and down with that pace, the young drummer biting his lip as he felt the pleasure of his intoxication fully set into his senses. The basic tone intervaled as he infused a steady beat, the heels of his hands interchanging with the beat of his proximals against the twin surfaces of his drums. The music carried through the night as laughter spilled from Azcan's lips.

by **Azcan** on September 16th, 2018, 9:29 pm

Azcan could only think of one thing that eclipsed the utter bliss of letting music carry him through the night. However, the musician had no desire to pull into the taverns on the prowl, instead preferring, for the night, to jam on his own. He was thrust back in time, when he would be joined with eight others, all either basking in the delights of Azcan's music or joining in with their own. The drummer's hands played along the surface of the drum before he rose to his feet, pulling the strap over his shoulders as he let his toes sink into the sands of the beach. His lips parted, his fingertips skating along the surface of the drum before he began to slam down on the surface with his full hand. The sound echoed louder still, the beat of the drum carrying through the night as he fully immersed himself. There was nothing else in the world at the moment, his eyes falling shut to the light of Leth. The beat of his hands slowed to their basic tone, his digits stretching over the surface as he rapped on the drum. The sound grew quieter, complementing his atrocious singing voice.

"To and fro the flag it waves," he began. His voice did nothing to complement the beat, but he didn't care. He was gone, sunken into the pleasure of playing as his palms began to redden from the continuous beat. The pounding of the drum took him to another world, his hand shifting from the fabric surface to hit the wood, alternating the pace to and fro as the patters formed into a melody,

"Up and along the winds it rides," he continued. The song sounded incomplete, the drummer performing from memory his own part in a melody that he used to partake in on the Wayward Tabernacle. The memories were sweet, and it brought a sense of hollowness about him as he realized what he'd given up to live in Sunberth. True, the sea was a harsh mistress, and perhaps, Azcan wasn't suited to the long, arduous journey, but... the melody wasn't the same without the crew to play along with him. It was awkward, for a percussion instrument to stand alone, but he did it regardless. He let the beat carry him through before he ceased, his eyes opening after several minutes. Less was more when it came to the drums. Until, of course... there was the rave. He was glad for his opportunity to get away, to let drugs and music rinse away what plagued his soul. He wanted to forget, but he couldn't seem to pull it away from himself. The music could only do so much, when part of that music was left behind on the Tabernacle.

Was it just the hangover? Or was Azcan feeling his sense of purpose diminish? He lived his life as a drummer, a part of the whole of the Crestwidow pod. Who was he without them? It was the question he'd spent the past half season trying to answer and yet... nothing came to him. The drummer rose from his seated position, pulling the drum up to chest level before securing the strap around his upper body. The rain cascaded down his cheeks, seeping into his hair and from what he felt, almost into his soul. He reached for the base of the drums, where a secure latch for his drumsticks was installed. The metallic sticks were pulled out and he took one in each of his hands. He'd begin flicking the tips forth, allowing them to beat against the surface of the drums as the coursing beat of his heart pounded in his ear drums. He felt a calm wash over him, a facade that did little to hide his feelings.

"This was a bad idea... I can't do this alone," he began as he carried through another tone. The drumsticks produced a far faster beat than his hands could do alone, his wrist flicking both the tip and end against the drums in an attempt to amuse himself. To no avail, it seemed. He let a sigh escape his lips, putting the drumsticks back into their place before he started walking back towards the still bustling shops within Baroque Bay.

After all, he was due for the Bolt Hole very soon.