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Discotrain doodle fic

Movie directors are always under stress, and DJ Grooves and the Conductor reluctantly decided to join forces to make a better movie. What began as a obligatory thirty-second hug gradually took them in the wrong direction.

Words: about 3,900 CW: suggestiveness/mention of self-harming/discotrain/pierce/alchole/smoking/kind of codependence

A depraved and controlling discotrain fiction (DJ Grooves x The Conductor). I actually intended for this to be a longer story, but it's a doodle. So it will be over soon.

0.

Late afternoon. It was the hottest day on record. This meant that the majority of the penguins were not at work. They seemed to be having a hard time thinking straight in such hot weather, as they seemed to be struggling with the average temperature in this area. Of course, the desert-born owls are not like that at all, so they were all happy to laugh at their rival team's bad luck for the rest of the morning. The Conductor was the most excited. This was partly due to the fact that DJ Grooves didn't take a break in such hot weather. The number of owls and penguins in the lobby is usually even, but today it was many against one. Not wanting to miss out on this excellent opportunity, the Conductor made a lot of fun of his rival's unfavorable behavior and his results. He even said things that he shouldn't have said as a bird, just to humiliate the star. After enjoying the overwhelming advantage to the fullest, he started work in a good mood.

But the sun was cruelly equal.

As noon approached, the temperature rose so high that even the owls, as expected, were annoyed. The only place where they could breathe properly was inside the Owl Express and in the studio. Seeing the color drain from the owls' eyes and their movements slowing down, the Conductor finally made the decision to stop working two hours after the sun had risen directly overhead. In that light, perhaps it was the moon penguins who were really the lucky ones. They could have spent the entire day in the cool without work. In the end, most of the owls cursed the sun that was supposed to be their friend, in a car with an air conditioner and a ceiling. The reason it was not all of them was because the directors were not allowed to take breaks. The studio was air-conditioned and the curtains could be closed to keep out the sunlight. So the Conductor and the assistant director had to stay in the studio to work. (Actually, there were many other directors, but all of them did not want to work. The Conductor didn't want to scream in this hot air, so they could all take a break on the train.)

The two birds continued to work, alternately staring at the Owl Express which had lost its conductor and was unable to escape the sun, and at the computer screen. The heat had dulled both of their enthusiasm for their work. The yellow owl stubbornly insisted on continuing to work, but only because DJ Grooves was in the studio and he continued to work there. So the infernal hours continued until the Conductor's face turned blue past red. It took about three hours before he muttered a single word, "Break," while holding his head.

The problem, however, occurred at night when the sun had set.

1. There is a desert near Dead Bird Studio. It's hot enough even in the non-summer months, so ice cream sells well. Selling well means more variety and better taste. Ice cream is a bit of a specialty here. Penguins aside, all the owls loved it. The Conductor, who had been feeling ill earlier, recovered completely after finishing two ice creams. From the assistant director's seat, it was clearly visible that he was in a happy mood as he opened the third one. His fingernails, beautifully colored with magnetic gel, ripped open the wrapper to reveal a well-chilled scoop of ice cream. A large beak was opened before the ice cream melted. Then, a sparkle stubbed the assistant director's eyes.

A large tongue licking ice cream has a small pierce.

To begin with, the Conductor was somewhat different. He would never take off his uniform coat, whether he was alone in the desert in the middle of summer or working on a record-breaking hot day like today. It is no longer necessary to mention that he never loosens his tie. As one can see, that coat is thick and heavy in its own way. The poor ventilation is enough to determine that it is a fine winter coat. The assistant director thought he is a sensitive to cold, but the fact that even he is sweating and eating ice cream with relish suggests otherwise. Is there a reason he can't show his skin, or is he obliged to wear it? Either way, he was quite extreme in that he continued to neglect a problem that could all be solved by a thin summer coat.

Well, anyway, the Conductor is always dressed formally. This gives him a strong impression of 'neat and clean' even though he is a messed-up tyrant.

He started wearing a piercing shortly before this day. The swelling has gone down and he is finally able to remove his first piercing. Instead, he now has a small but strangely present gold jewelry with a star motif sparkling on his tongue. The crew was surprised when the Conductor, who appeared to be an honor student in only appearance, suddenly opened his piercing. The fact that it was not in the orthodox ear, but in the tongue, upset them terribly. Even the moon penguins snuck into the owl control area to see his change. The piercing stood out against the carefully ironed uniform and the straightened, permed, beautiful feathers. Anyone would be bothered by a caterpillar on a bright red apple. In fact, it bothered the assistant director so much that he kept his eyes on him long after the studio had grown accustomed to his change and lost interest.

With his beak closed, he looks the same as usual, but when he opens it, his eerie star appears. The discomfort is even more noticeable when he sticks out his tongue to lick ice cream. Whenever the assistant director saw it, he became somewhat restless. He felt as if he was looking at something he was not supposed to see. It was as if someone forbade him to think so, even though it was just a piercing.

"What's the matter?" The Conductor, who had been eating his ice cream in silence, suddenly started to speak. "If you have something to tell me, say it clearly. If you don't, do your job." "Sorry, I-…" the assistant director said impatiently, looking at his ice cream in his hand. He didn't realize that he had been staring at him for a long time until the man himself pointed it out. "I just… I thought you didn't like that sort of thing." "Ice cream? I always have some on the train." "…I see."

Owl vaguely responded with a phase. By “like that sort of thing,” he meant piercing, not ice cream, but he decided it was probably best not to ask too much, and ended the conversation.

It was a beautiful piercing, so beautiful that it was burned into his brain.

The assistant director stared blankly at the computer screen. He didn't have much motivation to work. He was thinking of going to Grooves' office and asking him to please go home. By the way, his piercing was quite beautiful. He really didn't like that. He didn't like all the changes that happened to the Conductor. It wasn't just this loathsome piercing that had changed him. His shaggy feathers suddenly became straight and glossy, his worn and tired coat became new, he started drinking his coffee straight, (the Conductor always put a lot of sugar in the coffee, saying that it nourishes the brain,) and so on. As far as the assistant director knows, the first is a fingernail. The owl spies the boss typing listlessly with an ice cream in his hand. The too-strong sunlight glistened off his blue fingernails.

Granted, there were a few times when a sudden change occurred in him like this, but there were also times when the change was slow and steady. The assistant director threw his gaze out the window. For example, see, had the Conductor ever left a train alone like this? It was like the boss he had been working with was slowly becoming something he wasn't. He doesn't scold anyone for lack of explanation these days, and he is starting to show a tiny bit of compassion for his crew. It's a good change, no doubt. But he couldn't help but be lonely. It seemed as if the boss he admired, who was supposed to be so easy to get, had suddenly gone very far away.

Once upon a time, his team was not this calm.

The Conductor was always furious that his aesthetics were not communicated well to his crew. The crew respected their boss, but also despised him. The assistant director well remembered the newbie, who had made mistake after mistake and was constantly being scolded by the Conductor, chuckling and sneering at him in the smoking room, "what a poor grandpa." After all, Grooves' team was probably made up of respect, love, and other beautiful things, whereas the Conductor's team was surely made up of resentment and envy toward him, and the powerful fact that he has award trophies＿＿＿＿ In the other words, He is an winner. In a capitalist society, results are everything. This means that the moment DJ Grooves win the award trophy, the Conductor's team collapse. Of course the Conductor could have known that. He had charisma, but not leadership. He absolutely could not let penguins beat him as a movie director. That is why he went out of his way to make fun of Grooves in the lobby where the whole team gathered. That way he would make sure his team is still alive. In the assistant director's opinion, it should be called a show anymore. But he understood the pressure well. Even just a normal walk on the Express or in the studio, he can hear the complaints about him. Owls have good ears, but they are often careless. He's seen it many times when the Conductor hears them from time to time, and his expression hardens. He stands there, fingertips trembling with anger, yet biting his beak. He wants his crew to take his movie seriously, and he is frustrated that he is standing in the way of that. His expression of depression is usually obscured by the fact that his gaze is downcast. And on such occasions, it was not unusual for him to blithely tell people he was going somewhere to buy coffee, and then suddenly go away. After a while, he would indeed return to the office with a cup of coffee, but his fingernails would somehow be in tatters. It was an open secret in the studio that the Conductor would chew his own nails to relieve stress. The character acted by the Conductor in his movies often wore gloves. The gloves were not meant to show the audience information about the character, but to hide it. The Conductor was always annoyed by the fact that he was damaging his movies for his own selfish reasons. Yet, instinct compelled him to do so, and he could never stop biting his nails. He is always one step away from being crushed by anxiety.

But that was not the case one day. The assistant director pictured the costume room far away in his mind. The Conductor did not wear gloves in his newest movie. His fingernails were healing. Gradually they grew longer and when they were about average size, polish was applied. When he was not shooting a movie, his nails always glowed blue. It was the same blue magnetic gel all the time.

"……Papers." "What?" "I gonna go give him the papers."

Suddenly, the Conductor stood up from his desk with a reluctant look on his face. "We're done for today. Go home."

Seeing him cross his arms in frustration next to the copier, it seemed like he couldn't just 'go give him the papers.' His fingernails clung tightly to his coat, making creases. He looked scared and lost. The owl approached the copier and him and checked the papers he was going to take with him. It was an unimportant piece of paperwork, not worth the trouble of printing on paper. Since DJ Grooves was the only other bird in the studio right now besides the two of them, it was easy to guess where he was headed now.

"Can't you just text him?" The assistant director furrowed his brow and looked into the conductor's face, who looked impatient. "Wouldn't he rather be annoyed?" "You don't get it, do you?" The Conductor snatched the documents from the copier, crumpled them up and stuffed them in his bag. "……That's what I'm doing this. Right? Yes, I am just trying to fill his boring desk with useless papers. So much so that he can't even recognize what's important papers and what's garbage…”

The muttering that grew smaller and smaller was as if he had to believe that, even though he didn't. The assistant director became concerned when he saw the look on his face, as if he were strongly telling himself. His shallow breathing became faster and faster.

"Why am I printing this nonsense? I'm just……," he breathed deeply, making a drawn-out sound. "I- I am just……!" "Boss?”

The assistant director touched the Conductor's shoulder, trying to bring him back to reality. The yellow owl yelled briefly and slapped his hand.

"Get out of here, quick!"

2. The sky was already starting to turn red and the temperature had finally settled down. Eventually, he pressed his time card at almost the same time as usual, and then, intrigued by a small curiosity, he took the trouble to ride the elevator once more, back to the room where he had been working a moment ago. As he should have expected, the Conductor was not there. He must have gone to his rival's office to give him some papers and never came back. Not only his voice, but even his footsteps could not be heard. The owl slung his bag back over his shoulder and decided to leave quickly before he was spotted. Halfway to the exit, he wondered if he should say hello to his boss before leaving. He knew where he was, and if he believed his boss, he was just there to give him some papers. Would it be so unforgivable to say 'see you tomorrow'?

The owl retraced its steps a bit back the way it had come and strode toward the penguin control area. His own footsteps were the only sound in the wide hallway with its bright blue walls and star-lined corridors. It was no longer filled with cold air, as if the temperature had never been changed since it was set at noon. He could not find a room with a light on. Relying on a long-ago memory, the owl fearfully walked through the unfamiliar darkness. No lights were visible for a long time.

"Let me see it."

Suddenly, without warning, the voice jumped into his right ear. The assistant director turned around in surprise and noticed a figure in the room he had just passed. He was simultaneously relieved that he had finally found it and wondered what it was doing there without any lights on. He decided to take advantage of the darkness to surreptitiously check the room through the window. There were two figures. It was obvious who was there without such a muddled expression. On a large writing desk was papers that the Conductor had just copied. Checking the plate, it was indeed Grooves' office. The upholstered chair let out a giggle and a pained sound. The big chair was taken by the owner of this office, and the Conductor was perched on the edge of the writing desk.

"Good. It matches you, darling." His sweet baritone voice seemed to sting his eardrums. "What shall we do next? I could open your ears or dye your feathers. I bet you'll look pretty." "Mmm……whatever……?"

They were chatting amicably with their nearly empty wine glasses. They were much closer and more relaxed than when he had seen them when the sun was shining. They had already had a fair amount to drink. Several empty blue curacao bottles were lying on the floor. The Conductor was so drunk that even in the dark he looked as if he was about to fall off the desk. Grooves seemed to think the same thing, and with a grin, he pulled him onto his lap. The yellow owl's loose head rested on his rival's broad shoulders, and his feet, relaxed to the tips of his toes, floated lazily in the air. They held each other tightly, listening to their hearts beat. Then began a slow, long kiss. The exhalations, unsure of which belonged to which, became faster and more ragged. The sounds of tongues sucking and twirling, breathing becoming more turbulent and wild, and the taste grinding against the inside of their beaks all filled the room in a raw way. He was too drunk to close his beak, and his honey-like saliva trickled down his chin and stained his glued white collar. Without time to wipe it off, the Conductor was completely at the mercy of his rival. The only resistance he could offer was a feeble scratch on his back. Taking advantage of this, Grooves responded to his kiss by unbuttoning the gold buttons of the Conductor's coat, one by one. His too-light touch indicated that this was not the first time the two of them had done so. One or two came off, easily revealing his suspenders, which are rarely exposed to public view. His happy hooting sounded muffled, caged in his beak. It was the sweetest voice the assistant director had ever heard. So sweet, in fact, that it even sounded bitter. At that rate, the clasps on his suspenders came undone and the knots on his tie were broken. The buttons on his shirt were right there. No amount of darkness could disguise the red marks dotted among the yellow feathers. There is no more fitting measure of the intensity of the emotions directed at him. Grooves finished unbuttoning all the buttons and slowly traced a circle around his completely exposed belly.

The assistant director wasn't sure if he should look away from his boss, who looked 180 degrees different from his usual self. And eventually, before he could make a decision, their long kiss ended. Several thin honey bridges connected their beaks. The Conductor rubbed cheeks with Grooves, stroking his cotton candy-like afro awkwardly. Reason had melted away into mush and was now relentlessly pushing him in the wrong direction. It was a far cry from the morning. It was obvious just by looking at him that his head must not be spinning well due to the alcohol. In the midst of all this, he was still pampering the bird in front of him, giving it everything he had. Who would have thought that the yellow owl, perched on his rival, beak sloppily open, shirt and coat all unbuttoned and pulled over his shoulders, was the same person as that talented and cruel movie director? The current Conductor was, obviously, insane.

"Cute." The gentle voice forced an outsider's brain frozen in shock back to reality. "I was right, you do look good flirting with me like this, instead of being my rival or the boss of a bunch of ungrateful owls." "So……?" The Conductor, for some reason, was still smiling dreamily and innocently. "Am I doing well?" "Very well, compared to where you used to be." He pulled a pack of cigarettes from the inside pocket of his jacket. "I have corrected your dirty way of speaking. Your taste in music and the way you sing are much more agreeable now."

He chuckled softly and took a cigarette in his beak. The yellow owl lazily raised itself up and lit the cigarette with a lighter he was holding. The venom that had been spewed out surrounded the two birds and drifted around them fluently. It was a strange, yet fantastic picture. It showed their power relationship with grotesque clarity. This office was the only one so disconnected from the everyday that it didn't feel like one of the components of Dead Bird Studio. The Conductor gave one small hoot. Then his blue fingernails tapped several times on the square buckle of the belt. With a poor hand, he opened the buckle and loosened the red belt. He flexed his body and flaunted his tongue in a desire-fueled manner. A small, planted star glittered in the moonlight that streamed in through the window. No words were needed to understand who owned him. Grooves' eyes narrowed in satisfaction, as if he liked the unusual sight of his rival, who had done nothing but glare and rant at him during the morning.

"How would you like to be made?"

The Conductor smiled quietly at the whisper. Then he traced the zipper hungrily.

"I need to be roughed up, laddie……."

His voice, full of sweetness, dissolved into smoke, and he took the zipper into his mouth. And then, he slowly lowered it down＿＿＿＿

The assistant director found himself fleeing there. He ran hurriedly until he could no longer see the stars through the walls. The wind mocking in his ears didn't bother him at all. All his senses were occupied by the shocking images he had just seen. Sweet indulgence, excessive trust. Most shocking of all was that the yellow owl and the Conductor were the same person. Whatever the movie's success, he never made a sound like that, never laughed so vulnerably. He didn't even loosen his tie! ＿＿＿＿What in the world was he afraid of by the copier!? The owl took a few nervous breaths, blinked a few times, and then quietly counted five seconds. He didn't like the fact that all of those too-big-to-fail emotions were directed at that one damned moon penguin. It was a terrible betrayal. Could it be that the Conductor was playing a trick on him, or that he was playing a trick on the Conductor? He tried to calm himself down, but nothing worked. The countless foreshadowing set up in everyday life tells the owl that their relationship is a fact. But what still prevents the owl from acknowledging the fact is, after all, the way the Conductor looked that afternoon. He was frightened and annoyed about something.　If that wasn't fear of his rival, what was it? Or was it an act that he mocked Grooves in front of all those people? He walked out into the desert on a cold night. He then approached the Owl Express, which was spilling light through the windows and making its presence felt.

He couldn't get that acted out smile out of his head. The Conductor is not good at drinking, and when he gets drunk, he suddenly becomes friendly like that, but even so, the way he was smiling was eerie. Self-destructive is a word that fits his smile well. It was beautiful and fragile. Above all, it was empty.

After stealing a glance toward the studio, the owl boarded the train. He still didn't know what face to put on to talk to him, when the Conductor came back to the team.

I didn't think about anything. I just wrote what I wanted to write…

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