OVER THE PEACEFIELD

"They weren't that great back then either, don't worry." As soon as the words are out of his mouth, though, Barty whips his head around as if Zeus himself might be standing behind him, ready to strike him down. Centuries have passed, loosening his tongue a little, but the instinctual reaction from what happened to Antiope never quite dies.

Settling back in his seat, though, Barty nods. It is quiet today, and it is a random Tuesday.

"Sometimes that's how it goes. Can't be balls to the wall all the time, I don't have enough part timers for that."

A joke, clearly.

"We had a couple come in for their first date over the weekend. An odd choice, I thought, but there you go." A pause. "Not an odd choice for a date location, but when they walked in I thought they were lost. Dressed a lot fancier than a coffee date would warrant, you know? But they sat down and ordered and he spoke for like forty minutes non-stop at her, and she sat all leant forward in her low cut dress so y'know. Clearly it worked though, because they both disappeared and we had to chase e'em outta our bathroom!"

#miidnighters #v / cirice.#ic.

❝ I’LL LET YOU KNOW IF THIS rockstar shit doesn’t work out, mate. ❞ But he’s clearly teasing, the confidence of that radiating off of him. Besides, he isn’t good making drinks, or putting on a smile, or generally anything to do with people as a whole.

Fever leans in, just slightly, actively listening even though his fingers are back to rapping gently on the cup in his hands. There’s a crooked smile that starts to form, a bit back laugh on the tip of his tongue. Oh, he remembers those days, still has them sometimes… just… different.

Instead of dates it’s heated looks across the room, and in exchange of their nice bathroom, it’s the alley or the dingy shitty excuse for a green room in the back of wherever they’re performing.

❝ Bet that was a fuckin’ joy to clean, innit? ❞ A slow shake of his head. He half wants to laugh, but it reminds him too much of himself. Instead, Fever tilts his head back and eyes the ceiling, the bright lights flickering off his eyes. ❝ Did they get banned too, then? Or is it just Luca still after the great whipped cream incident, his tickets to our show didn’t sway you yet? ❞

I AM ALL EYES. I AM ALL EARS.

FEVER NIX. MUSICIAN. INDIE HORROR OC. est. 2024. low activity. MUTUALS ONLY. 21+. written by fork.

@inablitz

#sp.

unlore

IT WAS SO EASY JUST to let Fever take care of it, was the thing. It wasn't something Fel let just anyone do - could be quite stubborn about it when he was in the mood to be, in fact, when it came to independence and communication and all the baggage that went along with that.

Today, however - tonight? - he is content to shuffle into a booth, stretching his legs out beneath the table as he adopts a faintly standoffish air that entirely fails to acknowledge the waitress when she comes over, and leave over the decision-making to Fever. Instead, their attention stays entirely on him as he speaks, as he smiles like that, as he looks back as though they were the most interesting thing in the world.

< You can't help yourself, can you? > Fel follows, question left unanswered in favour of what is, clearly, more important. < The charm. >

FEL DEFLECTS HIS QUESTION, WHICH IS less of a surprise than the man will let on, quirking his jaw to one side and then the other in a mild stretch. Truthfully, he doesn’t know how to answer. He’s full of charm, sure, it oozes out of him when he turns it on, but under scrutiny?

Under their eyes?

It’s like they can tell what it really is. Almost like the mask he wears onstage, wrapped now a few blocks away back in the tour bus. Fever never wore it out, unless he could help it. That was the thing with anonymity, the mask held who he was at bay, but it also gave him freedom.

Fever shrugs, ❝ Don’t know what you’re talking about. His signing is careful, because now the room is tipping and Fel’s face has morphed slightly. Still, there’s a smile in there somewhere. ❝ Are you jealous?

#unlore #ic.#v / cirice.

fever’s playlist.

smol starter call 😌

FEL WATCHES FEVER WATCHING HIM, a faint smile ghosting across his face at some thought or other. Something he doesn't seem to have any intention of sharing: a private joke, an observation, an errant thought.

Maybe it's something about the way Fever laughs when they're together, and the way Fel rarely seems to see it outside of moments like these. Maybe it's something about the intimacy of this velvet night, as though it insulates them from the reality of the world come morning. Maybe it's nothing so grand as all that.

Fel nods seriously, though the hint of a smirk follows. < OK. You order. Big breakfast. Make me happy. > Quite a tall order for one meal to fix all his problems, but it's worth a shot.

BIG BREAKFAST. THE REQUEST WAS so simple, and yet it settles in his chest like a promise. He could do better than that, would do better, even, as they round the small corner to where the front door to the diner actually stands. ❝ Wasn’t plannin’ on doing nothing else.

Is what he finally signs, holding open the door for Fel to wander in first. They make their way to a booth in the corner, far enough away from prying eyes as he settles into the cushion of the seat. It’s an old place, worn down and grimy, but he loves it. When the waitress comes over, he orders without letting Fel even look at the menu.

❝ Thanks, doll. ❞ He gives her a smile, and then leans back, leisurely and wanting. His mismatched eyes wander over the other like he’s trying to put Fel to memory. He knows he’ll hate having to get back up, as the room seems to sway in a beautiful dance.

❝ You comfortable?

#ic.#v / cirice.#unlore

unlore

FEL SNORTS. FEVER IS RIDICULOUS, BUT that sure isn't news to either of them. they roll their eyes and flip him a middle finger accompanied by a smirk, a sign of their quiet comfort around the other man. < Mr. Moneybags, > he signs back, partly because the sign amuses him so much, < Your new name. >

To tell the truth, Fel doesn't even know if Fever makes good money doing this shit. He just sort of assumes they're popular enough that he makes enough, and hasn't thought about it much past that point. Probably that's the kind of thing he should have thought about, at least at some point. Whatever. Fel falls into step beside Fever, sending him a sidelong glance. < Breakfast foods there? You think? >

#fever.#aesthetic.#flashing /

FEVER MIGHT BE HIGH AS A kite right now, but he still has the whether-all to turn his face in the direction of Fel’s hands to watch him sign. Like he’s drawn to the other’s fingers, caught up in them like he can be caught up in the music he plays.

There’s a roll of the eyes close on the other man’s face, and he finally lets it go with a low chuckle he knows they can’t hear. Here, in the dark of the night, with lamp posts and street lights as a warm passage way through the inky blue of the night, the rockstar holds a semblance of freedom. Away from the bravado he normally carries, away from the tightness in his chest and the shakiness of his hands as he wraps them back in his gloves after putting down his guitar.

❝ Best fuckin’ breakfast food in town.

#ic.#v / cirice.#unlore

mackayzy

George MacKay as Preston in FEMME (2023)

#fever.#GOD!!!

mustbolt

mummy dust live (2022)

killer-cinnamon

Kai has never really been a music person --- that's Usagi's territory. That doesn't mean he doesn't like it, doesn't recognize when something is good, he just ... doesn't really follow music in that way. Fever's bandmates seem to have taken that as a personal gripe, he's pretty sure, considering how they always crowd the witch whenever he comes around.

Usually it doesn't bother him. Is even kind of nice ( he likes attention, sue him! ) He's got business this time though, so Kassius doesn't get the same energy he'd usually give her. Takes a little bit to get past them but he does, promising to talk later instead of now.

Fever's less strung up when Kai finally makes his way to his room at the back of the bus. He closes the door behind him and leans back against it, grins and lets out a little huff of laughter.

❝ What, them, bother me? Never. ❞ There's sarcasm in his tone, sure, but it's warm.

He pauses then, though, eyes darting off to the side. Because he doesn't really know how to broach this. It's, y'know, delicate.

Eyes still averted, Kai sighs. ❝ So, I was looking into ... things like you asked. ❞ It's pretty obvious it's not good news.

#ic.#v / cirice.#killer cinnamon

HIS FINGERS ARE TAPPING AGAINST HIS knee, cheek strung into his teeth with a low huff. Kai has this look on his face, one he knows well and sets a low thrum of annoyance through his own veins. In reality, it’s not the witch’s fault. Fever knows this. But it still sets him on edge.

His shoulders stiffen, and while a wry smile pulls across his lips it’s gone far too soon for it to mean anything.

❝ — And you didn’t like what you found, did you? ❞ He expects it to be nothing, no real answers. Because he’s sure he’s one in a hundred million… who else has gotten struck by lightning and is now cursed with seeing everyone else’s ultimate demise through touch?

The rockstar knows he’s alone in this, that he will forever be the odd man out, but it still doesn’t stop his heart from clenching like someone has a fist wrapped around it, or his blood pulse in a way that makes his flesh hot to the touch. His hands have started shaking, so he busies himself with lighting a cigarette, sliding open the one little window to the back of the bus.

❝ The fuck are we lookin’ at, then? Jus’ say it. ❞

"Good." A decisive nod. Not, obviously, that Fever was relying on his council to make a decision, but it was probably reassuring to him that the person he'd come to for advice backed up the decision he'd already made.

"I get it." Objectively, anyway. "And I don't think it's stupid. People are crazy nowadays. They thought Beatlemania was bad? Hoo-wee, if only those girlies had had Twitter and commercially available industry standard cameras with zoom lenses."

Barty shakes his head a moment. It's a whole different beast from what it used to be. "Not even the Gods, back when I lived in Greece, were subject to the same level of scrutiny. But so it goes."

Fever seeks to change the subject, anyway, and Barty pivots easily. "Oh, it's been great! Was a little on the slow side over the holiday season, obviously, but we're picking back up again now."

#miidnighters #v / cirice.#ic.

HE GIVES A BRIEF NOD, FINGERS tapping absently against the mug in his hand, there's a brief melody to it, but it washes away with the silence that stews within him. For a second, he's just listening, trying very hard not to think of anything else. Calysto used to call him attractive, but that was before the fighting, the legal battles over their kid, the resentment.

He will never forget the last time they'd truly had an argument.

❝ All about false gods now, innit? ❞ His lips turn into a mild sneer, thinking of the tabloids, the continual cameras in their faces, the way their audience thinks they know them. If only they truly understood what he holds within him, the thrumming in his ears, the full reason he wears gloves when he doesn't have a guitar in his hand...

❝ Bit quiet here today, too. ❞ But it is a random Tuesday, or at least he THINKS that's the day of the week they're currently on. All of the days blend during the last leg of the tour, a monotonous routine of busses, hotels, dingy bars, and venues that haven't been cleaned in years. ❝ Y'got any tea for me, or am I going to leave here knackered and disappointed? ❞

Good for who’s publicity? Good for Frank? Surely Frank should be content enough being the manager of a bank like Blitz.

Idly, Barty wonders if people find it hard to look Fever in the eye because of the wildly mismatched pair. Not him. His gaze stays trained on the other, even if he sips his coffee idly.

As glib as he is, he understands that this is a key decision for Fever. For the band as a whole. It’s not something that should be taken lightly, even though he can see why Frank, the asshole, would push for it. It would sell records, sure. Get people interested in the band. But for all the wrong reasons.

“For what it’s worth, I don’t think you should do it. I think anyone who likes your music will like it whether they can see your face or not, and revealing it like this - when you’re not 100% sure that you wanna do it, when it’s not for the right reasons, whatever that means, means you shouldn’t do it.”

FEVER STUDIES HIM FOR A MOMENT, chewing on the inside of his cheek. He knows Frank is just being selfish, thinks the scandal of exposing him is worth what will come after. But he's had enough shame in his lifetime, enough of looking at his own face and hating what he sees in the mirror to subject himself to scrutiny by... no, those people wouldn't really matter in the long run. But it wouldn't be worth it.

❝ I told them no already, didn’t I? ❞ He says it softly, perhaps the most gentle that Barty has ever heard from him. Here, the cracks are present, much like the spider-like scars running down his face and into the curb of his shirt. ❝ That mask is... it's like a shield. Fuckin' stupid one, but I ain’t about t’give away the only bit of anonymity I got for a shitty magazine cover. ❞

Another swig of his coffee. It burns on the way down, and he relishes in the feel of it against the back of his throat. The way the pounding in his head lessons, even if only for a second. His gaze hasn't left the other man, either.

❝ How's business? ❞

unlore

FEL ROLLS HIS EYES, THOUGH IT'S accompanied by the flash of a grin. Of course Fever had a good time up there; it's, like, the whole point. It would be pretty fucking stupid to keep doing this shit if he didn't enjoy it up there. Fel didn't quite get the why, not having ever actually asked, but it seems a safe assumption to make.

< No shit. > Still. Fever asks if they're hungry and they perk up, give him a half-skeptical, half-hopeful kind of a look. < If you're paying. > He seems quite unabashed, giving another bright flash of teeth. Comes near enough to sticking his tongue out at Fever, truth be told.

SOMETIMES, HE DIDN'T LIKE IT. THE roar of the crowd was a little too loud, his mood sour in the wake of a bad conversation or a bad night on a bus in a too-small bed. But most of the time, Fever relished being up there, feeling the music with every fiber of his being that tugs at something deep within.

Right now, his stomach is growling. He can't remember the last time he'd had food and he was sure that Fel was the same. At least he figured with how the other one ate when he was comfortable enough to sit down for two seconds. ❝ I'm just Mr. Moneybags to you, huh? But he signs it with a crooked smile, motioning with his head to the little corner diner at the end of the road. ❝ Come on, then.

#ic.#v / cirice.#unlore

Barty lets out a huff of laughter when Fever tells him to shut up.

He knows, though. Not everything, but enough. People tell him things when they come here - when they get comfortable - and Fever is no exception.

“So tell them to fuck off.”

It’s not so easy as that either, he knows, but maybe it will bring a little bit of a smile.

“Tell them you’re not doing any reveals, and they can photograph you as is or not at all.”

There’s no push for the other man to reveal himself - to give people what they want. Barty doesn’t hide, but he knows plenty of people who do, for a variety of reasons. There’s something precious about the privacy.

There is, however, a slight pause.

“Unless you’re considering it?” He doesn’t think Fever would be, but it’s good to know if he needs to temper his reaction any. Should have asked first, probably.

FEVER MAKES A FACE, HALF BECAUSE of the other man’s laugh, that always sets him at an ease he can’t explain, and the other for his words. If only he could. If only he could look them in the eyes and tell them eat rocks.

❝ Frank… ❞ Their manger, a bit too enthusiastic, a bit too caught up in the rigamarole of being a band manger. He hates him as much as he loves him, Fever supposes indifference is better than pure loathing.

❝ He thinks it’s a good idea. ❞ His tone is dark, deep, and there’s an underlying annoyance there. ❝ Says it’s good for publicity. ❞

Another swing of the coffee, and leans back in his seat, long legs and an ever longer torso. Big hands wrap around the cup, one dark green, one blinding white pupil running Barty over.

❝ An’ here I thought my music was good enough. ❞

“Course you can, but that doesn’t mean you should be pissy with other people’s things.”

Besides, it might make Barty tap the sign atop the coffee machine proclaiming This is a violence-free zone! Take it outside!. Not that he needs the sign, of course, but it amuses himself to have it there.

The coffee is set in front of Fever after only another moment, along with one Barty had made for himself as he sits in the seat opposite. The cafe is quiet enough that he can spare a few moments - and they’re certainly not going to want to shout across the floor.

“Sexiest man alive, huh? I can’t see it.” Something they both know is a lie, but Barty knows it won’t do him any good to agree right now. Legs stretch out beside them as Barty sips his drink, considering the other. “I’ve seen a lot of sexy people in my long life. Never really understood why they had to make it a competition. Is it the idea of a photoshoot that grinds your gears, or people recognising it? Because I’m sorry to tell you, people are going to think you’re a grade-A hottie either way, my man.”

HE ROLLS HIS EYES, BUT THERE’S AN apology in them regardless. Barty is perhaps the only person he’s been honest to, not completely, but enough that he knows him as a person. The bravado the rockstar brings to the cafe is merely a vision for others to see.

There’s only two other people here now, setting him at ease. Even the other can see the tension in his shoulders when there’s too many people, and he’s also experienced the fans that swarm him. The way Fever’s turned from someone frigid and shattered, to caged and strong in two seconds flat.

But here? Now?

❝ Shut up, mate. ❞ But he dips his head, takes a long swig of his coffee that has enough caffeine in it to power a whale in the ocean. It’s a long moment before he answers. ❝ There’s a reason I wear a mask onstage. ❞ It’s short. A stunted reply. ❝ I’m not… that man. If they knew… If they fuckin’ knew, mate. ❞ A long pause, and he finally meets the other man’s eyes.

❝ They want it without the mask. Like a fuckin’ reveal or some shit. ❞

"Good morning to you too, Feve." Bart. Unusual, and indicative that Fever is perhaps in a worse mood than it looks like.

The response is mildly, fondly, chastising - betrayed by the way Barty's already pulling shots, and the fact that it's not even really morning at all.

Of the two of them, the elder is much less affected by such things as hangovers and sour moods.

"If you smash my door I'm gonna make you pay for it, you know." A possibly empty threat, but who's to know. Barty pulls down the biggest cup he has, wiggling it as if asking if that's the size the other wants - another continuation of their regular routine.

"Who pissed in your wheaties today?"

NO, IT’S NOT MORNING. IN FACT it’s closer to two in the afternoon, but if the rockstar wakes up any sooner than that it’s a damn miracle. But he didn’t have any interviews this morning, Kassius took the one he would have had to show his face. So he had a fun night, one that was far too long but he can’t even remember the names of the people he took to bed.

Fever’s nose scrunches, a snort failing to make its way from him. Instead, he scoffs. Slamming his ass onto a chair and finally peeling the sunglasses from his face. It’s darker in here, a warm light that he can handle even though his head is throbbing.

❝ Like I can’t fuckin’ afford to replace a door. ❞

But there’s a smile starting to pull at his lips as he nods, eyeing the cup like it’s a gift from a god that doesn’t exist.

❝ They want to announce me as the sexiest man alive. ❞ He says it like it’s a burden. ❝ Like Hudson doesn’t fuckin’ walk the damn earth. ❞ There’s a roll of his eyes, but it’s something deeper, something that itches at his skin. He mutters words under his breath that sounds a lot like fucking scars.