They closed with Wicked Ways, which was an exploration of her so called comfortable register, of course she went lower than ‘required’ every time, and her gritty screech sometimes couldn't be told apart from the electric guitar. She may have calmed a bit regarding vicious ambition, but never missed an opportunity to flaunt her stamina and prowess.
“Showoff. ” Katrina knocked her shoulder good naturely with an eyeroll & already forming smile despite it.
“Let her be. I think she's still debunking the theory in that article, when they wrote she's running backstage during shows to inhale oxygen so she can keep going on.” Steve cackled, ignoring Seth's hand slapping against his mouth almost immediately when he realized where was this going.
“I will grab some water. Not oxygen. I bet they have it...somewhere I guess.” Cindy announced after the usual fan meeting after show started to dwindle, free entry because why the hell not? It wasn't their main concert and they had time to spare and connect.
Her eyes fell onto Lev's large hand resting on her shoulder with quiet worry. A brow raised in a silent question, his hold tightened.
“Something...isn't right. I can feel it.” the drummer said softly but with conviction. They knew and accepted Lev was a medium, something he's been always ridiculed for or prescribed meds against his supernatural gift.
“Don't worry about me. Maybe I can scare ghosts with my screams.” a gentle, reassuring squeeze “Besides I have to get back, there are still a few people waiting.”
“You never know when to quit, don't you” it wasn't a question, more like a resigned sigh
Her smile lingered as her steel heels thundered their own rhythm in the near empty hallways, indeed too empty. Part of her was actually becoming curious about whenever she could scare ghosts; they are ought to go somewhere haunted to try. She turned the millionth time, finally arriving at a larger space with a drink stand and...a few people perched on chairs who almost seemed to be waiting for her?
Her sixth sense whispered to turn and run. The problem was, running was an exercise, not an escape mechanism. Therefore she smiled lightly and continued her path, proud and loud, even though this felt more and more like a drifter arriving to the local tavern in a western movie. Movement registered in the corner of her vision. Her spine chilled before nerves became alit with liquid fire.
She more like felt instead saw the first lunge. A sharp sidestep and using the man's momentum to slam his head against the edge of the counter, the next almost jumping for a hit through the body received a sharp uppercut of steel ringed fingers.
Full blown chaos broke out, Cindy didn't have time to ask what the actual fuck??, instead fell back to a familiar rhythm from her wild era. Two men (?) took off running, she distanced herself from the counter for the space needed, her half split kick deterred one; her back also hit the ground.
Bone cracked devastatingly as she kicked both kneecaps backwards of the one who managed to send her to the floor. They were immediately replaced by an another pair full of murderous intent: as if her spine was akin to a feline's, her backflip carried precision and dynamic power, jaws shattering against the force steel heeled boots.
The landing flawless yet sharp pain bloomed across her left side, all too familiar pain of a knife cutting into flesh. Jade flashed wildly, almost burning yellow with the intensity of her bestial rage, how dare they remind her of the day it all started?! She grasped the woman's wrist -couldn't see where the weapon has fallen-, one fluid kick backwards to deter an another, before fully turning her attention this one. One swift motion and her elbow was bent in an inhumane way, bones jutting out of flesh.
Her grin bordering on demonic as she maneuvered them to the counter and wrenched her shoulder out of the socket as well. The very first assaulter began to move again, a scissor kick put him into timeout. Broken glass glinted in her vision and she couldn't twist away before the laceration.
Cindy spun away from the counter yet again, twisting out of the way of cuts akin to a serpent before kicking the bottle remains out of his hand, followed by an immediate knee dislocation and a finishing tornado kick.
Adrenaline faded slowly, no bodies were found and her mind was too overwhelmed to question exactly how could everyone disappear this fast with surely crippling injuries. Her muscles' tremors became more and more uncontrollable: she just finished a rock concert and she was absolutely dehydrated.
Shamelessly fishing behind the counter for a glass, a low, guttural sound vibrated deep in her throat upon the cool liquid soothing her thirst. She lifted the glass the second time when she noticed. Three jagged tears in her leather jacket (along with matching wounds on her torso).
“A jó kurva anyád picsáját, hogy baszódnál meg!” (Your whore mother's cunt, may you get fucked) she screamed and slammed the glass down the ground in rage, sending glittering shards everywhere.
Her tired senses picked up something yet again. Stronger this time. Alert zapped through her protesting body; nevermind. She will withstand everything. That's the very reason she was here.
Cindy leaned against the counter in mock nonchalancy and unseen support, lips oozing a small stream of bright sangria, along with her left side lacerations with every heartbeat. Her near visceral reaction was almost surreal at the sight of one well dressed man standing still in a relatively long distance. He watched like an omen.
“Terribly sorry,” voice dripping with near mocking grit, split lips pulling into an sharp smirk, eyes ablaze with defiance, anything to avoid drawing too much attention to her larger gulps of air and muscle tremors “but I think I've lost my pen, in case you would've liked an autograph.”
