This Is It....The Apocalypse || Part One
Wesley Thompson Appledor sat on the small wooden bench in front of his piano. It seemed his life had settled, at least for the moment, and that made his muse come back. There was no part of him that had ever particularly wanted to leave music behind him, but it had somehow drifted farther and farther away. As things in Wesley's life came crashing down, as he found out more about Supernaturals, as his parents died, his music simply did not come out as beautifully as it once had. He could, of course, blame this on the fact that his old grande piano had been burned to ashes, leaving only a single bolt, which he wore around his neck on a chain, but he knew that was not the real reason. Wesley knew it would take time to tackle the real reason the music had died, and he didn't really want to attack it. He still wanted to be a supernatural, even if the feeling had died a little. He wanted it like a little girl dreams of being a princess. He knew the odds of this happening were far from in his favor, yet he wished it anyway. There was nothing in him that saw a bad side to becoming a vampire, or even a werewolf like that nice man Travis he had met days before. He wished beyond anything to have a weapon, a source of power that strong. He didn't want to be weak, he wanted to be indestructible. And who knew, of all the deadly sins, that greed would be Wesley's enemy?
Calloused fingers that were once baby soft pressed against the black and white keys of the piano, a note coming out shaky, then rising into its full sound. It broke the silence of the room, molding it to fit within its music. Another note rang into the night, more and more until a whole melody was coming out. It was a sort of bittersweet tune, enchanting, yet holding a slice of evil in it's sound. It was haunting, echoing through the once silent room. It bounced from wall to wall, changing slightly as it went. Wesley felt it touch his mind, wrap around him like a blanket, and he fell into it. He let its spell cast over him, forcing his fingers to keep moving, to continue. He could not stop, not now. And as the music grew louder and louder and Wesley got lost farther and farther, reality's grip loosened almost entirely. The mortal heard no sound but the notes, felt nothing but the smooth keys beneath his fingers. He had walked himself into his own trap, he would find, yet he could not find the part of him that would regret it.
Finally, his mystic trance was broken by a loud knock at the door, followed by it simply being shoved open, a rough and loud noise that was rougher and louder thanks to the earlier peace of the room. Wesley feared the worst, he feared his house being torn to shreds or burnt to the ground yet again, he feared the taking of his cat, Bartholemew. Yet, as he looked into the eyes of the men and women who just entered his home, he could not bring himself to fear for his own life. Something about these creatures gave an air of evil, he was almost certain they were supernatural, their chilling elegance proved that much. These people, however, did not seem as bright as Cole or Travis, and he was both scared, and excited, by that.
But, as his hands were gripped by the steely cold ones of one of the men, his fight or flight instinct kicked in. Only for a moment, however, as he realized that neither fight nor flight had worked out particularly well for him in the past. "Please tell me where you are taking me...and spare my belongings, if you can" he pleaded, but it was no use. These people had no intention of taking anything from him, they just needed his person. Wesley felt something his the back of his head, then suddenly his vision began to grow blotchy, before turning to complete darkness, a realm Wesley was all too familiar with.
