Yeah, this is a Rufioh<>Cronus humanstuck/bandstuk thing I wrote. Don't judge.
And their band name is a reference to the KISS song, Black Diamond.
Don't sue me, Gene Simmons.
The wind was still. The air wasn’t cold, but not warm. They could the see their breath, but being teenage guys, they couldn’t stand to keep cooped up in their apartment all day. People on the street generally avoided them anyway. Seeing two scarred, leather jacket wearing, smoking, dudes with dyed hair sitting in an alley wasn’t exactly a friendly invitation to come and talk about the weather.
“Dude, why do you care? We’ll show up, get shit faced, and leave. Doesn’t matter who’se gonna be there. But I can tell ya it’s nobody that you hate.” Rufioh slouched, elbows resting on the top of the bench on which they were sitting, fingers idly drumming against worn, waterlogged wood.
The two delinqulents sat in quiet for a few seconds, the silence only being scathed by either Cronus inhaling and exhaling, or Rufioh’s nails scraping the bench. It must have been an odd sight- two night crawlers being out so early in the day. Cronus, the cleaner of the two, hair properly styled and clothing kept neat. And Rufioh, with his unruly dyed hair, myriad of random bracelets, all of them almost entirely covered by a flannel shirt far too big for him, and a bandanna tied around his forehead as if to prevent a single piece of hair from touching his face.
“Okay but that ain’t specific enough. Just ‘cause I don’t hate anyone there doesn’t mean I wanna see them either. So if there isn’t anyone worth my time, I ain’t gonna waste my time.” He tried to keep back a snarl, chewing on the butt of his cigarette to keep from snapping. It’s kinda funny how in times of financial stability, people are the angriest. They’re bored, and not goal driven. They need to have fun, but don’t know how.
“Well, here’s the thing. You sit in your room all day writing stupid angsty poetry and doing god knows what else. All I’m sayin’ is that you’re overly reclusive and it’s stupid, y’know?” He smirked and sat up, scratching his leg through ripped jeans. Cronus was growing more and more agitated by the second, and was obviously clenching his teeth to make an attempt to avoid snapping.
Mumbling, he spat out “Well someone ‘round here’s gotta make an effort to keep us relevant.” He was referring to their slowly rising band, The Black Diamonds. And really, what he said was right. He was the brain of their whole operation, whereas Rufioh was like, the arm or something. He only showed up to play guitar when needed, and spent the majority of his time getting stoned with his girlfriend and passing out on random people’s couches.. At least that’s what it seemed like.
“Woah man, we’re keepin’ business and friendship apart here. As your friend I want you to get out more. And besides, when was the last time you got laid?”
