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Post by Mr. Peace-and-Logic on Mar 31, 2010 16:02:16 GMT -5
The light was too bright, the cabinets were too white, the shadows were too dark. Something was wrong. Something was really wrong. The cabinet door was opening by itself - thatwasn'tsupposedtohappen - there was shadow spilling out of the darkness like liquid - itwascomingclosertohim - the light was really too bright. There was the cabinet, opening by itself. That wasn't supposed to happen. There was something wrong - reallywrongwrongwrong - in that cabinet, something that wasn't meant to be there. The walls, the room was too white. Shadow was still creeping towards him - liquidshadowspilling - Christ, what was going on here? This couldn't happen. There were creaking noises from inside the cabinet, from what was inside the cabinet. There was something in there- thatwasnotsupposedtobethere. Inside the cabinet was too dark, something was wrong -
and then there was a face.
Scruffy woke with a strangled gasp, sitting bolt upright on his futon bed. His brown eyes flicked anxiously in the darkness, unseeing, as he shivered ever so slightly. It was a dream - no, it was a nightmare. Just a nightmare. Sighing shakily, the ex-bartender ran a hand through his mussed, tangled hair. He had been thrashing in his sleep, it seemed, since he usually woke with only a few knots. Heart pounding and skin sweaty, Scruffy attempted to calm himself. It was just a nightmare, he reasoned, knowing that even though the words were true, he didn't really believe them. He repeated his logical mantra, hands buried in his messy hair, for a few minutes as his pulse continued its rapid thumping.
Sighing again, breathing much more even then it had been when he first woke, the auburn haired man considered his options. He was wide awake, so going back to sleep was out of the question. Even if he wanted to, he wouldn't be able to - he saw that...hideous thing whenever he closed his eyes. Surely, he couldn't sleep with that going through his mind. Shifting the clammy, sweat-soaked blanket that he had wrapped his legs in during his thrashing, Scruffy caught sight of a glowing light at the end of the futon. His cellphone?
Another option suddenly presented itself. He could very well call Matt, take his mind off the childhood fear...no, he couldn't do that. That was a seriously prissy move, unfit for a mature and fully grown man such as himself. Scruffy instead glanced around the room, trying to distract his overactive imagination from the nightmare, eyes falling on a particular object in particular.
Across the hall, through his open door, he could see a kitchen cupboard clear as day. Fan-friggin'-tastic.
A wave of paranoia washed through the coyote-shifter the instant he caught sight of the damned cabinet, forcing Scruffy to scooch as far away from it without leaving the bed. He flipped over onto his side, fear-stricken brown eyes wide open as he felt the cupboard (figuratively, of course) staring at his back. Scruffy grabbed the covers that he had pushed to the very end of his futon and wrapped them around his shaking frame, feeling very silly indeed. It was just a nightmare, it was just a nightmare...but the cupboard nagged in the back of his mind, and he could just about hear the creaking of the old door hinges.
He was alone, in the dark, with no way to escape his deeply settled fear. He couldn't call the one person that might make him feel better, because he'd be damned if he'd act like a frightened teenage girl. Scruffy curled up a little tighter in his uncomfortable sheets, heartbeat once again picking up a lightening tempo.
This wasn't his night. This wasn't his night at all.
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Post by Alex on Mar 31, 2010 17:40:16 GMT -5
A quiet melody floated into his thoughts, flooding his wandering mind with its inescapable noise. Unmoving, Matt let out a frustrated groan into his pillow. Go away! he thought, trying again for the umpteenth time that night to let his mind wander aimlessly and not stop on something that would keep him awake. But somehow, each and every time, he would drift back to that same god damned song, the notes bouncing and jostling against one another in his aggravated head. They were inescapable: there seemed to be no way to avoid them, and every time his mind accidentally wandered across one of them, a blaring sign seemed to pop up with all the intentions of alerting him to the fact that he was far from falling asleep.
This was insane. It had been happening for the past week. Was there really not ONE single full-night's sleep planned for him anytime in the near future? Matt turned over and opened his eyes, staring up towards the ceiling in the dark. Was it so much to ask for his mind to settle down enough to let him sleep?
It was hell. Some kind of torture-via-insomnia.
"God fuckin' dammit," Matt mumbled, taking a deep breath and sitting up in his bed. Rubbing his tired eyes, Matt swung himself over the edge of the mattress, wobbling to his feet and sticking out a hand to catch himself against the wall as his foot caught on the heap of his discarded jeans. Feeling along the wall blindly, Matt made his way across the room without further incident, stopping when his hand brushed against the pull string on his window blinds. Giving the cord a gentle tug, he lifted the blinds and allowed a swash of moonlight to bathe the room in a pale glow. The young man let his tired gaze drift over the sleeping city before turning and seeking out the blue LCD display of his clock on the far table. The digital readout indicated that it was just before three, and Matt felt himself sag as the weight of the night fell on his shoulders. He'd been lying awake in bed for over four hours. Four. Sleepless. Hours.
The black-haired musician trudged across the room, able to see where he was going now that there was a source of light. Picking up his guitar by its neck, he returned to his bed and perched on the foot, guitar in lap. Quietly, he strummed out the tune that had been pestering him since trying to fall asleep, stumbling over the new notes as he recalled them from memory. Such an odd arrangement. Although the rhythm sounded familiar somehow. He absently plucked a few chords, trying to remember where he had heard it before. Another of his own songs? No, because he would have immediately thought of it. A popular song he'd heard before? He thought for a few beats, but nothing came to mind. Huh. Maybe it was-
Oh. That's right. It was the rhythm of some lyrics he had thought up, ironically, while lying awake one of the previous nights. A few of the lines floated to him, and he experimentally sang the words aloud, voice still gruff from lying in bed four hours. Actually, those words worked pretty well with the melody. Clearing his throat, Matt sat up a little taller and replayed the notes, this time taking the verse to the next line.
A sudden thumping on the wall across the room startled him enough to let out a strangled yelp and clutch his bed covers up to his chest. Wide-eyed, he watched the wall as an irritated voice resonated through the apartment.
"MATTHIAS! Is that you making all that racket in there? What in the world are you DOING up at this ungodly hour of the night? Either go to sleep, or be quiet and let the rest of the building sleep!"
The young man collapsed on his bed, the adrenaline of his start finally running out. Meredith, the crazy old bat. She must have had her hearing aid turned all the way up again, if she was able to hear him. Rolling his eyes, Matt reached over to his nightstand and groped around for his cellphone. Fingers closed around the cool plastic and he sat up, squinting his eyes against the bright light as he brought it before his face. Matt instinctively went to punch in Scruffy's phone number, the only person he figured he'd be allowed to call at three AM without getting an earful of half-asleep cursing. But he hesitated, thumb poised over the talk button. Maybe it wasn't the best idea to actually call him: he could accidentally wake someone up with a conversation.
Matt rotated the phone and instead typed out a text message. "Scruffy! Know it's late...-early-, but I need your help with a song. Mind coming over? Thx," Satisfied, he pressed send.
OOC|| Not the best. D|
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Post by Mr. Peace-and-Logic on Mar 31, 2010 20:51:26 GMT -5
In the tense, uncomfortable silence of Scruffy's wide-eyed paranoia, a loud, shrill ring tone pierced the air unexpectedly. The ex-bartender practically jumped three feet in the air, muscles tensing tightly and heart jumping erratically. His hand shot to the end of his futon, attempting to stop the sudden noise by grabbing his cell phone. With a quick, frantic movement, the screen of the device was flipped up, and Scruffy squinted his eyes in the too bright, too sudden light - light that he realized, with a suppressed shudder, reminded him all too well of his nightmare.
After adjusting to the glaring brightness, Scruffy quickly scanned the text on the screen, mind already awake enough to make sense of the message. "Scruffy! Know it's late...-early-, but I need your help with a song. Mind coming over? Thx," it read. Blinking in surprise, the shifter's brown eyes quickly jumped to the number. From Matt? Really? Scruffy snorted. What the heck were the chances that his best friend would be up at the same exact time he was? Whatever, he thought moodily, mood dropping with the lack of sleep. I'm not one to question good fortune.
Rubbing his eyes tiredly, Scruffy took another look at the message. It had been sent at just about three...three? Sighing, the auburn haired man realized that he had been up for at least an hour, simply staring into the darkness and trying to keep his thoughts calm. Weak, not to mention completely pathetic. He was twenty seven years old! Things like this shouldn't rattle him so easily!
Still, the opportunity to get the hell out of his nightmare-filled, stifling apartment was too good to pass up.
Slender fingers began tapping out a string of digits on the now dimly glowing device, eventually forming the Matt's number. Scruffy brought the phone up to his ear, eyes searching the room around him as the dial tones sounded. Come on, kiddo. You're the one who texted me in the first place, he thought impatiently, not wanting to admit just how desperate he was for the man on the other end to pick up. If that text had just been a lame joke, he'd kill him in the morning.
"Hello?" Finally! The call went through.
"Hey kid, 's Scruffy," began the older of the two, a nervous smirk making its way onto his features. In all honestly, he was relieved to hear his friend's sleep-deepened voice. It provided the perfect distraction to chase away the thoughts of the nightmare. "You said you want me to come over?"
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Post by Alex on Mar 31, 2010 21:42:51 GMT -5
Matt kept the cellphone in his hand, compulsively checking it for any notification of a new message. It was unnecessary, though, and he knew it: if he were to get an incoming call or text, it would light up, and in this early morning darkness, he'd be able to tell if it lit up. He was just wasting time.
Sighing exasperatedly, Matt picked up his guitar and slid it across the bed to rest by his pillow. Checking his phone one last time, the young man dropped it on the bed beside him and curled up into a ball on top of the blankets. What had he been thinking? It was three o'clock in the morning. There was no way Scruffy would be awake at this time, much less agree to coming over. He probably should give up and try to fall asleep again. Maybe he could make himself some tea: he heard that peppermint would help him sleep. Or maybe he could stay up and read a few chapters of a book to help him grow tired. Matt listened to the quiet creaking of the building, and the soft rustle of the sleeping city outside his window. Faint sounds of cars and dogs filtered in, but they were all so distant. So far away, outside his personal atmosphere. His own little sphere. His sphere of sleep-depravity.
Maybe he could fall asleep, just listening to the muted sounds of the city-
"Fake, fake, I'm not awake! It ain't my fault you can't relate-"
Matt's arm flashed out and he snatched the cellphone off the bed next to him. "LIES!" he hissed, fumbling with the device. "I AM awake! Now shut up! Stop making sounds!" After a moment of furiously pounding the Send button, the ringtone stopped, and he hesitantly drew the speaker up next to his ear. "Hello?"
"Hey kid, 's Scruffy," came the voice from the other end, sounding tired, but Matt thought he detected the hint of a smile in the words. "You said you want me to come over?"
"Scruffy!" The musician exclaimed, checking his volume when he remembered Meredith next door. "Yes, please. I know it's probably a strange request to get from anyone at this time of night, but it's been keeping me up and I really need to get some sleep, which won't happen unless- yeah. Could you just come over please?"
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Post by Mr. Peace-and-Logic on Mar 31, 2010 22:20:27 GMT -5
"Scruffy! Yes, please. I know it's probably a strange request to get from anyone at this time of night, but it's been keeping me up and I really need to get some sleep, which won't happen unless- yeah. Could you just come over please?" Scruffy laughed quietly at his friend's exasperated, strung-together speech, once again calmed and relieved at the sound of Matt talking. It was silly, he knew, but just this once, it was alright. Matt actually called him, and he was glad for it. "Sure, Matt. I'll be over in a few."
Standing up, Scruffy focused on the phone in his hand as he reached blindly for the chord on his lamp. He realized the conversation should have ended there, and on any other night, it would have - but he didn't want to hang up just yet. The light clicked on, flooding his room with yellow tinged brightness. Now, he could see that he really was alone, and nothing really freaked the auburn-haired shifter out more than that. "H-hey, kid," he stuttered out, trying to keep his voice even as he searched quickly for a shirt, "is anyone else at your apartment up? Because I don't want to just come clambering up the stairs at some ungodly hour in the morning and wake everyone up, and...yeah..."
Okay, it was lame. Really lame. But as Scruffy tried buttoning up the navy blue shirt as fast as he could, while also pulling on a pair of faded jeans, his imagination was going crazy. Having someone, anyone, on the other end of the phone was the only thing keeping him even remotely calm. Attempting to find socks proved to be a challenge without opening up a drawer - which was far too much like a cabinet, if you thought about it - so he just slipped on his shoes without them. He still felt like a sissy, but he could ignore the pangs of guilt for now. He just needed to get the hell OUT.
"Okay, I'm leaving now. Meet you there, since, you know, it's your apartment," said the now fully dressed barista, once again laughing shakily. More lame phone talk, but he was out the door and descending the dark, cabinet free stairs the led down to the street. Soon, he'd be somewhere where his nightmare wouldn't be gnawing at his mind.
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Post by Alex on Apr 1, 2010 20:37:57 GMT -5
Matt's spirits lifted immediately as Scruffy agreed to come over. That had to count for something; getting up in the middle of the night to go over to a friend's house and help him finish a song? Maybe it counted for some kind of karma in the long run. Matt was close to hanging up, when Scruffy's voice filtered through the speaker again. "H-hey, kid," he started, sounding somewhat nervous. "Is anyone else at your apartment up? Because I don't want to just come clambering up the stairs at some ungodly hour in the morning and wake everyone up, and...yeah..."
"You're rambling, Scruffy," Matt mused quietly, not necessarily for the other man to hear. Why did he seem so anxious? He certainly sounded more than eager to come over. Maybe he hadn't been sleeping after all. Matt's eyebrows knitted together in a worried frown, but before he could inquire about Scruffy's jumpy behavior, the other man cut him off. "Okay, I'm leaving now. Meet you there, since, you know, it's your apartment,"
"I don't think anyone else is awake, no. Just be a little quiet in the hallway: my next-door-neighbor's hearing-aid has some kind of supersonic hearing."
He thought for a moment about Scruffy, at his apartment farther away. Yeah, something was definitely up. Usually, the ex-bartender didn't seem this...frazzled. Something must have happened- maybe it was a good thing that he was going to be here in a few minutes. He could press Scruffy for answers once he arrived. As important as his own sleep was, Matt's main concern was his best friend.
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Post by Mr. Peace-and-Logic on Apr 1, 2010 21:04:46 GMT -5
The night air was beautiful cool against Scruffy's still overly warm skin as he started his walk to Matt's apartment. Overhead, a clear sky allowed the moon to bathe the empty street in pale, silvery light, setting a few of the man's fears aside. It was calming, actually, to walk beneath the stars and listen to the night breeze shaking the leaves, cars on another street revving their engines or honking for some random reason...
Still, Matt's words echoed in Scruffy's head the entire trip there. "You're rambling, Scruffy," he had said, tone quieter and more reflective than the ex-bartender had ever really heard him. So the kid had picked up on his nervous energy. Sighing, Scruffy contemplated the issue. It wasn't like he didn't want Matt to know that he had been freaked out - he just didn't want him to figure out it was because of a stupid dream. Knowing Matt, Scruffy was almost positive he'd be teased and mocked for it. The younger of the two could be very unsympathetic at times.
Maybe I'm not giving him enough credit, the nagging part of him said, a small pang of guilt now edging through Scruffy. The way he was thinking about it, he was making the kid out to be some kind of jerk. That definitely wasn't true; Matt had shown to be a great friend at times, even with the friendly jabs. As far as the coyote-shifter knew, Matt hadn't let him down yet. A faint smile suddenly quirked Scruffy's lips - he hadn't even let him down tonight.
Soon enough, the dark-haired musician's apartment came into view, and Scruffy started to ascend the stairs as quietly as he could. Matt's warning about the crazy lady with the amazing hearing aid - Ms-what's-her-name or something - was still fresh in his mind. In a few short moments, he was up to Matt's door and his fist was rapping as quietly as Scruffy could make it on the wooden frame. "Hey, kiddo," the auburn-haired barista said at a normal tone, wondering if Matt could even hear him. Maybe the door and walls muffled his voice to much. "It's Scruffy."
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Post by Alex on Apr 2, 2010 18:26:51 GMT -5
The musician let out a long sigh as the other end of the phone line clicked off, reflecting on the conversation. Scruffy really did seem wound up about something. It was very unlike him- usually the older man was far more relaxed and controlled, even in the toughest of situations. What could possibly have caused him to be awake at this hour of the morning? Maybe he had been spooked by something and didn't feel like sleeping? After all, Scruffy was human, and humans were allowed to be scared. It was a natural response. But no matter how hard he tried, the musician couldn't come up with what that fear might be. In all the time that he'd known Scruffy, the other man had never dropped hints that he was afraid of anything. Matt scoffed, reaching out to pick up his guitar and perch it on his knee. Now he was thinking that Scruffy was some kind of fearless hero who wasn't affected by anything. Must be the sleep deprivation.
I'll just ask him when he gets here, he decided firmly, hearing the musical notes return to his mind in the form of a thought and knowing that in a moment, he'd be occupied with the curse that he'd endured for the past week. Matt glanced up and looked out the window as he began humming the song, taking a while to remember his lyrics. Once the words floated back to his memory, he turned his attention to the guitar, quietly strumming.
A quiet knock at the door interrupted him, and he quickly set the guitar aside and padded over to the door in time to hear Scruffy announce himself. Fiddling in the moonlight with the lock, he finally managed the door open and poked his head out.
"Mister, if you think that you're being let off the hook, you're wrong. Get inside: we have to talk."
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Post by Mr. Peace-and-Logic on Apr 2, 2010 20:17:54 GMT -5
Not long after Scruffy made his presence known, the dark-haired resident swung the apartment's door open and gave the other man a decidedly stern look. "Mister, if you think that you're being let off the hook, you're wrong. Get inside: we have to talk." Scruffy could only blink in surprise at first; that was most certainly not the reaction he had been expecting. Matt had called him over to talk about a song that was bugging him, not to have some sort of discussion - though a part of the coyote-shifter knew that he should have expected some sort of mention. Matt was fully aware that something was bothering Scruffy, judging from his reflective tone on the phone, and the days of complete and total apathy from the man were long since gone. Should've known better, thought Scruffy with a pinch of chagrin as Matt let him inside.
"So, you said you needed help with a song? I'm going to guess it's been keeping you up for a while, since you don't exactly look rested," the ex-bartender immediately started, offering a tired version of his usual smirk. He was purposely avoiding the 'talk' subject, and he knew it. He was pretty sure Matt knew it too, but at the moment, the older of the two was just fine with leaving it alone. It was a stupid thing to discuss, really, and he sure as hell didn't need to bug his friend with it. He'd get over it soon.
...Okay, that's a blatant lie, he thought darkly, running his fingers through his ponytail nervously. He probably wouldn't get over it for a good week or so, and it would definitely take the power of natural sunlight to convince him his childhood monsters weren't real. But for now, he'd avoid the subject, and stick to the original purpose of his visit. A distraction was a distraction, and that was all he needed for now.
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Post by Alex on Apr 3, 2010 0:10:45 GMT -5
Matt stepped back as Scruffy moved into the apartment. After peering down the hallway, he shut the door quietly and listened to make sure that the rest of the building still sounded asleep. Casting a dubious glance at the moonlight streaming through the window, the dark-haired musician turned to Scruffy. "Do you think we should turn a lamp on, or is it bright enough?" The older man seemed more than eager to start a conversation. He seemed almost too eager. Definitely being hasty. Matt narrowed his eyes, rubbing the patch of hair on his chin thoughtfully as he listened to the barista. " So, you said you needed help with a song? I'm going to guess it's been keeping you up for a while, since you don't exactly look rested," Scruffy offered his trademark smirk, but it seemed more tired than usual, and he was fiddling with his hair nervously, although he probably didn't even notice it. All things considered, the older man seemed even more out of sorts in person than he did on the phone. And truth be told, it worried Matt. The musician decided to cut him off before he could continue any further. "Scruffy, I can tell something's up. You might as well tell me what it's all about." He decided not to mention that if Scruffy didn't want to talk, he would MAKE the older man talk. Maybe he wouldn't have to resort to threatening him after all. OOC|| Here we go with the dying posts again.
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