Snippets
A collection of very short, generally rough pieces of writing that aren't really long or interesting enough to be considered stories, featuring a variety of different characters.
Some stories may have swearing, non-graphic violence, and things like excessive drinking.
Author's Notes
This takes place during the early days of The Plague, probably a week or two after Arc joined.
Unease (Stal and Arc)
Stal’s claws were flipping through some sheet music, but his eyes weren’t moving from the dead centre of the paper.
‘Is something wrong, Stalgator?’ asked Arc politely. Never quite sure how to behave around the odd, moody dragon, he’d taken to simply being as respectful as he could. It wasn’t clear if Stal even noticed his efforts. He never spoke much unless it was about the music they were all working on, unless he was talking to Gray – the pair, who were obviously close friends, could often be heard quietly conversing as they put their heads together over lyric sheets.
‘What?’ said Stal blankly, lifting his eyes for half a second. ‘No.’
The grunted two syllables were most likely intended to dissuade Arc, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that something was bothering Stal. So he did not back off, but he did take a moment to consider his next words with care.
‘Are you sure? It looked like something was on your mind.’
‘Well, yeah, of course something’s on my mind,’ Stal growled, his eyes flicking up again. He was caught in a strange limbo between pretending to be sidetracked and actually being sidetracked, but it was obvious that the sheet music a few inches in front of his nose wasn’t the thing distracting him.
‘...Can I help you?’ said Arc, automatically defaulting to a courtesy that he doubted was wanted or needed.
‘No. Look, Arc, can you – can you just go and do something? I’m kind of busy right now.’
‘Are you sure? I could--’
‘For gods’ sake, stop talking to me!’ Stal snapped.
Arc jolted, then slunk away. He’d have to be an idiot to see that the frontman wasn’t in the mood for company. But he couldn’t help glancing back as he left, just in time to watch Gray appear from seemingly nowhere, hands buried in the pockets of his leather jacket, and put his head close to Stal’s. Their mouths moved, but the words were indistinguishable. Even at that distance, it was possible to how Stal’s shoulders slumped and his eyes stopped resolutely fixing themselves on the papers. He… relaxed.
It wasn’t solitude that he wanted. It was distance from Arc that he wanted.