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raartblog · 7 months

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Tao felt like he was moving in slow motion through the mercury lights, his feet gliding through the fog to find purchase on the stage surface. This sort of feeling often overwhelmed him when he took to the stage-- like his body was passing through a sieve his consciousness was too heavy to cross. His mind lagged as it fought against that barrier, his hand raised in greeting, the cheering crowd pulsing through the frantic heartbeat in his head. The scattered flashes of cameras and phones joined in, and it bundled together into a rising tide of static.

The Battle of the Bands producers had been kind this week. For the weekly challenge, they assigned each band one of their competitor's songs to cover, and naturally, OMOGO was granted the displeasure of performing a Soft Violence song.

When he had heard, Tao's attempt to hide the downward twist of his mouth had turned it into an all-out grimace. Not even for a second could they have a rest.

He had listened to Seven's band ever since they took the stage by storm, telling himself that it was just to keep up with what his… whatever Seven was to him. To keep tabs on how his music was branching away from what he and Tao had made together. Honestly, Tao found Soft Violence too typical for the genre, but something about it felt so familiar and comfortable that it kept him crawling back like a pathetic animal.

But no matter how he felt about it, "Damaged Veins" was Soft Violence's song, and they only had two days of practice to make it OMOGO's.

The roiling in Tao's stomach spiked as gentle piano notes chimed through his earpiece. The song started soft, and the tune was suddenly unfamiliar, even as he could feel himself mouth the words into the mic. A rare smoothness takes his voice, one Tao denied himself too often. This was not an OMOGO song.

"If it was all meant to break apart in my veins…" A vague tinge of memory was Tao's only warning before a chord from Rowan's guitar rippled over the stage and through his body, violently thrusting Tao back into himself. Electricity hummed in his fingertips, at the skin of his lips. He yanked the microphone from the stand, and he was off.

It's not that he thought the original "Damaged Veins" was boring… Tao was just bored playing it. Now, a new break between the first verse and chorus, a new intro on the guitar, supported by Iris's keys, Devyn biding her time, waiting to build… The rolling thunder of August's drums. God, they were good. OMOGO took the song, ripped it apart, and remade it. It was everything he wanted.

Riding the energy, Tao found himself moving as he leapt into the chorus. "We're the last ones left to see the night, I'm losing you to the satellites…"

A small part of his brain, a part usually blinded into oblivion by the lights, wondered if Seven would be angry that he took so many liberties with his music. What, am I not good enough for you? Seven snapped in his mind, folding his arms tight against his body.

Shut up. You've always been perfect, Tao argued. It's so hard to make anything from me good enough. My guts are rancid, stinking, foul, and every time I make music, I rip them out and splash paint on them and polish them for hours until I think that maybe for a second I can make someone call them beautiful. It's so easy for you. Your heart and blood and bones are perfect.

Second verse. It passed in a blur. Tao's tendons were entangled in Iris's countermelody, his steps driven by the bass. The band slowed, stretching the lines as if a weight had fallen over them. Following in its stead, Tao lowered himself to his knees. He's vaguely aware of a pop somewhere in his head, a feeling rather than a sound. "The weight of it all rests on my damaged veins…"

Something was wrong.

A wetness slid over his lip, but Tao ignored it and rolled right into the chorus. But before long, the taste of copper bloomed in his mouth. A quick finger to his nostril revealed a brilliant spot of red. Nosebleed. Now?! The static, once pushed to the edges, flooded his mind once more.

Somehow, only seconds had passed. He could feel himself singing, but he's no longer aware of how. His legs burned as he slowly rose back to his feet, his shoulders hunched as he passed another hand under his chin. He could feel the heavy droplets rolling down, but he only managed to smear red over his mouth and palm. Something else in his mind took over, a lone refuge alone in the madness, that reminded him to keep his head tilted forward. It's a gruesome sight, he's sure, as more and more blood coursed from his nose. But he had to keep it out of his throat. Had to keep his sinuses clear.

He's still singing. The band seemed to be following his lead-- the instruments behind him matched the desperation spilling from his nose. Tao was certain that they didn't even fully know why, but it didn't even matter. Right now, on this stage, OMOGO was a singular animal.

There was supposed to be a bridge following the chorus, but he couldn't remember it. The words crumbled into nothing and vanished, the tune bleeding out and turning to static. The energy was rising, and there was nothing left in their wake, not even a shadow or a grave.

So Tao just screamed. A wailing, ringing, beautiful explosion from his belly. Tao felt like he was dying. He was twisting and writhing in one last ecstatic agony. The riff carried high, and when it was over, he did it again, exactly the same, vaguely aware that he had to sell it.

Mercifully, for a moment, Tao could stop. Hellishly, only for a few bars, as OMOGO took over for the instrumental break. He wiped his bloody hand on his shirt, leaving a stark red handprint on the white fabric.

The crash of a cymbal jerked Tao back to life. Silence rang in his ears as he brought the microphone back to his lips. Iris's keys were calm once again, like the turbulent oceans were struck flat at August's command. Tao sucked a breath through his teeth, all that he could without inviting a drop of blood into his lungs to choke him at last. "If it was all meant to break apart in my veins," he sings, the notes leaving his throat in a near-whisper. And it was done.

Tao blinked, and all of a sudden, he was in a chair backstage, a strong yet gentle hand tilting his head back as bundles of tissues were shoved into his hand. The static in his mind was subsiding at last, and Tao made a small noise of wonder as he realized it was fading into the sound of a screaming, cheering audience. The noise must have been mistaken for a sound of discomfort, because the hand vanished, leaving behind an absent chill on the back of Tao's neck.

"'M fine," he mumbled automatically as Orion stepped back. A tissue box nearly collided with his face seconds before Devyn appeared like a ghost on the other side. She didn't say anything, just stared at him with those pale eyes. The production assistant holding the tissue box stumbled as Rowan crowded in, too.

"Tao, ohmygod they love us! Jesus!" He gagged and whirled away. The empty spot he left behind was immediately filled in by Iris.

"I don't know what he expected," she commented drily. She grabbed the tissue box from the PA and shooed her away. The PA wasn't gone for long before she was joined by another body, a medic, who not-too-gently moved Devyn aside.

"I'm fucking fine!" Tao snapped, on his feet in an instant. Bad idea. A wave of nausea hit him, and sparks lit up his vision. His ass was back in the plastic seat in an instant, and the familiar faces of his friends were gone, ushered away by a traitorous Orion as he attempted to control the crowd that was itching to form. August hadn't joined in, but they're hovering a little bit aways, pretending not to stare. Tao couldn't help but feel embarrassed under their discreet gaze. Looking around, he bared his teeth at the nearest camera lens, but he looked pathetic with the tissues jammed up into his nostrils.

Cory stood not too far away either, speaking rapidly to both another producer and a phone, her knuckles white where she gripped her clipboard.

A hand clamped on Tao's shoulder, making him jump.

"Can you stand?" Orion murmured. "They need us to clear out." He gestured behind him to the next band standing awkwardly further back in the wings. Gritting his teeth, Tao nodded and forced himself upright.

As they walked to the nearest green room, Cory pushed past the set medic, the clicking of her heels somehow echoing a rising wave of irritation through the hallway. Her mouth was set in a steely smile.

"Tao," she started, tapping her clipboard with a well-manicured finger. "Tao, Tao, Tao. You are a gift. Truly." It was impossible to tell if she was being sarcastic. Her eyes seemed like they should be twitching.

"Is there a reason you need to speak with us right now?" Orion demanded flatly, his hand still tight around Tao's bicep. Tao took a moment to pretend the heat in his face and stomach was from the blood loss, but it's soon lost in a flush of anxiety as Cory swiveled her sparkling ire between them.

"I always have a reason, Ori dear." She pointed a pen at Tao and continued before Orion could respond. "That nosebleed of yours could very well invalidate your entire performance."

NO. "What?!" Tao snarled.

"It could," Cory continued. "If it was real."

"What?" Tao repeated, all the heat behind it evaporating into confusion.

The pen started to spin between Cory's slender fingers. "The problem with blood on live television is that, frankly, it's disgusting. The network would have a fit. It'd have to be cut out entirely. But…" she drew out the last word, the smirk making it even more oily. "Oh, Tao. It looked fabulous on camera."

It looked good on camera. Over here, it's better lighting. Do it again. No, don't block them-- cheat to the left. We need you to push this conflict. Do it again, but faster. Can you cry? Look here. Do it again, Tao, do it again for the camera.

This production was draining him dry. Part of him wished he bled out on the stage.

"So!" Cory chirped, either oblivious to Tao's discomfort or simply uncaring. "We called Paige in, and we're going to get some shots of you getting some squibs applied, and it's all going to be part of the show. You even hid it from your bandmates to get a better reaction, so sneaky of you."

"But I didn't-- They know I sometimes--" Static. Tao looked to Orion for help. "What the fuck?"

The muscles were jumping in his manager's jaw, but Orion wasn't objecting. Cory was right. They had to keep the performance airable.

Syllables caught in Tao's throat as he floundered. "You can't lie to the band," he managed to choke out. "I won't let you."

Cory tutted sadly. "Well, I can't stop you, hon. But we need to sell this in the confessionals. I've already laid out a plan with the other producers. Henry is talking to them right now."

Tao tore his arm out of Orion's grip and stalked back to the stage doors, but they burst open before he could touch the handles. The rest of OMOGO strode out. Rowan almost collided with Tao as he rushed out.

"Seriously?" Iris snapped, crossing her arms. A cameraman slid out behind her and pointed the lens at them all.

"We thought you were going to die, dude!" Rowan added.

"What the fuck?" Tao gaped. "Are you guys fucking stupid? No!" His voice was rising, the rush of anxiety dragging frustration up with it.

Devyn cut in, their fingers pushing Tao back a little. "We'll see you in the green room. You get cleaned up, and we'll talk then." Without another word, they brushed past him, and the rest followed. At least August was kind enough to give him a sympathetic grimace before they turned away.

"I'm only looking out for you, you know," Cory said from behind him. She raised an amused brow as he turned on her, his hands clenched into fists and his teeth bared. "It's my job. I take all these uncut gems, clean and polish them, and let them shine." Her hand was suddenly in Tao's face, and he jerked back instinctually. Cory's condescending laugh made the playful tap on the tip of his nose feel like a hammer.

The metronomic clack of her heels filled the beige hallway as she departed, each tick threatening to shatter him like his body was made of glass. Every day was a new exercise in seeing how much he could take before breaking.

Tao swallowed hard as he forced his hands to unclench, each muscle more brittle than the last. His fingers were still smeared with the darkening rust of dried blood that crumbled away as he scraped at it with a fingernail. It was all in there: music. it pumped through his veins and kept him alive, kept his body and soul from giving out. They wanted to stick him and bleed him for all he's got, but when he spilled it all over the stage, it was disgusting.

He was vaguely aware of Orion trying to get his attention, but he was sick of being bounced between handlers. Slapping away a hand in his periphery, Tao retreated-- away from the cameras, out of the beige funnel shunting band after band into the maw of the stage, into a random room where he could let his knees buckle. Pressing his back against a wall, he breathed. He could breathe and bleed alone in the dark. In peace.

nosebleed

#infamous if #fanfic #oc: tao yi

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raartblog · 9 months

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PUNK PLAYS PIANO

Fandom: Infamous IF

The piano in the green room was old, and the circular stains littering the cabinet's finish suggest that it spent much of its life here as a shelf for iced drinks and ashtrays. Running a hand over the rough wood of the cover, Tao could feel the years it witnessed as glorified furniture. It wasn't hard to imagine countless moments of drunken jamming, the hollow sound of hands slapping the wood out of frustration, a convenient surface for momentary lovers. A melancholy tune where no one else can hear. The piano stands still, aging and stoic in front of faceless musicians shuffling in and out, rising and falling.

Feeling a prickle of self-consciousness at the back of his throat, Tao looks around. The green room door sits ajar as the rest of OMOGO deposit their bags and quickly shuffle off to sort their instruments by the stage, their chattering an indistinct buzz of excitement that soon fades to silence.

The last time Tao played the piano was three years ago.

It felt a bit raw, to be recording an album so soon after Seven's departure. The band needed time to come up with three more songs to replace the ones Seven took with him, but it didn't seem like the others needed as much time as Tao did. All of his words seemed dammed up somewhere in his brain. He could feel them, wriggling like fish, squirming to be free, but guilt froze his hand. The next one, he promised himself. I'll be okay on the next one. Like he could take two steps to the left and look out a different window to a different world.

Even so, three weeks after, two days before recording, the band struggled to agree on an album intro. "We can improvise," Rowan argued. "Just jam out in the studio and come up with something cool!"

Iris disagreed. "We need as much time as we can get to record the songs that are actually written. We've barely had time to practice Purist or Karma Won—"

"Nope!" Devyn piped up, "It's Go, Gone now." Go, Gone, previously known as Karma Won, previously known as Pit Fire, which had ousted Patricia, was the most recent of the batch. It was a good song, but it was suffering from an identity crisis similar to its titling problem.

"Either way," Iris continued, rolling her eyes, "we need to settle on a final sound for the two of them, and this is our last practice we can all make before our studio time, and we've got to get it done in that one slot."

"Our songs are good!" Jazzy chimed in. "The whole thing is cohesive enough, we don't need to be cinematic about it."

Rowan stood firm. "It's our third album, guys! We've got our sound figured out, not to mention the fact that we need to start pushing the envelope a little, y'know? Back me up, Tao!" Tao blinked, not expecting to be roped in.

"Um. I dunno." He grimaced at his own hesitancy, choosing instead to pick at a loose thread in his sleeve.

"Tao agrees with me," Rowan said, turning back to the others.

"Tao!" Iris protested.

Tao puffed a breath. Seven had written the album intro, and in Tao's opinion especially, nothing they had come up with really had that synergy they were looking for.

"Does anyone have any ideas for an intro now?" he grinds out.

The band looked around at each other, mumbling. Iris put her hands on her hips and glowered at Rowan's triumphant grin.

"Yeah!" he said, throwing an arm over Tao's shoulder and trying to swing his legs up so Tao would catch him in a bridal carry. "Let's just get the ones we know out of the way quick, and we can totally figure out Go, Gone. Jazzy n' Dev can get together and finish it up, and the rest of us'll just follow their leads! Tao, c'mon! Hold me!" he whined. Tao allowed it, hefting Rowan's bulk up into his arms. Then he turned and dumped Rowan out on the garage couch. He vanished into a pile of coats accumulated over years of careless tosses with a dismayed wail.

As everyone filtered out of Devyn's garage for the night, a light pressure appeared on Tao's shoulder. Devyn popped around his side soon after. They always reminded him of a pet mouse. Quick, small, something always twinkling in her eyes, though its anyone's guess as to what. A pink mouse. The thought made the corner of Tao's mouth quirk up.

"Hey, what are you thinking?" Devyn said, a teasing lilt to her voice as she bundled another sweater around her shoulders. The October air had chilled considerably in the early darkness.

Tao shook his head. "What's up?"

"I just…" Devyn sighed. The quick exhalation caused Tao's stomach to twist. There have been a lot of little talks like this, and they never fail to make him like he has to curl up into a protective shell. "I know stuff with… y'know, figuring out new songs and stuff has been tough. It's been tough on all of us."

"I know."

"I don't want to rehash anything. I don't. But I think it'll be good for you to come up with something. It doesn't have to be a whole idea-- like Rowan said, we'll play around and figure it out together. But. Y'know. It might help." The suggestion took that curling feeling inside of Tao's stomach and threw it over his entire body. His shoulder hunched, and it took everything to shove his hands in his coat pockets instead of wrapping them over his chest like he'd been shot. "Tao?" Devyn's brows scrunched together as they took in his reaction. Worry on their face was tough to look at.

"Yeah," he choked out, cloudy breath hissing out of his nose as he took another, steadier breath. "Yeah. Maybe."

The creative spark never found him in the days coming up to the studio time, not that Tao could bring himself to even go looking for it. Even in the studio, where there was usually an intense energy and excitement, Tao found himself struggling to shake the rising dread as they recorded song after song. They all seemed to come so easily in anticipation for the most difficult moments of the day. The early momentum that had them high-fiving and running back and forth between booths to hear the mix died quickly like a smear on asphalt as they reached Go, Gone, re-named for the final time to Geraldine.

After Tao's ninth take, Jazzy leaned over and clicks the comm. "You're not listening to me," she said, spinning a drumstick between her fingers in frustration. "It's too angry."

"I'm basically singing about wanting to mutually eat shit and die," Tao snapped. "How else am I supposed to interpret that?"

"You gotta–" Jazzy made a wavy motion at him through the window with her hand. Tao copied it, bewildered. "Y'know!"

"I don't know! What the fuck does that mean? You-you want me to build up to it?"

"No– I mean, yes, but– um." She rubbed her face with her free hand, the drumstick spinning around in the other faster and faster. "Fuck. It's like. It's angry, but it's not angry. It's... it's the 'drowning' part."

"What about it?"

"I don't think it's working anymore."

"Fucking– Anymore?"

The drumstick smacks on the table. "I don't fucking know! Chill out and give me a second!"

"Whoa, whoa, guys!" Rowan stepped in, hands up and a pleading smile on his face. "Why don't we take five?"

Devyn was quick to agree over Jazzy's mumbled swearing. "I could use a snack!"

"No, I've got this," Tao bit back, shaking his head and the lyric sheet. He wanted to crumple it up in his hands and wring the words out.

"If you had it, it would've been done," Iris drawled. "We've been working on Geraldine alone for three hours. It's way past time for a break."

Tao groaned and ripped the headphones off his head. She had a point. They all knew Geraldine was going to be a mess. Even so, Tao couldn't help feeling like missing the mark every time was becoming a personal failure.

There's a ka-chunk as Rowan pushed open the heavy door to the recording space. Tao turned his back, preferring to see the neutral soundproofing rather than someone's face. "Heeeeey, Tao. You coming?"

"Give me a sec," Tao shot over his shoulder.

"'Kay. I'll grab you some Haribo-bo's from the vending machine."

Tao gritted his teeth. "Thanks." Despite his frustration, he couldn't help the glimmer of affection for his friend. "You can have a couple of mine."

"Ohhh, buddy, don't tempt me," Rowan sniggered as he closed the door behind him.

Silence.

Tao squeezed his eyes shut. When that wasn't enough, he pressed his palms against his eye sockets, letting weird patterns and shadows dance in the dark.

"Fuuuucccckkkkingggg shiiiiit," he groaned. "Fuck!" Releasing his hands, he blinked around the space. He glanced over the drums, the collection of guitars and basses hanging off the wall, over Iris's keyboard, his vision skittering around and around. A song like Geraldine he could usually knock out with ease. Angry songs, songs that shouted to push down the tears, they were his bread and butter. He had the voice, the look, the feeling, all of it. This sort of trouble should have happened with a song like Purist, a devoted love song with long, sustained notes scattered throughout, but he had delivered it in two takes. It was different from their usual fare, but Devyn and Iris were fucking inspired with that one.

Eventually, his eyes land on the grand piano. They had pushed it into a corner out of the way, but it was so big that it still took up a large portion of the room.

It always seemed to surprise people when Tao revealed his classical training—not that he made it easy for them to figure out. After all, he grew out of the clean, delicate form of a classical pianist long ago, much to his mother's chagrin. She despaired constantly about his piercings and tattoos, cried that he had ruined his future and reputation in favor of looking like a thug— even now, she refused to be seen with him in public. It only hurt a little. But he was tall. Scary-looking. His hands were large. He remembers being excited in high school for when they got large enough to comfortably play Lizst. Seven teasingly called him a virgin nerd when he talked about it.

Tao shook the thought from his head.

The piano was white. A little too stylish for the rest of the studio, but Tao didn't really care. He pressed a random key, expecting the near-painful twang of untuned strings. But the sound was clear. Almost instinctively, his hand played a chord to follow the note. Then another, until he found himself stuck on a D-flat. It felt familiar. Lazily, he plunked his ring finger against an A-flat.

The comforting form of Chopin's Prelude no. 15 rose from the wandering notes. When he was younger he often returned to it when he was bored of scales and warmups but reluctant to move on to whatever new piece needed attention. Seven used to sit in the same room during his practice time, humming idly along while doing his homework.

The repetition of the A-flat grounded him. He never got away from feeling like a fish laid out on the sun-baked rocks when on stage. Even after years of recitals, then onto performing with his band, the feeling never went away. It just became easier to push through.

Chopin's wife, George Sand, called the piece "Raindrop." A peaceful name. Another story claims it was written in a panicked haze after Chopin had a nightmare where he was drowning.

Tao could imagine it as his hands fell to C-sharp minor. A feeling of viscosity seemed to take over the sound, like Tao's head was being plunged underwater. He continued playing, pushing his hands through roiling water to strike at the keys. He knows this piece. And he could feel himself committing a violence to it as he bruised the keys. As the crescendo crashes, he's supposed to come up for air. The gentle plunking of the rain as a prelude to the sun returning. There's no coming up for air this time. He feels the energy weaken as the chords, still dark and stormy, wander into something else. He's improvising now. It sounded like the dull thunder of a heartbeat in his ears as he sunk deeper and deeper into the depths. It sounded like a funeral march.

"Keep playing like that, bud," Rowan murmured next to him. His guitar was already slung over his shoulder, his fingers finding their places on her neck. Devyn was nearby, doing the same on their bass. Jazzy was settled in her drummer's seat, nodding to Iris as she found her way to her keyboard. "I think we've got something we can work with for the intro."

-----

"Tao." Orion's sharp voice jerks Tao back to the present. "What are you doing in here?" The shape of a cameraman passes by Orion's bulk, following another band as they bundle past in the hallway. Tao sniffs, masking the sudden jolt of embarrassment and fear with a reflexive scowl.

"Drugs," he drawls.

Orion narrows his eyes, his laser-like gaze making Tao stiffen even further. "Get ready for the sound check in five," he says after a moment. "The rest of the band is already getting ready. Don't be late." Not waiting for an answer, he vanishes, leaving the door ajar.

Alone again, Tao turns back to the ratty upright piano. The cover creaks as he raises it slightly, just enough to slip his right hand under and depress a key. It sounds like shit. Only the keys in the higher range seem to have any tune to them anymore. It had been three years since he played the piano. He feels the ache, but he couldn't bring himself to stretch his fingers out.

In the back of his mind, a memory of a simple tune forms. Quietly, to himself, he plays a lullaby. Once, twice, until he forces himself to close the cover and face the growing noise of the stage.

(He doesn't notice a shadow in the doorway duck out of sight just before he turns.)

Songs referenced: Chopin Prelude Opus 28 No. 15 "Raindrop" Chuck Manginone -- "Lullaby" (the first theme)

#i'm very new to charcoal pls forgive me #infamous if #infamous oc #fanfic #oc: tao yi #i also don't write very much so uhhh

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