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Sword felt as if he was the only quiet one in the entire room. Crowds of inphernals around him made it difficult to even see the stage up ahead. A mix of cigarettes, vapes, and probably marijuana were blown into his face as he moved towards the middle of the pit, trying his best to not bump into others. Lights flashed occasionally, illuminating everybody in the arena. Shouting, not yet screaming faces surrounded him as it was still an opening band.
He had only missed part of the opening band, a group of four he didn't know. The way the singer was belting it out, Sword had to wonder if he was spitting into the mic with how far in his mouth it was. The drummer was sweating bullets, the bass player wandering around the stage, and the guitarist that wasn't singing was focused completely on his instrument.
He didn't mind the loud, booming sound of the music as much as he had thought he would. He felt a weird sense of warmth, being surrounded by these people, connected in a weird way through music.
Sword loved music. He had played the violin all his life, his father being the one to persuade him from a young age to start playing. He was .. good. Not extraordinary, but good enough at making music— and playing the occasional happy birthday for Sisyphus. He likes it. He likes the sound of music, in a way even he can't fully explain.
Rock is something that appeals to him too. Enough for him to sneak out, to a concert that would run nearly until midnight. He'd discovered the genre when Venomshank was out when he was younger, and Sword finally got to fiddle with the radio— and later the TV. The radio station he'd channelled to was playing something older. A '90s rock band, one Sword forgot the name of.
Venomshank calls Rock noise rather than music, saying the screaming too loud for the music to even be heard. Sword disagrees. There's something harmonic in the way the raw sound somehow stays in a complimentary key as whatever riff the guitar is playing. And most of the time, the singer isn't screaming the entire song anyway.
Speaking of Venomshank.. Sword was gonna get in a lot of trouble if his dad found out he was out this late. The only thing it took for his plan to fail was for Venomshank to get up in the middle of the night, maybe to use the bathroom, and check on Sword as he passed by his room. Then he would discover Sword was not in his room— and then Venomshank would search the whole house for his son, only to turn up with nothing. Then he would send Sisyphus out, and somehow— somehow that dang bird always knew where Sword was. Sword would be in so much trouble.
Maybe this wasn't such a good idea after all.. its not too late to turn back around and go home. Sword would have to shower to get this stench of smoke off him— but wait.
Then Venomshank would wake up from the sound and—-
"Holy shit— I'm so sorry!" Someone stuttered besides him, knocking him off balance.
Sword felt most of his body being doused in cold beer, the smell hitting his nostrils before his body registered the liquid.
"I'm uhm.. I'm so sorry, man. I uh.. gotta go— bye!" And just like that, the inphernal who had dunked their drink on him sinked back into the swarm of bodies.
Sword stood there for a second, then looked down at his shirt. His white shirt. Was now a nasty yellowish color. And— oh no. His binder. His black binder. Oh God, his binder. It would not only reek of beer for the next few days, but it was probably showing. Right now.
Sword's arms came up to cross around his chest, still sitting on the floor. A few inphernals had noticed the spill, but were too busy listening to the band onstage to help.
"'Ain't no fucking way. You alright?" A hand was extended towards Sword.
Sword looks up and— oh my gods, this inphernal was gorgeous.
They (she? she.) had on the coolest eyeliner on and Sword had seen a lot of inphernals with eyeliner on at the concert but this must've been the coolest use of it he'd seen all night. Chains hung from her belt, the silver metal glinting at Sword as he stumbled to his feet, taking the offered hand. He didn't even notice the prosthetic arm until he felt the cold metal against the warmth of his palm.
"Oh man.." She grimaces, looking around. "That guy just dropped their beer on you and dipped? Shit's messed up,"
"I uh.. ehem.. thank.. thanks," Sword manages to stammer out, binder forgotten.
"You know where the bathrooms are, yeah?" She asks, having to raise her voice over the music.
"Bathrooms.. uh— n-no, I don't think so."
She stares at him for a moment, trying to decipher if he was high or drunk.
This guy dumb as fuck, he must be wasted.
"I'll show you, c'mon. No offence, but you stink. Hope you brought an extra shirt." She begins to wander away, and Sword followed this angel of a being like a lost puppy.
"What's your- your uh.. Do you have a name?" sword is fumbling this baddie oh my god bro
"Pfft— do I what? Pretty sure everyone has one." She laughs lightly. "Yeah, I do. Name's Rocket."
Rocket. Rocket, Rocket.
"That's— that's a.. a uh.. good name. Suits you.." Sword mumbles as they walk through the exit door.
"Do you got one? One name, I mean."
"Yeah…" Sword forgets how to pronounce his name for a second. "Swerd. Skord. Sword. Sword. My name is Sword."
She laughs again, and Sword feels the beginning of a smile creep onto his face.
Rocket pushes open the men's door, guiding Sword inside, thankfully it seems to be just them in here. It takes Sword a second to realize she is in the wrong bathroom.
"I don't uh.." He begins, "I don't think you can be here."
"Well the law says I can't use the other one." Rocket says half-heartedly, grabbing a paper towel.
"What? Why not? Do they not let people with prosthetics in bathrooms?"
"What? No. I'm trans." She steps forward as if she didn't drop a bomb on Sword and scrunches up the paper towel, about to get the beer off Sword's face.
Sword stares at her for a moment, awkwardly. Rocket stares back, unmoving.
"What, you gonna be weird about it?" A sad expression crosses her face, before she looks defensive.
"OH— No.. no. I thought you were a girl." Has he been using all the wrong pronouns on her —him in his head? She looks a little on the androgynous side, and her voice is a lot deeper then most girls.
"What? I am a girl. Just used to be a guy."
Phew. Okay. "Oh. Alright. Me— me too. But like, the other way around."
"Oh." They both continue staring.
"You pass really well." Rocket offers.
"You do too."
Another minute passes in silence.
Sword can't technically be in this bathroom then.. huh. He'd always avoided using public restrooms because they were unsanitary but.. he didn't know there was an actual law against transmen using the men's. Oh, whatever.
"Do you have an extra shirt?" Sword asks, thoughts coming back to the task at hand.
"Huh? Oh yeah.. I do," Rocket pulls something out of her purse. "At my first concert, same thing happened to me. Ruined my favorite shirt. Been bringing one to every concert since that."
Sword doesn't respond, instead taking the shirt and offered paper towel to a stall and wiping the beer off himself.
"Is this your first concert?" Rocket leans against a wall, looking away from the direction of the stall.
"Uhm.. yeah, it is," comes Sword's response, muffled from behind the stall.
The state of the bathroom is not ideal.. porcelain tiles are littered with cigarette buds and candy wrappers, there's sharpie on the back of the stall door that says "Shit like a beast!" with multiple happy faces drawn around it. Sword is sure someone must've done drugs here.
He changes out of his ruined shirt quickly, and with nowhere else to put it, he shoves it down his pants, making it look like he has a raging boner between his legs. Oh well. Better to have something then nothing. Rocket's shirt is surprisingly his size, though slightly bigger than he thought it would be.
Sword steps out of the stall and Rocket's gaze immediately fall to the new bump sticking out of his pants She sees no backpack on Sword, no shirt in hand, and connects two and two together.
"You.. look—"
"Does it look stupid? I'll take it out," Sword feels his face heat up with embarrassment. There's a woman in front of him with an actual dick and he's pretending that he has one.
"No. No. It.. just looks like you have a monster dick. Which ain't all that bad." She shrugs.
The rest of the night goes by in a blur. Sword basically follows Rocket around for the rest of the concert. He's secretly glad she didn't come with friends, because it would make it a lot more awkward.
Rocket doesn't seem to mind Sword tagging along. She dawdles towards the back of the pit, where there's less people until the main band comes on, in which she migrates towards the front with Sword.
Music is blasting once more in his ears, vibrating throughout his entire body, from his feet to the tips of his horns. More lights move around the stadium, changing colors and places with the beat of the blaring bass.
Sword finds himself staring not at the stage, but at the helpful— beautiful stranger he'd met today,
She's beautiful.
He thinks, as Rocket loudly sings along to the words of the song, and doesn't stop until she catches him staring.
She smiles at him, a heavy grin Sword's sure he's going to remember for the rest of his life.
He begins to sing along with her.