BandWithNoName

April 28, 1851. It had been 3 weeks since Ryan’s disappearance. In all that time, Brendon had been contemplating what he was supposed to do when he would go to the opening of the Great Exhibition, which would take place that next day. He’d sent William for the vault-key a few days after receiving the letter, and with him Dallon, with instructions neatly scribbled upon a paper. Dallon had read it with growing surprise in his eyes, but didn’t ask. The young man returned with a dark wooden box one hour later, containing an 1849 Baby Dragoon, a small and simple handgun. Brendon immediately tucked it away in his cupboard and loc

Pete's smile reminded Ryan of the moon outside, a sliver of silver that shone in the dark night's sky. The small, bizarre man had captured him with his words in a golden cage like a blackbird, after his feathers were plucked out one by one. It was enchanting. "So," Pete begun, placing Ryan in a chair before the warm hearth, "This is how the plan goes. Listen carefully, for I will not repeat my words again..." As Pete spoke, none of the men in the living room saw how a shadow moved carefully in the dark, placing itself strategically against the wall next to the open door. It was safe (or more likely, safe-ish), it could flee very fast if it

It was half past 8 when me and Spencer bounced in the cafe where the part was going to happen. Jon had arrived earlier, bringing snacks and now standing at the bar with his arms casually placed on the wood, beer already in hand and chattering happily with one of the girls in charge. He beamed at us and raised his glass, shouting: "I've already got one from the barrel, if you don't mind." I laughed. "Dude, you'll have to pay for that yourself. If you had waited for me, you'd have known that you won't get a free beer without this." I threw to little boxes on the table, and Jon reached for it curiously. In the boxes, there were 2 pads of ink,

Brendon woke up with a pounding headache and searing muscles from the position that he had been sleeping in, in the chair in the library. The bottle of scotch that was stalled on top of a pile of books next to the chair, was empty, and the big stain on the wooden floor next to Brendon's foot was caused by the glass that was apparently still full, and apparently knocked over by said foot when he moved in his sleep. Pressing his palms in his eyes, stretching, he stood up, flattened the creases in his pants, and went down for a late breakfast. He didn't remember anything from last night.                                                      

You watched me whilst undoing my dress -one  bought yesterday, before I met you again- And only noticed you were there as you breathed at the sight of my bare back. In or out, I cannot recall anymore. Your fingers caressed my dimly lighted skin, far from perfect, unlike yours And you turned me around, covered my naked body with yours, and our lips touched A single action, a dry press from mouth to mouth, and a habit in our case. Your eyes were dark, pupils blown - I couldn't remember the colour of your irises. Your hands, soft, almost lady-like I found, with that little crossed scar on your knuckle I never knew you had that one. You

"Dallon." Through the darkness of his closed eyelids, Dallon could vaguely hear his name whispered, and he stirred. He wanted to sleep. "Daaaaallooooon..." "Leave me alone." He grumbled, and he turned his head to the side to make himself more comfortable in what he thought was his bed. Strangely, his bed was kind of hard. Harder than he remembered. Weren't bed made to be soft? "DALLON!" This time, Dallon jumped with fright and fell out of his chair, looking up into the bright morning light streaming through his window to see Ryan grinning at him. He was confused. "Why are you smiling?" "Well, it's not usual that someone chooses to slee