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You made it.
After years of missing out and nearly giving up, you finally made it to a TWRP show. With The Protomen. And you got a VIP ticket, no less.
You were in line at the meet and greet, and you were thrilled . Your partner was ahead of you in line, you shoved them in front in a mild panic disguised as wanting to see their reaction to meeting everyone, but truth be told, you had tunnel vision. They’d be fine, you hoped.
You spent the most time talking animatedly to The Protomen, seeing as they took up the majority of the table, and most of the roughly fifteen other people in line tragically looked like they didn’t give, to put it bluntly, a single flying fuck about them. You clogged up the flow of the procession a bit, but you didn’t care, you were too enraptured by the situation. Commander B. Hawkins knew your hometown and college town scarily well; he recommended you a restaurant while giving directions you could mentally follow with shocking ease. Reanimator and Gambler told you about a show they played at a shitty bar near your college in 2011, you thought you knew the exact place they were talking about, but didn’t want to name it out of an irrational fear of sounding stupid.
You managed to hold a brief conversation with Doctor Sung with your composure mostly intact. The difficulty you had speaking increased tenfold, but you did it. And you didn’t black out.
The tunnel vision was still going strong, though.
And then you stood in front of Havve Hogan, a little dumbfounded. What do you say to someone who can’t talk? You think you squeaked out a “Hi,” but couldn’t be sure. You almost glanced at your partner for help, they were waiting patiently for you, smiling and probably internally laughing at how flustered you looked, and then you noticed that Havve was holding his hand up, waiting for a high five.
You smacked your slightly trembling hand against his gloved one, trying your best to put an adequate amount of oomph into it. You couldn’t have him thinking you were a weakling, after all.
Lord Phobos almost immediately held his hand up next, and you sidestepped to high five him as well, making sure to give it some gusto.
Then Commander Meouch had his hand up, accepting his high five with an “Aw yeah! Down the line!” that sounded a little too far away in your head. You smiled at him through the rush, suddenly feeling ten times cooler than you did three seconds ago.
Time stretched to an eternity though as you saw Lord Phobos holding his fist out in your direction. He wasn’t done with you. He was making you double back for more.
With a soft, slightly surprised “Oh!” you stepped back in front of him, administering the requested fist bump and thinking he was done with you this time. He fanned his hand in a mock-explosion as he withdrew it, leaning back slightly in his chair.
And then, just as you were about to move along, he stretched his hand out again, this time for a good old-fashioned handshake.
You took his hand, trying to match the firmness of his squeeze, if not surpass it (again, not a weakling). In hindsight, it would be hard to tell if your attempt at asserting dominance was your downfall, or if it was something else entirely.
Lord Phobos shook your hand, and he kept shaking it.
And kept shaking it. Up and down, up and down.
You tried to withdraw your hand from his clutch, but made it only a millimeter before he increased the pace, his grip becoming just tight enough to trap you, but not cause pain or discomfort.
All you could do was awkwardly laugh.
From your periphery, you could see Meouch looking on and holding back laughter, and Havve Hogan was likely doing the equivalent. Phobos, the bastard, looked deadly focused as he continued shaking your hand, more aggressively now, no intent of letting go seemed apparent.
And then, to your shock, he stood.
Meouch laughed audibly, you could practically hear heads turning from the other end of the table. Your partner would inform you later that all of The Protomen were watching this event unfold. The entire line likely was as well, you were holding it up, after all.
With this intense change in tactics underway you stood a bit taller, squaring your shoulders, readying yourself for whatever was to come next, and to exert some (possibly) faux confidence. Phobos seemed to stand taller as well, he probably only had a few inches on you, but the way he was vigorously shaking your hand at this point made you feel smaller than you had when this began.
Up and down, up and down, higher and lower, faster, faster.
Time slowed to a crawl.
At some point, you went from pointedly studying the details of his new helmet to staring straight through the visor. You could see his eyes very pointedly boring back into you.
Up and down, up and down, up and down.
The pressure mounting, you tore your gaze from his after what could have been an eternity, but was truly just a few moments. Instead, you looked at Meouch, who was leaning back in his chair, watching.
“How long is this gonna go on?” you asked, injecting humor into your voice with a smile and the vestiges of laughter, despite glancing back at Phobos and meeting nothing but stone cold intensity.
Meouch chuckled before stating, very ominously and unhelpfully, “As long as it needs to.”
You raised your eyebrows, becoming mildly concerned.
The shaking continued. Up and down, up and down.
And then, finally, he released your hand from his grasp, snatching his own hand away like you’d tried to steal it right off of him. You felt like he was looking at you with contempt, like you had committed a sin by asking when it would end, but realistically it could not have gone on forever.
Or perhaps it could have, you would never know.
You stepped away from the table, reuniting with your partner and feeling shaken, changed, like a new iteration of yourself.
And the show was still hours away.