Chapter Text
With a wave and a mysterious smile, Sunniva bid farewell to another satisfied soul.
“Careful on your way. Don’t let the whispers of the shadows lead you astray.”
It was a genuine warning considering how dangerous the city streets could be at night, but it was also a lyric from their first song that had hit the Top 100 on the radio a few years back. Now that they were sitting pretty on the charts as Scandinavia's number-one eldritch metal band, those days of scraping by on passion and the meagre payouts of local gigs were lost to the past.
Looking down at the plastic fold-out table in front of her, Sunniva breathed a sigh of relief that the poster she’d just signed was their last. She was exhausted after the fourth show of their tour, and while plenty of fans brought their own merch to get signed, not having anything extra to offer meant her line would move all the faster.
She loved performing and certainly didn’t regret all the hard work she and the other members of Forbidden Knowledge had poured into their work along with their hearts and souls. And while they’d attracted their share of problematic fans as their popularity had grown, the vast majority of them were still the same lovable freaks and misfits that had always been the band’s biggest supporters and who made it all worth the effort for Sunniva; or, as she was known to said fans, Icarus. The constant going was taking its toll, however. She wasn’t doing herself any favors by using her erebomancy to enhance their concerts’ ambiance, either. Skilled as she was, balancing on that tightrope, between the perfect chill to shoot a tingle up the spine and the mind-shattering pressure of total darkness, over thousands of minds for hours on end, all while singing and performing on stage, wasn’t easy. But it was a cheap way to bring the experience to the next level for them.
Sunniva startled at the thump of a roadie dropping a fresh stack of posters onto her table. He gave her a thumbs-up as she forced a smile and turned back towards the line of waiting fans stretching out before her. The night wasn’t over yet.
Despite the setback of their merchandising team dutifully keeping them eye-deep in posters, Sunniva perked up at the sight of an aged tome being pushed across the table towards her.
“Oh, wow,” she gasped softly in genuine delight that broke through the fog of exhaustion. Reaching for the proffered copy of The Accursed Library, she admired the sickly blue-green foil pressed into dark, faux-aged leather flecked with tactile splatters of an unidentifiable, black goop. “Not only my personal favorite album, but the limited collector’s edition? You have impeccable taste, Love.” Popping the cap off her silver paint marker, she asked, “And whose name shall I inscribe upon this tome ‘til time immemorium?”
“M-Mikey…” the shy woman squeaked from behind her striped arm warmers. She was decked out head-to-toe in pastel scene goth fashion fit for a rave, her dark hair teased high and streaked with multicolored highlights. Despite her bold appearance, she hid her face behind her and stared at the ground whenever Sunniva looked up at her.
“You know Mikey-”
The woman stumbled forward suddenly as one of the people behind her in line shoved another of his buddies into her. The three men laughed obnoxiously, roughhousing, shouting, and slapping at one another as they waited.
The hair on the back of Sunniva’s neck stood on end. She recognized the three troublemakers. How could she not after they’d had to briefly pause the night’s performance in order for security to break up a mosh pit the three had tried to incite? You’d think the clearly stated warning at the start of the concert would have been enough. The fact it hadn’t been spoke volumes.
Sunniva took a deep breath, trying to remain pleasant.
“Excuse me,” she said firmly. “No horsing around in line, please. We don’t want anyone getting hurt. Or kicked out.”
The man who’d been shoved into the woman patted her on the shoulder, giving her an oily smile even as she flinched away from his touch, threw a smarmy namaste Sunniva’s way, and then went back to trying to slap his friend’s earrings out of his lobes. Sunniva wished she could do something more substantial, maybe make an example out of them. But looking at Mikey, she knew that - while retribution would have felt great and even helped vent some of the stress that had been building up inside of her - what would actually help was a diversion from the punks’ presence.
“As I was saying, did you know that the method they used to add this splatter texture to the album box had to be done by hand? That means every single one is unique. The faux-antique aging effect on yours looks a bit heavier too.”
“Oh, umm, that’s because…” The woman let out a nervous titter, fidgeting back and forth. “I actually use it, like, a lot for like, um, staging atmospheric photos, and cosplay, and even, like, just carry it around sometimes. I should probably leave it at home, though, so it doesn’t get so worn out. Sorry…”
“You have nothing to apologize for. I think that’s wonderful. It’s a part of you, and you part of it. It is truly your own. Thank you for loving it so earnestly.”
The woman blushed and hid her eyes behind her long, intricately decorated acrylic nails. Finishing her autograph, Sunniva added the flourish of a pair of flaming wings bookending her elegantly scrawled “Icarus”.
Handing the album back to Mikey, Sunniva smiled with genuine warmth in her heart as the woman slunk away, clutching the souvenir tightly to her chest with nervous glee.
Unfortunately for Sunniva, those feelings of fondness and even familiarity were rudely blasted away when she remembered who was next in line.
“Hey, Babe-arus!”
The skinhead at the front of the trio leaned on the table, close enough that she could smell his overbearing cologne and the smoke on his breath. He grabbed the top poster from her stack and slapped it onto the table in front of her, wiggling his eyebrows. One of his buddies leaned over from her line to cut to the front of the dummer’s line, pulling his attention away from the fan who had actually been next up. They had now drawn the ire of everyone in two of the five autograph lines, not to mention two band members and likely a number of roadies and venue staff.
“If you’d like me to sign that for you, I’d be glad to. Posters are $45 or $250 signed.”
“$2.50 signed? Why’s it cheaper?”
“That’s two hundred fifty dollars, oh wanderer. Not two dollars and fifty cents.”
“It’s what!? Excuse me!?”
All at once, all three men began to shout, the other two pushing forward to join the debate.
“What a rip-off!”
“What, is that ink real silver, huh!?”
“Fifty tops! Not a cent more!”
The man in a netted tanktop leaned against the skinhead to get closer, shoving him into the table. The entire set-up shifted with the sudden jostling, spilling the stack of tour posters and causing the drummer to drag his marker all the way across the one he was signing and onto the table. Sunniva’s own marker went flying and would have smacked her square in the face if she hadn’t moved in time. The third man burst out laughing at the foibles of his fellows, but the trio were the only ones smiling.
Sunniva had had quite enough of this. Surely this called for stronger measures, now that niceties had been dispensed with.
Stilling the chaos of exhaustion and aggravation swirling within her, she let a deathly chill settle in her breast. Invisible tendrils of shadow reached out as she subtly channeled her erebomancy, lashing down the auras of the three assholes standing before her in their grip. The three froze, as though transfixed by her icy glare. One of the men twitched, as though stifling a shiver. Another’s breath turned to fog before evaporating as he scoffed weakly in disbelief.
“You three were given a warning, yet have continued to break the very simple rules of etiquette that have been asked of you as our guests. Now, I must ask that the three of you leave.”
Temporarily cowed by her powers’ influence, the men allowed themselves to be led away by security with comparatively minimal fuss, only one of them jerking his arm back when grabbed. Their disgruntled muttering was drowned out by cheers and clapping from other concert goers still standing in line.
Sunniva pinched the bridge of her nose and squeezed her eyes shut as a throbbing headache pounded the inside of her skull. Anger and the effort of using her powers had sent her blood pressure skyrocketing. She jumped when the drummer gave her shoulder an appreciative squeeze. His words were muffled by the pounding in her ears, but Sunniva forced a smile regardless. If she could just make it through the rest of the autograph session, she prayed that she would be able to get some much needed rest.