joasakura:

New York, a chill April night in1992 – the years when a number of overpowered, overhormonal young adults made their lives in the shell of Murderworld.

Location: East Village, in the thronging mass outside of CBGBs.

Rictor rocked on his feet as inside, Henry Rollins shouted, bass thudding against the walls.

He glanced up at the big redhead beside him, ‘Star’s long hair pulled in a ponytail, silver eyes darting around at the crowd.

“Ok, this isn’t like the dance club.” He soothed,  pushing open the door. “Nobody’s gonna grind up on you, amigo.” Ric added in the sort of voice that implied he’d do his damndest to get there first.

The floor was a sea of moshing punks, the air was thick with the scent of booze and sweat and he took a deep breath. “You can do this, ‘Star. I’m right..”

But Shatterstar was gone. His first instinct was that the big man had bolted for the relative freedom of the street. But then he saw the flash of scarlet as ‘Star dove into the crowd. At first, he was relieved. So, SO relieved. 

The mojoworlder was grinning. “RICTOR, I DO NOT KNOW WHAT’S GOING ON, BUT IT LOOKS LIKE FUN!” He shouted over the noise.

And then the first person went flying. And then another.

“COME JOIN ME IN THE FIGHTING PIT!!”

Rictor covered his face with a groan. Another place he could probably never go to again.