[ Eddie surrounds herself with loud noises. She kind of has to, in this line of work, and when she's up on stage, she's got a little speaker tucked in one ear and the other stoppered up with a custom-molded earplug so she can keep what's left of her natural hearing. She's used to noise, is what she means, very much used to the general hum of working men going around doing their thing.
The tenor of the shouts this evening are different.
The rain has made everything slippery, as Eddie can attest to from when she nearly brained herself on stage not even twenty minutes ago, and the scaffolding is not exempt from that.
Everything happens so fast. The shout, a thump of something hitting the scaffolding. Silence. A godawful screech that she can't quite place. The sound of boots hitting the stage. The brief second of seeing that new guy much closer to her than before. The realization he's going to run into her just before he actually does it, the way he tucks his shoulder like he's doing one of those sports moves that Stevie has tried (and failed) to teach her. The impact of his body into hers. The swoop in her belly when she realizes she's no longer in control of her own gravity. The impact of her body against the stage.
She doesn't even have time to shout, just gets knocked right off her feet, skidding a few feet back along the wet stage and hitting her head in the process, stars exploding behind her eyes as her lungs let go of all their air. The sparkles in her vision might also be from the fact that a fucking light has broken free, sparks lighting up the darkening sky like a firework, and then there's the sound of the whole unit hitting the stage, just a few scant feet away from where she's lying with the new guy still hovering over her.
She flinches, hard. Her legs draw up, or they would have if he wasn't lying across them, and her arms lift to protect her head, her body trying to curl up to protect itself in a way that drags her wet shirt even higher up her back, displaying the spread of silvery-pink scars that spread across her middle.
There's silence, after, just long enough for her to twist her head a little and peek up at the man still hovering over her, pieces of his hair having escaped their tie and hanging around his face to drip down onto hers, his eyes huge and dark and scared, his face pale beneath its tan. She's just opening her mouth to say something — probably what the fuck? because she's nothing if not predictable — when the rest of the world comes rushing back in to fill the buzzing silence in her ears and the shouting of the crew comes back into focus. ]
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The tenor of the shouts this evening are different.
The rain has made everything slippery, as Eddie can attest to from when she nearly brained herself on stage not even twenty minutes ago, and the scaffolding is not exempt from that.
Everything happens so fast. The shout, a thump of something hitting the scaffolding. Silence. A godawful screech that she can't quite place. The sound of boots hitting the stage. The brief second of seeing that new guy much closer to her than before. The realization he's going to run into her just before he actually does it, the way he tucks his shoulder like he's doing one of those sports moves that Stevie has tried (and failed) to teach her. The impact of his body into hers. The swoop in her belly when she realizes she's no longer in control of her own gravity. The impact of her body against the stage.
She doesn't even have time to shout, just gets knocked right off her feet, skidding a few feet back along the wet stage and hitting her head in the process, stars exploding behind her eyes as her lungs let go of all their air. The sparkles in her vision might also be from the fact that a fucking light has broken free, sparks lighting up the darkening sky like a firework, and then there's the sound of the whole unit hitting the stage, just a few scant feet away from where she's lying with the new guy still hovering over her.
She flinches, hard. Her legs draw up, or they would have if he wasn't lying across them, and her arms lift to protect her head, her body trying to curl up to protect itself in a way that drags her wet shirt even higher up her back, displaying the spread of silvery-pink scars that spread across her middle.
There's silence, after, just long enough for her to twist her head a little and peek up at the man still hovering over her, pieces of his hair having escaped their tie and hanging around his face to drip down onto hers, his eyes huge and dark and scared, his face pale beneath its tan. She's just opening her mouth to say something — probably what the fuck? because she's nothing if not predictable — when the rest of the world comes rushing back in to fill the buzzing silence in her ears and the shouting of the crew comes back into focus. ]