The lights above were bright, harsh, unforgiving as the crowd.
The spotlight was on him.
The sheen of sweat, the ache of muscles, the bitter feel of nausea rising up the back of his throat in anticipation. Not nervousness, never that. You couldn't be nervous when you reached this point.
You could only be a God.
Tossing his long hair like a pro, spider-fingers danced over his weapon of choice. His element now, his victims screaming and twisting, and there couldn't have been a place closer to heaven or hell in all the world.
Schuldig smirked, moving in for the kill, hips swaying to the hypnotic rhythm his hands created. So close, so close-
"Schu, Farfarello wants to know if he can have Guitar Hero back," Nagi yelled above the music, wandering up behind the pajama-clad telepath. Nagi thought the yellow Peeps on Schuldig's pants were kind of cute.
The redhead cursed, fingers faltering on bright keys. "Fuck! Nagi, I was almost done with that song. You threw off my groove!"
The telekinetic rolled his eyes. "Yeah, well, you don't have a twitchy Irishman asking you the same question every ten seconds. The man has stamina."
"I don't care," Schuldig snarled, pulling off the guitar-shaped control with an extreme air of arrogance, even for him. "You should know better than to interrupt a Rock God!"
"....the setting is on Easy Mode..."
"Genius knows no level. Music knows no bounds. But only my guitar understands me...she listens, even when I run out of words."
Nagi gave his teammate a worried look. "Uh."
"Now leave me, tiny plebian, and make me a sandwich. No mayo. I need to keep my sexy figure," said the telepath, setting down his controller. He made a little shoo-ing motion with his hand.
Blue eyes narrowed beneath a fringe of brown. "Plebian, huh? Fine. Hope you and your fake guitar are happy together."
"Yes, yes. Remember, no mayo," Schuldig repeated, trying to emphasize the importance of this request. The German was so intent on his point that he missed the thrum of telekinesis invading his space.
Nagi didn't look back as he left, the sound of a startled, panicked yelp more than enough payment in his book.
"Nagi, you bastard!" Schuldig screeched, making a frantic dash for the closing door before swerving away. Just before the guitar tried to make itself one with his being. "Let me ou-AH!"
"Just giving you some alone time with your love, Rock God. Use protection though," The Japanese boy's voice chuckled through the Door of Hell.
No one, Schuldig reflected as he dodged another attempt on his person, really understood the plight of a musician.
"Woah there, gir-OW! Nagi!"
He was so going to write a song about this later.
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