Norman Polk - Blog Posts

Doing gods work honestly

I love it when I suddenly get an influx of likes, and when I check it its people going through my Sammy/Norman stuff. Glad to have fed you Normmy Nation <3

Break

Sammy, Susie, and Norman in my headcanon-design.

based on this post

Norman Polk from my AU (he looks weird because I didn't have a ref on me when drawing this :P)

GUYS LOOK AT WHAT MY FRIEND DREW!!! ISN'T THIS AWESOME!!

"You Killed Me."

as I mentioned in my reblog of @art-by-stella's wonderful fanart, here's my version of it. She mentioned to me on discord that she wanted to see me redraw this drawing specifically, so I did! it was a lot of fun!

Her version can be found here: https://www.tumblr.com/art-by-stella/776470356929183744/this-blog-seems-to-have-become-not-only-a-rp-blog?source=share

This was honestly one of my favourite scenes I had written for the fanfic!

Hudson raised his shaking hand as he somehow ended up on the floor. His knees weak and his brown eyes looking traumatised.

"I'm here," he rasped, his voice cracking a little. "Just give me a minute."

With that said, he fell back and laid on the ground, staring up at the ceiling. His whole body feeling ill and shaken, not even worried about Stella and the prank anymore.

@ask-thelyricist

*you and Sammy were in Sammy's office arguing or some shit idfk*

Stella walked into the room and flicked off the light, drawing y'all's attention. she lingered in the doorway, gripping a knife tightly and partially covered in a substance that looked suspiciously like blood...

"Sammy..." she muttered. she acknowledged Hudson with a nod in his direction before throwing her head back and cackling like a maniac. :]

- @art-by-stella

Hudson stared at in suspicion, already turning away from Sammy, whom he was already so done with.

He raised a brow, his gaze unwavering as he folded his arms against his chest. The dark rings under his eyes and his pale skin proved he wasn't in good health. Though he stubbornly refused to admit it.

"Can I help you or are you just going to giggle like a creepy doll all day?" He asked, his tone unconcerned and tired.

(Stella wtf??)

Hudson wiped his red eyes, face a hint red from crying.

Hudson went quiet. Dead quiet.

Gently, he forced himself to drift away from Jack and stand up to walk towards Norman.

Quickly, his training kicked in once more. He removed his tie and shirt, only having his undershirt now.

He grabbed his pocket knife from his belt and began to cut his shirt into strips, the sound of cloth tearing could be heard.

Once done, he folded his knife and carefully took Norman's bleeding arm and began to use the strips of cloth as a bandage. Wrapping and layering over Jack's tie until the blood wouldn't stain through so fast.

He then secured it all with his own tie and a safety pin.

He said nothing, eyes red from crying and face now unreadable.

*you and Sammy were in Sammy's office arguing or some shit idfk*

Stella walked into the room and flicked off the light, drawing y'all's attention. she lingered in the doorway, gripping a knife tightly and partially covered in a substance that looked suspiciously like blood...

"Sammy..." she muttered. she acknowledged Hudson with a nod in his direction before throwing her head back and cackling like a maniac. :]

- @art-by-stella

Hudson stared at in suspicion, already turning away from Sammy, whom he was already so done with.

He raised a brow, his gaze unwavering as he folded his arms against his chest. The dark rings under his eyes and his pale skin proved he wasn't in good health. Though he stubbornly refused to admit it.

"Can I help you or are you just going to giggle like a creepy doll all day?" He asked, his tone unconcerned and tired.

(Stella wtf??)

Hudson felt rattled, his insides failing as the tears still streamed down his face. He wiped his eyes, feeling suddenly tired and uneasy.

He paused for a moment, feeling his mind still fog up, but....

He was him. Like him before all the ink shit.

IN THE WORST OF TIMES.

He then sobbed again, his hands covering his face. He bit his lip and pressed his face into Jack's chest, still not coping the information well.

He wasn't even mad.

Just scared.

@asknorman-polk @ask-thelyricist or @art-by-stella

*you and Sammy were in Sammy's office arguing or some shit idfk*

Stella walked into the room and flicked off the light, drawing y'all's attention. she lingered in the doorway, gripping a knife tightly and partially covered in a substance that looked suspiciously like blood...

"Sammy..." she muttered. she acknowledged Hudson with a nod in his direction before throwing her head back and cackling like a maniac. :]

- @art-by-stella

Hudson stared at in suspicion, already turning away from Sammy, whom he was already so done with.

He raised a brow, his gaze unwavering as he folded his arms against his chest. The dark rings under his eyes and his pale skin proved he wasn't in good health. Though he stubbornly refused to admit it.

"Can I help you or are you just going to giggle like a creepy doll all day?" He asked, his tone unconcerned and tired.

(Stella wtf??)

"It's annoying though......." >:(

(Hudson's unpopular opinion)

how would Norman react to the song California

Girls being his theme song..?

(btw if ya want context, go ask @a-walking-contradiction :]...)

(Erm…well I will start off by saying pop……….wasn't popular in that time period…)

“My…theme song? What even is California girls? Like…the state?”

(Alt reaction after he heard the song)

“Wow. This is what people think is my theme song? What have I done.”

 40’s FASHION I DON'T CARE I JUST NEED TO DRAW THESE AWESOME PEOPLE SOMETHING AAAAAAAAAAAAAAA-

@creationandcalamityau @thelocalmoth @asknorman-polk @asksammylawrence @art-by-stella @eeveelikessoda @yourfavouriteboyrider @im-outa-here

AUDIO LOG: Thoughts and bleedings.

Ɨ nɇɇđ ŧø ǥɇŧ øᵾŧ øf ħɇɍɇ….łɇŧ mɇ øᵾŧ, łɇŧ mɇ øᵾŧ! Ɉøɇɏ! ĐȺmn ƀȺsŧȺɍđ, Ɨ ꝁnøw ɏøᵾ'ɍɇ øᵾŧ ŧħɇɍɇ…!

ȼøᵾǥħɨnǥ

Ɨf Ɨ ȼøᵾłđ ɉᵾsŧ…ĦȺħ….ħȺħȺ.

ĦȺĦȺĦĦȺĦ!!! Ɨ'M ǤØƗNǤ ŦØ ĐƗɆ! Ɨ'm ǥøɨnǥ ŧø đɨɇ….

Ɨ đøn'ŧ wȺnŧ ŧø ŧħøᵾǥħ….ƀᵾŧ, ŧø ƀɇ ħønɇsŧ….Ɨ'm nøŧ sᵾɍɇ wħȺŧ Ɨ wȺnŧ.

MȺɏƀɇ mɏ ɇɏɇs ƀȺȼꝁ wøᵾłđ ƀɇ nɨȼɇ…mȺɏƀɇ Ⱥ ȼħȺnȼɇ ŧø ǥø ħømɇ.

Ⱥ đȺɏ wħɇɍɇ ŧħɇ ħøᵾɍs Ⱥɍɇ sᵽɇnŧ wɨŧħ łȺᵾǥħŧɇɍ Ⱥnđ ǥøøđ sᵽɨɍɨŧs.

Nøŧ ɇnsłȺvɇđ ŧø Ⱥ ŧɏᵽɇwɍɨŧɇɍ. Ħøƀƀɨɇs sħøᵾłđn'ŧ ƀɇ ŧħɨs…ŧøɍŧᵾɍɨnǥ.

Ɨ đøn'ŧ wȺnŧ ŧø ƀɇ føɍǥøŧŧɇn…ɇvɇn ɨf Ɨ đø đɇsɇɍvɇ ɨŧ. Ɨ wȺnŧ ŧø ƀɇ łøvɇđ ɇvɇn ɨf Ɨ'm nøŧ sᵾɍɇ wħɏ. Ⱥnđ Ɨ wȺnŧ ħɇłᵽ ɇvɇn ɨf Ɨ đøn'ŧ ꝁnøw ħøw ŧø Ⱥsꝁ.

Ɨ łɇŧ ɇvɇɍɏønɇ đøwn.

Sø mȺnɏ fȺȼɇs…sø mȺnɏ nȺmɇs…Ɨ sħøᵾłđn'ŧ ħȺvɇ ƀɇɇn mɇȺn sø Ħɇnđɇɍsøn, ɇvɇn ɨf Ɨ wȺs ɨnsȺnɇ. Ɨ sħøᵾłđn'ŧ ħȺvɇ ᵽᵾsħɇđ ȻħȺɍłɨɇ ȺwȺɏ, sħɇ wȺs ŧɍɏɨnǥ ŧø ħɇłᵽ.

NøɍmȺn, Ɍɨđɇɍ Ⱥnđ WȺłłɏ đɨđn'ŧ đɇsɇɍvɇ Ⱥnɏ ɨnsᵾłŧ Ɨ ŧħɍɇw Ⱥŧ ŧħɇm. Ŧħøᵾǥħ..Ɨ đøn'ŧ ȺȼŧᵾȺłłɏ ɍɇȼȺłł ɨnsᵾłŧɨnǥ ŧħɇm ɇvɇɍ.

Ⱥnđ ɈȺȼꝁ….đȺmn ɨŧ…ŧħɇ đȺɏs łɇȺđɨnǥ ᵾᵽ ŧø ŧħɨs…Ⱥłł ŧħɇ ᵾsɇłɇss Ⱥɍǥᵾmɇnŧs Ⱥnđ føɍ wħȺŧ? Ŧħøsɇ wøɍđs wɇɍɇ ɉᵾsŧ ɨnfłᵾɇnȼɇđ ƀɏ sømɇønɇ wħø đɨđn'ŧ ɇvɇn ȼȺɍɇ Ⱥƀøᵾŧ ħɨs øwn søn. ɈȺȼꝁ ȼȺɍɇđ føɍ mɇ. Ħɇ wȺs ŧħɇɍɇ møɍɇ ŧɨmɇs ŧħȺn ħɇ ɇvɇɍ wȺs føɍ mɇ.

Ɨ'm sø fᵾȼꝁɨnǥ ŧɨɍɇđ. Øf ŧħɨs. Øf ŧħɇ sŧᵾđɨø. Øf mɇ.

Ɨ Ⱥɍǥᵾɇđ ƀɇȼȺᵾsɇ Ɨ ȼȺɍɇđ, ɈȺȼꝁ. Ɨ snȺᵽᵽɇđ Ⱥŧ ɏøᵾ føɍ nøŧ ɇnłɨsŧɨnǥ ƀɇȼȺᵾsɇ Ɨ wȺs sȼȺɍɇđ ŧħȺŧ ɨf ɏøᵾ wɇɍɇn'ŧ ŧħɇɍɇ…ɏøᵾ wøᵾłđ føɍǥɇŧ mɇ.

Ⱥnđ mȺɏƀɇ…

ɏøᵾ wøᵾłđ sŧøᵽ ȼȺɍɨnǥ ₳฿ØɄ₮ ₥Ɇ.....

Ⱥs føɍ SȺmmɏ…… Ɨ wȺnŧ mɏ đȺmn ɇɏɇs ƀȺȼꝁ. Ɨ đøn'ŧ ȼȺɍɇ wħȺŧ ɨŧ ŧȺꝁɇs.

Ⱥnđ ɨf ɏøᵾ ƀȺȼꝁ đøwn nøw….đøn'ŧ ƀɇ sᵾɍᵽɍɨsɇđ wħɇn ŧɍøᵾƀłɇ ƀɇǥɨns ŧø sŧɨɍ.

Ⱥnđ đø NØŦ ᵾsɇ ŧħɇ ɇłɇvȺŧøɍ.

Welcome back?

(First pic: unfinished Norman Polk sketches)

(Second: Dale Little from BATDR)

(Third: Unfinished skit for Hudson Doyle meets Hudson Hendriks)

Quick incoherent doodle of Hudson choking on a cigar.

Gift to @thelocalmoth and @asknorman-polk

"Hmmmm.....perhaps."

"If you take me to Denny's right now."

"And bring Jack too."

HUDSON BIT MY FINGER D:<

@unnoticedunawarestillhere, “Please don’t bite peoples fingers, Hudson. We’re all adults here, and adults don’t bite fingers.”

“…Because it’s rude and hurtf—what did you even do to have Hudson bite you??”

I hate how I drew Allison, but oh well!

This post was inspired by 1920's, 40's and 50's fashion!

"No big brothers allowed up in the tree house!"

Norman (D&B): "Bitch, I made that tree house."

Brothers forever.

Young Johnny and Norman take a hike with my Johnny and Norman! (and then I had to ruin it with sad moments, my bad.)

(Context: D&B Norman and Johnny were in Boy Scouts at the time)

This is a gift for @fishymom-art ! I was rereading their BATIM au comic series (metal and ink!) and then I felt the urge to draw the Polk brothers, cause why not! Really hope they like this.

(sorry the inking looks like shit :P, I got rushed.)

"One day, I'll see you fall."

When Johnny died, Norman slowly lost it day by day.

Bertum had actually paid Norman in my AU, to assassinate someone in Joey's and Sammy's cult. (Will go into that later on)

I had to do a prompt for my art class. Pick a song and create a response to it (ex: drawing).

Though I'm not that big of a fan of Olivia Rodrigo, I do like her song "Jealousy Jealousy".

I have an idea! More Norman and Susie interactions perhaps? I really like their dynamic!!!

Will probably draw more of them in the future!

Drew your Norman and Tom hanging out with my Norman and Tom!

(Sorry it looks so bad XD)

Let's say Tom and Norman from my au met your Tom and Norman.

How would that go? :O Would they play cards or something?

hmmm, I feel like my tom would be a bit hesitant to talk to the other tom, after all, he's a rather intimidating guy in general, he's gotta keep up his "scary" reputation. Norman would probably gladly play cards with your Norman! Tom would probably eventually join too!!!

Thanks for the ask by the way omg-

UH I LOVE THIS???? THANK YOU??? *Incoherent screaming*

HE LOOKS SO AMAZING YOUR ART STYLE IS SO COOL

THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK-*voice dies*

Projector man

some gift art for @unnoticedunawarestillhere 's Au version of Norman Polk! I really love their design for him! Go check their account out! It's really neat!!!

It...isn't?

Finally redesigned Lacie! Also shouldn't these two have a mother and son duo name? Have any ideas, let me know.

Ahhh, I just finished reading your Dead and Buried AU post and I just love it! I love how in-depth you made the characters and their backstories— it’s something I’ve always wanted to get better at as a writer and you do it perfectly! I can’t wait to see what else you have in store! :D

I think my favorite little piece was Norman looking up to Lacie as kind of a mother figure! Does Lacie think of him like her “unofficial” kid too, or does she think he’s just a friend? (You got me thinking of Lacie finding Norman sneaking around the studio and scolding him for eavesdropping XD)

Lacie does think of Norman as her unofficial kid, but this thought only starts when the studio starts going to shit, not before. When the studio goes to shit the more reckless, violent and angry Norman becomes (probably 'cause he sees the people he love die around him. Idk just a guess.).

I don't like how I drew Lacie here and she'll get a redesign soon! I just couldn't NOT show this because...OH C'MON LOOK AT NORMAN'S FACE.

(Also I should totally draw her scolding him XD)

Also thank you so much!!! (I should totally draw more Norman and Lacie moments!)

Susie and Norman didn't meet until adulthood, but I can image them being friends in childhood. Anyway, I spent a lot of time on this...SO PLEASE LIKE IT!!!

OMGOMG WRITING REQUESTS—

You know me, so I feel as if we can already predict my request…

How about either Jack & Sammy or Jack & Norman? No pressure ofc, I just love them both :3

Here ya go! (Lol I knew you meant drawing request)

Hope you like it!

Also shh..Norman shut it.

Norman came home today! He's made a fine recovery!

Harriet always loved taking pictures, special occasions or not.

A gift.

How Could You?

“Mister Lawrence?”

I turned around, only to be met with my apprentice. He shuffled awkwardly, half of him hiding beneath the door. I then stared hard at my desk, letting out a sigh. Without meaning to, I dropped my book, music sheets spilling onto the floor. The yellowing papers swept up dust on the floorboards, I only narrowed my eyes at this. “What do you want, Johnny?” I muttered, kicking off my chair to retrieve the papers. I heard him slowly cracking my office door wide open and taking a few steps in.  Bending down, my hands furiously grabbed the scattered papers. I didn’t look at him. “Sorry to interrupt, but the band is waiting for you.” He said meekly. His British accent caught me off guard. I stood up, carelessly plopping the bundle of papers on my desk. I turned to him, an eyebrow raised. Today, he was dressed in a pale blue vest, buttoned up white collar shirt and brown slacks. I groaned, “Can’t they just warm up right now?” He hesitated, before he spoke, “They’ve been doing that, but..they’re getting impatient.” He nervously blew his light chestnut hair out of his face. I gritted my teeth, resisting the urge to yell. “Then tell them to wait.” I growled. Johnny frowned, avoiding eye contact with me. In a small voice he responded, “You said that…two hours ago.” Silence. 

I stormed through the vacant hallways, not even waiting for Johnny. Posters were plastered every four feet it seemed. With their cartoonish style, they all stared at me and smiled. This only fed my annoyance. The lights above me flickered and buzzed, making my shadow grow long behind me.

 God, my head hurts. Even though my feet were slamming down on the creaky wooden boards, I could hear Johnny jogging after me. “Mister Lawrence, wait up! I’m sure we could make a compromise with the band, maybe even-” “ENOUGH.” I barked at him. Irritation makes a nest inside my brain. Though, deep down, I do feel a little guilty. Trying to simmer down, I cleared my throat. “Johnny, is your brother already in his booth?” I asked, making a sharp left turn.  He hurried after, finally keeping up with my pace. “Last time I checked, yeah. Though, he was pretty mad that you didn’t show up.” I scoffed, rolling my eyes. Honestly, it felt like without me, the whole god damn music department would explode. “Tch-well, he better be there.” I huffed. 

Before Johnny could answer, I halted only to be met with a chattering river of musicians flooding out of the music department. Baffled, I yelled at one of the passing tuba players, Rick. “Mister Hoffleman! Where the hell are you-” With dark glaring green eyes, the middle aged man snapped at me, “Shut yer yap, Lawrence! It’s been two months of the same shit ya make us go through. Well, we’re tired of it.” He growled at me, his southern accent lacing his words. I recoiled back, almost stumbling into Johnny! If Johnny apologized, I couldn’t hear it. Not when my blood was roaring in my ears. I watched Rick stomp away, his brown suit jacket hanging from his shoulder.  I didn’t even notice that my jaw was hanging wide open, until Johnny quietly mentioned it to me.  I couldn’t speak, I couldn’t command them to stay. I just stood there, and while I did, lots of folks hissed complaints and glares at me when they passed by. Is this what it feels like? To be powerless? I don’t know why I’m so surprised. I’ve felt this before. When he left.

Turns out, Norman was still in his booth, packing up his projector. Even though the booth was mostly consumed by lingering shadows, we could hear him shuffling around.  I stared up at him, only for him to swing around and glare from above.  “Oh great, the all mighty composer finally arrived.” He said flatly, his dark grey eyes narrowing. With a grunt, he placed the metal projector on a rusted steel cart. “Polk, what happened?” I yelled, still looking up at the booth.  The shadows answered with another grunt, “Whaddya mean what happened, Lawrence? They’re fed up.” A pause. When I didn’t answer, he continued, “Look, I dunno what you’ve been doin these past months, but Jesus, can’t ya just compose the band ON TIME??  Some days, the doors are locked and no one can get in. Why? ‘Cause ya keep forgettin to unlock ‘em. Meaning WE can’t do what we need to do.” I felt my stomach tightened while my fists were clenched. “Can’t you just get Franks to unlock the damn door?” I retorted hotly. “Kid keeps forgettin his keys.” He replied with a monotone voice. I let out an exasperated sigh, feeling my nerves being shot left and right. Norman said nothing else and with that I turned around. I  watched Johnny struggling to gather all the music stands. Taking a deep breath, I walked over to him and helped him put them away in the storage room.  I didn’t say anything. Despite how clumsy or frantic this kid is, I didn’t hate him. He’s a good apprentice.

 Well, decent anyway. 

After stacking up the chairs and cautiously putting instruments in their cases, we were done. During that whole time, I didn’t mutter a word. I was too absorbed in my thoughts.  Was working with Mister Drew on his project really making me digress  from what needs to be done? Surely, I could balance them both. Right? No. I couldn’t and today proved that. Bitter disappointment felt like a knife in my gut, wedging itself further and further in.  I felt something sting my eyes, rubbing them. Jesus, was I so powerless that I was having a stupid CRYING FIT?! I muttered something to myself, when suddenly, I felt a gentle hand clamped on my shoulder. “It’s okay to cry, Mister Lawrence! It’s..it’s been a tough day, but..there’s always tomorrow!” Johnny exclaimed, his eyes brightening.  I stared at him for a moment, actually looking at him. His face looked similar to Normans, same nose, and structure.  Light chestnut hair with streaks of dark brown while his eyes..well. One was dark grey, like Norman, but his other eye was a dark auburn.  Wasn’t that called.. Heterochromia? I think that's what it's called.

Anyhow, he just smiled at me sympathetically.  Without thinking, I smiled back at him.  “I..suppose you’re right.” I said, nodding curtly. He slipped his hand off my shoulder and walked over to the piano. “So, about that music sheet you sent me home with yesterday, I practiced it and I think I got it?” He smiled, sitting down on the chair and straightening his composure.  I was stunned. He practiced it? Hell, I didn’t even tell him to do that. Though, of course, I was skeptical.  I pulled up a stool and gestured for him to start. He cracked his fingers, staring down at the keys and gave it his all. There were a few slip ups, but I was impressed at how beautiful the melody was. And how Johnny was so focused on the piece. When he was done, he paused, before hesitantly turning his head to look at me.  I stood up from my wooden stool and placed my hand on his shoulder. “Good work.” I praised, smiling at him slightly. 

I swear his eyes lit like bright stars. I was proud of him. Even though I failed the band, I didn’t fail him.  Until…I did. 

It’s been a few months since that moment. 

I looked at my shaking right hand, a smoking pistol was tightly in my grasp. 

Oh Johnny. I’m so sorry.

I’m 

      So

               Sorry

How Could You?

“Mister Lawrence?”

I turned around, only to be met with my apprentice. He shuffled awkwardly, half of him hiding beneath the door. I then stared hard at my desk, letting out a sigh. Without meaning to, I dropped my book, music sheets spilling onto the floor. The yellowing papers swept up dust on the floorboards, I only narrowed my eyes at this. “What do you want, Johnny?” I muttered, kicking off my chair to retrieve the papers. I heard him slowly cracking my office door wide open and taking a few steps in.  Bending down, my hands furiously grabbed the scattered papers. I didn’t look at him. “Sorry to interrupt, but the band is waiting for you.” He said meekly. His British accent caught me off guard. I stood up, carelessly plopping the bundle of papers on my desk. I turned to him, an eyebrow raised. Today, he was dressed in a pale blue vest, buttoned up white collar shirt and brown slacks. I groaned, “Can’t they just warm up right now?” He hesitated, before he spoke, “They’ve been doing that, but..they’re getting impatient.” He nervously blew his light chestnut hair out of his face. I gritted my teeth, resisting the urge to yell. “Then tell them to wait.” I growled. Johnny frowned, avoiding eye contact with me. In a small voice he responded, “You said that…two hours ago.” Silence. 

I stormed through the vacant hallways, not even waiting for Johnny. Posters were plastered every four feet it seemed. With their cartoonish style, they all stared at me and smiled. This only fed my annoyance. The lights above me flickered and buzzed, making my shadow grow long behind me.

 God, my head hurts. Even though my feet were slamming down on the creaky wooden boards, I could hear Johnny jogging after me. “Mister Lawrence, wait up! I’m sure we could make a compromise with the band, maybe even-” “ENOUGH.” I barked at him. Irritation makes a nest inside my brain. Though, deep down, I do feel a little guilty. Trying to simmer down, I cleared my throat. “Johnny, is your brother already in his booth?” I asked, making a sharp left turn.  He hurried after, finally keeping up with my pace. “Last time I checked, yeah. Though, he was pretty mad that you didn’t show up.” I scoffed, rolling my eyes. Honestly, it felt like without me, the whole god damn music department would explode. “Tch-well, he better be there.” I huffed. 

Before Johnny could answer, I halted only to be met with a chattering river of musicians flooding out of the music department. Baffled, I yelled at one of the passing tuba players, Rick. “Mister Hoffleman! Where the hell are you-” With dark glaring green eyes, the middle aged man snapped at me, “Shut yer yap, Lawrence! It’s been two months of the same shit ya make us go through. Well, we’re tired of it.” He growled at me, his southern accent lacing his words. I recoiled back, almost stumbling into Johnny! If Johnny apologized, I couldn’t hear it. Not when my blood was roaring in my ears. I watched Rick stomp away, his brown suit jacket hanging from his shoulder.  I didn’t even notice that my jaw was hanging wide open, until Johnny quietly mentioned it to me.  I couldn’t speak, I couldn’t command them to stay. I just stood there, and while I did, lots of folks hissed complaints and glares at me when they passed by. Is this what it feels like? To be powerless? I don’t know why I’m so surprised. I’ve felt this before. When he left.

Turns out, Norman was still in his booth, packing up his projector. Even though the booth was mostly consumed by lingering shadows, we could hear him shuffling around.  I stared up at him, only for him to swing around and glare from above.  “Oh great, the all mighty composer finally arrived.” He said flatly, his dark grey eyes narrowing. With a grunt, he placed the metal projector on a rusted steel cart. “Polk, what happened?” I yelled, still looking up at the booth.  The shadows answered with another grunt, “Whaddya mean what happened, Lawrence? They’re fed up.” A pause. When I didn’t answer, he continued, “Look, I dunno what you’ve been doin these past months, but Jesus, can’t ya just compose the band ON TIME??  Some days, the doors are locked and no one can get in. Why? ‘Cause ya keep forgettin to unlock ‘em. Meaning WE can’t do what we need to do.” I felt my stomach tightened while my fists were clenched. “Can’t you just get Franks to unlock the damn door?” I retorted hotly. “Kid keeps forgettin his keys.” He replied with a monotone voice. I let out an exasperated sigh, feeling my nerves being shot left and right. Norman said nothing else and with that I turned around. I  watched Johnny struggling to gather all the music stands. Taking a deep breath, I walked over to him and helped him put them away in the storage room.  I didn’t say anything. Despite how clumsy or frantic this kid is, I didn’t hate him. He’s a good apprentice.

 Well, decent anyway. 

After stacking up the chairs and cautiously putting instruments in their cases, we were done. During that whole time, I didn’t mutter a word. I was too absorbed in my thoughts.  Was working with Mister Drew on his project really making me digress  from what needs to be done? Surely, I could balance them both. Right? No. I couldn’t and today proved that. Bitter disappointment felt like a knife in my gut, wedging itself further and further in.  I felt something sting my eyes, rubbing them. Jesus, was I so powerless that I was having a stupid CRYING FIT?! I muttered something to myself, when suddenly, I felt a gentle hand clamped on my shoulder. “It’s okay to cry, Mister Lawrence! It’s..it’s been a tough day, but..there’s always tomorrow!” Johnny exclaimed, his eyes brightening.  I stared at him for a moment, actually looking at him. His face looked similar to Normans, same nose, and structure.  Light chestnut hair with streaks of dark brown while his eyes..well. One was dark grey, like Norman, but his other eye was a dark auburn.  Wasn’t that called.. Heterochromia? I think that's what it's called.

Anyhow, he just smiled at me sympathetically.  Without thinking, I smiled back at him.  “I..suppose you’re right.” I said, nodding curtly. He slipped his hand off my shoulder and walked over to the piano. “So, about that music sheet you sent me home with yesterday, I practiced it and I think I got it?” He smiled, sitting down on the chair and straightening his composure.  I was stunned. He practiced it? Hell, I didn’t even tell him to do that. Though, of course, I was skeptical.  I pulled up a stool and gestured for him to start. He cracked his fingers, staring down at the keys and gave it his all. There were a few slip ups, but I was impressed at how beautiful the melody was. And how Johnny was so focused on the piece. When he was done, he paused, before hesitantly turning his head to look at me.  I stood up from my wooden stool and placed my hand on his shoulder. “Good work.” I praised, smiling at him slightly. 

I swear his eyes lit like bright stars. I was proud of him. Even though I failed the band, I didn’t fail him.  Until…I did. 

It’s been a few months since that moment. 

I looked at my shaking right hand, a smoking pistol was tightly in my grasp. 

Oh Johnny. I’m so sorry.

I’m 

      So

               Sorry