𝐇𝐈𝐉𝐀𝐂𝐊 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐕𝐄𝐍 :: 𝗝. 𝗝ordison. [ˢˡⁱᵖᵏⁿᵒᵗ]

𝘃𝗼𝗹 ⑥: 𝖈𝗵𝗮𝗽𝘁𝗲𝗿 𝖘𝗶𝘅

Ⅵ

NOW PLAYING:
«Jumpdafuckup», Soulfly
3:10 ───ㅇ───── 5:11

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July 18th, 2000.
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"𝔄lright, who's ready to rock this shit?!" Atticus bellowed, planting his foot on a nearby amplifier. Cupping a hand around his ear, he teased, "I can't hear you, Lawrence!" The crowd responded with a roar that only fueled his excitement.

"Come on, Lawrence, crank it up! Be loud for me, will ya?!" he encouraged, igniting a wave of screams and energetic movements from the crowd. Pits began to form as the anticipation reached a fever pitch.

Tiffany sat behind the drum kit, a burst of vibrant energy in the dimly lit rehearsal space. Her fiery vermillion hair was tied back in a loose ponytail, allowing the rhythmic movements of her head to mirror the beat she was about to unleash. As she gripped the drumsticks, there was a focused intensity in her stormy gaze, revealing a passion that transcended the physicality of the instrument.

Before long, the guitars kicked in, signalling the start of their song, "Chaos Carnival."

With a swift and practiced motion, Tiffany brought the drumsticks down, unleashing the initial percussive thunder that reverberated through the room. The drums responded to her touch, each strike a testament to her skill and connection with the rhythmic heartbeat of the music.

"In the shadows, where the chaos breeds,
A symphony of madness, born from twisted seeds.
A carnival of nightmares, under the pale moon,
A primal scream, a symphony of doom."

Her movements were a dance, a harmonious blend of precision and raw emotion. The snare drum snapped with a satisfying crack, the hi-hat shimmered in rapid succession, and the bass drum thudded with a controlled force that resonated in the chest. Tiffany's limbs moved in perfect synchrony, a symphony of controlled chaos.

"Masks of anger, faces painted red,
In this carnival of chaos, where the lost are led.
Through the corridors of darkness, we march,
A legion of the broken, born from the arch."

As the music intensified, so did Tiffany's performance. Her hands flew across the drum kit, creating a cascade of beats that echoed through the venue. The cymbals shimmered like crashing waves, and the toms resonated with a thunderous roar, each strike a testament to her mastery of the instrument.

"Scream, the silence shattered,
In this twisted realm, where nothing else mattered.
Bleed, the scars run deep,
In the heart of the chaos, where nightmares sleep."

There was an undeniable power in Tiffany drumming, a force that transcended the physical boundaries of the drum kit. It was as if she channeled the very heartbeat of the music, infusing each beat with an electric vitality that captivated anyone within earshot. In those moments, as she lost herself in the rhythmic tapestry she wove, she became not just a drummer but a conduit of musical energy, leaving an indelible mark on the sonic landscape.

In the midst of the percussive storm, her occasional smiles betrayed the joy she found in this act of musical rebellion. Drumming wasn't just a performance for her; it was a cathartic expression, an unfiltered release of emotion through the thunderous language of beats and rhythms.

"Masks of anger, faces painted red,
In this carnival of chaos, where the lost are led.
Through the corridors of darkness, we march,
A legion of the broken, born from the arch."