âmes pétillantes ~ classic rock imagines

• Eric Carr •

Hey everyone! Another long time no see, but at last here it is: a request by LittleCeasarsVixen for Eric Carr from Kiss. I hope you enjoy! Also, just a heads up, I will be editing this book over the next few weeks - there is literally a piece in this book somewhere that has a sentence that I just never finished, and it's embarrassing. So, if you get a wave of notifications, it's just me going back through everything. Enjoy reading!

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Summer was beating down on New York early, golden flashes of white-hot heat sizzling the pavement and deep, lingering shadows around the darkest of corners. It was a warm day, one of the warmest of the year so far, and you were determined to make the most of it.

With sunglasses perched on the top of your nose and a wolf's head cane clutched tightly in your hand, you walked the streets with a royal grace, unaware of the people around you and uncaring if they were there at all. That was the way of New York City, after all. You moved among the bustling streets as a stranger even to the sidewalks that you had paced a million times over, nothing but a fleeting face hurrying past in the mirage of time.

In fact, you were bustling yourself. You had somewhere to be. Where else could you go on such a sizzling day?

The fluorescent outline of an ice cream cone loomed in your peripheral vision as you dodged around the corner, narrowly missing the waving arm of a frantic woman yelling after a sprinting child. Too hot to be flustered, you pushed on through the crowd, only releasing a long-held breath when you slipped through the automatic doors. Instantly, the breeze of cool air washed over you, the air conditioner working overtime to battle the heat wave occurring outdoors.

Wiping at your glistening forehead, you glanced around the ice cream parlour. Naturally, it was full, possibly even worse than the sidewalk outside, but you were able to spot your small group of friends huddled into a far booth. Gripping onto your cane for a bit of moral support at the tidal wave of people that stood between you and the booth, you made your slow way towards them, plenty of apologies and 'excuse me's falling almost robotically from your lips as you squeezed through.

When you finally made it, you were greeted warmly but hustled quickly into the booth and out of harm's way. It was a unanimous vote that you would wait a while before even moving, let alone getting up to order, and you spent a happy hour or so catching up with your friends and letting the cacophony of stressed adults and screaming children die down.

By the time it did, none of you could believe that the minutes had passed so quickly. One by one, you made your way up to the counter, which had cleared out at record speed as lunch hours came to an end and the heat died down. Being the last to arrive, you were the lucky first up to the counter, and stood behind an old couple scanning the menu with your bottom lip between your teeth as you decided what you'd like.

You were so engrossed in the menu, in fact, that you didn't hear the creaking door open behind you, nor the joyful 'see you later, guys' that was thrown into the street before it slammed shut. What you remained unaware of as you finally decided on two scoops of butter pecan ice cream was that the person who had entered was standing right behind you, looking over the shimmering temple of your hair to decide on his own ice cream flavour.

It was your hair that he first noticed about you, actually. Shining in the streaks of sunlight that filtered through the glass windows, the reflection momentarily blinded him, and he shielded his eyes with a bejewelled hand. Looking away from your glittering hair, the twisting metal of your cane caught his curious, sun-streaked eyes. He rather liked it.