The small commotion outside the practice room had been calmed down before it could have been surging and did not affect the internal shooting at all.

Damien stood next to the camera, excited and nervous, excited and anxious, all his attention was devoted to the camera, and he began to conceive the way to edit the finished film. Now this scene has completely broken away from the constraints of the script and is developing in a positive direction.

In the script, the scene has only one framework but no specific plot, because what Damien needs to capture is a state and an emotion. He has not fully conceived how to present it. He hopes to make different attempts and adjustments with the actors during the shooting and find the most appropriate way of expression.

"Andrew went to the bathroom to prepare a bucket of broken ice, returned to the practice room, sat behind the drum set, and began to practice the 'caravan'; but due to a palm injury, the double-jump rhythm could not be improved. Andrew lost control of his emotions and continued to practice after venting his catharsis."

That's all.

Before the filming officially started, Damien communicated with Renly about the basic emotional context, and then handed over the initiative in the performance to Renly.

Now, Lanli's performance has deviated from the framework of the script, but Damien doesn't mind at all. Seeing Lanli's performance with his own eyes, his mind is full of sparks, and inspiration is like a fountain. Those clear fragments gradually become integrated, and the pictures that were not clear enough naturally become clear.

However, Damien was a little uncertain about when the shooting should be interrupted - or whether he lacked enough experience, so he decided to continue to give Lanli a space to see how the subsequent performances were. After the brain prompts to show a "card" and then end the shooting of the scene.

Andrew sat on the stool again, spread out his right palm, looked at the bloody wound, and then slowly closed his palms and clenched them into fists. The dark red blood stained his fingertips red, like cardamom, thrilling, and the palms and forearm muscles slowly squirmed, looking like a devil's face.

Immediately afterwards-

He slowly and slowly put his right fist into the ice bucket. The slight sound of the ice stirring began to hit the wriggling muscles, just like countless embroidery needles drilling into the pores at the same time. The muscles of the arm became tense and stiff in an instant, but then they relaxed, as if they could truly feel the taste:

All the pain burst out instantly and was released instantly, but then it freezes in the ice water and is sealed. This is the case at present. After that, with the process of ice dissipation, it will be released bit by bit, and tear every inch of the muscle exponentially and exponentially.

The dark red blood slowly spread in the ice water, and the bright red color was as bright as a pigment, bright and dazzling. The rich smell of blood seemed to spread, with a dark aura of death.

"Crash!"

Andrew picked up his right fist again and grabbed the drumstick again. The diluted blood slid down the drumstick. But he didn't care at all. He just shook his right hand casually. The water droplets suddenly scattered everywhere, dripping on the drums, big drums, and snares. A faint rose red crawled on the surface of the instrument like crystal clear amber.

Then Andrew's eyes fell on the snail.

Although the jazz drum has been completely smashed just now, he can continue to practice the double jumping technique of hanging, especially his right hand.

Andrew leaned forward slightly - this is not a standard movement. The real standard movement should keep his back straight and try to relax his shoulders as much as possible, but he no longer cared about it now. A ruthless aura burst out from his eyes, staring at the hanging crackle like a falcon, as if he could swallow it alive. Before he knew it, his upper body leaned forward a little.

He raised his right hand solemnly, and his fingertips were carefully adjusting the way he grasped, relaxing his fingers as much as possible, and then exerting force instantly without excessive or buffering, from zero to four hundred strikes, speeding up to the extreme with all his strength—

But obviously, this method is wrong.

Not to mention whether he has such ability, just talking about the tension of his muscles, he instantly released all energy and hit the drum beats with the highest frequency. This puts forward extremely strict requirements for the drummer. It is almost impossible to complete the task, and even the top drummer is very difficult.

The ending is obvious.

Andrew's strike now has no framework, not four hundred hits, nor any other hits. All the rhythms are completely chaotic, just speeding up, simply speeding up, just like a child is trying his best to see how high the frequency he can hit, that's all. Not to mention rhythm, even the basic music theory cannot be felt.

But he did not fall apart immediately. His eyes slowly condensed, and there was a sense of evil spirit hidden, which was indescribable, as if he had witnessed an impulsive violent murder scene - he only used his fists, punched a life, bloody scenes all over the ground, making his stomach roll.

His eyes became sharper and more fierce.

The dim lights in the practice room were projected on the slam of light that could be seen. The golden halo was swaying and surging, all of which were in a mess, with no rules and no rules, which was dazzling, refracting the energy of violent strikes and stirring the entire practice room.

Andrew knew that his attack was simply a piece of waste.

His eyes gradually began to turn red, as if his eyes were red. The hostility was released without reservation. He gritted his teeth tightly, and cursed out word by word:

"You are just a waste! You are just a lump/shit! You are just a soft cock! No use at all! You should be eliminated and replaced! You can't practice even the most basic techniques well, and you still want to be Buddy Ricky! Arrogant! Stupid! Garbage! Ugly! Shameless! Waste! Damn! Grass! Grass! Grass!"

Gripping teeth, as if the smell of blood could be gnawed between the lips and teeth. The unforgettable hatred erupted from the inside out and vented endlessly.

This is not Andrew, this is Fletcher.

At that moment, Andrew was possessed by Fletcher, his eyes cursed red, and his mouth was splashing, and he showed no mercy at all. He tore off the last layer of fig leaf in the ugliest and dirtiest way, but he had no intention of pausing at all. During the curse, the epinephrine burst made his facial expression begin to twist-

A smile appeared faintly at the corner of his mouth, as if he was mocking his overestimation, as if he was complaining about his delusion, as if he was defeating his last defense, and that cruel sense of pleasure burst out from his eyes, as if... it was as if he was torturing not himself, but the self that Fletcher despised.

Great and vigorous.

In a trance, the images of Andrew and Fletcher overlapped, and then returned to the day when Andrew joined the band for the first time to rehearse. Under the oppression of Fletcher's storm, Andrew completely surrendered and collapsed bit by bit. Even the last little bit of remaining dignity and pride had been completely crushed to pieces.

But at this moment, I realized that the last trace of pride still remained deep in Andrew's heart. Today, he himself crushed it with his own hands, completely crushed it without mercy, and completely became powder. Just when everyone thought Andrew would collapse, those eyes, those clear eyes-

The eyes without any spirit or light were like the black pupils of a walking corpse, unable to find any vitality, as if even the soul had been completely defeated and dissipated; then, a little bit of light gathered again, as if it was focusing, and the pupils gradually became clear, without temperature, color, and emotion, but a cold-blooded and cruel violent riot burst out, as if a hurricane was slowly brewing.

Bang.

Without warning, the violent storm disappeared again, completely disappeared, and then the eyes returned to normal, calm and calm, without anger, without violence, and without madness, as if nothing had happened, even more stable than the windless lake surface, without even a ripples.

If you want to describe it accurately, you just pressed the switch of the street light, but the light light just brightened and then went out, and the whole world disappeared into darkness, completely darkness.

But it was precisely this calmness that made the spine sweat, and the chills were shivering continuously. You could vaguely feel a storm brewing because it was so calm that it was too abnormal.

Then Andrew stopped hitting like this.

Without any extra movement, he sat quietly and calmly, gasping.

Slowly, the blood slowly slid down the drumsticks, even though the face was expressionless, even if the water was quiet, even if the blue waves were vast, the chilling thrilling feeling continued to spread, which was even more creepy than the clown's smile in "Batman: The Dark Knight".

The entire practice room was silent, and no one cared about Melissa. Compared to Lan Li in front of him, the small episode was insignificant, and even a speck of dust could not match. Everyone could only stare at Lan Li quietly. The fear and panic in the depths of his eyes were rising little by little, so that his palms began to sweat, but now he didn't even dare to wipe his sweat. The slight sound of sweat falling seemed to be caught in his ears.

"Card!"

Damien stood up straight, shouted loudly, and then turned around immediately, gasping for breath, as if he had just saved the drowning cock from drowning.
Chapter completed!