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 Posted: Fri Sep 27, 2013 10:40 pm
Pure ivory felt like water - undeniably smooth, quiet, cohesive. His fingers melted into the keys, rippling out melodies long memorized from his hours of practice. Like rains they were - harsh, lulling, striking then petering out into a paltry drizzle one could hardly perceive. But now, years later, those same jagged melodies came to life with practiced grace that he'd earned through his hours of toil. And finally, the ebony and ivory would capitulate to him, to his manipulation and melancholic mood.
It might've been strange to practice such a chipper, playful melody, but Bischofite found solace in the movements themselves rather than the result. To feel, to see, to hear his delicate, dexterous movements reflected in song and pleasing chord... To feel that rhythmic coursing, and an auditory cue to confirm every minute twitch and every too-harsh jerk across the keys - he missed it greatly.
It had been a while, and he was surprised Richard would keep such an item. Well, perhaps that wasn't entirely true; he understood Richard as a man who clamored desperately for some glorious visage to hide behind. RIchard did not settle in his own skin, and for that, the two found common ground. However, the redhead swathed in endless charisma did not require a change in physical appearance in order to settle within himself. No, the candyman simply put on a front - tailored a suit, a smile, a charming eye to maintain some wholesome image that others might be drawn toward. But Bischofite? He would just as easily forsake humanity in exchange for something greater.
But only one of them realized a conclusion to their constant yearnings.
It wasn't Bischofite.
The general grew tired of waiting; since he slowly seeped into the redhead's life, he became accustomed to certain idiosyncrasies the man retained, such as a hopelessly broken routine. Richard did not come home at any given time - thought the Sugar Shanty sported hours of operation, the confectionist did not often adhere to those hours as his sole employment. Once the doors closed and the shades peeled over the windows, he likely took to the streets for starseeds or STDs. He didn't care which; it wasn't his business.
However, Bischofite's reason for lingering long past his hours of sleep concerned Buddingtonite in a way that he never expected previously. Though he did not know as much of the man as he would've liked historically, he understood the charismatic captain as the type to hold the Negaverse's true intentions at heart and wield his charm as a tool to serve its needs. Ultimatum notwithstanding, that was his assumed stance on the captain's machinations within the ranks. However, given his run-in with Medea not long ago, her words gave him pause toward that conclusion. Was he truly correct in considering Buddingtonite a steadfast proponent of chaos? Or did he falter beneath her wiles?
Though he suspected he had little reason to doubt the man, it wouldn't hurt to prod him for a few choice answers. Rejection aside, he wanted to know what transpired before Buddingtonite spurned her because of her weakness.
He wanted to know because it hurt.
And as he finished the last chords, slightly botched in sudden pangs of misery, the door gave way to the figure in question.ChibiGingi lemme know if this works!
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Posted: Sun Sep 29, 2013 10:55 am
You reap what you sow.
Richard Moreau never really understood that phrase and he had little shame in admitting it if approached and asked about it. He wasn't sure why he was even thinking of the thought himself, but strange things popped up into his head and had been in the past few days. Hell, the past hour. His mind went several places and never really lingered on a single setting or another for too long.
And probably for the best. His mind was probably just trying to save his sanity and heart, though he was absolutely certain his soul was doomed.
But really, who cared about that nowadays? He sold his soul to the Negaverse. And that was alright for now. What use did he have for one at the moment? Again, his mind forced the topic up and out the door, along with the million other thoughts that he just wasn't prepared for tonight. He'd deal with it tomorrow. After a nice dip into the reserves and a few hours rest, he'll deal with any unpleasantries there.
Or so he thought.
The sound of someone's fingers tap-dancing on the piano wouldn't have bothered him much and the sound was rather nice, except the fact that it was coming from his condo. And his mother had long since left to return to the gullible and foolish father of his. For a brief moment, he wanted to panic, but again, his mind did a wonderful job of pulling him out of that state, and he entered the condo weaponless and defenseless. Maybe if it was an unwanted intruder, he'd find the strength to power up and be rid of him forever, but now… he could only think of one person it'd be, and his suspicions were correct as he looked towards the general sitting at his piano.
"Hey Bischy, I'm home…"
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Posted: Mon Sep 30, 2013 6:32 pm
Upon hearing his forced roommate's voice, Bischofite shut the lid atop the keys with practiced gentleness. Its black lacquered finish reflected his visage almost flawlessly; in it he saw each streak of splattered paint marring his face. And he wondered - just how much of it was foresight on the Negaverse's end? On Metallia's end? Just how much of it did anyone see as a warning, or did it really mean nothing at all? Though it mattered little, not right now. After one final brush across the lid with the tips of his fingers, calling a thin layer of dust to his skin, Bischofite stood abruptly.
And every bit as suddenly, he was gone.
"I worry about you, Richard," came his belated response, just behind the man. He stood in the threshold of the apartment, door not quite shut yet, but he sealed it off behind himself through a need for privacy. Not every wayward soul should be privy to their interactions here.
"You haven't been around much lately." Dexterous fingers traipsed across the shoulder of the redhead's shirt, towards the collar, along the rim, before ghosting against the hair at the base of his skull. No lipstick. No sudden, wrinkled creases. No strange smell. Richard hadn't gone out for a good time with someone else, and he didn't behave as a drunken man would, so how could he have possibly killed so much time? Negaverse duties? "What has you out for so long, eh?" Leaning closer, he breathed deeply.
Nothing out of the ordinary.
He smiled, though he hadn't yet parted from their close proximity. "I bet I know what it is. Or I should say, who it is. I heard an... intriguing story from someone earlier. Someone who spoke of a senshi named Medea, who seemed to know of you. She even said..." He breathed a quiet gasp; excitement threatened to undermine his budding plans with little difficulty. "She said she knew Buddy. How strange, isn't it? Zat she would use your pet name, of all sings..." Quietly he laughed against the skin on the nape of his neck. How warm, how receptive.
Or was it fear? He didn't know. He didn't want to know.
After drumming his fingers twice against the man's shoulder, he finally paced back toward the piano. And once he turned around to face the confectionist again, he took a seat against the bench, with his back facing the instrument. "You should tell me about her."
It wasn't a request.ChibiGingi sorry about the crappy tag ._.
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Posted: Tue Oct 01, 2013 9:53 am
"Oh, no, please... don't stop playing on my behalf. Go on..." Richard said, speaking with a smile though his voice was no where near close to matching the mirth he tried to show. He hated himself for not carrying his usual bravado and suave, but he figured he had every right to let the act drop. Except he didn't want to... not in front of Bischofite. "Though you could power down... I guarantee, there'd no need-"
He disappeared, and after the initial fright the confectioner felt, he tried to relax his shoulders and he gave an annoyed sigh. "Or not... very well, have it your way."
Part of him hoped that Bischofite would have just up and left, and yet he knew that fate wouldn't allow it. Nor would Bischofite, who seemed to exist in his own reality and carried all of the rules (or lack thereof) with him everywhere he went. The voice behind him shouldn't have startled him as much as it did, yet he couldn't stop himself from giving a strained jump. At least he didn't yelp. Or, he thought he didn't yelp. Damn his nerves! He turned around, allowing for the general to do as he pleased, being too weak and weary to stop him even if he wanted to, and he gave a shrug in response. "I'm touched, Bischy, that you have it in your heart to worry. I've been taking care of Negaverse business. Recruiting... you know the like."
Yes. Recruiting. That's all he did. Nothing more.
When Bischofite grew closer, he was tempted to pull away, but he forced himself still. Something wasn't right in that head of his, and while that seemed like a gross understatement, Richard couldn't imagine what he'd say next. With Bischofite, it was always a mystery as to where a converation would go, though it really shouldn't have been. Even if he wasn't sure what it'd be about, Richard was absolutely certain that he wouldn't like it.
Of all of the topics that Bischofite could have brought up, why did it have to be her? Whatever poker face he was trying to put forward was tarnished and a crack could be seen along the base, and even when Richard tried to reign in his emotions, he was certain that Bischofite had seen the momentary panic that screamed in his eyes. He wanted to take comfort in Bischofite's hold, but it was impossible, and yet when he released him to return to the piano, he didn't feel much comfort from that either.
He took a moment to consider his 'request' and what he would say, his shakey nerves from his most recent ordeal threatening to get the better of him as he gave a shrug. "What's there to talk about? I see her as a potential recruit and I'm doing what I must to keep a promising investment."
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Posted: Wed Oct 02, 2013 8:24 am
"I can't power down." He would not elaborate further on his response.
Bischofite drew a breath, steepled his fingers, formed a perch with his thumbs, lighted his chin on that small precipice. And he watched Richard, watched him intently, like a lover searching for lies. And maybe he was no different, for Richard was composed of lies, and that proved far too irresistible for the misanthrope, for RIchard didn't have to be a man. He could be an idea. He could be a concept, brandished in reality. And that drew him nonetheless.
For now, he did not return the nicknames. The pet names. The sentimentalities. "I worry because I'f never heard of Buddingtonite recruiting any promising officers into ze Negaverse. In fact, I'f never heard of Buddingtonite recruiting any officers into ze Negaverse." He paused, took a quick sweep of the room. No purple, no gold. No white. He didn't keep memories of her here, did he? "And zis is forgivable, I sink, but..." His response tapered off when his eyes settled on the confectionist, who displayed such sudden fear and sorrow that he momentarily lost track of his slow tales.
Did Richard, have feelings for her, this girl he rejected for weakness? That much was obvious; he maintained such a practiced, unmoving visage that anything with the power to crack it obviously meant the world to the man. And that's what bothered the general so greatly - that this impossibly stupid little girl, lost and overwhelmed in the land of fairytales, somehow won him over. Not only that, but he still cared for her after he rejected her. After he told her that she could never join the Negaverse, never be with him.
Right?
Wrong.
Richard proved it so. Their stories didn't coincide. She used the past, he used the present. Something was wrong here. Someone was wrong here. Very, very wrong.
And Bischofite appreciated a web of lies he couldn't discern, but now was not the time to show it. "You're lying or she's lying." He straightened up, folded his hands between his knees. "She said you rejected her. Considered her weak. Too weak. So who's lying here, you or her? Or are you bos' lying?" He smiled. It hurt. Shark's teeth embedded into his gums, the roof of his mouth, his tongue. He tasted blood. Was it his? Was it Richard's? Who would he devour without thought or reason tonight? "People can lie under duress - I learned zat much when I was a captain, still exploring ze limits of my power. And I put her under great duress, Richard."
He still remembered the sound of her first scream with such acute clarity that it nearly erased all perception of the bodies.
"Are you <********> her? Meeting in ze park, in an alley, on ze roof of your business, for some chancy tryst?" He watched his forced roommate unblinkingly. Suffering was necessary. It hurt almost too much to bear, but he had to drive the knife deeper. Maybe it was a compulsion. "Someday, will I be asked to take a walk wis' you, out into ze dep's of ze Rift, out into the abandoned, crumbling houses, and put an end to you? Crucify you against zose crumbling walls, feed your starseed to wandering youma? Will zat be ze end of you? Will she be ze end of you, Richard?
"Was Buddingtonite just a clever ploy to chase more tail zan you could before?" To call his Negaverse loyalty into question only hurt all the more, but Bischofite learned a few choice lessons from the confectionist and deceiver. The general practiced a poker face of his own, though he hadn't yet perfected it.
It hurt to watch Richard squirm as much as it inspired him.
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Posted: Thu Oct 03, 2013 10:23 am
Richard couldn't help but arch slender red eyebrow at Bischofite's response, though part of him figured he simply meant to say that he wouldn't. How would one simply not be able to power down? He thought little of it, at first, as his attention was drawn to more important matters. It was hard not to feel the blow to his pride at Bischofite's words, even harder to hide how his words affected him, as Richard brought his arms closer to his body, just barely stopping them from crossing over one another. No, that would have been too obvious, and though he failed, he was going to TRY. Try as he might, though, he could not keep the edge from his voice as he spoke lowly, "Well you can't say it's from lack of trying. Forgive me if I actually want to give them an incentive to join that isn't brutal and barbaric like you would do."
Says the man who just turned his cousin into a beast. He didn't say that. He refused to say that. His throat clenched at the mere thought of it, so how could he even think to say it. Yes, better to let Bischofite think him a failure than to know the truth. So, for now, he'd continue to play the role of a recruiter that simply failed to follow through with his sales, and to keep himself from fidgeting in front of him, he placed his hands behind his back, doing his best to defend himself and his method, without sounding as if he was making excuses. "Call me weak, but I genuinely care about the well being of my fellow officers and I'd simply like to make sure they know what they're getting themselves into."
Unlike himself. This was a mistake. Coming home? A mistake. Adhering to Lucca's request? Mistake. Ever allowing Bischofite into his life? HUGE mistake. Especially since he continued to grill him on such a sensitive matter, and Richard was quick to retaliate and speak in his own defense. "She's a senshi of the White Moon Court... do you really think she'll tell you the truth? Naive and sweet she may be, but she's capable of lying, just as well all. I fail to see why it should concern you."
Except he did know why, and that only made him regret his bleeding heart all the more. Maybe he should have given Bischofite what he wanted? Maybe... He snapped to attention when he dropped that little factoid on him, and he tried to sound more morbidly curious than genuinely worried, as he addressed him. "What... kind of duress? You know, she'd be useless to the Negaverse if you keep putting her and my other potential recruits under duress like this!"
His question took him off guard, and now, it wasn't just fear that howled deep within him, but anger. Red, boiling, all consuming anger, and it continued to grow and grow, with Bischofite's words acting as the perfect fuel to keep it going and going until it had reached critical mass. It was no use, though. The next question set him off, and Richard did nothing to hide the anger in his voice, and forgetting for a moment that he was not powered, he stormed towards Bischofite and reached for his neck, hoping to grab it or at least the feathers so that he could give him a damn good shake. "How... how dare you!? Not only do you accuse me of... fraternizing with the enemy, potential recruit they may be, but you directly threaten my life? You question my loyalty?! When I've accepted you into my home and offered you help, help that I'm starting to think is wasted on the likes of you? How ******** DARE you!"
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Posted: Thu Oct 03, 2013 8:35 pm
Bischofite did not stop him.
He did not seize the hands that reached for his throat, nor did he rise to the occasion when Richard tried to shake him. However, he peeled those hands away soon after Richard began his tirade, and with a sigh, stood slowly. Though he watched the confectionist tiredly, his mind remained sharp for the occasion. "You forget your standing, RIchard," he muttered, as a quiet reminder to the redhead that he sought to subdue a general as a civilian. Strange that he wouldn't have powered up to prove his point... Though it did little good with the difference in rank.
Bischofite started to speak, paused, and smiled faintly. Even now, he learned from the older man, and in that moment he realized that some things were better said as Alois than as Bischofite. Despite the clawing derision he suffered for his civilian form, he would have to employ its use to deliver a quiet, vulnerable message. Still holding Richard's hands by the wrists, away from his shoulders, the visage of a general melted away into an exhausted teenager. A deep transition - no longer did he command any kind of power.
Nor did he command anything at all. Not his situation, not his existence, not his emotions.
Did it hurt to lose someone, or did it feel like a long trek through the snow barefoot? Would the pain bolt up his legs for a time, and ebb into nothingness? Would it kill what little emotion he had left? Perhaps his time with Buddy was no different than a venture through a snowstorm. Every minor movement met with a flurry, roiling and lilting, tormenting and teasing, only to dissipate into clear skies for a time. And maybe Richard was no different - a cruel blizzard himself, locked beyond the house for a time, but the moment Alois ventured outside, the seething storm seized upon him with absolute ferocity.
Richard wasn't someone to be feared. He wasn't the type to wield his power as a weapon, or seek to destroy someone actively, without ample reason beforehand. He wasn't a bear trap, waiting to be sprung, hidden by his snowy exterior. He wasn't venomous, monstrous, relentless. But should he sense weakness, he would not stand idly by. He didn't pass up an opportunity on any occasion. And in times like these...
He knew what was coming. The blizzard would numb him to the bones, and he would let it. May he never feel
ever
_______again.
"Richard..." He released his grasp. Did he still want to choke him? Let him. Alois could die at any time. It would mean no difference to him. No youmafication. No reason to endure anymore. However, he still searched Richard's face for answers to his coming questions - reactions that would encourage or damn him. "You misunderstand me. I'm not sreatening your life. I'm not accusing you of using ze Negaverse for your own devices. I'm not saying zese sings to anger you. I know zat... I am not ze easiest person to deal wis', and I don't often make sense to you. Zat much is apparent." He almost laughed mirthlessly. "I can see it in your eyes, when I try to talk to you. You don't like me. I know it. You don't haf' to explain your disdain."
His gaze shone a little brighter. Maybe the realizations lent a little vigor to his worn appearance. Maybe all the pain finally called tears to his eyes.
He continued softly. Urgently. "I ask because I care. Because I don't want to be ze officer ordered to kill you. Because I don't want to see you led astray when you're already trying to help me." He bit the inside of his cheek. Closed his eyes. Drew a sigh. Like draining water... Pain felt like draining water. "Unlike me, you actually care about ze people around you, your peers... And zat's admirable." If it builds up, you'll drown. "But I sink you're losing sight of yourself. I sink you're burying yourself alif'e in details. I sink you might be killing yourself like zis, and it worries me.
"Because, of ze two of us... You're ze one zat deserves to lif'."
Let him freeze you. Let him slow your heart. Let him chill your bones until they shatter.
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Posted: Tue Oct 08, 2013 12:39 pm
Once the initial rage had passed, Richard regretted his actions, and not just because of the realization that Bischofite could have snapped him in half and devoured his starseed with relative ease at this point, but because he could tell just how deep his words had struck him. Even with the anger and fear he felt, he could see that he had hurt him, and though part of him wanted to drive it deeper, he knew he couldn't. He wasn't a monster. But... neither was Bischofite. Bischofite reminded him of his rank and unpowered state, and too prideful to completely let go of his anger, Richard spat, stepping away from the general once his hand was dislodged but getting too far thanks to the grip on his wrist. "Sorry, but you pissed me off. I don't take threats lightly..."
He was grateful to see Bischofite power down, at least, and while it didn't quell any of his anger, his fear had passed. There was still Alois' grip on his arm, but that was something that he could handle even in his weakened state. From this short distance he could see that the teen was exhausted, and he fought against his pathetic, human nature that enticed him to pity him, desperately clinging onto his anger until there was simply nothing left to keep it burning. Alois was always hard to read but now it was even more of a mystery, but Richard held his tongue, allowing him to speak as he himself was too angry to trust himself with words. Maybe he went too far... maybe he should have just told him the truth, about Medea, about Lucca...
Suddenly his wrist was free and there was nothing Richard could do to stop himself from retracting the arm, like an animal cause in a beartrap and now cradled with limp, determined never to let themselves take it for granted again. He kept it close to his chest, rubbing it softly even though there was no pain but doing it to keep himself distracted as he listened. Yes, he did go too far, and his human nature, whatever little he felt was left, made it impossible for him to fight the rising guilt. Of all the people that Richard had lied to, both as himself and Buddingtonite, there were few that could see right through him, and Alois was one of them. He gave a heartfelt sigh, before saying, "Guess my mask is slipping, then... usually I wear a good poker face."
Alois was right, but Richard wasn't willing to admit it. Even now, when he felt himself barely clinging, there was still something there that tried to hold him together, and now he wasn't quite sure if it was glued by his pride, or denial. And Alois words, his concern and the sorrow he heard... only made it worse. How was Richard suppose to respond? If he accepted his accusations and truth, he'd feel that pain that he wanted so desperately to escape from, and yet, if he denied them, then that meant that he was belittling Alois' genuine concerns. Richard knew that he was sincere, and that's what made all of this too difficult for him to want to face. He gave a spat, walking past Alois and towards the kitchen. He needed a drink. "I'm not drowning. I've just... sprung a leak and taking in a little more water than I was expecting. I'll be fine."
Denial. He went with denial, and he would ride that boat for as long as possible...
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Posted: Wed Oct 09, 2013 6:36 am
Alois did not seek to stop him as he passed by, fading into the kitchen where he lingered on so many occasions. His hands slipped into his pockets, and he traced the stitching therein, finding nothing more than a lighter and a matchbook, half-used from so many moments of simply lighting them to smell the sulfur again. He wanted to light up, to obscure his view of Richard in smoke, to deepen the opacity in the room so he wouldn't see everything so clearly, so sharply. Especially his companion, who couldn't even discern his lack of a powered state earlier.
But he hadn't even a single cigarette. Kicking that habit was a pointless endeavor.
It seemed easier to simply follow through with his plans and slip away into the Rift. To venture into the ceaseless expanses of strange sand and fractured crystal, where youma roam abound and the normalcy he grew up in ceased to exist. Where he could exist as he intended to, in a realm without enigmatic masks to obscure the same reckless schemes. However, he forsook the idea for now. He hadn't been entirely snubbed by his companion, though he could seek it now. Thus he finally followed the redhead into the kitchen, where he leaned over the bar to watch him assemble his fix.
"Sprung a leak or drowning yourself?" He asked rhetorically, unblinking gaze settled on the older figure's bustling. Alois laced his fingers together, laid at rest atop the counter. He suspected the latter, and he considered that Medea may have something to do with it. If his rejection was a lie, then why voice it? She posed her response convincingly enough, so he considered that she must've had good reason at the time. Did she expect Richard would receive punishment for his actions? Did she do so to protect him? Or did she answer thusly to protect herself?
Alois could not decide between the options, so he withdrew the matchbook from his pocket and broke a match from the thin strip. Nimbly rotating it between his fingers, he watched it intently for a time. Refrained from speaking. Listened to Richard's bustling in the kitchen, the clink of glass, of busied hands. Richard occupied his mind by occupying his body, didn't he? Would he recognize a mockery of that sort, or would he simply take offense? Would he ignore the affair, through his own mottled miseries?
Medea lied. Medea looked sad. Medea did not retaliate against him. "When was ze first time you had to grow up?" Alois expected him to flounder in his response, whether to protect himself from feeling it or because he'd never found the need to ascend past his juvenile notions.
Maybe that childishness was endearing. So Alois watched for his answer, resting his chin atop the heel of one hand while he drew minute designs into the countertop with the head of the match.
"Or is being an adult just an evaluation of how much pain you'f endured?" Red hair, slightly messy. A little too long. He hadn't taken the time to maintain his appearance quite so thoroughly, has he? Shoulders slumped. but only a little. Knees locked, as if to hold himself upright. How much pain had he lost to that bottle of bourbon? To the faceless companions collected for a night? To upholding the visage of a suave businessman? "Nevermind; you don't haf' to answer."
He lit the match. It flared between his fingers, and he gazed at the brilliant flame that retained so much composure under its admittedly short lifespan.
Its lifespan bereft of pain.
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Posted: Wed Oct 09, 2013 7:06 pm
"A leak. Just a leak. Nothing more," Richard shot back, the life that was returning to him came in the form of bitterness and lingering anger. Not as red hot as it was just moments before, but his body and mind seemed to have different ways of wanting to accept and react to the world around him. He made himself countless drinks before but now he was fumbling with the simplest of tasks, and each time he felt guilt wanting to rise up, he'd force it down. He didn't need anymore emotions to pile up on him when he had no idea what to do with the ones he already had. "I'm not drowning, Alois… not yet, so please, don't worry yourself…"
It took him far too long to get his drink made and even then, it wasn't nearly as polished as he would have liked it, but for Richard, a drink was a drink. It didn't take him long to down it, making all the hard work he put into making it amount to nothing, and he sought to rectify this by crafting himself another. He thought about his question and he gave his answer as best as he could, knowing that it would have been half-assed but unable to deny him an answer. "When I realized that my mother was keeping the family business alive by ******** every investor that came by, and that my father was a gullible, lovesick fool that allowed her to stay. That's when I had to grow up… and realize that romance is nothing more than a mutual agreement with a contract attached to it. Sometimes you renew the contract, and others you let them run out…"
He shook his head, well aware that Alois was judging him but what did he care? The situation seemed to have calmed down somewhat, but there was still the desire to drink. He gave him the option to not answer, but Richard decided to answer anyway. "It's more of an evaluation… of how much bullshit you're willing to put up with. More like it."
Richard looked at the match he was fiddling with, and while he never once had an impulse to smoke, he began to consider the option if he thought it would calm his nerves, since alcohol was barely cutting it nowadays. Try as he might, he could not ignore the guilt within him, and he gave a sigh, as he addressed Alois. "I'm sorry… but being an adult sucks. You want everything, but you can't have it all… but you're never willing to accept it. Not that it makes any sense, but… the thing with Medea is… she…"
His mind shot to another topic, and he straighten up, before asking, "Where's Baldwin?"
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Posted: Thu Oct 10, 2013 1:39 pm
He blew out the match. In one simple puff, the flame simply disappeared. Smoke cued its wake, and Alois placed the unburnt edge of the match in the corner of his lips as an homage to a habit he missed so dearly.
"Maybe you're right." Richard's words determined a plethora of small outcomes, of blisteringly small moments that might otherwise touch the teenager's life. And that was enough. That was an answer he sought amongst the blizzard, and though it left him wanting and cold, he recognized where he stood with this unrelenting force of nature. Trees now fettered with icicles, with a surreal casing of ice tracing every branch... In time they would crack, would leak, would melt away into the earth without a memory of their ubiquitous siege.
And that spelled out the older man's touch, to a T, to the finest point he could ever manage.
To shed alcohol, to breathe smoke, to piss heroin. No vice, no sordid action mitigated the flow of reality. In the wake of a blizzard, the landscape presented itself with such unconscionable clarity that it hurt to examine the leaves still crusted with snow. The sun illuminated the land, reflected off every surface glazed with ice, and the earth became as Helios, as the brilliant chariot chased by the wolf. Now encased in myth, it burnt the eyes of all who beheld it. Reality exposed, romantic notions chased away, obscuring habits now long dead... No one withstood its scathing grasp.
Alois sought a breath, looked toward the ceiling, closed his eyes. Removed the contorted match from his mouth. Slid his fingernails across the smooth countertop. Counted the seconds.
Fifteen, sixteen, seventeen.
Soon, you will become an adult.
Soon, you will know what it means to withstand pain far beyond your own measure - and he will help you. Pursue him, and he will help you. Scald him, burn him, tear him down, and he will help you.
He'll do it because he has to. Because nothing else produces a catharsis as fulfilling as your demise. Because love is a contract, and you breached the terms.
Upon opening his eyes, Alois felt cold touch dance down his skin. He brushed his hand with the back of his cheek, and discovered a thin streak of moisture.
Like the thaw after a storm.
How quaint.
He wanted to smile, albeit bitterly, but his attention remained on Richard, with his shaking hands and muddled concentration. His furrowed brow. His poker face half-worn and mostly discarded, drowned in alcohol or fears or some half-measure of guilt. Alois couldn't tell which, but he didn't need to. The conflict rattled fresh within the confectionist.
Alois watched the cubes dance in his drink, swirled violently by the thin red straw. Why bother incorporating one if he never used it? "Ich weiß nicht. I only saw him briefly zis morning." Why ice, if he never waited for his drink to drop in temperature, or dilute the alcohol? "I sink he's in your room." I wouldn't know, he wanted to say, I only left the bed very recently today. I wouldn't know, I haven't eaten today. I wouldn't know, I've only had a glass of water today. Maybe I'm still dreaming. "What were you going to say about Medea?" Maybe you're just a piece of me. Maybe Descartes was right.
Maybe I never left the bed today.
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Posted: Fri Oct 11, 2013 10:05 am
How distraught was he from this whole ordeal that he did not once realize that Baldwin had not once rushed to greet him! Baldwin was a creature of habit and he was always happy to see his master return, whether it be from a long day of work, a date, or his business with the Negaverse, the Irish wolfhound would always seek him out. Yet, it was quiet. Outside of the kitchen, nothing stirred. There were no scratching sounds coming from his bedroom nor clambering of large, clumsy paws upstairs, and nothing could distract Richard from that silence.
Without a second thought he dropped the glass onto the counter, not caring at all for the wasted bourbon as he passed by Alois and made his way towards the stairs. "If he was in my room he would have barked at me to let him out. He's an Irish wolfhound- how could you not HEAR him?"
He didn't mean to snap at Alois, but he felt little remorse in doing so, and he could not blame his train of thought for leading him to the fear that he had done something to Baldwin. He threatened to do so, had he not? He didn't openly blame him, yet, but if something happened... if Baldwin was hurt...
He wasn't sure if Alois would follow him up the stairs, and part of him didn't care. No, if Alois had done something to Baldwin, he'd be the type to tell him, wouldn't he? He stormed up the bedroom and burst through the doors with such a loud force that if Baldwin, or anyone, was there, they'd leap into the sky with a scream, but there was no dog to be found. He was neither laying in his bed, nor was he anywhere else in the bedroom, but before the fear could completely consume him, he caught sight of the receipt from the groomers. He had taken him to the groomers and left him there overnight... because he had little intention returning home. Was there someplace he was going to be? Did he fear his dog's safety that much? He retreated back to the staircase and fell into a seated position at the top of it, that moment of panic being the final straw as he could not fight the compulsion to cry. Was Alois nearby? Had he followed him? He couldn't tell.
Richard sat there on the top of the staircase, gripping his forehead and brow with a shaky hand as he tried to hide the tears that he physically couldn't stop, as he addressed the teenager, wherever he may have been in the condo. "Medea... she's a little more than an investment. I plan on recruiting her, but... maybe I shouldn't. Maybe I shouldn't... recruit anyone. Switch over to Intelligence, or that new one... I don't think I should be allowed to recruit."
Then, he gave a choking laugh, not really caring if Alois heard him. If he did, would he comfort him? Mock him? Drive the stake deeper? He felt all three were logical and likely results, and it didn't stop the confectioner's laughter one bit. "But maybe you'd be proud of me. Or not... I don't care. Forget I said anything... grown up's having a breakdown, that's all. Please... pay no attention to any of that."
Was he doomed? He felt doomed.
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Posted: Fri Oct 11, 2013 11:57 am
"Verpiss dich..." He muttered halfheartedly, and dismissed Richard's spurious fears with a wave of his hand. Panicking over Baldwin's disappearance yielded nothing more than wasted energy. If he intended to pursue that route, he may as well have donated it to the Negaverse as a better means of use. With an exasperated sigh, Alois slid off the barstool and entered the kitchen, where the glass lay on its side with bourbon pooling beneath it. Luckily Richard kept a roll of paper towels mounted to the side of one of the cabinets, else he'd be at a loss here.
In the midst of his cleaning, with russet liquid climbing white towels, a sudden cacophony orchestrated by the confectionist caused him to jump. In the process, his glass tumbled to the floor and shattered across the tiles, nearly indiscernible from splintered ice cubes. "Verdammt!" He cursed mostly to himself before stooping to collect the shards into his still-wet towel.
In collecting the fragments, one bit through his thumb with significant force, and the bleeding started abruptly. Never one for the taste of blood, he snapped another paper towel off its rack and wrapped the injury promptly. With any luck, coagulation would set in quickly and he'd avoid the need for stitches altogether. If nothing else, lingering in powered form would remedy the situation, wouldn't it? He had an alternative means of healing himself rapidly, but he intended to save that for a far different occasion.
After he discarded the majority of the glass and mopped up the remainder of the bourbon, he examined the damage with a huff. "Ze sings I do for you..." A peek revealed a fresh spurt of blood, peeling down the contour of his thumb like pyroclastic flow. And soon it hardened, darkened, cooled, into a new peak adorning the side of his hand. He squeezes his thumb into his palm and dismissed the injury momentarily; given the silence stemming from Richard's sudden rowdiness, he wondered if the man discovered his dog ill on the floor, or absent altogether.
A quick visit to the stairs revealed the redhead seated at its crest, appearing altogether dejected and disturbed by his overwhelmingly stark situation. He frowned as the older man aired his concerns, his doubts, his defeated realizations. Were he a simpler man, Alois might've hugged him. Consoled him. Reassured him of his potential, of the proper path to exit this seemingly endless quagmire of tragedy.
But Alois was, by no means, a simple man.
He ascended the stairs deftly, refraining from making eye contact. There was no point - Richard already shielded his gaze with his hand, and the man would fail to realize any intentions behind eye contact in this state. He sat atop the crest as well, arms folded about his waist while he leaned over slightly.
Pressure on the thumb. Don't let him see you bleed.
"It's not a breakdown." He spoke quietly. His gaze traveled to the banister tapering down to the bottom of the stairs, each ornate bar evenly spaced between one another. But one suffered a chip in its surface, halfway down, where some child long since grown must've impacted the spot. Did he stagger, or tumble? "What you're experiencing is not a trifle. It's not easily dismissed, or downplayed as somesing zat everyone encounters. But if zere's anysing I'f noticed during my time here, it's zat you often overlook yourself.
"Your shop, your duties, your dog... All zese sings do not perpetuate zemselfs on zeir own. So you tailor yourself to play ze part - Richard ze Confectioner, Buddingtonite ze Captain, Richard ze Dog Owner... But where are you in all of zis?" His gaze softened; he breathed a sigh.
"Fractured. Dispersed. Disjointed."
His gaze lingered on his broken friend a while longer, analyzing his current disposition - wholly inverted from his normally outgoing and charismatic attitude. What culmination of events caused him to suffer as he did? As his eyes shifted toward the nicked banister, the answer became clear - the child tumbled.
It must've been a mess. The blood, the bone, the brain matter... All pooling at the foot of the stairs as a scene from a famous Hitchcock movie.
"What splintered you so?" Alois often wondered if he had heartstrings. If he could possibly maintain an emotional response at this stage of his life.
But it seems that Richard found middle C.
The misanthrope closed his eyes. "You will not hear zis from me twice, but I sink you need it right now. If not... one more brick to ze tower of Babylon.
"You haf' so much potential zat you overlook in favor of concrete results. But you do not see what I see, Richard - you do not see ze figure zat exudes charisma and confidence as a natural font. You see it as a cover, as some fractured mask to lure wayward souls. You do not see how it could inspire ze young and ze new, ze old and jaded. You see yourself broken apart right now, in fragments spanning many occasions, and you view zis as your downfall, not your saving grace.
"But suffering is ze glue zat will bind you togezzer, for if you haf' witnessed what I was privy to, you would understand zat in duress, everyone evolves. And srough zat evolution, overcome ze strife plaguing zeir lives. I want to see you surmount zis, but in order for you to do so, you must succumb to ze pain. You haf' to die to start anew."
Finally he reached toward the man, touch tentative, almost hesitant, as he combed fingers through brilliant hair. Straightened the normally impeccable visage. "To die is to achieve perfection. You can be ze person you want to become, and you don't haf' to split yourself in two to assume zat mantle. You can inspire zose around you, you can siphon off ze senshi from ze White Moon Court, you can triumph over stigma and strife abound."
He leaned in close, spoke against the shell of the redhead's ear. "But ze first step... Is to suffer." Squeezed Richard's hand. Stood once more. Passed down the stairs, lingered halfway to the landing. Half-turned. Half-smiled. Said nothing more.
Walked on.ChibiGingi oh god richard don't buy into that
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Posted: Tue Oct 15, 2013 9:10 am
As tired and exhausted as Richard was from this whole ordeal, as much as he wanted to just curl at the top of the staircase and sleep the rest of this miserable night away, he couldn't. While relieved that Baldwin was safe in someone else's hands, it wasn't enough to alleviate the core problem. Not that he knew exactly what that was, for all of the years he had over Alois, he seemed oblivious as to the cause, and if one didn't know the cause, then how would he be expected to know the cure? Richard was clueless, lost, but Alois seemed to have the answers, and it was that and his strangely soothing voice that drew him to just stare at him. His words were heavy and his accent made it hard to understand, or maybe that was just stress and everything else just piling on top of one another and making it hard for him to understand?
"How can you say that?" Richard said bitterly, hanging his head low when even sitting straight became too much of a burden for him, but still he kept his gaze on Alois. "I'm... the most selfish man I know. All I think about is myself, right? All those things you mentioned... is to serve the one and only. My shop because I love money. My dog because I can't stand the thought of being alone. The Negaverse because..."
He didn't want to be their victim. He didn't want to die at their hands. That was his reasoning. At first. But that had changed, and as low as he was, as tired as he felt, he couldn't deny that his motives and reasoning for joining and staying with the Negaverse had changed. But he wasn't sure how. Was it for the better? For the worse? His run ins with Medea, Hafwen's draining, recent affairs such as the Carnival and convention and the aftermath would have been... SHOULD have been enough to deter him from this path, but if there was one thing that was stronger than his fear of becoming their victim was his lack of faith in the White Moon Court. Could they save him? Would they? If he did make the jump, could they protect him? He had no faith in them... and yet, how was he in a better situation here?
It was too much and he shut his mind off of it, knowing that it would only serve to make matters worse for him later and likely anger Alois. Or maybe the man would feel so much pity for him that he'd leave him be? By the way he carried on, he knew what the answer to that would be, and he gave a shrug. Maybe if he just told him, he'd leave him alone... but he doubted it. "You ask that, but you already know. Seems I've lost my grip and all the balls I juggled just came crumbling down... heh... balls. Don't look at me like that, let me have my laugh..."
As Alois carried on, he felt life returning to his wilting body in the form of anger, and while he should have taken his words as some kind of sick and twisted, Alois-styled compliment, and yet, it only served to fire him up. And maybe, that's what Alois wanted and he was playing right into his hands? Richard didn't care. Let Alois have his victory, as pathetic as Richard's game may have been. "And when your very existence is on the line, what else will save you besides concrete results? Do... you truly think they care what you think? What I think, or anyone else thinks, in lieu of what you can physically offer? They want tangible results... and if I cannot provide them that, then what use am I? I'm not like you, Alois... and I don't think I could ever be.
"You say that I should see this as a chance to start anew, to rise from the ashes as though I'm some phoenix... and to do so, I must die?" Richard shook his head, his laugh bitter and finally turning away from him. He gave a choking laugh, before his anger dissipating into despair once more as he leaned his back against the wall of the staircase. "Not sure if I like the sound of that... I'm not like you, or Serpentine... or anyone else for that matter. Oh well..."
He accepted his touch, but he didn't melt into the hold like he might have done. Just allow Alois the satisfaction for now. Later, he'd try to overcome this turbulent dilemma he found himself in, but right now, he was too tired, too drained, too... disgusted to put up a fight. His whisper caused him to shiver, but otherwise he remained completely still and motionless. Like a stone on the shoreline, unable to combat each wave that slammed against him and only striving to keep standing, even when each wave pulled a little away with each motion. For now, he was okay with this. He hadn't seen Alois' wound until he descended the stairs again, and he only realized his hand was squeezed when there was no warmth in it anymore, but it was too late to call him back. He could have confessed everything right then and there, but what was the point. Alois wanted him to suffer, so he would... in silence.
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Posted: Tue Oct 15, 2013 1:16 pm
Pieces of light reflected toward him, tiny flecks scattered across the kitchen floor. They peered at him quizzically. Studied him.
But Alois passed the kitchen, ignored the splinters of glass still lingering on the tiled surface. He sought the bathroom instead, where he discovered a substantial first-aid kit left in the cupboards beneath the sink. And as he flipped on the light, rummaged within its deep cherry confinement, sought the opaque green plastic, his mind still lingered with Richard. Richard, on the stairs. Richard, with his confidence scattered to the winds. Richard, who could not tolerate his reprimands or his encouragement.
Oh, Richard.
While Alois wrapped his thumb, keeping ample pressure on the wound while treating it appropriately, he resolved to commit one infinitely minor act of kindness. With his luck, the redhead wouldn't even view it as such - Alois was a bane, he knew that as well as the next man. But Alois possessed the wherewithal to remove himself from situations he found stagnating, or otherwise improved by his absence.
He did not linger as the shade in their last stead of life. Those were tactics reserved for the needy, the bitterly resentful. Alois sighed, stood. He brushed the curling wrappers of bandaids into the trash can, which remained curiously empty just moments before. He left the bathroom, with its milky white tile, of maybe quartz or marble or some mineral he didn't care to identify at the moment. For once he called himself back into the fray, for one final assertion before he left in the cover of morning sun.
"Richard." He stood at the foot of the stairs. His injured thumb hid itself in the folds of his jacket, black and bearing the visage of mesh and buckles and eyelets abound. Studs, brass zippers, straps... It didn't matter. Alois enshrouded himself in his violence, but for now he needn't use it to wound them both. "I don't blame you for your disbelief. You lif' in a word zat accepts conventional sinking, zat despises weakness and evaluates your every action as cowardly and inept. And you don't want to change zat notion. And I can understand zat; zere is somesing comforting about pain. It's predictable, easy to manage if you're ze one administering agony upon yourself.
"I know zat we are fundamentally different. You said it yourself. You're not like me, or anyone else. Zat is what sets you apart. I cannot be a role model because I do not covet myself. But you do. You can become an inspirational figure because of zat. Because you notice yourself, and how you are interpreted by ozzer people." He sighed. A crumpled five in his pocket burned for the exchange to cigarettes. "But... Zat is not what I mean to say here."
Alois understood his wants. His want to reclaim his place atop the stairs, sitting next to the confectionist. His want to steal a kiss. His want to retreat to his room and sleep while entangled in blankets aplenty, to close his eyes and dream of worlds so skewed and perfect that he just might find a better ending there. But strength did not stem from reception and acknowledgement. Lately he found himself capitulating to wayward whimsy, to hours upon hours of staring at the ceiling, watching the shadows of fan blades dance about his utter futility. And sometimes Baldwin would visit, if only to watch him warily. Sometimes he asked where Richard was, but the dog only asked with his eyes.
Maybe Richard had the same look sometimes.
"I'm leaving. Tomorrow, I sink. I'm going to a place zat makes more sense to me." He smiled, huffed the beginnings of a laugh. "I know you won't miss me. And I'll leaf' while you're gone, so you don't haf' to deal wis' goodbyes. A goodbye is just a funeral for ze living, and I don't sink auf wiederseh'n* quite fits us." He paused, and his fingers traced the lining of his pockets once more, this time mapping out all the fine details of the matchbook he still possessed. Thinner than it was before, he pressed atop the cover and it bent beneath his will. Just like Richard.
Oh, how it hurt to know he wouldn't see the man again. But he breathed pain like freebasing, inhaled it, became it.
Alois ascended the stairs, arms folded across his chest, and he watched every lip of wood pass beneath his vision. He paused when he reached the same step as his friend, but that hesitation was short-lived. He crossed to the second landing, the upper floor, and passed into the guest room without a word. He kept very little in Richard's condo, and even less that he cared to keep, but he retrieved a couple sentimental mementos from the nightstand drawer. Mostly they were Richard's things, minor nicknacks that he stole from the man in long hours spent bored and alone. Yearning and pining for long-withered dreams.
Satisfied with what meager items he pilfered from the room, he shut the door behind himself and approached the stairs once more. Surprisingly, Richard still remained. Finally he stopped with his bird's eye view of the bottom floor, hand lingering atop the railing. "Zere's a letter in ze top drawer of ze guest dresser. Find it if you ever need to hate me a little more." Afterward he descended the steps.
Down,
__________Down,
____________________Down,
______________________________into the depths of dawn. Of morning sun, peeling through the windows and scraping across the floor with tired fingernails adorned with glass. It was a beautiful morning to leave him behind, to pass through doors with unspoken promises and retreat to a lair of muddled darkness.
He could pay Richard no greater favor. He knew this absolutely, and it struck in the streets on his way to beyond, to elsewhere, no nowhere.
To be human was to know pain unrelenting.Quote: *See you later Reference is to this solo. Fin!
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