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 Posted: Mon Mar 10, 2014 10:42 pm
Rain pelted the windows in a rapt percussion, filling the largely empty workshop with a longstanding echo to drown out his repetitive tasks. Lighting flooded from a handful of shop lights brought in to illuminate the project, the shell of a man, as he worked with the silicone casts of the bones. A glass of water sat on the floor precariously close to a finished metacarpal, next to the wet sanding tools and other methods tried to grind down the seams present in the silicon. In the corner of the room, near the windowed walls, a ceramic bowl hand-painted with bones sat loaded with scraps of raw chicken mulched into a fine paste. There, a feline loomed over its meal with a voracity expected of a starved animal.
Alois sat on the floor amongst his mess of half-skeletal remains, carefully refining the rough replicas produced with the molds earlier. Despite a jacket, a coat, a handwoven tribal blanket and a deep brown microfleece blanket, he shuddered with cold sweats and often tightened them about himself. No breeze stirred in the room; the table fan sat silent, collected with dust from its lack of use, and Alois lined the bottom of the doorframe with a towel to block any errant draft. Still, the increasingly scrawny Saarlander trembled with his own inability to maintain his body temperature.
With a sigh, Alois brushed the recently-finished bone toward his small collection and sprawled across the floor. The cool surface felt both refreshing to his enduring nausea and utterly chilling to his sense of temperature, prompting him to coil as tightly as possible within the bulky confines of his chosen blankets. Taking a mild break allowed him to rest his weary mind and recover a fraction of the sleep he lost during the detox process, though he soon regretted it as the ever-present thoughts of pressing a needle into his veins punctuated any remaining considerations for work.
Extending a long, wasted arm outward from the swaths of blankets, Alois pushed his stacking sleeves up to reveal utterly pallid skin, dotted with pockmarks from his yearning addiction. A single fingernail traced between the points, as if chaining constellations for some greater mythological purpose. After closing his eyes, Alois dug his fingernail into one of the most prominent pockmarks until his skin ached severely with the pain, and a mild, soothing euphoria washed over him. Alois smiled vaguely; he knew such a trite trick wouldn't last.
The rain came clarion as the door opened, and Alois considered rising to greet the visitor, yet remained sprawled across the floor in the same pathetic fashion as before. "Quenton?" He asked as he watched his breath fog the hardwoods just beneath his cheek. Considering the blonde was his only patron of late, aside from an ostensibly cheap hunter, Alois wagered his guess was well-founded. "I got bored while you were in ze hospital. I didn't sink you would mind ze progress."Ivynian so tempted to title questions and answers
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Posted: Tue Mar 11, 2014 7:14 pm
The poor weather and his own recovering health enforced utilizing the public transit. One weekend of rest did not make him suddenly able to withstand the couple miles and freezing early spring precipitation. As it was, he'd made sure to fill a sandwich baggie with extra gauze and medical tape in case he needed to do an emergency repacking. As he had the small count o f meetings managed before getting wrecked, he had stopped at one of the artisan cafes on the way to get two of their 'bagged', premade lunches for posh business sorts on the go. That there was progress was expected and heartening. The dish with food for Faust was amusing and slightly unexpected for someone who 'hated' the animal. He crossed to loom over the other, setting his bag down with a soft shift of its contents to punctuate the motion. Likes to hate. I think he'd be lost without hating things. But what have you done to yourself, Alois? You look terrible. There was no point to saying as much- Alois would be perfectly aware of how he felt, let alone looked. Quenton considered the sprawled, wasted limbs wrapped and shivering in too much clothe impassively. Illness rarely wastes so fast. Lethargic, cold sweats, shivering. Has he been vomiting? Well, that smell lingers on breath with or without cigarettes. "I do not mind." Some questions could be answer just by a closers inspection. He crouched slowly down like a catcher beside Alois' upper half and set the back of his fingers to the pale forehead, unconcerned if the other man was going to take offense to bodily contact. It was a gentle motion. Alois looked to be somewhere near the stage of having to deliberately pick and choose what he spent effort on. The white skin was both clammy from new perspiration and grainy from older dried sweat and effort. Quenton sought the yellow eyes, checking the dilation and consistency and stability. "This isn't illness? You don't look up for eating much. What I brought is gentle, though."
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Posted: Thu Mar 13, 2014 3:55 pm
Faust slid out of the shadows behind the desk with Quenton's arrival and immediately took to inspecting the curious bag set on the floor. The cat sniffed every zipper, pocket, and strap before finally electing to claim the strange case as his own by tracing his cheeks across any available corner. Once satisfied with his work, Faust returned to the bowl of raw chicken awaiting his consumption. As he walked, he shifted his gaze toward Quenton's kneeling form with indifference. Unless this new arrival intended to lavish him in attention, the second warm body amounted to little more than the addition of novelty.
Alois retracted his arm almost immediately into the blankets upon Quenton's kneel, and he sat up with slow effort after fingers brushed against his forehead. The misanthrope did not relish touch, especially when graced with a kindness or gentleness, as it stood a breeding ground for mixed messages or improper signals. His tired gaze fell on Quenton with a mix of exhaustion and acceptance for his condition. "It isn't illness," Alois confirmed, with suspicion toward Quenton's judgments. Would the blonde reproach him for this, before work on their project again? Or would Quenton keep well enough alone on the matter until his piece stood finished and readied for his purposes, only to return a scathing review of the Saarlander's personal choices before departure? The blonde never struck him as the type for the latter, but lacked enough understanding of the man to confirm the former...
As always, enigmas were met with childish excitement and irritation born from impatience.
"You are not ze picture of wellness yourself, Quenton. Was passiert?" The text issued from the blonde gave little indication for what befell him - and Alois suspected that his prying would lead to similar impasses. "Tell me, and I might gif' you an explanation for my condition. However, I suspect you'f already figured it out." Quenton was an irritatingly bright man with something to say on nearly every subject - surely one as well-known as addiction never escaped his ravenous mind.
As Alois' gaze sprawled over the man, the corner of his mouth twitched almost imperceptibly. A long, grizzly scar traced the length of the man's face vertically, cutting into his lips as well. This bade ill for the misanthrope, as his blonde patron was already attractive without it, and the addition of its presence only enhanced the blonde's appearance with a touch of ruin - of reality. And with the way he spoke of baser instincts... What a shame. He, too, looked wasted, as his body lacked the musculature that Alois came to recognize in him. Surely the hospital had something to do with that, as they likely forbade the man from any rigorous exercising in light of recovery. Still, Alois' mind wandered to that single curiosity: recovery from what?
Alois tightened the blankets around himself with a shuddering shiver and cast his gaze toward the bones on the floor. "Most of ze casting is done. It's..." Alois paused, drawing the s through his train of thought. "Down to ze smaller bones now. Fingers. Toes. Metatarsals and metacarpals I recently finished. Seams are bad on some, but zat can be remedied."
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Posted: Sat Mar 15, 2014 5:18 pm
What wastes without bacteria, virus or wound? Gnaws flesh, swallows drive, drinks vitality gone to dredge. Drinks. Alcoholism? No, he's not smelled like that, his blood vessels aren't rosed and broken. Maybe that takes decades, anyway. What was the answer then? The Villa Diodati by Lake Geneva, the nightmare. Laudanum and smoking, drinking. Drugs and addiction enough to later bring low the finest creative minds of ages and the broken penniless all at once? I ...can't come up with better. Or what drug. “If someone was treating you the way you treat yourself, you would have gotten rid of them a long time ago.” He debated moving around to sit straddled behind the other youth like one of those armed-backrests. It would give the other a body outside his own to provide stability and a solid, steady temperature. Alois' sitting up and away though was a clear answer, however to the initial offer of care- look, don't touch. It was like Faust, and caresses or tenderness would ultimately be on his schedule. At least Alois was getting rid of whichever demon it was at least in some part. Quenton asked matter-of-factly, "Is this permanent, or a function of being out of money, supplier or some other obstacle?" "Some of the nightly noises prowling found my flesh enticing. Well, not so much flesh, as the game of it I guess. Like Faust might be if he had a mouse to play with and bat about here. I was rescued, but its fuzzy memory at best thanks to losing a lot of blood. I came to in the hospital." He shifted to kneeling and let his hands drop to examining some of the pieces and their seems. "If nothing else it means more room from my initial estimates of width. We can both go be models in Europe at this rate."
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Posted: Mon Mar 17, 2014 10:19 pm
If someone was treating you the way you treat yourself, you would have gotten rid of them a long time ago.
At the mention of the phrase, Alois shifted his full attention to Quenton, whom he studied for several long moments afterward. His expression betrayed little more than exhaustion, and his eyes worked feverishly in studying the blonde's face. The misanthrope smiled slightly, a nostalgic measure, and his eyes softened with a hint of sadness. "Maybe you're right," he concurred, finally shutting his eyes. A thousand arguments echoed through his memory at once, punctuated with an act in which he fostered great regrets. "I am starting to consider it human nature to mistreat ourselfs. If not ourselfs, zen each ozzer... Someone must be flogged to maintain a modicum of sanity." The crusades. The inquisition.
Finally Alois opened his eyes once more, and curled the blankets tighter about himself in his bony grasp. A shudder ran through his body, and he yawned shortly afterward. With a low groan, he breathed a sigh, in a futile attempt to quell some of the nausea. Nothing helped, but he faithfully ran through the paces. "Permanent is a strange word. However, it will suffice - it will be as close to permanent as I can manage. It's... Difficult, I suppose, to keep going like zis. I know ze effects will fade in time, and one day I might be able to hold down fluids for a reasonable amount of time, but perhaps ze worst of it is adjusting to a new routine filled wis' zese... Aimless time wasters. I could be getting high right now, but instead I will..." Alois gestured with one freed bony hand while he searched for words rendered increasingly scarce. "Read. Or practice piano. Or work on Quenton's project.
"It's hard to settle into zis world when you know what heaven feels like. When you'f seen it for yourself, in a nondescript glass vial. It's..." The misanthrope tilted his head back and focused on the ceiling, dotted with rectangular, pitted boards between a white plastic divider. It's like coming home, again. "Nevermind. We haf' more important sings to focus on, do we not?"
Quenton's recount of his injuries sparked an immediate recognition, of youma prowling for an easy target. He wanted to smile, to examine the injuries himself, to deduce the type of youma based on gashes and wounds alone. "Show me," he asked in his own strange manner, gaze darting to Quenton's wasted form. "If nossing else, we can discuss your modeling career in Britain along ze lines of 'heroin chic'." Alois tried to force a laugh that wouldn't come. Instead he set his jaw and pulled his knees to his chest.
His condition felt tolerable during a short rest, but his mind often wandered to the very actions he chose to avoid. Such urges bled into his thoughts, his inclinations, and only distractions seemed to suffice. Alois seized another bone to set work on sanding, fingers mapping out the tactile sensation of the seam before embarking on the sanding process. "If Alex were here, he would be giving himself an ulcer over you. After all, you look like s**t - I suspect any family or friends you haf' concerned zemselfs over your condition during your hospital stay - how long was it? Five weeks? Maybe more? Zose 'nightly noises' must'f doled out considerable damage.
"We're bos' victims of nightmares, Quenton."
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Posted: Wed Mar 19, 2014 4:28 pm
'Heaven' with no growth and completion. Lifting up idols falso for their pleasure and ease alone, no reward, no point, no purpose. But calling other tasks that could be enriching aimless?. " 'surely, slumber is more sweet than toil, the shore Than labour in the deep mid-ocean, wind and wave and oar; O, rest ye, brother mariners, we will not wander more. ' " "I wonder what your definition of pointful is." In reaction to the slightly-less-than-request, Quenton carefully removed his coat to fold aside. Revealed the threadbare buttondown beneath, fingers working the fastenings open one by one to show the distinctive ladder scars spidering out of staples along his chest where it had to be opened further to repair Wolframite's try at opening it anyway to carve to his heart. Part was still packed with gauze, glossed over with a clear skin of some medical plastic. He had no comments to offer of family. Stroud visited when she could, but she was never good at tenderness. He wasn't good at seeking it. His parents hadn't visited, hadn't written, hadn't reacted so far as he or Stroud knew. It was just as well that way. They weren't welcome. " 'Victim' is an interesting word. I choose 'survivor' instead. I don't have time to be a victim, no do I surrender so much into the hands of others. The simple victim is truth enough, more often then not...but it is boring. " I don't expect you are willing to give over that much command of your own fate either, who cannot leave hands idle even seconds. "Is there a difference between your dreams and your nightmares, Alois?"
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Posted: Fri Mar 21, 2014 2:14 am
"Pointful?" Alois laughed weakly. "It depends on ze circumstances, does it not? Man's existence is pointless, but on an individual scale... I find zis project serapeutic in its ability to deter me from my typical inclinations, and zat is point enough for me. Finding validation for an act, a word, an idea... It's too fleeting. What once had a purpose now does not, and validation changes wis' ze shadows in a long day. It's a ridiculous hunt. But zat was likely not ze answer you were looking for, correct?" Alois glanced toward the blonde, attention fully leaving his work. Often his views met harsh criticism or flippant dismissal, and though Quenton proved himself marginally different from the rest, Alois found little reason to drop old habits. Name known, Quenton still lingered as a stranger.
"My dreams are nightmares because zey are dreams, but a dream realized is not so anymore. Träume und Alb... In german, we used to say Nachtmahr but zat term died out long ago. Albträume... It's almost superfluous. Nightmare-dream. So by linguistics alone, dreams are superseded by nightmares, for an Albtraum is still a nightmare, despite ze presence of a dream. Maybe it's ridiculous to sink of it in such simplified terms, but... Dreams haunt all ze same."
Maybe there are no dreams anymore. I live among the sleepless now, as Bischofite. Insomniacs wearing our nightmares for protection... What am I but a death wish wrapped in a bad dream?
"But again, I suspect zat's not ze answer you were looking for." Youma... Almost surely dreams, and a dream as fleeting as validation quickly darted out of his grasp. Perhaps he could still transcend from flesh and bone and insidious intent to a dream built of ash and baser instinct, but the fuel for that fire burned out some time ago. Buried in its own way, with nothing to show of such vociferous endeavors but a dreamcatcher tailored toward nightmares.
"You likely realized zis at an earlier point, but I detest people. However, zere is a quality of yours zat I appreciate - Du bist Feuer und Flamme*." And our culture reveres flames. "Your chest... Most people who sustain such an injury eizer die or shy away from ze source of ze injury. Ein gebranntes Kind scheut das Feuer**. Undoubtedly it hurts, and bleeds, and slows you down as it sloughs out ze discarded flesh and slowly closes wis' an irreparable scar. Even so, forever marred, you aren't dissuaded. You don't cower at ze shadows, despite zeir tees'. Zat is somesing wors' respecting, and I am quite finicky in doling out esteem." I should nickname you as I have others, but you have no place for such tawdry monikers, do you?
"Are you a Phoenix, Quenton? Or were you born zis way?"Ivynian *[German colloquialism] "You're all for it." (lit. "You're fire and flame")
**[German colloquialism] "Once bitten, twice shy." (lit. "A burnt child dreads the fire.")
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Posted: Fri Mar 21, 2014 9:22 pm
Quenton shifted to kneeling while he listened, no longer concerned or concentrating at all on the brisk air in the place with coat gone and shirt undone. They were not answers he'd been 'looking' for, true enough. But if there's anything our few Mondays have taught me, it was that I shouldn't be expecting specifics out of our conversations or your answers. That was the first, and best, lesson. After that...its been everything I could want.Compared with the droning, doleful days looking at the same bland room with a wipe board telling him the date and whether Shelly, Anne, Karen or Sue was his nurse for the day, this was bliss. Against the heavy silence and machines-that-go-bing interrupting every five minute span of those same days except when he managed a few hours of focus so intense it all melted away into Dorian compositions on the paper that Stroud had thankfully brought from his apartment, Alois' voice giving thoughtful answers was Trisagion. The portmanteau of the German words wasn't one that he'd considered before, philologically. How the death of the older term and the usage of the new could be applied to part of the cultural divide that informed how each of them came differently at aspects of life. Not that the difference wasn't already inherent in being just two different people. "I missed you." Chance enough those three words can do more harm than good. Maybe they are uncomfortable or unwanted. Maybe they are wounding. But I prefer truth. I cannot make him enjoy that or accept it. Or even want it. Or feel the same. I can only express it, and I could not hold those three longer now, in such dim light surrounded both by bones not our own and in flesh ourselves little more. "I stopped fearing shadows, teeth, and monsters some time ago, Alois. The truest kind are not under beds, in closets, or even in dreams. I stopped looking for them when I saw they were already in us. " Already in all of us.But the name was curious, rolling over Alois' tongue without burning it as he watched the pale mouth make the phonemes to release it. Child of fire. Would that all the words he made were made of flame. Holy would that be? The heat of heart and breath by some a prayer itself. He didn't blush, but neither knew what to do with it- it felt certainly a compliment. The momentary instinct was to kiss the other, prove the fire. It was quelled- ' but I detest people.' But the moment was strange enough that he didn't feel comfortable with both of them paused and motionless as caryatid over a portal to some unknown place. Quenton moved forward and sat next to the other, near enough that perhaps proximity would provide more stable warmth, "You make me question if that is omen that I will burn all around me, my 'house' to ash to bring it anew. ...I am glad of the esteem....it is returned, Alois. I have craved the eternal riddles from the chthonic mouth of the Sphinx...as missing water."
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Posted: Fri Mar 21, 2014 11:41 pm
Alois only smirked softly, a vague shake of his head accompanied by the dead ghosts of laughter. "I stand by my words from text, Quenton - you're a dumbass." His words lacked the usual bite accompanied by such dismal assessments, but a streak of gentleness signified his mild approval. While slow to warm by flames, Alois lacked the permafrost required to maintain his aloof nature. Perhaps that was his final mistake, but in days spent counting the minutes to death now... What was such a minuscule oversight?
"You are almost correct. It is not zat ze monsters lurk wis'in us... But zat we are monsters ourselfs." His sharp gaze turned on his companion, half-lidded with a dark mischief. A frail hand sank beneath the curtain of overgrown bangs to trace a sore, yet fresh, tattoo trailing across his neck. Wings splayed across his throat, with the mirrored humerus bones conjoining just beneath his adam's apple. They stood in skeletal structure alone - meticulously rendered shapes forming the recognized outline. "Zose shadows, ze very ones zat prowl alleys and ambush zose brazen enough to braf'e ze nights, are zey not truer reflections of ourselfs? We are but demons operating human skins, for all ze atrocities we commit on each ozzer."
"Man fears himself more zan anysing. Demons, Monsters, and shadows only form a pretense." But thus far, Quenton fared better than the rest - he subdued his primal fear toward such harrowing visages and, in turn, pressed past it. The blonde never lingered on the threshold of fearlessness, as he possessed the drive to push himself beyond such a commendable stance. And that was what rendered him entirely different from the rest, from those self-proclaimed thrill-seekers and protesters alike.
The misanthrope forced no effort to maintain his distance from the equally destroyed blonde, but rather slackened his blankets enough to rub his hamstring absently. Even now the muscles buzzed wildly with a hive sensation, as if each sinew lit with low flames. Were he yet addled with morphine, he might've accused Quenton of precipitating such an uncomfortable feeling. "It is not an omen, Quenton, but an expectation. Often fire is considered revolutionary, and if you continue down zis projected road, you may very well amount to one yourself. Zat being said, you must first raze your opposition to ash before you might begin realizing your dreams... Or nightmares." The Saarlander yawned once more, and tears filled his eyes past the brim, spilling down along ashen cheeks. Soon their existence was erased with the help of a blanketed shoulder.
"If you haf' intentions for zis long process of retraining your body, zen you will achief' it. It is zat simple." No need to return compliments paid carefully.
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Posted: Sat Mar 22, 2014 12:38 am
There's a rakish look. More apt to devour than divulge."Fire is not known for patience, I'm afraid. But you're quite right- and its learning is part of this as much anything else." "What do the the dead, but wait. Or host in their halls the creeping things of dirt, mold and mildew, putrefying age by age those not lucky enough to lie where water collects to toast them." He wanted a closer look at the glimpses of lines betrayed by proximity and the shift of fabrics, hand and hair. Rather than push, Quenton picked up some of the pieces, checking and assembling the fittings of jointures, silicon and anatomy with ease- he didn't need his sketch references long since ago for what small bones or tendons went where. raze your opposition to ash stuck again and again in a loop. There were so many kinds of opposition. Person, place, thing or idea? The tears were strange, infinitely stranger on Alois of all people. Quenton had neither experimented nor been near those who were on any regular basis, before. I don't expect he's actually sad, not himself. His brain might tell him as much, that he is. Chemical imbalances demand so much different than the actuality. "Which was it, that pulled part the skrims for you? This is withdrawal...? I don't know much at all about that for any family of intoxicant. " The methods to bring ease flitted through his mind- what might work, what was worthless given circumstance.
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Posted: Sat Mar 22, 2014 9:08 am
Alois watch Quenton work with bones still unfamiliar to himself, raising an eyebrow in mild jealousy at how easily the man navigated the finer bones of the human body. The wrist and fingers always posed a challenge - as did their cousins, the toes. Leave the anatomy to the anatomist, Alois figured. As he said, fire is not known for patience. It's quicker if we depart to two different tasks - with each seam finished, he has more to work with. "Do you want zese painted? One could line ze bones wis' philosophies fitting to your intents, or line ze chest cavity wis' such soughts."
But Quenton already encased himself in his philosophies. Superfluous, maybe, but not witless. Even knowing of their presence could assist in the grueling process.
Pointing out his tears lead Alois to sigh thinly. Rubbing at his eyes, he yawned before explaining the tolls of addiction when deprived. "You could not bring me to tears, Quenton - zis is wis'drawal. I am lucky zat I am not anchored to a bucket today, zough I suspect it's because I haven't eaten in two days. From what I understand, it is simply ze course - if not 'crying', zen sweating. If not sweating, zen puking. If not puking, zen pissing out my a**... No matter ze function, I am losing liquids at an impressif' pace." Alois sighed, shoulders sagging with dejection. "And zat is only a portion of ze troubles. Several times already I'f considered cutting my damned legs off." Even now his feet rotated gently beneath the swaths of blankets - the only method he devised to temporarily quell the violent restlessness in the muscles.
"Morphine was not a fully conscious choice, I'd like to sink, but I could be stupid enough to knowingly get myself addicted." He rose at a sloth pace, as if expecting his legs to simply give out beneath him. Once upright, the Saarlander allowed the blankets to drop to the floor near the blonde before stepping over them gently. The remainder of the cast bones he sought sat atop the counter, and Alois gathered a handful of the corpse leavings with more prominent seams before returning to his chosen seat on the hardwood floor. After placing the elongated bones near his companion, Alois spread the blankets to a more uniform texture atop the floor and sat down with an audible sigh. Afterward he collected one of the bones and began work on the seams. "Ze story behind it isn't very impressif' eizer. You may lack patience, Quenton, but I do not always learn quickly."
"Do you remember how we met? Zat was not long after ze incident - I was collecting roadkill again, in ze dead of night while wearing all black. Needless to say, a car struck me at speed limit and shattered my ribs. Wasn't a terribly comfortable experience. Hospital put me on morphine, and once outpatient care commenced, I was taught to administer my own. It only requires a modicum of curiosity to find where ze needle can take you. Stupid, really, but it's ze trus'." With one bone finished, Alois placed it in a separate pile in favor of collecting another.
"But ze worst of it isn't ze nearly constant tears or ze permanent quaking. I cannot idle anymore, else my mind wanders to ze needle. It's a permanent punishment, one zat will outlast me." Though I suspect my days have long been numbered. It's only a matter of time before he kills me.
Maybe I should consider him a savior for it.
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Posted: Sat Mar 22, 2014 1:28 pm
Encased in words like prayer scripts?There was so much of the mind that was tied to ritual and symbolism. It wasn't a bad suggestion, though strange. " 'Whether one passes on or remains is all the same. That you can take no one with you is the only difference. Ah, how pleasant! Two awakenings and one sleep. This dream of a fleeing world. The roseate hues of early dawn. ' " "Why not. It brings to mind a piled and twined bour, tied with prayer ribbons." Blessed with utmost peace and prosperity or happiness, a fènghuáng's rest? There are differences in the mythology of the firebird, the phoenix, the Me byi karmo and garuda. I'm sure there are others. Am I looking for peace and prosperity? No, not in the same way the tradition woudl understand that. Peace of spirit in war, not from it. Prosperity brought to this world and others through it all. Not 2.5 kids, a wife, a picket fence.The certainty of Alois' declaration of what could or could not bring him to tears could have been taken as a challenge- there were as many tears as kinds of smiles. The certainty of dehydration, though, given the listed symptoms was enough to draw mind from idle devilry. I wonder why the choice of cold quitting- there are mitigation steps, aren't there? The replacement drugs cost money. Probably didn't want to have to deal with Alex's worried mothering or paying for it? Morpheus, younger brother and the Little Death. Asking an addict what the high was like was some special sadism he refused, whatever his curiosity of the effect. Quenton assembled the whole of a hand as the other explained, listening while considering how necessary stability through what adhesives might be against the complete mobility of the joints without it. Things fall apart too easily without. A body has too much want to move early on in training. A mind that wanders to a needle- no choice, but trained instinct. Classical Conditioning of chemical reward for behavior. Except what am I doing here but showing that such instinct could be gotten rid of? It is a choice, without patience. "I suppose calling it 'permanent punishment' is that you desire it so." Quenton set the completed hand down, crawling over behind Alois to kneel behind him. "Lean back against me and relax a moment. I want to try something. Dehydration causes headaches."
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Posted: Sat Mar 22, 2014 3:48 pm
"You are a walking menagerie of quotes." Quenton's acceptance was heeded well; more often than not Alois' strange ideas met with quick rejection. So it seems he might not have to sneak in these final details after all... That bade well. Less surprise for the blonde, and less craftiness requiring Alois' meticulous planning. Additionally he could collaborate with Quenton in picking proper passages for this (funerary?) rite.
"You assume too much." Alois looked on in quiet jealousy at the properly assembled hand. Surely fittings would bring the elongated piece to life, but with bones so narrow.. Maybe twine? String threaded through drilled holes to allow for expansion of joins attuned to Quenton's movements? A little antique for his tastes, but the two lacked a great deal of options alone. "I don't like being haunted by such yearnings, but as far as I know, such wants never entirely dissipate. It's possible to diminish zem, yet forever zey remain wis' me. Unless you want to proof' me wrong." And inwardly he hoped Quenton would accept such a feat.
"You set out to murder instinct, but I suspect zis is a pioneering venture for you. I'm not sure it's been done before, nor do I haf' any reason to assume zis particular project would successfully quell your pas'ogen response. For all we know, you may find lounging inside a corpse as revolting, eventually become accustomed to it, and nossing more will change. Maybe your body takes sings on a case by case basis. Maybe killing ze remainder of your instincts requires a lifelong pursuit. You're not patient, and I don't haf' too much time left..." His doubts cast, Alois returned his gaze to his work - another sanded bone finished and cast into the pile.
Quenton's sudden shift and request pulled a curious hum from the misanthrope, who looked over his bony shoulder toward the equally devastated man. Immediately his gaze shifted from the blonde's fiery eyes to the gauze packed to his chest, before leveling a skeptical glance toward the man. "You want me to lean against you wis' an injury like zat? Quenton, your idiocy causes headaches. You're asking for pain." Teasing aside, the Saarlander reluctantly shifted backward toward his injured companion, and as asked, leaned against the man's injured chest. However, physical contact naturally set him on edge - with his wasted form, all tensing of muscle remained apparent beneath sallow skin.
"If you try somesing stupid, I'm sending Faust home wis' you permanently."
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Posted: Sat Mar 22, 2014 4:22 pm
Quenton took a long, shuddering breath when the others dim weight settled as requested. His own mind tried to convince him he could feel and discern the shift of each individual rib in the cage of his own chest. It was an illusion. He ignored it as best he could, replacing the sensation with that of Alois' hair - pushing his fingers up from cheekbones along the sides of the other man's skull. "That would be a challenge. Chemical and physiological changes have already set in your brain, as well as unhealthy cognitive and emotional patterns. It is a form of operant conditioning- albeit a very advanced one. I'm no behavioral therapist- you may be very right in that my own conditioning project may take a lifetime. Yours could take as much. Its highly individualized, but there are some consistencies. So much some old soviet research available regarding soldiers site three or four months with optimum efficiency for breaking and reconditioning 'subjects'. The most successful approach is to increase rewards for healthy behavioral choices while eliminating rewards for addictive behavior in the case of compulsive-based behaviors. There was emphasis on importance of interpersonal relationships. " He shifted his hands slowly from stroking into fists, plumes of black between his fingers slowly pulling taut until the surface skin and scalp muscles pulled up against his knuckles. He counted aloud for Alois' benefit- it implied that the hold was deliberate like stretching, "One-two-three-" "-eleven-twelve." And the sculptor let go slowly, petting again. His own pulled arm ached at the joints. "This releases endorphins. 'Endogenous morphine'. Do you feel a difference?" "You should try sipping liquid as we work. No more than a sip every ten minutes or so. " "You mention time and tenure as a near limitation.Are you going to Hemingway on me?"
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Posted: Sat Mar 22, 2014 6:23 pm
Alois frowned thinly with the initially disturbing sensation of Quenton's fingers against his face, a strange and foreign feeling that the misanthrope had yet to evaluate. Thus far it felt... tolerable enough, if not almost pleasant. During the process Alois found it difficult to concentrate on the blonde's phrasing, as the sensation of the man's fingers on his scalp drew a great deal of his attention. "So you're telling me to exercise common sense in retraining myself. Correct? Wis' ze exception being interpersonal relationships... Zey are possibly counterproductif' to ze goal." Often times Alois found the constant irritant of another to drive him toward getting high regardless.
"Even knowing your intentions could demand a lifetime's work, you're willing to pursue it? Formidable." A lifetime spent sleeping in an organic coffin - was that what Quenton wished for himself? And to further what goals?
The tightened grip drew a thin sigh but Alois endured nonetheless. As Faust crossed before him, interested in the newly assembled hand on the floor, the misanthrope shot his ornery cat a bored look. The cat returned the lackadaisical countenance in kind before lying atop the work that Quenton recently finished. Extending a leg outward, Alois tried to shoo the overgrown feline, but to no avail. Even with the brush of a boot, the cat refrained from moving - adamant in his newly claimed 'pillow'. "Is focus your goal, or will zis enrich your life somehow? It is streamlining, in a way." Much like youma.
There was an easier process for what Quenton sought, but could he suggest such a physical perversion of himself? No - not only did that realm linger far outside of their easily compartmentalized companionship, but the blonde sought freedom from baser instincts, not a binding to such.
As alois exhaled, his shoulders sagged slightly as evidence of minor relaxation. "It's not much of a difference, but I'f likely damaged myself considerably. Why produce endorphins when morphine is at ze ready..." Grinding his teeth, the Saarlander inwardly berated himself for such a ridiculous lapse in judgment expressed at the ready for Quenton to condemn. Though those diatribes found no voice, Alois suspected a slow derision budding in the back of the man's convoluted mind. "I could make jokes zat you just wanted to touch my hair, but given how brittle and disgusting it is now..." Alois left the sentence unfinished.
Alois scoffed at the mention of Hemingway. "I'm not terribly interested in eating bullets, Quenton." Not anymore. "However, zere is someone who wants to kill me. It's only a matter of time until zey succeed. You'f seen ze horrors of ze city we lif' in - it almost seems benign compared to ze living shadows haunting our streets."
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