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 Posted: Sat Jun 13, 2015 12:17 am
room with a view
Now that he thought about it, his room was kind of pathetic.
The walls were a plain white, without any sort of decoration adorning them, save for the greenish-cream, plastic stars that dotted the ceiling. It was a simple room, four walls and approximately the size of a large college dormitory, with a window that faced out across the campus of Deus Ex Machina. Beneath the window was Chance's bed, tucked horizontally against the wall to allow more space in the room, and the sheets were a plain dark blue, cheaply made, but he didn't particularly mind this. A few pillows and a thin white blanket, but nothing else was on the bed, except for the man himself.
The desk was neat and tidy, a stack of papers and a sketchbook on the surface, along with a small jar used to hold various pencils and pens, and one or two paintbrushes stuffed in as well. The only personal aspect was a photograph in a frame of a bookstore, and even then it wasn't exactly a shining example of warmth and sunshine.
A telescope sat at the foot of the bed, directed out towards the window. If the closet was opened, it would reveal everything neatly hung and arranged by color, more out of habit than anything else. A few pairs of shoes were haphazardly kicked into the bottom, and a laundry basket was shoved away, out of sight, out of mind.
He supposed he could paint, though what exactly he would do was subjective to his current mood, Chance supposed. He'd never really been a decorator, had never really understood how to make things look nice or put together. Being an artist was one thing, figuring out interior design was entirely separate; Chance had a habit of falling short of expectation when it came to that, going for a minimalist look rather than a clustered one.
A list had been started, and it was sitting on the desk, held in place by the pencil jar and in Chance's familiar, slanting handwriting:
- paint for walks walls, possibly ceiling
- new mattress????
- sheets idk what color maybe
- paintbrushes
- more stars for walls
- chair??
- snacks
There was a pen beside it; Chance had clearly not finished with it, but he was taking a break, sitting on his bed and reading a book that had something to do with a popular murder mystery author. Except even that seemed fruitless, because he was in one of his restless states.
Chance got up, padded over to the desk, and sat down again. He picked up the list again, as well as the pen, and added:
- new sketchbook(s)
- pictures for walls??? what pictures
- better more pillows
- headphones
- more booze
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Posted: Sat Jun 13, 2015 12:31 am
drawbridge
He sat on the floor this time, which wasn't unusual, but it gave him a different perspective on things. His knees were drawn up, and there was a sketchpad propped against them, flipped to about halfway through, a pencil held between Chance's teeth as he tried to find a blank spot.
Most of the book was filled with nonsensical doodles of people on Deus, or just casual sketches from observation: Dawson in his room, relaxing on his bed. Finn in the infirmary, shark smile, clipboard and all as he attended to an unknown patient, Ripley looking bored in a bed beside him. An older one of Abbi, with her outrageously curly hair tumbling down her back in unruly waves. A few of Otto, with his usual grumpy face, although there was one of him with a small, rare smile. Several of Asher in their golem form, pale-skinned and elegant as a demon, with ice frosting their face and white hair flowing down their back.
There were some other sketches too, of just his surroundings: the training field, some of its dummies knocked over; one or two of the classrooms, a quick study of a Life Lab, some messy ones of the minipets in the containment center.
The sketchbook was still not quite full, but several pages of it had drawings that made little sense to anyone who was not Otto. Soft, sweeping lines that defined a vague, unfamiliar face; a scribble here and there of something entirely undefinable, really, but that felt somehow like Chance had attempted to get his feelings onto paper and not quite succeeded.
Even more still were almost just entirely black scribbles, Chance having taken up the entire page with thick pencil marks back and forth across the paper. Little eraser marks and smudged dots here and there showed he'd been making constellations. These alone were the most careful and the most concise, as though Chance had mapped them all out scientifically to perfection.
(He almost had, but not quite.)
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Posted: Sat Jun 13, 2015 12:42 am
dogs and cats
He didn't fall asleep immediately (old habits were hard to break, and all) but Chance simply lay quietly as he waited for the calm to settle in, his eyes closed as he rearranged his thoughts and eased his breathing. Otto had already drifted off - Tired puppy indeed, Chance thought - but in spite of the late hour and the pleasant buzz of the alcohol numbing his system, Chance himself hadn't quite made it to that point just yet.
Eventually he would. Hopefully he would.
Chance wasn't quite certain what time it was, but either way, he felt warm and comfortable, wrapped in...well, kind of wrapped in blankets, more just wrapped in a sheet and the corner of a blanket. Otto's notorious burrito-ing skills had yet to be abated, and he was currently hogging most of said blankets. Still, it was kind of amusing, and the night was cool, rather than freezing, so he didn't really mind too much. It was Otto's bed, after all, he was just kind enough to let Chance borrow it for a bit every now and then when he didn't mind the company.
The space was nice. Otto's room was his own, and Chance's, while less personable in terms of decorations (for the time being) was his own as well, and it felt simple and easy. He liked that he could spend some time with Otto, doing whatever it was they did - watch movies, goof off, talk, sleep, a few other things - and then go back to his own room and relax, or do work, or whatever the case may have been. Breathing room and space were important.
Though space right now seemed to Chance a little silly, since they were already sharing the same bed. Still, he wasn't about to smother Otto, so he settled for just curling himself closer, catlike in motion, sliding his fingers over Otto's wrist, and closing his eyes, sharing the warmth of his body heat without suffocating him.
It was quiet. It was nice.
Within a few minutes, and much to Chance's relief, he fell asleep, easing off into the pleasant throes of slumber.
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Posted: Sat Jun 13, 2015 1:05 am
frosted flakes
"Humans are capable of the most curious things," Asher said one morning.
Chance, sitting on the lab floor instead of an actual chair like a normal human being, glanced up at the demon. Their long, fluttery hair looked almost translucent, even in the golem's unstable form, skin as pale as ice and eyes just as strangely white.
"What do you mean?" Chance asked, tilting his head, eyebrows raised in interest. "I mean, obviously humans are pretty weird and ******** up at times, but is there a specific incident you happen to be referring to at this time, specifically?"
Asher gave a small laugh, a low thrum that sounded like the tinkling of icicles knocking against one another; a slight cold chill emanated from their body as they paced idly back and forth in front of their human while he sat. "I just mean in general, really. When I watch them through your eyes, sometimes I have to wonder what it is that they truly are attempting to do, or if they are merely trying to prove something."
Chance paused in his notations, a clipboard in his lap. "I suppose it's a matter of both, really," he said mildly, continuing after a moment. "Depending on the situation. I think everyone is trying to prove something, though, otherwise why would anyone be here in the first place? The weak try to prove they're strong, the strong try to prove that they're still strong, the quiet try to prove that they can be heard, and the kind try to prove that they're not weak."
One shoulder rose and fell in a contemplative shrug. Chance made a few marks on the paper in front of him. "Or something to that effect. It's all rather fascinating, though the last time I tried to say something, people looked at me like I was some sort of arrogant a**."
He cast a wan smile up at Asher, who laughed again. They reached out a hand, trailing cool fingers over Chance's brow affectionately.
"You are not arrogant, merely unique," said Asher delicately, and this time it was Chance who laughed.
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Posted: Sun Jun 14, 2015 2:45 pm
frostbite
"Tell me more of yourself," Asher says, when they're half sitting, half laying on the floor of the lab, and Chance's head is resting against their leg, the demon's long, nimble fingers absentmindedly fluttering over his hair. Chance tilts his face back, craning it up to look better.
"You're in my head," he snorts, crossing one ankle over the other. He likes the quiet comfort of seeing his weapon in front of him, of being able to talk to him face to face. There's a reassurance when Asher is inside of his head, but an appreciation and respect for when he's visible, even if it's only for a short while. The borrowed body fits Asher well, pale-faced and long haired, and they look almost ethereal in nature.
"You know everything about me already," Chance says, resuming his lounging position, and Asher laughs, a gentle thrum of a sound.
"Perhaps," they concede, pressing light, cool fingers against Chance's brow affectionately. "But I am not in your head now, am I?"
"I suppose not. What do you want to know?"
"Anything."
He thinks for a moment.
"My first kiss was when I was fifteen, with a girl named Angelica Smith," says Chance, idly twisting one of the rings on his finger. "She was at the girl's home that we sometimes did joint activities with on weekends. I'd seen her a couple times, and we just sorta smiled at each other, and I guess she thought I was cute or something, because one weekend, when I was helping her with her craft project, she just grabbed me and shoved me into a closet and kissed me."
Asher hums a little in thought. "Sounds unpleasant."
"It was a little weird," says Chance with a laugh. "I just sort of stood there wondering what the ******** I was supposed to do. But then she just said thanks and left, and after that we never spoke again."
"Did you see her again?"
"Once or twice, but I guess she got adopted or some s**t, because after that, she left. I asked the head about her once, but they said it was classified information and all that."
"Maybe you broke her heart," says Asher with a soft smile, and Chance laughs again.
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Posted: Sun Jun 14, 2015 3:01 pm
dream catcher
Now that he thinks of it, he's always kind of known who he is.
Not necessarily in the emotional sense, but more in the physical. Chance stands in front of the mirror in his room and looks up and down at himself. He's only in a pair of boxers for the time being, his pale skin looking almost white against the black cotton. The cigarette burns are still faintly visible beneath the elaborate constellation tattoo he got to cover them, black stars stamped over the small, circular scars. It's not that he's ashamed of them, but he's annoyed that he has to even have reminders of his mother and her boyfriends at all permanently engraved onto his body. Most of his tattoos are black, except for the one on his upper chest and shoulder, which is a cheerful watercolor of wispy dandelions. There's no rhyme or reason for this one, not like the one of the solar system he has on the inside of his forearm, or the constellation of Draco sprinkled across his other ribs. It's just a pleasant, bright reminder of pleasant, bright things.
He's not particularly muscular, but just slightly, enough to fill him out in the chest area. His limbs are long, and so is his torso, with a slender build that borders on slim but not quite. Black curly hair, never tamed, raven in color an soft in texture against the back of his neck and over the tips of his ears. Both of them are pierced several times, though Chance tends to only wear two in each at a time, almost always star themed in some way.
His nails are currently painted black, and Chance reaches for a shirt, idly browsing through his closet. He finally pulls one out - it's long and oversized, just the way he likes them, stark white but with vibrant blue stars printed across in an erratic pattern. It's short sleeved, and Chance slides it on over his head, ruffling his hair. After a short contemplation, he also pulls out a pair of leggings that are black at the hips and taper off into several shades of blue by the ankle, fading in a pretty gradient.
He knows his clothes are unconventional for a male. Chance has never wished to be be female, has always been secure in his gender and appearance, which he rather likes. But he doesn't see the point in restricting himself to a certain style of clothing simply because it's "supposed" to be geared towards men. Skirts and dresses are comfortable and cute. Leggings make him feel casual and relaxed.
I like what I like. It's what he tells everyone, what he believes.
He doesn't care what the world thinks of his style, but Chance tames himself usually, just out of a sheer desire to prevent drama, which he has never had the patience for. The skirts, dresses, leggings, shoes, and and anything else is left for his room most of the time, or maybe in the company of someone he knows won't care, that he can feel comfortable around.
It's the same with his affections. Chance has never questioned his preference towards both men and women - it's always been there, a part of him that has settled into his chest, his veins, his entire being - but he's also not flaunted it. He's seen what it can do to other people, or what it could possibly do to him. He doesn't hide himself away, because he's not the kind who lies or pretends he's something when he's not, but he also wishes that people would generally be less shitty about everything. It's really nobody's business who he chooses to sleep with, or how often he does, with how many people, or what he chooses to wear or not wear.
In general, Chance decides, as he sits down on his bed and pulls out his sketchbook, people need to stop being dicks.
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Posted: Sun Jun 14, 2015 9:26 pm
texts from last nightnio love Text to Maebe:feel better soon, gorgeous - Chance medigel Text to Dawson:hit me up, Shags, lemme know how life is bittiface Text to Otto:guess who got a milkshake without you Quote: Text to Otto:
I may have gotten you one too
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