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The ebony spire can be found only after traversing a seemingly endless spiral of stairs that lead to a single fire-lit room. The rounded walls host shelves heavy with books- all black- and the only bit of furniture is a high-backed chair made from the finest midnight-colored velvet and the softest of cushions. It sits in the middle of the room, facing away from whomever might intrude and facing, instead, towards the flame. Around it are various bottles of alcohol, scattered about the floor. Some of them are open, some aren't.The ceiling seems to be nothing more than a dark abyss, where- occasionally- some sort of whispering can be heard though the words are too soft to understand. The floor is made of polished dark marble. There is one window just a few paces away from the stairs, tall and foreboding. Thick black drapes are drawn across it and knotted tight, as though someone was scared of them falling loose.

A tall man with braided hair piled high atop of his head- whom some might know to be Hux Keighley- paces back and forth between the chair and flame furiously. Occasionally, he glances at the stairs- as though waiting for someone. He is dressed quite elegantly in black, purple, and gold. He wears no mask, unless the thick of his beard can be counted as one.

Thorne (Masked) | | 25/25 | | Currently looking for more wine.

While his twin was off having a heart-to-heart discussion with... well, his heart, Thorne was enjoying a nice hike up to the spire. It was nice considering it took him away from the humdrum bore of life with the "in-laws" and mother dearest. It was not so nice considering that walking made the heat haze of wine evaporate from his bones, and he was not in a position of serenity to be sober on a night like this.

"Hey there," he called, his voice dipping low and husky when he spotted Hux through the door to the single room at the top of the spire, and more importantly the bottles littering his feet. His mask jingled above a cheshire grin, rabbit ears twinkling with golden droplets in the firelight.

"How do you feel about a plus one? I need something with more kick than the wine downstairs, and you look like a fun enough catch for the night."

More like, Hux looked like he had enough alcohol to tranquilize the ******** godzilla.

Thorne was willing to get friendly for that.

Thorne (Masked) | | 25/25 | | Talking to Hux

Thorne chuckled at the response he got, maneuvering further into the small room. This one seemed tense. Well, at least he was not having a panic attack, or tempting Melany's wrath, or trying to flirt with an outsider. A different sort of darkness worked its way through this one. Thorne tilted his head, mask jingling, and crept closer, the grin still on his face.

"Why wouldn't I be?" He remarked, his voice a low purr of sound. Dangerous. He took a step around Hux, putting himself between the man and the fireplace, arms crossed behind his back, hooked on the small of it. He tilted his head, the mask glimmering with reddened light.

He hooked his hands up against Hux's face in a sudden, shameless motion, his thumbs pressing into the dark crescents beneath the mans eyes.

"I have nothing else to lose by being here. And it looks like neither do you. Tell me," His voice dropped, dangerous, a growling, hungry thing, "What is it that you're trying to drink to forget?"

Thorne (Masked) | | 25/25 | | Being an a*****e (very close to Hux)

"That's boring," Thorne responded, his tone dripping with a soft bite of hunger. He tilted Hux's face in his hands, watching the other with a grin that shifted beneath the glimmering edge of his rabbit mask. "Why should I ask them when I can ask you?"

He stepped forward, shortening the distance between them to test the waters of the others discomfort, even though his hands sung with heat and he felt a certain level of contempt fill his lungs like air. It was like playing with a dead mouse. Wake up, wake up, he wanted to sing, nails biting against Hux's face. Don't be so boring when I've come all this way.

"Or are you afraid?" He tilted his head up and scraped his teeth over Hux's pulse and jawline. Nearly a bite. Open mouthed and wet. "Want me to make you forget?"

Thorne (Masked) | | 25/25 | | Being ******** rude is what

So this was another one full of bad memories. And from the looks of it, ones that were now floating around, somewhere outside of his head. Thorne blew a soft raspberry and slid his hands down to wrap loosely around the mans shoulders, elbows bent over them with callous ease. He was draped against Hux like a pampered cat.

"What would you have instead? Are you that interested in drowning alone?" Thorne asked, tilting his head back, mouth curved into an open half-smile. With little shame or reluctance, the masked creature flattened himself against Hux's larger form, resting his mouth against the curve of Hux's collarbone, nosing any material out of the way. His eyes flicked up though, illuminated in the firelight, to one of the wisps fluttering downwards in the air behind them.

With one hand digging crescents cruelly into Hux's back, on the edge of painful, he reached out with his other, and eclipsed the murmur within his hand.

What bad memories did you swallow? he thought. And crushed it in the palm of his hand.

Thorne (Masked) | | 25/25 | | Tempting fate.

Thorne watched Hux with the cat-like interest, a laugh snarling through his throat at the response, every part of him wired for dangerous confrontation, for something more more more than this boring show of masks and dresses and murder, oh my! He felt the curve of Hux against him, breaking, and the memory slammed against him like a tidal wave.

He smelled it, felt it, touched and saw the world that Hux had thrown away. There was a rotting in the memory. A festering, ugly wound of remembrance. A woman, dying. A woman. Dead.

Pop! Went the memory. And disappeared again.

Thorne surged backwards when he was shoved, and he tilted his head at Hux as he shook, arms spread to either side, the gold of his mask glittering, tinkling, jangling in the firelight.

"You didn't save her," he said. "You couldn't save her. She was dead. Was it your fault?"

He dropped his hands and stalked forward. He knew danger when he saw it, but he wanted to step on this fragile time bomb. How far was too far? Where did he draw the line?

The answer: he didn't.

Not until something broke.

"Hey," he drawled, stopping so close to Hux that they spat and breathed the same air. "Does it hurt? Shall we go again?" he reached up, his nails just shy of another murmur, painted an elegant gold.

"Would you stop me?"

Thorne (Masked) | | 25/25 | | Probably about to die but enjoying his life right now

Thorne hit the floor with a strangled, hissing yelp. He could have moved faster, tried to avoid Hux's rath, but rather he allowed the man to pin him, a grin curving across his face. His eyes flared beneath the mask, wild-bright and dangerous.

"Poor little boy," Thorne said, craning his head into the touch. He pressed his hands against the marble but didn't bother to try and push up. "You couldn't save her. Oh and it hurt, it hurt so much that you couldn't. Did you even try?" He laughed, more dangerous with every act of violence Hux demonstrated against him. "And here you are, too cowardly to even keep it in your own head. So you fail her even in death. Isn't that fitting."

He wanted to touch another murmur, but they would be harder to reach now that Hux was unchained. Still, he lifted one of his arms towards a floating tuft. Just to see what Hux would resort to now.

Come on, this masked Thorne said, show me some fun.

Thorne (Masked) | | 25/25 | | Sitting in The Chair

Thorne grunted as he collided with the wall, the pain shattering through him at the contact. It was an inconvenience more than anything. He sat up, readjusting his mask, tilting his head at the brooding man in front of the fireplace, hunched and destroyed. So his twin wasn't the only one rotting from the inside out.

He laughed at the thought.

Standing up, he walked across the room to drape himself over the single chair in the room, kicking his legs over the side and crossing his arms, a sigh trickling from the corner of his mouth as he stared at the abyss above them.

"I don't appreciate empty threats," he said mildly. "But I think I'll stay and watch you drown a bit longer." His smile was mocking and animal, twisted across his face, wrong wrong wrong for this body he wore.

"Anyways," he added, "Didn't they always say that misery loves company, you miserable man?"