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[url=https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TKD03uPVD-Q][color=d24dff][b]“[/b] [sub]Don’t wither, this is all for the selfish me. You have to stay just as you are right now.[/sub] [b]”[/b][/color][/url][/center]
[hr][hr][center][img]http://fontmeme.com/embed.php?text=Blue&name=Coffee%20House.ttf&size=100&style_color=bf00ff[/img][/center][hr][hr]
[i]This[/i], Blue thinks as ribbons of sunlight stream through the curtains, is the last time he lets anyone talk him into staying the night.

With no small amount of effort, he forces himself to pry his eyes open, dark irises searching the room for any signs of familiarity. There’s a fleeting moment of panic as he scans his surroundings, though it disappears just as quickly as it’d surfaced, and he almost slaps himself for his stupidity. Memories of the night before came flooding back in a haze-shrouded blur - the drinks, the drugs, the rough, calloused hand tangled in his hair… [i]No[/i], he decides with a grim resolution, bringing up a hand to rub at his sleep-crusted eyes. It wasn’t even noon yet; the crushing existential crisis could wait till [i]after[/i] he’d had something to eat. Dealing with emotions on an empty stomach was quite possibly his [i]least[/i] favourite thing to do.

Swallowing down the bile that’d threatened to climb up his throat, he slowly, delicately extricates himself from the tangle of bedsheets and limbs, pushing himself up to a sitting position. The bitter tang of stale beer still lingered on his tongue, features contorting into a grimace as his body screams for water. There’s an ice pick lodged in his frontal lobe - or at least that’s what it feels like - and he has to take a moment to bury his face in his hands, stifling a groan of complete and utter [i]misery[/i].

It was then that, out of the corner of his eye, he sees movement, the disturbance accompanied by a quiet yawn. But when his companion dropped right back into dreamland without another peep, Blue lets out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding, carding fingers through his hair in a half-hearted attempt at smoothing the greasy, black locks back into place.

[color=bf00ff]“Shit.”[/color] Swinging his feet over the side of the bed, Blue hisses when he stands up. There’s a terrible crick in his neck, like he’d just went on a dozen consecutive rides on the world’s fastest roller coaster, though he supposes it wasn’t all too far from the truth. Slowly, he begins making his way to the bathroom, bare feet padding across scratchy carpet, a yawn tumbling past his lips. Since he was already here, he might as well make the best of things, right? After all, it wasn’t often that he got to shower in a fancy hotel bathroom, and apart from the crumpled tens scattered haphazardly on the nightstand, it was the least he deserved for the shit he went through last night. Even without looking in the mirror, he knew that the fresh, purple bruises littering his skin would remain blindingly obvious for the rest of the week.

When Blue finally steps into the bathroom, locking the door behind him, the icy-cold floor tiles send a shiver up his spine. For a moment or two, he contemplates ignoring his reflection, but it isn’t long before curiosity wins out, the glass surface drawing him closer like a moth to a flame.

Blue wasn’t quite sure what he expected, though he can’t say he’s surprised, even if he barely recognises the face staring back at him. Absentmindedly, he draws a finger along his jawline, and then down the side of his neck, unflinching even when it brushes against a sore spot. Without the mask, he looks like someone else, [i]feels[/i] like someone else. He’s far too used to seeing the facade of a hissing, green cobra, that whenever he looks into a mirror, it’s like he’s inhabiting a body that isn’t his. Blue is quite sure that the person in the mirror is him, always has been - everything from his dark strands of hair, to the nails on the ends of his fingers and toes - but all the same, a seed of doubt manages plants itself in his brain. Which one is the real him? Is it the one with the face of a snake, hands stained with blood; or the one with the eyes sparkling with mischief, teeth bared in a crooked grin whenever he fills his pockets with ill-gotten money?

And then, he’s interrupted by a knock on the door.

[color=f0f8ff]“You in there? I need a piss.”[/color]

Blue just snorts, rolling his eyes, slapping himself lightly on the face to tether himself to reality. [color=bf00ff]“I’m just getting in the shower. I’ll be out in a minute.”[/color]

[color=f0f8ff]“Well, hurry up—”[/color]

In two long strides, he had made his way over to the door, and unlocked it with a [i]‘click’[/i]. Through the crack of the door, he sees the man standing outside, looking at him with an eyebrow raised. Blue, however, just arranges his lips into a crafty smirk, mirroring the man’s quizzical expression with a teasing facsimile.

[color=bf00ff]“You know, if you wanted to join me, all you had to do was ask.”[/color]

[hr]
An hour and a half later, Blue had raided the mini-fridge, cleaned himself up and began making his way to the Grotto, the deafening roar of his VFR Interceptor speeding his way through the streets. He’d contemplated heading back to his shitty apartment - because [i]goddamn[/i], was he exhausted - but on a day like this, the last thing he wanted was to stuff his face with stale Chinese takeout while watching The A-Team. That was no way to live, and coming from someone like him… you get the picture. He’s never exactly been the poster boy for a wholesome, healthy lifestyle. If anything, he was the antithesis of it, and he’s more than willing to bet on it.

As the sun beats down on him, wind blowing through his hair— wait, no. He’d already put his mask back on, when he’d stopped in a filthy alleyway two blocks from the hotel. So, what was the wind blowing through, again? Now that’s a question for the ages, though he eventually decides to turn his attention back to swerving out of the way of oncoming vehicles. Mostly because [i]‘not dying in a fiery car crash’[/i] remained rather high on his list of priorities.

And then, he spots a black Camaro, shimmering in the morning sun. Blue might’ve been mistaken, but he only knew of one person in town with a car like that.

Squeezing the throttle, he races to catch up with the car, swerving left and right to cut through traffic. As he gets closer and closer, the screeching of rubber against asphalt fills his ears, and for a moment or two, he almost swore he could smell something burning. Still, the Interceptor does its job, and within a minute, he was right up beside the Camaro, glancing into the driver side window.

It takes him maybe a second to confirm his suspicions. That feathery mess of a mask, those red-amber eyes - yup, it was them. No one else had a mask like that, and even if they did, they probably didn’t get it custom-made like Skav probably did. Blue is unable to suppress the laughter that bubbles up from his throat, even as he presses down on the horn to catch their attention, if they hadn’t already noticed him there. These masks [i]did[/i] have pretty terrible peripheral vision, after all.