[center] [img] http://img.roleplayerguild.com/prod/users/5f708e0f-14d8-4926-b903-300da360203b.jpg [/img] [h1] Cadian Shirai [/h1] [color=Gainsboro] I want you to know I am fine here without you, but I can’t bring myself to lie to you… [/color] [ ♕ ] [ ♕ ] [ ♕ ] [/center] [color=Gainsboro] [i]A little bit of light and clarity…[/i] The haze seemed to settle on Cadian’s mind, threatening to drown sense and reason in its depths. Cadian nodded his acquiescence to the suggestion with a simple fall of his head, as he picked up a sweating, half empty class of brown liquor, and touched it to his lips. The whiskey burns as it passes the lips, across a throat sore from use, to sit in a stomach empty and churning already from misuse. He rubbed his face with his hands as he turned to face the gentleman beside him, pulling a large bill from his pocket, folded in on itself till it was a quarter of it’s normal size, and placed it upon the bar’s top. The bold 100 sitting firm on the showing face. [color=Gray] “Whatever that’ll get me,” [/color] He spoke, and he exhaled a breath, turning to face the crowd now, lifting his glass from the bar, and using the palm of his left hand as a makeshift table, setting the glass into it, curling his fingers around the bottom. His brown eyes sweep over the crowd gathered to capacity within the club, the writhing, pulsating mass of people. To his eyes, they looked like a single living form, writhing as through lost amongst flames. Their movements chaotic, and yet somewhat predictable with some simple understanding of what makes them move. It was sin. A recital for the flames of hell that this life would lead them all to. A woman with fire red hair towards the outskirts of the club was virtually topless, six hands sweeping across her form, and her hands themselves too busy sweeping others forms to worry about defending herself. Then there is a crowd to the shadows, where almost Cadian could make out the violent thrusts and rhythms of sex. And he the architect of it all. The voice that spurred the violence, the author of the music that threw open the gates of possibility and preached sin. He stuffed the bag given to him by the other man into his pocket, an suddenly feeling less than social, downed the rest of his glass, muttered something about how late it was, and how he had things to do, before standing from his chair and turning to look back to Danny. His eyes were heavy, and the smell of the whiskey floated on his breath. [color=Gray] “You should come back stage sometime, let me introduce you to the guys. We’ll hang,” [/color] Cadian spoke, as he tucked his right hand into his coat pocket, the same pocket he had placed the bag of pills into, as though reassuring himself they were still there. He smiled, a somewhat disheveled, disjointed smile that didn’t quite seem to meet with the depth within his eyes, and he cleared his throat. In the background, the music drummed. The energy of the last song faded to another, this time slower, thought provoking, calming. The crowd seemed to take the change in tempo in stride, some breaking from the beast in the center of the room, returning to their tables, to their watered drinks, their waiting possessions. Others simply slowed their movements, lustful hands holding as needfilled bodies sway with the melody. Sometimes, they music was a catalyst, violent and angry, driving the sin… other times it was the device used to suffocate the need, capable of producing such feelings of guilt and remorse for what just occurred that the monsters dies away… the hands let go… the spirit weeps. Sometimes, Cadian didn’t even realize it was his own voice singing in the recording. [color=Gray] “We will be here again tomorrow,” [/color] He left the invitation hanging between them, as he sat his glass back upon the bar, and disappeared back into the crowd. Cadian’s black jacket and heavy set shoulders swallowed up by the slow moving beast, as though it were accepting one of its own home. [center] [ ♚ ] [ ♕ ] [ ♚ ] [/center] In the small hours of the morning, Mario jumped, and Cadian laughed. The wireless controller sat in his hands, white and simplistic, caught between fingers numbed by cold, unfeeling by medications. His glazed eyes look upon the screen, watchign the 8 bit animation as the goomba smashed, the turtle bounced…and Cadian laughed again. A cup of Ciroc sitting on the same dresser as the television, and Cadian, in nothing but plaid, inside out boxers, sitting on the foot of a large queen bed. On the nightstand beside the bed, an open bag of pills, and laying sprawled out under blankets that hugged around her hips, Yumi slept. Cadian paid her no attention, as he took another long drink of the liquor from his cup, laughing after his swallow as the animation for his death played, having forgotten to move in the process of drinking. [color=Gray] “Boing…” [/color] Cadian laughed, as he stood up, putting the controller on top of the dresser, paying it no mind as it fell to the floor. By the light of Super Mario Brothers, Cadian walked across the room, to stand on the side of the bed occupied by Yumi. Her bare skin drawing his eyes, and quite suddenly Cadian’s mind leapt with ideas. He laughed, though he wasn’t exactly sure why, unaware of what it was that he found so funny, but he slid the covers back over the sleeping Yumi, baring her body to his eyes. Inwardly he drew a deep breath, the sight of her having it’s intended effect on him, as he slipped his bare form onto the bed beside. [color=gray] “My God Kate, scoot over,” [/color] Cadian mumbled, putting a hand against her thigh, one under her at her hip, to help adjust her form, to giver himself space to completely lay on the bed where she had been. His mind was a fog of reality, the darkness pulsating with a life of its own, while in the background of his imagination, the theme of the Marios played. He laid himself down against her, forcing her now waking form onto it’s side, facing away from him, but tucked into him tightly. It took the warmth of her skin for him to realize just how cold he was, the warmth of her made him feel as though he’d never been warm in his life. He wanted to drink it in, to hold her tighter, press her deeper into him, as though he could meld with that warmth, as though he could claim it’s life his own. He pressed a kiss into her blonde hair, drew his arms tightly around her, and as their bodies joined together, the warmth of her skin paled to the warmth he found within. [color=Gray] “Kate, I’ve missed you,” [/color] He whispered into her ear, kissing against the back of it. He was drunk, and he was high. The light, the bliss. There was nothing beyond it, nothing that could compare to it. He heard the theme from the television, watched as his shadow moved against the woman who laid before him, felt himself climbing in need with each lack luster pass of their bodies. He felt his fingers grope for the warmth, laughed with memory of himself dying. He didn’t see the darkness that hung on everything in the Badlands. He didn’t smell the wet dirt of the street on the cold night air that streamed through the open windows of Yumi’s bedroom. He didn’t hear the rain that fell nosily outside, or hear the crashes of thunder rolling in the distance. He didn’t hear Yumi’s crying. [sub] Stanid – Schizophrenic Conversations [/sub] [/color]