[IC] [ ♕ ] - c o l l i d e. // smoke & gasoline.

[Rockette]

[ ♕ ]


^{oh, all these minutes passing, sick of feeling used. if you wanna break these walls down, you’re gonna get bruised.}

---

Have you seen the bridge that leads out from The Badlands; it's all done up in black, strung by wires and pillars, laden with asphalt cracked, broken and chipped. Vehicles come in, constant, but none ever leave, the exiting transition is barren, almost falling away into the river that, they say, leads out in the ocean beyond. The air is tinged with the faintest touches of salt, like tears of the woeful who look beyond the bridge, never able to cross, never able to leave. There's nothing, they say, but roads and fields yonder, trees in sparse gatherings, cliffs that edge their rocks higher and higher, looking down onto The Badlands; like sentinels on their perches, eyes of boulders and soil that have become frozen because they too cannot leave. The bridge is called the ways of the Hopeless; those that attempt to cross, but instead, pitch themselves over in the river below, falling, failing, and dying.

It always rains in The Badlands, and even with spires lit and streets glimmering in neons and pale luminescence, there were thickets of shadows, oppressing and teeming, spilling out onto the roads where mindless individuals edged. They sat within warmth and leather, and stared straight ahead, unseeing. The bus terminal was crowded, bodies compressed beneath the awning, awaiting transit in the dwindling hours of twilight and gloom. Refuge and gossip, words passing between lips that tasted of cherries and nicotine, tainted fruit and wasted dreams. A common night for the vagabond.

"I heard that Cassie tried crossing the Hopeless, she tried running away with Spencer."
"Oh my god, why with Spence though?"

No matter or reflection that the vagabond lovers were somewhere, lost, in the turns of the river. None ever make it across. They should've known better.

"Maybe they wanted to die." Smoke and smog in tendrils of white hazed between eyes of broken azure, feathered with lashes spiked and gilded in the rain and smudges of grey blotted and hosting each as her gaze penetrated through hazel and brown. Alexia. Her impression was a silhouette of waning health and hope, waterlogged tresses of rosewood, translucent skin burdened under the ebon threads of her jacket two sizes larger than what was befitting to her typical frame. Persistent narcotics and fed constant abuse saw her debut worn and almost haggard, despite all dressings and attempts for visual appeal in those raccoon framed eyes and chapped lips cradling the charcoal stick of her preferred smoke; clove and black.

"Yeah, maybe. . ."

The bus screeched into the terminal, the trains were abandoned at this hour and only one rail existed, a one way transportation that fled to the Northern section of The Badlands, where shadows weren't so dark and depravity lurked behind pallid smiles of bone and lies and the church was founded where memories and beginnings and ends dominated. Alexia boarded the bus, almost lazily and sluggish, her stature wavering as more clamoured on and fell into their seats with shuffling breath and attempts to gather warmth. The rain continued, never ceasing, and Alexia watched the lines of heaven sent tears against the stained glass of the transport, ignoring the man who sat next to her and immediately tuned out into the flickering lights and neon. She gazed to the alley ways where people stood betwixt, laughter bubbling between them as they clutched the insides of their elbows and awaited the sweeping euphoria. She envied them, just a bit, for their careless endeavors, to trust whoever proffered a simple promise and a contract of temporary release. But, Alexia had only one source, and his vice was terrible and demanding, costly degrees of loyalty and old worn connections that he tugged on daily.

The vibration of her cellular phone against her thighs pulled her envious musings to the side, the purposely low setting of the screen barely illuminating the text: instructions, a change in meetings, a new location.

Passion.

"I know Passion, it's part of the West district." Her seat companion muttered, eyes on her phone, a smile on his lips, no shame reflected there in his eavesdropping.

"Oh." Alexia murmured, immediately pulling an inhale through her nostrils and mouth, billows of smoke purposely released into his direction. A scowl briefly flickered over his lips, scrunching up brows and nose until he stood and crossed to another seat. Alexia responded accordingly to the aforementioned missive, lazily punching in her rejoinder with a swift sigh and dropping the device back to nestle on her thighs suddenly gone frigid. Last minutes changes unnerved her, caused her anxiety to propel into a hypersensitivity that drew her jacket tighter and her teeth to gnash against the butt of her addiction. Not that the Western district broke protocol and contract, but that establishments like Passion meant crowds and bodies, flesh and taint and music; eyes and mouths. Alexia would never deny her patron, she couldn't, even if she desired to deny the new location. She needed this, craved this, and after days of stagnation in her own loft of bare nothings and nicotine stained walls, she had to find it. Release and numbing whispers, promises and golden liquids in needles and pallid desires that would make her feel, if only for a moment, better. Whole.

The Western district was like any other of The Badlands, towers and warehouses, homes and businesses on every street and corner. She could already hear music down the boulevard, thrumming through concrete as the rain dragged her hair down, mussed it against her complexion until she drew her hood up and through the flicker of neon, she read the sign, glanced over the door and the line pouring out from the propped-open entrance. They all huddled together away from the rain, girls with wide eyes, broken glances they were. Alexia mused over their waif forms, no different than her own, and by passed the surge of bodies. It took a flash of skin, a peeking pull of her jacket to expose the body lined with gaping black, and a whispered name that saw her entry way that was followed by mutters of protest and inquiry.

The interior of Passion was like any other club she had frequented, but there was a fresh perspective aligned in the walls and placement of luxury, a new attempt to the universal aesthetics of such a place. Alexia shook out the water from her tresses, combed through them with trembling gestures and released the knotted plait she had woven that morning, but she did not release her jacket. She kept it draped over shoulders and arms despite the humidity of bodies and breath. She wore it like a barrier, a shield. . .

"Alex!" Over music and laughter, she pirouetted on the call of her moniker and watched, with a small quirk of her lips, as the lanky prince of The Badlands sauntered up to her, clothed in black, slashes through his blouse revealing marked skin of ink and bruises, and the tight fabric of his trousers allowing much the same view. Danny. Her arms laced around his torso, squeezing and he buried his Chesire smile into her damp hair.

"I didn't think you'd come. Place is amazing, 'innit?"
"It's not bad, never been here though."
"Well shit, good thing I got called here. Most of my customers prefer this place and the owner is," he whistled, jostling her body with a knife-sharp elbow into her ribs. "Totally my type, too bad you're the only girl for me, Alex." Her eyes rolled, lashes fluttering in her amusement until he tugged on her clothing, nails scraping against her sensitive flesh.

"Stop, I'm cold." Alexia muttered, drawing the jacket tighter and watching as Danny's lips dropped into a sullen pout. Petulant and exaggerated, all of it a ploy and a play. Danny was no better of a liar than she, she was just a tad more clever. "Don't make that face, it's unbecoming." She teased, eyes spanning over the crowd.

"Yeah well, you're the tease with that ragged thing." He plucked the fabric between his forefinger and thumb. "But, I promised someone I'd meet them in the back about an hour ago. Hang out, enjoy the music, there's a band coming on in a few." Danny began, fingers toying with the bottle-black dye of his hair next, already wandering away from her, leaving her to the crushing sea of bodies already festering within the foyer as the rain increased, pounding without mercy. Alexia ground her clove addiction out on an unsuspecting spine, the girl barely registering the charred circle worn into her clothing before the dance floor was braved, elbows and shoulders, hips swaying and bodies wed to one another. Some murmured about the band Danny had mentioned, murmuring of the players and the almost scandalous arrangement of the entire venue. Alexia shoved her way through, already worn and irritated by Danny's priorities. Her patience was frayed and bloodied, chipped and bruised, and yet he required her to wait. Maybe it was a game, an attempt to tease and test her boundaries of restraint. Her lips pulled tight in a simper of agony and desperation, her body immediately falling into the embrace of another that dipped her low, all hands and hot breath on her skin that only compounded her frustration.

At least there will be good music. . .

---

[ ♕ ]

[Kote]

Cadian Shirai

I want you to know I am fine here without you, but I can’t bring myself to lie to you…

[ ♕ ] [ ♕ ] [ ♕ ]

“I woke up thinking about her again,” Cadian spoke, his words intoned more of a confession than a simple statement. Before him the freeway opened up. Twelve till midnight, and the loop was empty of all but a few cars to each of its shining, rain-slicked lanes. It was night here in The Badlands, these days it always felt like it was night. He couldn’t remember the last time he actually saw the sun, as even in the morning, the orange glow on the horizon was dimmed and rendered insignificant by the heavy set clouds that held sway over the city. Trash lined the inner curve of the loop, brown paper bags from restaurants, and clam-shell burger boxes, empty cups and broken bottles spotting the sides of the road, glinting light back into his eyes from his headlights. For a city that is constantly being scrubbed with rain, Cadian could only note just how dirty it still was. Perhaps it would be better for him, healthier for him, if he would learn to see past it, like everyone else seems to. Moments of silence served the only response to his confession, but what else did Cadian expect. He was alone in the car, his phone turned off in his pocket, so who had he been expecting to offer a note of apology or concern over the statement? Surely, the last time he checked, he wasn’t sure of the existence of a God.

He counted exists, watched the other cars in his rearview, searching the darkness for flashing azure, while ahead his eyes bore through the droplets of rain running rivulets across his windshield to take in the only light that seemed left in his world. Bright neon lights shown in a myriad of colors: blues and reds glaring from what must be a thousand different sources, like a living impressionist’s canvas. Speed blurred them together as he passed, picking out a word here, a letter there, giving none of it much more than a moment’s thought, just enough to decode the information in his mind, to discard it was worthless. The practice was worthless, the city never changed, except where it grew, but the practice kept his mind occupied and away from thoughts of her. She was hard to get over, difficult to forget. She had been an escape from the bleakness of this place; she seemed to shine with her own light.

“I don’t want to think of it again,” Cadian spoke, as he depressed the gas pedal further towards the floor, the engine of the mustang revving in response, the needle rising quickly. Another three exits to go, and this damned solitude would be over, and he would have something else to occupy his mind. Krystopher would be waiting for him at the club with that obnoxious optimism that seemed so horribly out of place here in The Badlands. Sometimes he thought Krystopher didn’t know any better. Surely, his brother had to be aware of the hell they lived in. However, he somehow never seemed to let it phase him. Cadian was not sure whether that made him the stronger of the two, capable of still smiling after this reality took grace from his life, or the most naïve, holding on to an absurd belief that things would get better. It was why he hated his brother, made him want to shake him, scream and rage until he saw the bitter truth – it was why he loved him. Jealousy was the truth. Cadian wished he didn’t’ see it either.

He pulled into the drive, parked, and walked around back. The alleyway between Passion and an old bricked warehouse was lit by a single, naked bulb suspended in a fixture just above a metal door. The rest of the building was sleek, black metal, with no sense of décor or style, a stark contrast the building’s street face appearance. More trash lined the alleyway, broken bottles and crushed beer cans, splintered wood from old palettes, ripped clothes, old condoms, and an old tin trash can, vintage and remarkably stereotypical, rusted and shoved off into the darkness at the edge of the small circle of light cast by the bulb on the ground. Cadian stood in the center, drawing his keys free of his pocket, where he had placed the moments ago, and fumbled for the door’s key when it suddenly opened.

“There you are,” the voice rang, as Cadian took a quick step back, so not to be hit by the opening door. Krystopher Shirai, with his shaggy brown hair, a mop on thick strands that seemed to haphazardly spill across his head, closed the door behind him slowly, holding it so it didn’t latch and lock behind him. “I tried calling…”

The seriousness on Krystopher’s face was out of character. The heavy downward turn to hips surrounded by deep laugh lines, and the almost aged heaviness that holds sway in his normally ageless eyes brings Cadian’s mind into focus, drawing the next question out of him almost unbidden. “What happened?”

“Yumi’s upset. They say that Spencer went missing,”

“Missing how,” Cadian demanded, looking past his brother to the heavy metal door, as though he could see Yumi just on the other side. They had a past, him and Yumi, a twisted and complicated relationship that had been very intense, passionate, and finally settled down to a general inability to do without one another, though they neither one trusted the other to such a degree anymore as they had before. Too much happened. Too many harsh words, too many nights he couldn’t take back.

“They don’t know, but rumor is…”

“The bridge?”

Krystopher just nodded, and Cadian exhaled a breath, before putting a hand on his brother’s shoulder, and stepping past into the back of the club. Darkness as black as pitch engulfed him as Krystopher pulled the door to behind him, and in silence they walked. Cadian’s steps were measured, ten steps from the back door to the first office, where Yumi would no doubt be hiding herself… another set of ten would take him to Wither’s dressing room. Ten steps in and he paused, standing outside the thick, wooden door he knew to be hidden in the stark darkness, his hand blindly feeling for the cool metal of the knob. His heart beat in his throat He would offer her his concern. He could take her in his arms, comfort her, knowing that to do so would escalate things again. It was how their relationship endured, how the attraction that existed between them didn’t drive the mind to thoughts of a second chance…. There were no ‘maybe this times’, as long as they spent whatever time they could reasonably attribute to emotional turmoil in each other’s arms. Fulfilling a need in one another. He turned the knob, not thinking about Spencer. Not thinking about Yumi’s well being, but remembering just how painful it was to wake up this morning, alone. How much he didn’t want to do it again tomorrow.

“Yumi…” Cadian spoke, and he closed the door behind him.

[ ♕ ] [ ♕ ] [ ♕ ]

The stage was darkened as Cadian, Krystopher, Evan and Jorge stepped silently onto the stage. Cadian stood still, head bowed, his guitar strapped over his shoulder, the weight of it a comfort. Dreams danced before his eyes in the darkness… she was always beautiful when the music was in his mind, and the lights had yet to come up. In silent anticipation they waited for the song playing through the club to draw to an end, the final beats of it dying as the strobes suddenly cut off, the room as pitch black as the hallway backstage had been. Cadian drew a deep breath, in through his nose, feeling the beating of his heart roaring loud in his ears, his pulse racing, the music within clawing its way into his blood, to fight through veins as though trying to escape him.

“Tonight is all there is,” Cadian started, his voice ringing through the darkness, drawing the club to as near as silence as is possible. Eyes turned to face the stage, as from the darkness his voice comes. A whisper of words through the velvet of night, caressing the minds of those gathered. “Nothing else matters. The world outside has met it’s end ladies and gentlemen, and nothing remains. The angles of heaven have been released, death and destruction worked their heavenly charges… but these walls have protected you. There are no more jobs, no more bills, no more enemies to hate or friends to concern yourselves with. Light, darkness, religion, pain, happiness, and sorrow… the totality of human existence has been reduced to nothing more than what lies between these four walls. Forget it all. Forget the pain. Forget the torment. Forget the jealousy, the fear, the need, the hunger…. Feel the music.” He strummed a few notes on his guitar, the opening melody to a song whispering through the crowd. “Love yourselves for this night, love one another as if tonight is the last, because tomorrow…. Surely the world ends.”

_{Every Avenue - Between You and I}

[Rockette]

[ ♚ ]

a l e x i a f i t c h.

^{now my neck is open wide, begging for a fist around it. already choking on my pride, so there's no use crying about it.}

---

It had been days, no, months. No. Maybe it had been only some hours. But, Alexia couldn't configure how long it had been since she'd been swarmed by flesh and sweat, bodies and people that laughed, smiled, all swathed in a pungent aroma of lust and longing. The intricacies of socialism bled out in clumps of quivering blood and mass, when she had indulged just too much or was crumbling in the shattering void of withdrawals. It felt like an eternity since music and song had swindled favour over Alexia's heart and soul, and she blamed her recent excursions and lack of initiative when compared to her previous years. A younger time, a more golden sun, a more frantic plea, she mused silently as bass and chords thrummed through her being. The Badlands made women grow old, quickly, matured them from the cusp of babe hood and gave no warning or headlining view into what they would become. Alexia was despaired at her accosted innocence, but it wasn't like she had fought to to prevent it from happening either.

So, did that lay the blame at her feet?

She temporarily blamed the music for her misconstrued thoughts all strung out across a slab of tainted steel, she blamed Danny's priorities and his absence. She blamed the people against her, twisting and bending to the chords that possessed no lyrics but deep, vibrating strums from a guitar, droned out melodies that required one to appreciate the simplicity of the recording. Her jacket had fallen from her shoulders, a view of smooth flesh barren of cloth, the plunging neck of her blouse revealing series of chains, thin links of metal decorated with minuscule charms. Gathered in the crook of her elbows, Alexia allowed her barrier, her shield, to wane in favour of submitting to the wiles of the producer, the beat that pounded and summoned a series of slow dips, turns, and sensual performances of every patron on the floor. She could almost replace the crippling dependency with just musk and touch alone, go back to her former days of peddling her own flesh, but Alexia knew it would only be a temporary fix and one that was never guaranteed.

She didn't want to go back to that.

Too soon the music was interrupted, prompting shuffling feet and bodies as darkness descended, and there, in her breast, she felt the sudden breath of anxiety and fear. Alexia's hands fumbled, trembling in acute terror, there was no distinction of the people next to her, the club had gone and descended into pitch and gloom. They murmured in their silent wonder, some vocalizing confusion until a voice poured from the shadows, assumed from the stage really and caressed over her anxiety with velvet tongues and soothing invitations. Alexia had attended concerts before, gatherings, venues, had seen stars rise and fall, burned and snuffed out by the demanding contract The Badlands reaped on those who proffered song and talent. Everyone had gone silent and still, as if heading the beckon of this man who spoke not just to their presence, but reached downward and tugged on soul tendrils and heart strings. Her breath hitched somewhere in her throat, no longer fogged and pained by her crippling fear of darkness and the anxiety, but instead viced by the swift shudder that pooled from her breast and swept down to her thighs, calves, toes, and shimmered up the path of her spine.

He painted a world of wonder and freedom, and for a moment, she felt and saw that world.

As the song began though and carried on through the tantalizing melody, the connection was severed by the weight of arms curling and threading around her quaking middle. Alexia released a slow breath, lights slowly returning, rising in luminescence until the dull glows and amber settings gave brief impression of those that took up the stage. So this was the band Danny had mentioned.

"They call themselves Wither, fitting, yeah? Perfect for The Badlands."
"I couldn't imagine a better name," she breathed, her rejoinder laced with breathless wonder.

Danny nestled his chin into the crook of her shoulder and beck, his breath fanning against the waterlogged rosewood of her tresses and nuzzled pieces away, that he could, to find the shell of her ear pierced thrice and tinged pink.

"You like them? They play here, their only venue I think. I could introduce you one night." His arms cinched tighter, a brief glimpse to the glamour Danny shelled, the possession, the nurturing touches he gave to ensure that she would never leave. Alexia's chest heaved with her inhales, the exhales sputtering out in fascination when she glanced over the vocalist strumming away easily, comfortably, swift gesticulations over every chord and string summoning a similar ping inside her. She had never been enamoured or enthralled by simple appearances before, or even the swindles and touches of song, but there was a deeply seeded sadness and wonder in his music. She couldn't deny the tug and pull, the peculiar sensation that bid her to thrust her way closer to the stage where fans and admirers too had gathered in their awe.

"No..." Alexia finally answered, leaning back against him, sharp shoulder blade digging into his chest. "That's okay." It was unsettling and exhilarating to be so effected by one man, or rather the entire symphony, and the confusion lacing tight over her rapidly thrumming heart turned, quickly, into a ominous poison of dread. She could feel the Cheshire grin of Danny's blooming within her hair, nestled against her ear where his chuckle breathed and he spun her around in his arms, his dark eyes were wide, eclipsed, obviously under the influence of his own wares and that slick smile splintering wide, so perverse and oh so cruel.

When the broken azure fled into those inky pits, Danny's mouth descended, prying her mouth apart, a slow slide of heat and tongue, his mouth a cavern of sin and a void of drink of smoke. When he brought his teeth onto the pout of her lip, the paper he had slid into her mouth was already dissolving, the liquid promise and honey of euphoria blotted onto the sheet, a potent dosage that would last her for hours. Alexia's gaze immediately hazed, her face beamed into a simper of endearing proportions before Danny slid the rest of the drugs into the pocket of her jacket. Her usual supply, pills, papers, vials of liquid wonder and dreams. She laughed and stood up to press a kiss to the edge of his mouth, the music pulsating and grinding through her before she turned back to the stage, eyes wide, glimmering depths of blue as she gazed at him, the man who sired unease and bewilderment within her deadened being and proffered a smile that she had not given Danny. It wasn't appreciation, it wasn't a thankful grin towards any gift or drug, but a small wealth of connection, it spoke of mystery, wonder, and was tinged in small touches of excitement.

And then she was turning, giving nothing but her back and nearly sprinting out from the darkness of Passion.

"Alex - hey, what the fuck?" Danny called after her, snagging a few pieces of her hair, something that went completely unheeded by her euphoric stupor.
"I gotta get out of here. Things to do, people to see!" She waved, a chaotic mess of fingers and hair before the rain and darkness suddenly swallowed Alexia Fitch whole.

[ ♚ ] [ ♚ ] [ ♚ ]

Later, she would never be able to fathom why she had retreated like she had, why the walls and bodies of the club had become suffocating and terrifying. Maybe it was the lingering effects of having not indulged in so long, they void of nothingness that had been settling inside her heart, she could not accurately say or pin point that reason but that speculation remained with her for the rest of the night. She wondered aimlessly in the Rain, her home across town, her mind somewhere with the stars where a voice spoke to her, painting a world of freedom and wonder, of love and promise, to feel the music he sang.

"Tomorrow... Surely the world ends." She repeated, her tongue rolling over the syllables of each, tasting and feeling the velvet of his voice pouring over herself until she was left flushed despite the chill of the rain against her skin. If that was the case, then how would she live her last night alive, if she had no other choice to spend it within these Badlands. Passion would've been a wonderful end, with all those strangers, with Danny's arms around her, with that man's voice touching her being in ways that had nothing to do with the psychical. However, she couldn't exactly run back, leap into the fray and sway her body in content to his songs, and if she were entirely honest - she thought, leaping into puddles of rain water, letting it splash against her thighs - she was a bit fearful of his sway and pull over her. If he had stepped down from that stage, the plane of difference, and sought her out, Alexia wasn't sure what she would have done. Leap to him, bound against him like a sycophantic fan desperately clutching against his clothing, attempting to rut against his flesh beneath. Or would she have begged him for more songs and music from his guitar, to not only touch her, but sing to her and let his voice and the notes sweep against her very soul...

Alexia kicked and stomped her way through more puddles, drenching her clothes, letting the rain soak and numb her as the golden liquid from before continued to spin and drum her heart into a frantic overdrive. Claps and circulations of thunder rumbled, bidding her azure gaze heavenward where the pinnacle of her memory was illustrated in the greatest, most manipulative spire of this city, the Church. She had mindlessly wondered her way up North, perhaps on old habit, old whims and careless dalliances... The storm, the eternal wreck of nature, picked up in a frenzy, whipping her clothes against her frame, wracking her bones in a chill before she approached those doors, one small entryway propped open, the depths of the Church dark... Depressing.

Turn back.

"Alexia?" A deep voice uttered, drawing her in further, closing the door behind her as thunder protested against the Church's brick exterior. "I never thought you'd return to the Church." St. Patrick loomed over her, typically dressed, all black, proper, combed appearance and eyes of tumultuous green framed in glasses of black and reflective contacts. Alexia shuddered, rain water pooled at her feet, the carpet bearing the water stain for many hours and days to come.

"I seek confession, Father." She breathed, leaning in close, her smile one of secrets as Patrick too smiled, his grin more akin to a vulpine manipulator, teeth and all and laden with lies. He gestured from the foyer, nudging her gently, coaxing her forward with hands poised on her shoulders, digging through the fabric of her jacket and leaving a burning grasp against her body quivering beneath. From the cold, or fear, she couldn't say. The confessional was a bedlam of fear and taint, a means of catharis, a potent seat of denial and renewal and darkness. The booth seemed even smaller as Patrick entered before her, seated, arms awaiting her eagerly, his fingers akin to claws of the Devil tempting her into Hell. Alexia stepped forward, dropping her jacket, fingers trembling against cloth and clasps, tears beading in her eyes against the sensation of being helpless.

"Come then, my child, tell me your sins."

That night, terrible, poisonous green was replaced with molten pools of earth, and blonde replaced with brown. That night Alexia embraced another Sinner, dreaming of a tomorrow that was painless and bathed in music.

---

[ ♚ ]

[Kote]

Cadian Shirai

I want you to know I am fine here without you, but I can’t bring myself to lie to you…

[ ♕ ] [ ♕ ] [ ♕ ]

The music was palpable. A living, breathing, fighting, crying entity that seemed to range the vast spectrum of emotion, drawing the crowd along for the ride. First anger began things. The fiery notes rang out to create a powerful emotion, to draw the crowd higher, to catch ears and attentions, to burn away the youthful energies of his crowd in order to make them malleable for further molding. The guitar strummed, the drums hit hard and fast, and Cadian’s heart pound nearly as fast and hard as the crowd. Their hands up in the air, their eyes looking up at him, watching as they jumped. Thouse who knew Wither, knew what Cadian was about, lifted themselves higher than the rest, giving to his manipulations, understanding that the greater the elevation, the higher the elation when the descent came. The music raged against the oppression of The Badlands, raged against the unfairness of it all, the cold hearted nature of the world beyond the walls, the world that died away with the falling of the skies, and the dying of the sun.

Cadian noticed little while he strove to raise his crowd and create the fire in which he would set them to burn. His fingers moved quickly on the neck and strings, flying with ungodly, inhuman speed, the music flowing from his fingers as though without thought, for surely there was no time for the mind to relay instructions, the fingers did it all, from memory. By the end of the first song, his forehead already beads with sweat, his chest already heaves, as he rolls the first song directly into the second. A slower melody, but just marginally so. Lyrics flashed through his mind, driving out all else, as his eyes lifted from the first time from his fingers, to scan over the crowd before him. Heads struck violently into nothing, as bodies struggled to contain their energy, his energy, to the small space between the ones surrounding them. Bodies clashed together, the heat of their energies, the power of his music driving their bodies into chaotic dances of lust, power and strength. He griped them, with words drove them onward, spicing his music with their sweat, their roars of empowerment and strength. They climbed, and Cadian’s fingers suddenly stopped.

Silence hung as he eyed the crowd, sweeping his gaze from one individual to another. His fingers turned at thumbed screws at the top of his guitar, as his deep, earthen eyes met with the windows of countless souls. From one to another, he swept his gaze, watched as their chests heaved in response to his music, watched as fingers drummed impatiently against pant legs, as bodies high on the energy, the life and warmth of his sound, found it difficult to hold still, found the waiting unbearable. He heard voices call out, he ignored them. Passed his eyes again, and this time, it was his turn to catch a breath.

She stood there, jackets about her shoulders, charms glinting the bright light flashing in streams from the stage, reflecting glints through metallic flecks in her eyes. Katja used to stare at him in the same way. His fingers began to strum again. Already, within the first few notes, it was obvious that melody and art would mark this set more than raw energy and power. The notes danced on different threads than before, slower, calmer threads, that seemed to smother out the flames of the first set. But the crowd fell into it. Their energies spent, given to the music, their hearts opened, their souls bared without the protective flames to ward off his spell.

She had been his first victim. All those years ago. Katja and Yumi sat before his vision, the garage of his home surrounding him suddenly, as the music spills out into Passion. The loud echoes of his violent guitar rift fade into the stillness and melody of the same song he plays now. The guitar floats alone, the remainders of the band silent and still. The melody was haunting… "It’s like it withers away the energy you gave us,” Kate had told him so many years ago. Wither became a part of him that day.

Did she feel it too?, Cadian wondered, as he searched her face for signs that she understood what was going on with her. This was life. This testament to the nature of the world. Life was energy, and itw as withering. Waxign and waning, morning and night, young into old, death into life into death. Music was art. Poetry of sound, not words. He kept his eyes on her a moment more, taking them away before he thought he could start to feel them on her. In that moment, he had captured all he needed to recall her, to see her even as his eyes looked away to the man three bodies back on the left, or the woman swaying in the back corner, mostly out of her clothes. Had he spent even a few minutes more building up their energies, their passions, hers would have overwhelmed her, or the other woman she had been with, whomever was responsible for leaving her now swaying in a white lace bra.

Then Evan stepped forward, standing beside Cadian. All eyes had been on Wither’s front man, that Evan had been allowed to pass between the curtains, to put down the rhythm guitar, in exchange for the violin he played. Their exchange had been flawless. From hard, thrashing rock, to a ballad of softness and humility. The piano played, hidden by it’s black lacquered finish in the corner, now singing soft notes underneath Kry’s fingertips. The melodies melded together, coalesced as though three different dreams, from three different dreamers, merged into one thought, one perfect form of reality. Cadian’s eyes watched as the haunting melodies ripped open souls, drew out the pains and agonies from within. Cadian watched as the energy that had once burned so brilliantly, like hell’s flame, simmered and died to a low glow of cooling coals.

“And when your fears subside, and shadows still remain,” Cadian whispered, returning his eyes back to Alexia in time to see her head turned, her mouth kissed. It was like a cymbal crashed over him. The veil of the world he created by his music tore itself, as loneliness and remembrance came rushing back to him. Once he had kissed Yumi so… remembrance brought his eyes up, away from Alexia, to gaze towards the shadows of the bar, to that dark shadow where Kate used to stand. “I know that you can love me, where there’s no one left to blame. So nevermind the darkness, we still can find our way, because nothing lasts forever…” he drew silent, letting the last verse hang, letting the hearts and minds of those who knew the song whisper it to their souls, while he undid the guitar strap from around his shoulders, and laid the instrument down on the stage floor, and he sank down beside it.

The room went to pitch again, as Cadian closed his eyes, laid himself back against the hard wood of the stage, and let himself fall into the darkness.

[ ♚ ] [ ♚ ] [ ♚ ]

An hour after Wither left the stage, Cadian finally steps into the club’s common area again, from the door leading to the back stage areas, and offices. His earthen eyes cascade over the crowd, nodding to faces bearing eyes that meet with his. The desperation in which he left the club’s patrons has faded with some carefully selected remedies from the club’s producer. Though the emotions were forgotten, Cadian’s face was not. Everyone he came across gave him a knowing smirk. Women in the crowd approached, asking if he had plans for the rest of the night, for a dance, a signature on the slope of a breast, or the bare slope of their stomachs. Nameless faces came before him, pressing slender bodies against his. Hands pressed against him as he passed through the crowd with polite insistence, to break through the mass of bodies with as much of himself intact as was possible.

His jacket of black leather hung about his shoulders as he came to a stop in the crowd, ignoring the newest face to approach, looking the bodies over for one familiar. From the stage, Cadian had seen her here, around these parts, with a man Cadian believed was known as Danny. Of the women, he knew nothing, but rumor has it that this man, this Danny, was one who could acquire most anything you have a mind to have acquired. A talented and resourceful fellow of some renown in various different circles, thus an introduction that Cadian was also eager to make. But the woman was something of a haunting presence these last few hours, since having spied her from the stage. Try as he had done, her imagine wouldn’t leave his mind. Something about the way she looked up at him, something he thought he saw in her… he wanted to ask her what it was. Nobody’s ever looked at him like that. There was the typical awe that occurred when someone heard him play for the first time, but something else aside. Something this place has been so desperately devoid of these last few years: light.

His world was rain and darkness, sin and violence. Light was rare and precious.

Finally his eyes pass over the back of the man, and Cadian’s feet again start moving, pushing him through the throng of people crammed into the club. The night was young, and Cadian between sets, but he knew soon the heaviness of his thoughts would return. Soon this light he had found would fade, as it must, as the same thoughts that drove him from his dreams would return, the loneliness would return. Plans tonight would put him in Yumi’s bed, comforted by her slender arms. He would use her knowing that she used him in return, for mutual escape from the loneliness of their existence. This man offered another form of escape. Something that can make the days as livable as the nights. Kill the thoughts. Kill the need.

I’m tired of dreaming of her he told himself, as though having to justify his intentions to himself. I wish I’d never gotten involved. I should have run. Fled. I should have told her I had nothing to do with it.

Cadian caught up with Danny, coming to the man from the back, and as though they’ve known one another for decades, boldly Cadian put his hand upon the other man’s shoulder, clasping him firmly. When Danny didn’t stiffen under his grip, Cadian leaned forward, speaking quietly to the man of many talents. A whisper of hot breath onto his ear, letting the loud music of the club drown out his words to all but this man. We should talk, when you have a chance.”

He came to rest at the bar, set himself down on a stool before Yumi, his back to the rest of the room.
_{Guns'n'Roses - November Rain}

[Rockette]

[ ♕ ]

d a n n y s t o n e m.

^{here we are. you're pins, i'm needles. . . lets play. . .}

---

Alexia would never know it, but when she left, when destinations called to her spirit, she always ran.

Danny sometimes believed she could fly, if she ran fast enough, if she pounded into the earth with all the might her body would allow, if her feet and falls could carry her yonder - out of his reach. He sometimes thinks she can cross the ways of the Hopeless, all she had to do was run, never look at back.

Leave him behind.

Danny would be the first to confess that he could not allow that to happen, what memoirs from his childhood that were not deluded in sheets of rain and grey terror were bright, broken blues of steelish sin, the sort that was crippled and worn but shone all the more beautiful in their woe. He still tasted her on his tongue, her mouth was of ash and sweetness, a taste he could not decipher no matter how often he had slipped within her. Her lips were chapped, she picked at them with her teeth, he could pick up the remains of clove and black on those teeth, and the drug had amplified all of that. His senses were in a whorl of want and need, his body thrumming alive in music, the rhythm of hunger and chords of promise that terribly fixated his heart in delusion. Sweat beaded on his neck, the slope of his jaw, made the ink crawling over his torso and body slick and alluring when he spun, grabbed a woman to his flank swaying in lace and skin and gnashed teeth and mouth onto hers and dragged her off into the darkest corners, hidden by black and walls and bodies, her laughter pitched, her cries ecstatic when Danny's bestial love making roared into a symphony of aggression. He didn't even bother with the luxuries and premise of being gentle or even coaxing, she was swept into the same euphoria as he was, and those eyes of drowned emeralds were blue instead, her black hair was shades lighter - rosewood. And when he grunted, sputtered out a name, and she clawed into his still clothed shoulders, he saw a swinging braid, a thin back draped in a jacket leaving him behind.

His leash was lax, often relaxed long enough to allow her freedom, to run a certain length until he would snap it back, let it grow taut in his hands, burning his flesh and he'd spin her back with pills, with promises all laden out in her fixation and want, the drugs he had to use to keep her near. Danny didn't love her, Danny didn't love anything. He was possessive man, he had a possessive nature, he was a dark Prince crowned in thorns, from neck to feet, laced thick into the deadened vines bedecked with ebony talons. He left the girl, adjusted his clothing and deposited a baggie full of promises at her quivering body and returned his attention back into the crowd continuing to sway, all lost, prisoners to the song and music. Danny's eyes of quaking black lifted then, spun into harsh clarity. He had attended Passion on various occasions, he had seen Wither play, he had seen that vocalist up there - strumming, belting his voice out, calling to them; to her - often dip into the office where he knew Yumi was always waiting. He had heard the rumours, but the only testimony provided was his happenstance speculation, and he could hardly blame the man! In The Badlands, you needed something - someone - to hold onto, to keep you tethered, wanted, needed. Alexia was that for him.

But.

He had seen the way she had looked at him, and never had an expression been graced to his perspective, never had he viewed those lips parted in mute wonder, her eyes akin to voids of emotional awe - as if she had been hearing music performed for the first time ever. There was light in those eyes, peering through the cracks, like dapples of moonlight through the clouds clogged with rain and storm. As if he had all the answers, and a part of Danny had feared she would have agreed to his offer to meet them. What would he have done if Alexia had gone to him?

He wasn't sure.

Danny blamed him tonight, the melody was ripping him apart, shredding the remains of his soul, permitting him to undergo these conceptions erupting and blooming across his mind with the provided clarity that threatened to propel him asunder; rent, spent, and raw. Haunting crescendos fled away into his being, forcing him into a mania, a frenzy of elation as customers approached him with shuddering limbs, palms thrust outwards, fists clenched around bills and more bills, some of them pocketed with coin. Danny's gestures were quick, efficient, all fronts and impressions of the business man despite the frantic glimmer in his eyes, the constant twitch in his shoulder, or the pout of his lip tucked beneath bone, gnawed on till freshly pink and skinned. This was all done on repetition and practice, Danny dealt daily, he proffered all he kept shoved and cramped in his pockets every hour of his woeful eternity and then some. He peddled dreams and promises in the shifting forms of powder, liquids, pills, he peddled his own flesh to those who found his body decorative and appealing. In the Northern District, creatures like Danny swathed in ink and dejected in looks and expressions were beautiful and horrifying, tempting with their frail souls.

His pockets were heavy with cash by the end of the set, and whilst he blamed the boys of Wither, he also cheered for their professionalism and assistance to his daily supply and demand. Danny had everything imaginable, there was nothing he didn't sell, he would sell his own soul if it was not already marred with a tattered price tag - slashed at a discount for all the wear and tear in his restless spirit. His smile widened at that, a terrifying simper befitting to the Cheshire nickname that very look carved into his reputation. Then a hand clapped over his shoulder, a pressure of familiarity given from the clasp of a would-be stranger. His skin prickled, shuddering beneath the hot breath against the shell of his ear, he was taller than this man, but his nature was defined not in height - in that, he could have been leagues taller than Danny.

"So, he needs my services, eh." He slung his arm over another woman, her face enraptured, but not by Danny's weight, but by the presence of another man as he departed from them.
"That's Cadian," she breathed, clutching her hands, as if in prayer, fingers over one another in her fumbling daze. Black leather, shaggy hair, molten eyes. Danny canted his head to one side, if not for his knowledge that he was frolicking around with Yumi, he would've played after him. Not my type, he thought with a chuckle, but his name carries weight, that could be used.
"Do all you girls look at him like that?" He asked, brow raised, his lip thrust out in a petulant pout. Her face flushed, coming to rest her fingers over her bow shaped mouth.
"Well, uhm. He's kind of like... A Rockstar."
"Yeah, all stars fall and fade you know. They don't last long, not in The Badlands."

He sauntered up to the bar at that, his stride unhurried, he had been sought out, a commonality, but slightly enhanced by the man who had come to him. "Cadian, you obviously know me." Danny began, selecting a stool next to him, his elbows resting back onto the bar, body facing towards the room swaying to a different tune, almost relaxed now that Cadian wasn't plucking them into a frenzy of lust. He craned his neck back enough, casting a look over at Yumi stationed behind the bar, his lash fluttering in a wink and a mock kiss before he slid his gaze to the right, black fringe obscuring little of his view. "So you know what I'm all about. But what would a Rockstar like you, want from a simple dealer like me, eh? Something to amplify your performance," his lips curled at that, almost a leer of teasing intentions. "Something to make you forget maybe." He leaned in closer, sliding across the bar.

"Or are you looking for a little bit of light and clarity in this horrible world. Something to make the dark... Not seem so dark anymore."

[ ♕ ] [ ♚ ] [ ♕ ]

a l e x i a f i t c h.

^{here we are. you want this? then come on...}

---

This kind of feels like drowning.

The church had been filled with the clashes of thunder and lightning both, furious, and then suffocated the cries of a woman swathed in pain, regret, and shame. No amount of pleading could see the storm elsewhere, and no amount of prayer or wishing would see the night to still and freeze, suspended in time. Alexia's lips parted around a swollen whimper, teeth impaling a crescent of bone into her shoulder that climbed up the slope of her neck beaded in sweat, her pants tumbling from her lips whilst hands tore at her skin - her soul quivering beneath a fracture shell. Her purchased goods were gnashed somewhere in her pocket, she wanted to reach into her jacket, take another, let the euphoria and numbing qualities to renew as the pain and violation became more profound and all the more real. Alexia's eyes widened, the dark walls of The Confessional pressing inward, warping into the faces of the angels and saints worshiped here, all mocking and their expressions sick and twisted, slick wood stained in her taint. She screamed, and a palm slapped over her swollen and bitten mouth silenced her cries, not that it would have done any good. The storm had increased in a terrifying tempo, crashing against the church, echoing across the halls and pews and snuffing out her denial and cries to make it stop.

Patrick was near relentless, his sounds were growls and snarls, harsh tones that resulted in bitten skin and a clawed spine. Alexia was just as physical, only her frantic marks were in her attempts to pry herself away from his lap. He clasped tighter, snarled within her ear to quit moving, and watched as she began to weep. Her tears only made him more desperate, her anguish fed him, sired the monster of sin his father tried to tame and kill for so many years. But, his early death saw his endeavors wasted, and Patrick was permitted to tend to his obsessions. He clamped his teeth over her shoulder once more, his body spent entirely and only then did he allow her depart. She fumbled backwards, falling, clothes tattered, her hands clutching for her jacket and bringing it flush against her marred skin as she panted, tears running and suddenly bolted from the Church. Patrick allowed her to run, he knew where she lived, it didn't matter. She was trapped in The Badlands, she was trapped in her own nightmare of flesh, his flesh. He laughed, a terrible sound of amusement until a timid voice spoke from outside The Confessional.

"Uhm, Father..." One of the many orphans housed within the Church, all mousy brown hair, wide eyes and terrible clothes. She was trembling, her eyes averted from his state of undress, hands tearing at themselves.
"Fetch me new robes girls, then you may seek confession as well."
"Yes, Father."

[ ♚ ] [ ♕ ] [ ♚ ]

That night saw Alexia collapsed in the street, weeping over and into her hands, the rain merciless as the cold sliced her down to the bone. She cried into the gutter, her loneliness and regret turning inward and impaling her heart, letting it bleed out onto the street with her screams that rivaled the thunder crashing over head.

"Don't touch my soul with your filthy hands!" She cried, her voice sputtering out in a careening wail of despair as she struggled to stand, her hands pulling tight on her jacket to shield her from the rain until she desperately dug into her pockets, procuring pills - totaled to three - and slammed them past her lips with little ceremony or care.

Make it go away.Makeitgoaway.MAKEITGOAWAY.

She ran further down the street, sprinting through rain puddles, her entire body soaked and heavy, weighing her down, and she didn't care. She didn't stop to breathe or think, she skid over corners, slid across sidewalks, shoved her way through alley ways where couples gathered and trash festered along side them. The pill were beginning their blessed spell, her quivering her body spent into nothing now, she was nothing, there was nothing. No pain, no shame, no regret. No rain.

The Eastern district was like all the rest, they all looked alike, she thought, ducking through a gap in the chain link fence and turned right down the adjacent alley. She lived in a loft around here, her floor reached by the stairwell with the ladder already pulled down for easy access. Her window, three stories high, suspended in the middle where a widow lived below and a couple lived above who committed adultery almost nightly on one another. It took a heaving effort to pull herself upwards, her pills numbing her fingers even until she came to her window, easily shunting it open with only a soft grunt to vocalize her frustration until she slammed it closed behind her, the pane shuddering. The storm had quieted, briefly, and was almost unnervingly quiet here in the walls of her place. A sanctuary of nicotine stained walls, every bit of this hers, her possessions, her home.

But, there was no time to admire the little things, the objects that spoke to Alexia, she shredded her clothing, allowing them to pool at the window, her energy suddenly crumbling, the secondary stages of her intakes for the night causing the edges of her vision to blacken and blur, shadows teasing the borders of her consciousness. There were scratches and claw marks carried over her backside, down her thighs, there were impressions of teeth on her shoulder, her breast, her neck, her hair was erratic and damp and her nail beds were bloody.

And yet, before her, she saw molten eyes and arms spread wide, he had followed her to her place of peace.

"How did you know?" She breathed, the hallucination refusing to answer, despite her desperate inquiry, her mind and heart vulnerable. She threw her jacket over her shoulders, stepping forward, almost there. . .

And Alexia collapsed onto her floor, naked, bruised and afraid.
And alone.

---

[ ♚ ]

[Kote]

Cadian Shirai

I want you to know I am fine here without you, but I can’t bring myself to lie to you…

[ ♕ ] [ ♕ ] [ ♕ ]

A little bit of light and clarity…

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.

“Whatever that’ll get me,” 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. “You should come back stage sometime, let me introduce you to the guys. We’ll hang,” 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.

“We will be here again tomorrow,” 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.

[ ♚ ] [ ♕ ] [ ♚ ]

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.

“Boing…” 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.

“My God Kate, scoot over,” 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. “Kate, I’ve missed you,” 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.

_{Stanid – Schizophrenic Conversations}

[Rockette]

[ ♕ ]

d a n n y s t o n e m.

^{mistook their nods for an approval. just ignore the smoke and smile}

---

Money was money - there was no unique formula to its design, purpose, or intended exchange.

So, why did Danny refuse to touch this. Unseeing black, un-witnessing gazes fled in his perspective, the entire transaction given on silences and held tongues, as if the whiskey tainted breath had been enough to finalize the induction of coin and drugs. Danny did not object, simply gave over the goods and allowed the folded bill to rest there in a mocking poise, the bold script of the currency suddenly searing his ebon oculi. He left as soon as he came, he left an impression of mystery, allure, and raw emotion that no man could dare taint or hope to snuff out, though his bar stool was vacated and left alone for any patron, there was none who approached and Danny was left in the ambiance of his very soul. The Rockstar, Cadian, the man who had stolen Alexia's eyes and robbed Yumi's heart, who sired lust and ruin and chaos. The remnants of his voice trickled into ears and hearts, pooled deep within those body writhing against one another.

Danny slapped his palm against the bar top, his slick, ink swaddled digits scrapping wood and waterlogged splinters, driving the crisp folds of the bill into his awaiting embrace. Yumi started, eyes tearing away from the shadows that welcomed Cadian home, fixating Danny with an eye of perplexity and caution. He was a spirit untamed and unmatched, unrivaled in his domain in similar bearings as her lover, there were Princes of different realms, of kingdoms housed on blackened spirits and wanton whims. One bedecked in thorns, the other wrought with shadows and darkness. The drug peddler of ebonette tresses and an equally soot-coloured heart ground bone down onto bone, gums aching, lips peeled back and the wrath of something in a maddened whorl inside his spirit and soul. He couldn't place the emotion or label the madness of it, his heart was wrought with some degree of insanity, and it was tied in dual threads of scarlet to both Alexia - his Alexia, he amends - and Cadian, the Rockstar who offered time and company. With a final glimpse towards Yumi, her figure already beginning to crawl away, seeking after him, her lover, her cruel torturer of hearts and warmth, Danny shoved away from the bar.

He felt the sharp corners impale into the soft flesh of his palm when he left Passion behind him, the rain both comforting, constant and terrifying in the sheer deluge. The streets were beginning to flood, trash gathered in the gutters, the storm drains alive with flush water and sounds pooling into the concrete mouths, gaped and built wide. Danny shrugged his coat on, every ridge of his bones gone cold and like steel, the heavy fabric of his clothing slick to his skin marked with ink and scars, nails and sometimes love bites. Tonight would be no different, his body was a canvas, his flesh bore evidence of time, ruin, and pain and he liked it that way. And the night was from over, with many of his customers lost to the wiles of his wares, Danny's hours had only just begun, his endeavors never ended, his time was never free and very little was afforded to luxury, not when his clientele were eagerly awaiting with baited claws and fangs, each demanding pounds of flesh and pounds of his soul.

Danny's eyes were blank when he felt the vibration of his mobile thrum and shudder and his grasp, his pocket aglow before he brought the device to his attention, barely registering the identification of his caller, and answered with a silk laced purr.

"Hello, love. . .."

[ ♕ ] [ ♚ ] [ ♕ ]

a l e x i a f i t c h.

^{vanishing like a cyan sunday. disappear. . . disappear.}

---

Morning came with retribution, and it came with vengeance and lack of mercy. The Badlands rose with foggy grey and feathering black, pooling and pulling from the dregs of stagnant rain and weathered trash, there was sunlight straining through smog and billowing clouds. All mornings came and went just as this, with silvery hues and faded golds, all surrounded in black and grey; monochromatic depression and woe. And even if the denizens of these terrible alley ways and dreaded shadows were lost, dead, or sopped in their pain, the days still came, the sun still struggled, and the city still held both chain and lock on their body; from crown to feet.

The previous hours saw a hysterical woman, tears staining her skin and bites woven across her shoulders and down her ribs, nails having dug into her hips and scoured down, and down.

And D O W N.

"Hah..." Alexia's chest rose, fell, her exhales sputtering from chapped lips, dried flesh coloured both red like rubies and bruised like violets. Her mind was a fog, much like the outside, The Badlands a reflection of everything, not just within her, but within everyone. Her blue eyes panned down, her body in a crumpled disarray, limbs strung about in impossible angles, cramped from such a prolonged position without any relief. She slowly unwound her arms from being curled against her spine, shoulders and joints severely knotted and thrust back, hips angled, legs twisted, each shift of muscle painfully executed with a groan of lapsed exhaustion. The descent of the high was always the worst, leaving your head with remnants of cotton and feathers and your mouth tasting like a withered out bonfire and tainted with ash. Her tongue felt heavy, thick and utterly useless against her gritted teeth, her quivering body struggling like a frail lamb at birth; knees rocking against one another, the bone almost brittle and her skin marred with discolouration. Alexia ran a swift diagnosis with her palms, mapping out every sliver of bite, cut, and blossom of a bruise, the geography of her figure obviously abused and marred by someone.

Her countenance paled further, the canter of recollection void from her dreary consciousness, for there was nothing to pin or mend, nothing to provide evidence to what exactly had occurred the night before. Alexia could only conjur theories of being mugged, the bruises and cuts clarifying her assault, but the crescent slivers of some bygone mouth was the most alarming, centred around her slender neck, shoulders and one perched at the slope of her breast. These were not just marks, but brands, possessive, cruel, deliberate in every impale and peel of her flesh to leave a weeping memory. Who ever left these impressions, wanted her to remember, wanted her to look in the mirror and feel their bite and desire in pain reflective memorial. Alexia desperately cinched her jacket tight on her body, attempting to cloak the blemishes, to sort through the void left within her memory, when suddenly she heard the rattle of her foyer door, the telltale jangle of keys and a sing song voice purring from beyond the dark wood.

"Oh Alex, wake up love! It's nearly past noon."
"Uhm, shit, Danny - hold on!" She cried, immediately retreating to the adjacent washroom, not that Danny had not seen her body before, but memory did serve an uncanny swell of rage from her past when former clientele had become too aggressive, leaving her battered and bruised and wadded up currency stuffed into her undergarments. She quickly turned the tabs of her shower, creating a ruckus of noise, throwing her jacket at her feet and vaulting under the pressure of the spray with bone chilling water making her yelp and squeak before the heat transferred over, working to relieve her tension from her sleeping prone and knotted on the floor.

"Uh, 'kay." Danny hollered, kicking her door closed to his boot heel and eyed the discarded clothing dotted in mud and filth, last night's wardrobe obviously ruined by the terrible state of care and lack of wash. Danny's smile faltered and entered the loft further, letting the contents of coffee and baked good thump onto the small dining table shoved near her open kitchenette that spilled into the living quarters and foyer. "Rough night?" He inquired, keeping his voice elevated to carry over the roar of the shower.

"Mmm, yeah, I guess. I don't really remember much honestly, not even sure how I got home." Her rejoining laughter was uneasy, wavering just so in pitch, probably unheeded by some, but Danny could hear it just the same.
"Your clothes are all over the place, but Daddy downstairs said he didn't see you come in. Crawl through the window again?"
"Probably did." A quick shift of her body, hair slick down her spine, suds pooling at her weary ankles. "Wouldn't be the first time." Alexia drawled.

"Well, you make Daddy worried and -"
"I wish you wouldn't call him that, it's kind of weird."
"He's a client Alex, gotta' do what the man wants." Danny teased, helping himself to lounge across her low, ebony furniture, the two-cushion love seat showing obvious signs of wear, but still loyally intact from all the sins it had endured.

"Gross." She snorted, her scoff echoing from the curtains until she tilted her face up into the spray, effectively ignoring any retort Danny would've lashed back at her. Not that she could contain any reservations about his choice of occupations, she was a client of his most preferred stock, but Alexia sometimes wondered why he remained in the game of cash and flesh when she had made the choice to retire from the debauchery, but, she lacked the courage to inquire to Danny's reasoning and intentions. Alexia slowly twisted the knobs into their appropriate settings, cutting off her water with a groaning echo vibrating beyond the wall, the sound carrying through the building just as it did for everyone. Used to the disruption, she snagged a towel around her middle, tucking one end into the other and snatched another to shuffle and pat through her tresses and hoped most of her wounds were covered.

Danny canted his head to one side, arms slung over the back of the couch, his stature akin to a feline in a perfect lounge and rest. Elongated, elegant, and very much the predator in every glean of his ebony eyes and tresses slicing into his perspective. Alexia shuddered under that gaze and carefully adverted the couch, all too aware of Danny's methods.

"Thanks for the coffee," she chirped. "Oh and food. Thank god, I'm starved."
"You sure you don't remember what happened last night?" Danny muttered, his whisper severe, his eyes equally penetrating and raking down her backside where heat and soap coiled and taunted him.
"I only remember leaving Passion." Alexia whispered, attempting to ignore the flash of weeping angels suddenly in her mind. "And then I woke up on my floor." She turned on her heel, leaning back against her table and nibbled on the fluffed edge of a scone. Danny hummed his consent, swiveling his gaze long ways, peering through his lashes before he hauled himself up, suddenly vaulting over the couch with a shout.

"Well then we should call it a damn good night, and I guess we need to hurry and get you dressed for this night! No need to worry about the past now!" Alexia's brow furrowed, glancing at the digital neon of her clock angled on her counter and pursed her lips against the sweetened quick bread before following after her suddenly exuberant drug dealer.
"Uh, tonight? Why?" She found Danny foraging through her wardrobe, tossing fabrics of ebony, sequin silvers, daring reds and cool blues falling into pools of varying fabric on her low-set mattress fixated on loading planks of wood.
"What? For Passion of course, Wither is playing again tonight, and seeing how you like their music..." Danny muttered, holding out a silver blouse, the thin straps and slivers of fabric sheer enough to be seen through. Alexia's expression was a colourful mixture, fixated between embarrassment and heat, wonder and desire bubbling within the pit of her stomach, sloshing low to almost make her knees buckle at the sweeping vocals and molten eyes peering into the depths of her being.

"I - I don't know, Danny. I'm kind of feeling.. Like shit."
"You look it too, but we'll take care of that." He hoisted a daring pair of ebonette shorts, the fabric cut short enough to leave a rather cheeky impression and paired them with fishnets hosing and her traditional boots, similar to his in design. Alexia clutched the clothing to her breast, twisting the threads through her bruised gestures.
"I don't want to go out, Danny. I don't have a reason, I got my shares and -"
"Then be my date for fuck's sake and quit bitching, I got invited backstage, I'll look like a twit by myself."
"I told you I don't want to meet -"
"I don't care, I just need you to be my arm candy for an hour and then you can run your ass back here and dope your ass away." He bit out, his growl sputtering through his lips, the narrow of his glare harsh and demanding, his commands unable to be thwarted by her stubborn refusal no matter how hard she tried. Alexia's eyes though burned, a terrible blue that was nothing comparable to her eternally broken gaze, the glower crossing through her expression impressive enough to make Danny shiver and smirk, his serpentine heart rising from the coil to challenge her sudden daring.

"Fine, I'll get fucking dressed and go with you, but one hour. Then I'm gone."

[ ♚ ] [ ♕ ] [ ♚ ]

Of course, an hour under Danny Stonem's valuation could be anything, a number of things, and definitely not the promised time. Alexia knotted her charms and thin chains betwixt her fingers, feeling exposed in the selective clothing Danny had persuaded her to don for that night. The rain had ceased, for barely a moment, long enough for them to seek refuge within the thrumming walls of Passion and she felt conscious of the swiveling eyes and gaping smiled. Alexia had dabbed and blotted cosmetics over her bruises, the scrapes typical of any vagabond in The Badlands, and unable to be ignored, but the rest had been a challenge for the sake of avoiding disputes with her - she shuddered - date for the night. Danny was a sight in his attire, slashed ebon, the sleeves gone this time, revealing the swirling ink up to his thin shoulders and attracting admiring glimpses where recognition bloomed. He left an impression to wherever he wondered, Alexia thought, crossing her bare arms and wishing for the security of her beloved jacket.

"Cool," Danny breathed, spreading his arms out wide, waving eagerly to some. "Looks like I'll make quite a killing tonight. The music makes them all like animals, you should've have seen them last night."
"I saw some of it," she whispered, glancing to the stage where shadows loomed, no evidence of the infamous band quite yet.
"Yeah but now you need to be apart of it, Alex." Danny chuckled, his breath close on her thrice-pierced ear, the shell red on her teeth, the bite of his voice purring closer when he planted his mouth on her neck. Fire and warmth pinged within her body, stirring a quiver and a sigh until Danny held out his palm, pills proffered, gleaming in promise and lies. Her fingers trembled, snatching up two, the rest left for his consumption as the music began, the vibrating tempo spearing Alexia down to her heart, the organ flagging behind, unable to keep up. She swallowed, he swallowed. They shared a kiss, her teeth on his lip, his hands in her hair before both swept out onto the dance floor, waiting and willing for the euphoria to come as another round of The Badlands nightmares begun.

---

[ ♚ ]

[Kote]

Cadian Shirai

To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield.…

[ ♕ ] [ ♕ ] [ ♕ ]

“Evan, what is going on?” Cadian asked as he crossed the room to the other man. An hour ago, Cadian arrived at Passion, in his normal nondescript grey hoodie with it’s hood drawn, and his dark sunglasses, so that he could enter the building without being known. Yumi had found him almost immediately, as he thought she might. He woke up this afternoon with nobody home, her bed empty. His memory of the night before a memory that proved more forgotten fog than recollected images and feelings. He knew something happened, but what it was, the details of it were lost to him. He wanted explanation, description, or at least to know what had happened, could be forgotten. At most, he hoped it would be without burden of his sin actually being laid upon him, as selfish as that was. And there was something else. Something like out of a dream, a haunting pair of eyes that belonged to a face unnamed. Yesterday, he had seen her in the crowd for the first time, but had been too focused on his music, but his mind noticed. It had stored her eyes in memory, so hauntingly beautiful that they came at him from the depths of his thoughts. As he dreamed, a strange lucid dream of Technicolor backgrounds melting into tie-dye pools of spiraled color, her eyes had belonged to several woman, as though searching for the body for which they belonged. He had spent the night searching, to awaken this afternoon haunted by those eyes. He expected to discover he had muttered in his sleep. He spected Yumi to know somehow, to be angry with him. But when he arrived at Passion, he didn’t walk into the situation he had anticipated.

“Evan’s in the back Cadian. He’s been here all morning. I don’t think he’s slept at all,” Yumi spoke, obvious worry lacing the dark brown of her eyes, as she whispered between the pair of them. Whatever lay between them, he could feel it, but something else was taking precedent. Something else, Yumi decided, was more important. It was that fact that stirred up the concern in Cadian, that made him look away from Yumi, to the back room that would lead to Wither’s dressing rooms, in the labyrinth of back corridors and crossings cables that was in club’s hidden sanctum. Cadian took a step past Yumi towards the room, stopped as she quickly grabbed hold of his hand.

“I don’t like the feel of this Cadian. He’s not ok. And…” She exhaled, signing as she let his arm go.

“It’s ok Yumi. I’ll go have a talk with him, find out what’s going on,” Cadian spoke, gently, but careful not to touch her. There was still a heaviness between them, something unspoken. He was sure any physical contact would be unwanted, and would only serve to complicate matters more when they finally rose to the surface.

“I just… I don’t know,” she exhaled again, and to Cadian’s surprise, put a arm against his shoulder. “I just don’t have a good feeling about tonight.”

And Cadian had found Evan as he was, sitting on the sofa in the staging room, his eyes staring into nothingness. Cadian had spoken to him several times since arriving, but so far the other man hadn’t said anything other than he was alright, and that he was just tired. Yet he didn’t move to sleep. Didn’t make to get up or go. He didn’t yawn, or stretch or do anything that spoke of any sort of weariness. He just stared into the space between the tip of his nose and the floor, watching something unseen before his eyes, as though he were wrestling with the reality of it. When Cadian finally spoke again, Evan’s eyes look up from the floor, the first time in nearly half an hour, and those green orbs startled Cadian. Evan looked as though he were about to burst into tears, as though the only thing holding him together was a thing shred of dignity that was dissolving under the strain of keeping himself composed.

“It’s my turn,” he spoke in a voice that was half matter of fact, half broken. The man’s face didn’t seem to register his emotions, as aside from his eyes, which looked they could flood the room with unshed tears, his face was drawn and blank. Even his gaze, as broken and pained as it was, seemed to hold a distance to it,.

“Your turn for what?” Cadian asked, but he turned his eyes away, not capable of holding Evan’s stare anymore. “For God’s sake Evan, you look like you’re seven again and we just told you about the boogey man.” Cadian remembered that, poor Evan wouldn’t sleep for nearly a month unless someone dosed him with Benadryl, or Whiskey. He would just blubber about the monster’s under his bed, and the man coming out of his closet. Perfectly alright for a child, even though at the time Cadian didn’t seem to think so, but for an adult. There are things in this world that could cause a man such, but Cadian dreaded to think of what they could be.

“The ceremony,” Evan spoke, his tone masking a dull sense of obviousness, as though Cadian shouldn’t of had to ask. “My parents were so excited when they found out. Mother beamed. I don’t think I’ve ever seen her so proud. Father’s already picking out his costume.” But there was terror in Evan’s voice.

“What ceremony? What are you talking about Evan,” Cadian spoke, his mind reeling with what the man was saying, trying to piece it together into one large, understandable story, but there were giant pieces missing. What is obvious to Cadian is that the man was terrified, if not half mad. Perhaps it was something he took, or something he drank. Absinthe or perhaps something new. The boys were always experimenting. “I’ll tell you what. I’m going to go get you a drink. Just wait here,” He spoke, though he didn’t really feel the need to suggest Evan not leave. He doubted the man would get up from that seat if the fire alarms were going off and the room filling with smoke. At least, not until someone came and bodily pulled him from it.

As he walked back into Passion’s common area, he pulled his cell phone from his pocket, mindless of the fact hat he’s not covered his head or face now. Quickly his fingers drag through the names of his contacts, searching for that of Evan’s brother, to see if he could at least find out what happened. The call went directly to voice mail, which Cadian quickly hung up on in disgust. The other was probably off somewhere in the same condition, suffering from the same affliction. He thought about calling an ambulance, but if the police were the first responders, instead of EMS, then Evan could be looking at some sort of legal trouble if he were on anything. He didn’t wish that kind of trouble on him. But he needed help, that was sure.

Cadian stepped through the crowd, pushing through as quickly and forcefully as he could manage, with as much urgency as he could muster. Several times he was stopped by someone trying to engage him in conversation, to tell him how much they liked his music, or were looking forward to his gig today. He caught several different names, from several different people, but he paid them no mind. Each time he was stopped, he simply muttered about being in a hurry, and a quick excuse for himself, and pushed on past. It took a few minutes to make it through the crowd to the bar.

“Have some water, and something to eat taken to the staging room,” Cadian told one of the workers, a young blonde headed woman named Tyra. "And don’t let anyone else back stage today. I’m going to go make an announcement here in a minute, after I find Yumi and talk with her.” Tyra only nodded her understanding before setting to do as she was asked. It wasn’t unusual for Wither’s frontman to make such requests, and if Cadian had succeeded in controlling himself, as he had attempted to do, hopefully she would be none the wiser that anything was out of the ordinary. He had planned, while pushing through the crowd, to simply get Evan home, let him sleep off whatever it was that had him so off kilter. He just had to get him out of there without anyone noticing.

Now where had Yumi ran off to.

[ ♕ ] [ ♕ ] [ ♕ ]

Then he was on stage, drawing his black leather jacket over his shoulders, standing before the microphone, alone. The music faded, the song slowly ending and the single spot light shone gently on Cadian. It’s effect wasn’t blinding, as it was when they performed, but a dim circle in the darkness announced his presence to all who hadn’t noticed him yet, and a murmur took to the crowd. This wasn’t the usual beginning of the show. Still some cheered, expecting something new and different, but still expecting entertained. Cadian put up a hand, let his eyes glance through the crowd of those faces who were gathered just off the stage, and he exhaled a breath.

“Everyone, everyone please,” Cadian spoke, and as he did his eyes came across that same haunting vision, minus the dim dullness that told him it was memory compared to reality. These were sharp, clear, and filled with something new, a curiosity, wonderment, he wasn’t sure what it was, so far was the distance between them, but they were the same eyes. He let his vision pan back, drawing in the woman who had so completely dominated his thoughts, pulling into focus the memory for the night, as though the sight of her was fire to the fog of forgetfulness that clouded the memory. Forgetfulness burned away, leaving it crystal clear. She had been there the night before. She was the one. He exhaled, found himself wishing that this was the night before. That Evan’s condition wasn’t pressing on the back of his mind, or demanding his attention even now. He wish he had a moment to drop into the crowd, at least to ask her her name..

“I’m sorry to say that we cannot perform today,” He spoke, but his eyes were fixed, no longer searching the crowd. “It would seem both my drummer and basist have eaten some bad thai food last night, and aren’t feeling much up to playing,” He spoke, trying to give any excuse that seemed plausible, and so completely out of his hands as this all was, without seeming to cause too much worry or invite too much suspicion. He had to remember his plan. To get Evan out of here, back home, without so much as whisper of what happened. But he kept staring at those eyes. “I hope you’ll stay, enjoy the music. I call a few favors in, and managed to convince American Dream to entertain you today,” He spoke, as from the darkness of the stage behind, a woman and her band stepped onto the stage, guitars and instruments strapped to their shoulders. American Dream, another of Passions exclusive bands, bloomed from the darkness around him. “But don’t like them too much. We will be back,” He spoke, laughing as he lowered the mic, allowing his eyes to swirl around the crowd once, before fixing again on Alexia.

“I hope you will too,” He said, low and to himself, but the microphone caught enough of it to softly float his words out as he passed it Seven, the band’s vocalist. He exited the stage to the sound of the band’s music revving up. For a moment he hung at the back of the stage, looking through the crowd as best he could, to try to find her again, but the angles were different, the elevation wasn’t the same this part of the stage as it was dead center of it. He couldn’t make her out of the crowd, so he turned away, and went back to Evan.

[Rockette]

a l e x i a f i t c h.

^{never really here. . . wasn't ever. like a thought brushing up against a sigh.}

---

Somewhere, within the gloom and haze, unbeknownst of the chaos stirring within the back stages, Alexia was contesting with her own disturbances.

Maybe it was the pills, maybe it was the music, maybe it was the ascending anticipation; the apprehensive initiative of seeing him again, the voice crawling over her skin and sliding in a slick path down her spine with a wicked tongue and molten stare. Her eyes kept glancing back to the stage, the shadows never parting, but the gloom seducing her every whim and thought, the reclining depths of the platform beckoning her to step yonder, answering to his call from the previous night. The lyrics were interchanging through her thoughts, languid and luxurious, as if he were repeating the very sonnet against the shell of her thrice pierced ear. The music now was only gradually registering, her body swaying, arms curled upwards, fingers sweeping into her tresses, raking them back with the sensation of Cadian murmuring song and smoke to her very soul.

But, every time she inclined towards the stage, arms were spinning her back, pinning her close, nails and arachnid gestures peeling through her euphoric quivers and anchoring her to the reality of the foyer. Danny brought her back, stole her from fantasy, and turned so that Alexia’s perspective was centred on the sensations and the corral of the crowd that pressed and jostled around them. A sharp elbow here, a shoulder nudge to follow, until Danny began forcing her down low, knees driving into her own and grinding against her calves until his grasp descended to her thighs and clamped onto her hips where she felt the strain of the muscles and bruises clamouring against one another in restless spite and reminder. Her winces were interpreted as breathless hisses of exhilaration, but to Danny’s laughter boiling over her shoulder, manic, if not terrifyingly demonic in intentions and hidden promises, they were spurts of excitement and enthrallment. He purred against her ear, and snarled his way across flesh bruised and smothered in cosmetics and Alexia spun away from him, betwixt strangers and slid between both men and women; boys and girls breathing in her anguish as they disturbed marks blossoming into violets and ebon-blue that struck with terrible soreness.

He doesn’t know, they don’t know. It’s okay, you’re cool. You’re okay. Need to get away.

The mantra slid through her consciousness whilst she wove her erratic path through the patrons and dancers, coming closer to the stage where salvation was advertised and the shadows beckoned. Danny was too much for her senses and something within the back of her mind was inclining higher, ascending into something she couldn’t comprehend, as if the haze of memory was gradually lifting and with it, came unwanted voices that fled just as quickly as they arrived, making her breath hitch and sputter. Where was the music? Where was the voice to temper and bring her back down? Wither was a name of erosion and wilting heart, the sort that perishes and fades, it chipped away... But, for Alexia she saw a waning hope that was given initially before dying away in some sort of blissful fate. The sort that she, shuddering within the shadows, hoped for.

“Alex!” Sharp fingers slid around her bicep, cinched tight and tugging her away from her station of momentary peace, eyes wide and staring deep into black pools of frightening desperation. She’d never seen such an expression crossing over his countenance before, the breadth of his stare was entirely swollen, and his face drew ever closer the longer she was withheld in that gaze.

“Don’t you dare run from me like that again!”
“You said I could leave in an hour, Danny, I know it has been longer than that!”
“Why are you so desperate to leave, I gave you free shit, you owe me.”
“I don’t owe you a fucking thing, Danny, that’s just pure bullshit.” Alexia snarled, wrenching free her arm, attempting to ignore the burning vice of the bruise throbbing there as her fingers clasped over it; her skin flush with heat. “I didn’t want to come here, I -”

But Danny was no longer listening, his eyes had fled upward, and suddenly she recognized the silence, the intense breadth of mute gloom that summoned both fear and elation within her breast. Alexia spun on her booted heel, gasping from the halo of spotlight cloaked over him. This close, she could feel the power of his voice, amplified by the microphone as it was, and it made her stumble both in a drugged, lucid state and the thrumming effect Cadian had on her. This close, it was eerily daunting and made her come undone, and if Danny’s arms had not come to embrace her, she would have fallen.

Fallen, falling. And she was rapidly descending...

“Danny...” He was already drawing her back, the crowd parting momentarily before swallowing them whole, but her eyes never left the stage and glow of the overhead glimmer, and she stumbled backward all the more as Danny rapidly dragged her away from that man; hissing his vehemence.

Then he was talking and she could swear those molten pools were on hers, reaping through the steelish azure, fixating her into place despite the swarm of people between them, murmurs of protest and confusion carried through, slipping past, but nothing registered because Alexia could swear... He was talking to her. Danny’s prescense seemed to vanish as she simply gazed at him, his words and concerns registering as her brow lowered, confusion taking front. No performance? She felt the yawning disappointment taking hold through her heart, but yonder was an eclipsing worry, a concern and a notion that Cadian was hiding something. The conviction was only cemented further by the invitation of another band, and Alexia refused to acknowledge then, because Wither was...

What were they?

She suddenly realizes that she knows nothing about him, about them. She didn’t know who his drummer and basist were, she had not known them until the previous night, and yet he undid her so well, so fluently, his effect so profound that it stole both breath, heart, and soul to the point of near desperation that almost felt dependent on his music and words. And then he was looking at her once again and he was speaking, and this time, it really was to her. Those words could not be mistaken, they were a whisper, a hopeful yearning and Alexia was left gazing, trying to sort him out through the band setting up and going through their checks, wanting to scream her inquiry aloud, if he really was looking at her, seeing her, speaking to her in every way. She wanted to know why his image was embossed perfectly within her memory, she wanted to know...

“Alex!” Danny’s voice tore through her stupor, her eyes flashing towards the grim slash of his mouth, angry and raging within silence where fear glimmered within those inky pits. “Fuck, I lost you there. You good?”

Cadian was already gone, but, she could almost still feel him there. And it was terrifying to her.

“Yeah, yeah. I’m good.” Alexia nodded, only able to confirm with jerky nods of her head that disturbed the chains and links around her throat that was accompanied by a disturbed ring of laughter that split off into a near hysteria. Of course, Danny would never recognize her fracturing sanity or her terror, his selfish qualms were overpowering enough to snuff out any recognition of darker emotes that came with his... Possessions.

“Sucks about Wither, huh, guess the guys need to watch -”

“Danny Stonem?!” What could only be described as bubbly lunacy coated in sugar and dripping within saccharine sweetness, sliced through the universal ambiance that often surrounded Danny and Alexia. From the adjacent gloom blossomed lace and frills, combined with blonde tresses piled high in twined dreads and frayed threads. Standing on near height with Alexia, with the former suddenly gazing with wide eyes and mute shock, and slender to the point of adolescent assumption was a figure from the past - one of forsaken spires and bells.

“Fucking hell, Baby Jinx.” Danny named, brow arched in speculation as he tallied her attire, from the chaos of her hair, to the platform of her shoes that made her taller than usual, inches towards his shoulder were he usually towered over both Alexia and many of his patrons. Her tastes had leaned towards a more fetish nature, the sort that attracted risque business and attention towards the Church when they were all forsaken orphans. “What’re you doing here? Passion only let’s in -”

“My birthday was like a month ago, I’m of a legal tenure now.” She quipped, lacing her mitts behind her back, swaying within her platform boots laced high over knee and caped by the lace of her skirts. “Saint Patricks put me up in a loft out in the Eastern ways - down the street from you guys actually, isn’t that super fun?!” Jinx laced her arms around Danny, squeezing him tight before her eyes of false baby blue fell onto Alexia, her smile suddenly carving into mocking cheer.

“Oh god, Ally, you look so good! Haven't changed a bit!” The Lolita youth hopped over, nose to nose, smile to smile and played her fingers through Alexia’s hair, all playful gestures and laughter. “A bit worn down though- and oh my gosh, is that a bite mark?!” The latter’s face paled, all colour draining from her visage, her eyes haunting and surrendered to an inner despair. She jerked back, tearing herself away from Jinx’s proximity and slapped her palm against the burning mark of her nightly shame, trembling from the possibility of being seen.

“The fuck you mean?” Danny lurched forward, grasping hold of her shadowing hand, yanking her fingers from the plank of her skin, eyes narrowing within the shadows in attempt to glimpse the potential offense. A hidden seed of rage began to crawl forth, the strength of his grasp causing Alexia to cry out and tear herself away from him once again.

“It’s nothing!” She screeched, shrinking within herself, her steelish eyes flashing towards Jinx gazing at her with pure elation, as if discovering a secret lain within and forcing it affront. “She’s just fucking seeing shit, you know how deranged she is.” Alexia hissed, drawing Danny’s frowning ire, his gaze briefly flickering to the swaying Lolita who began humming and twining a thread of gold around her gloved finger.

“Why are you here, really, Jinx.” He accused quietly and severely, the music from the stand in band picking up onto another number, their set blending into the backdrop of emotions raging high like torrents of a terrible maelstrom. “Passion isn’t even your type of place.” That remark was meant to impale into the blonde, causing a brief flicker of displeasure to crease her simper, only slight but enough to shatter the facade.

“Fuck you, Danny, I know you run these districts usually. I just heard that you guys come here.” Jinx supplied, dismissive. “Someone just wanted me to see how you were doing, ya’ know. That’s all.”

“Who?” Alexia inquired, voice trembling.

“That I can’t say, not that it really matters anyways.” Jinx uttered, eyes suddenly wild and flashing, as if trying to peer through the shadows for something unseen; or rather, someone. It had not gone unnoticed, by the slow cant of Danny’s eyes around them, automatically drawing in closer, the edge of his teeth grinding down into the pout of flesh of his lip. “Just... Here. Take this, okay?” She shoved a thick sheaf of paper into Danny’s pocket, ignoring the snarl of the dark prince as she managed to grasp a couple of his pills, immediately shoving around Alexia with a slicing giggle piercing her, disturbing the emotions Cadian had stirred within her, and causing her spirit and heart to whirl into a erratic terror.

“Bitch!” Danny screeched, spinning around in an attempt to claw after her, but Baby Jinx was already gone, leaving the dealer to fish out whatever she had replaced within his pocket for a mere high. The paper was of a thick make, the sort that came from stationary with elaborated edges and ink that curled and dipped into impressive penmanship.

“The fuck is this, an invite?” Danny’s brow lowered, confusion lacing tight in his voice and glare. Alexia inched closer, her palms scrubbing over her arms constantly, attempting to sire warmth within her flesh and bones that was robbed from both Cadian and Jinx and the discovery of her... Shame.

“Devin O’Shey... Do you know him?” She whispered.
“I’ve... Heard of the name. Up North.”
“This says it’s for Halloween Masquerade...”
“Weird shit. That’s with masks and all that?”
“Yeah...”
“Hmm, well I know the area... so what do you say Alex, wanna be my date again?”

Her face was of hopeless dejection, the sort broken, helpless, and utterly incapable of fighting her fate. And Danny only smiled.

[ ♚ ] [ ♕ ] [ ♚ ]

The entire Badlands had been informed of the upcoming Masquerade, the Northern districts preparing entirely for the dawning approach of dejected souls and lost vagabonds. And whilst characters fled for wardrobe and others muttered about the rumours of the O’Shey residence, Alexia Fitch had vanished. When the night of Passion had come and gone, the woman had fled once again, not even retreating to home where clothes, ruined and stained, had remained within a crumbled pile. Where a man of ebon threads and hair lounged back on a desolate loveseat, floor scattered in empty bags and bottles, walls punctures with angry fists and nights filled with terrifying rage and moans of bestial desire that ran rampart through the entire loft.

Days had gone by, and all with a wondering notion of where Alexia Fitch had gone. And, for some, it bade the question of whether she even lived.. Or existed.

---

[ ♚ ]
_{Slowly disappear. . .
No, no longer here.}

[Kote]

Cadian Shirai

To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield.…

[ ♕ ] [ ♕ ] [ ♕ ]

The Bridge: Outbound Lane

The asphalt was wet. Cadian always felt the asphalt was wet here. When the rain stopped, which was never for long, the oppressive cold would ensure the water ran slowly from the street. At least, that’s how it felt. And unlike the rest of the city, this patch of road rarely saw enough traffic to pad the street dry. People who drove this path only did so out of desperation. No one left The Badlands. Oh, from time to time, people tried, and every time it made the news and gossip circuits. Another body washed up on the bank of the river, another car having crashed just short of the city limits. A week ago it had been a friend, but already Cadian was forgetting. That was how things went here. If it wasn’t around, if it didn’t remain… it was forgotten.

So for a few hours, Cadian let the world fall into this phenomena. For the last hundred twenty minutes, he’s done nothing but lay on the asphalt, his car askew behind him, a warning to whomever may be foolish enough to travel this far down the outbound lanes of the bridge. A bottle of whiskey in his hands, ever diminishing, while the black leather bomber’s jacket he’s pillowed his head on has grown ever more comfortable. The Mustang behind him purrs as it idles, and the music in his head fills the night with a melancholy slowness perhaps enhanced by the missing two thirds of the fifth at his hip. His hands are outstretched to the clouds above, blending with the images dancing in his memory, as his thoughts roll before him in full detailed pictures – his own private movie.

Her eyes were haunting him. It was astonishing to him how something so innocuous as a glance into a sea of people could so destroy his sanity. If he had the ability to go back and warn himself, to distract his attention to the other side of the room, or simply whisper into his own mind, warning him of the intoxicating effect of the eyes staring at him dead center of the room, he would take it. They haunted him, to the point that he drove himself out here, and has spent the last few hours alone, staring up at the dark night’s sky, drinking himself to a point where the world seemed to spin in an all new direction to that which is typical, while attempting to both erase and further detail the image of her eyes in his mind. And to make it worse, after two full days of looking for her in the audience, he saw nothing. She was gone, without so much as a trace, leaving Cadian wondering if she had truly been there at all. He’s asked questions, but nobody seems to know anything. Over the past two nights, he’s been introduced to seven different ladies, all fitting some part of his description of his mystery, this obsession of his, but none were correct. None held the same dip to her lips, the same angst clear in her gaze, the same depth of soul, shape of face.

And his own lack of ability to put into words that which he can see so clearly in his mind. It was as infuriating as the absence of her. Turning phrases was his bread and butter, his livelihood. He was an artist, a writer of songs and melodies. Yet when he attempted to describe this woman… why did everyone seem to think we was describing the most plain, unoriginal girls cut from MTV’s cloth. They heard fake, when Cadian had attempted to describe a soul.

Another drink of the whiskey, to drown the frustration building, as he slammed his hands, palms first, down on the asphalt. He exhaled a disgusted moan, before sitting up. Maybe she didn’t exist. Maybe she was something he created. A side effect of too much medication, too much pain from the loss of Katja, confusion over Yumi, or the stress that he never seemed to rid himself of. It was all enough to drive his imagination into an overactive mode, seeing to distract with something truly interesting, in this world of grey scale colors and flat designs. There was no depth to any of it, not anymore. Not to his vision. Why would he expect anything different to be real?

A sobering thought. A possibility he didn’t want to allow into being, but reluctantly, acknowledgement loomed amongst the ethereal image of her face floating before his, as ghastly and perfect as the memories within his mind.

He tried to stand, almost stumbled back to knees a few times before he achieved the feat, and climbed back into the seat of his car. He placed the open bottle in the seat next to him, as he pulled his legs into the car, and closed the door with a loud squeal of dry, attention starved hinges. His head swam. His vision blurred and faded amongst the alcohol in his system. He could barely walk, could think of nothing but the woman, those eyes, those lips. He vaguely wondered about her name, thought for sure she had to have one, real or no. Thoughts had names. Dreams had names. The double D brunette chick who frequents his dreams even has a name… and this one, this one is no less deserving.

An hour later found him standing in the stream of his shower, the warm water fogging up the room, washing away sweat and bile as he kneels over the shower’s drain. His eyes are squeezed shut, his mind focused on the cramping pain in his gut, as another wave of nausea spills over him. The clear bile circling the drain serves only as a reminder that he hasn’t eaten, but serves not that he hit the bottle too hard. He laughed to himself, the sound a mix of self loathing and pain, as his mind drew forth the idea that he had, at least, managed to escape thoughts of his revenant. But even that thought was acknowledgement of the memory, even that was a form of thinking about her, of noticing her absence. It was maddening just how totally inescapable she was. A woman whose name he didn’t know.

“You alright,” the voice broke out of the silence, drawing attention to the shadowed form on the curtain, as Cadian looked up from the circling water of the drain, to the direction of the voice. His eyes immediately recognized the shape, as quickly as his mind told him the voice belonged to his brother. There was a touch of worry in the voice, but not as deep as it once had been. Kry had seen Cadian drunk before, knew the routine for when he over did it. Always he worried, but the regularity of the situation was taking from his brother’s concern. “Is it Kate?”

“No…” Cadian breathed the response, as he closed his eyes, lifting his face to the warm water, letting it wash away the sweat from his brow, letting his skin drink in the warmth. He felt cold, a deep chill far more than could be explained by the time spent lying in the street.

“Care to share,” Kry asked, his shadowed form moving to sit beside the shower. The bathroom was small, a toilet, a single sink, and the tub with a shower. It hadn’t taken long to flood the room with the hot, damp air the shower made, and Cadian had been in the water long enough to feel the draft created by the open door, as though he were one with the heat, and he could feel himself being drawn throughout the house. His perceptions skewed, the alcohol fogging his mind, running away with it.

“Not really,” he exhaled, pulling himself from his delusions. Centering himself took a great deal of will, as did standing up. The room swung wildly around him, shifting and rotating as though the world’s axis had been replaced by some carnie’s newest invention designed to make children laugh and adults sick up. He steadied himself with a hand to the shower wall.

“Well, while you were out, Devin called…”