intoxication, pregnacy and other things :: Anzie

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Aiden has been many people this night, and not one of them is him.

It is a little bit of a necessary precaution, partially to keep his identity (his secret identity, isn't that hilarious, like one of those superheroes in comics - except you're not a superhero, Aiden, are you? You're the kind of boy they'll throw in jail, then throw away the key.) safe from the law and partially to avoid anyone interested in stalking him. He worked it all out; how can one dog his footsteps if they don't know who he really is? And how can the peacekeepers find him when all known 'associates' divulge different names?

(He thinks he's a bit of a genius.)

At this very moment in time, his name is Dominic and he's a tailor. But the owner of the hands around his neck isn't interested in knowing all that, really. He's a little more intrigued by the way Aiden's eyes flicker and his skin blooms in color when the man flexes his muscles. And Aiden is more interested in wondering how long he'll be able to hold his breath before he has to breathe. "Like a game, it's a game for you. Is it just a game for you? Tell me. Tell me!"

How strange that the man before him is completely quiet, that the dimly lit bathroom is devoid of life but them (and the blurring, swirling pattern of fungus on the top corner - the Avoxes should take care of that, lazy creatures, he thinks snidely), yet he should hear the voices outside the door. But they're not really outside the door, are they? The voices fade in and out of his mind, beginning to be blocked out by the ringing in his ears, and-

"Hey! Let him go!"

And the man who knows him as Dominic releases him. Aiden falls, sputters and gasps for breath. The world swirls back from the blackness that was his vision, taking its own sweet time. He can hear angry voices and the protests of the man whose first words when he saw Aiden (with his bruises and his cuts) was along the lines of I want to strangle you (and Aiden agreed, but who needs to know).

It feels like hours later (though in reality it may have been mere seconds) when he's finally - finally! - capable of balancing. He pushes himself slowly to his feet, feels large hands supporting his slight frame and (slowly, slowly) realizes that there is a huge man next to him. A bouncer. Crap.

"Sir, are you alright?" Before Aiden can nod, can respond with an affirmative, the bouncer stops and eyes him, cautious. "Hang on, how old are-?"

Aiden flashes him the biggest smile he can, says sweetly, "Oops, look at the time, I've got to go!" He ducks under the big man's arm, ignoring calls of, "Sir! Sir!" Before the bouncer is even out the bathroom, he's stumbled through the back exit and into the dark (but pristine) alley.

He takes a moment to catch his breath, then silently congratulates himself on what he counts as a victory, in all honesty. (He made it out unscathed - or as scathed as he desired to be that night - and his youth has attracted the attention of only one security person. It's a victory, all right.)

Aiden pulls his collar up to hide the bruises from passing glances (not that anyone would say anything, really, who's cared? No one) and sets off for home. After all, there isn't much else he wanted to do that night (though he's crossing strangulation off the list of any such encounters, but that can be done at home).

The rapidly gaining footsteps behind alert him to the presence of that damned bouncer. Aiden only has a moment to think, Shoot. I hate people with a moral conscience, before he's off and running himself. The footsteps behind him fade; he's not too fast, so the bouncer probably gave up in frustration, but he shouldn't be too sure.

Somewhere in front of him a woman meanders in a drunken fashion. Good, maybe she'll be able to throw them off scent, if he still plans on following me. In desperation he'll never admit to, without care for his bruised throat, he calls for her: "Ma'am! Wait up!

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"Who does he think he is?"
If that's the worst you got
Better put your fingers back to the keys
One night and one more time
Thanks for the memories

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ooc | let me know if there's anything you want me to change or edit Also, half my post is like, bracketed. >_>

ooc | I keep giggling every time I read the first part of your post xD Also I don't think I did this post very well, sorry if there are errors and all

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The adrenaline buzzing through Aiden's veins is like a drug, and not one he can bottle. He delights in the thrill that spreads down his back, in the endorphins that, if it were possible, he would breathe in like air.

But the adrenaline lasts only a little while, and his legs are starting to get oh-so tired. Aiden forces himself to keep going, because what if the woman leaves if he slows, or if she goes before he gets there? That would completely destroy the vague plan he has not yet constructed. Aiden would much prefer having the choice of using her or not using her. Although he doesn't really see how he can use a woman.

The woman not too far in front of him - kind of obviously drunk, and strangely lacking shoes (didn't he hear some kind of screaming earlier? I wonder what that was all about.) - has stopped. Silently grateful, he slows to a jog, out of breath, his face probably an unflattering shade of red. Running is the absolute worst. And red looks horrible on me, he thinks fussily, reaching up to try and fix his hair, at the very least. Always leave a good impression on anyone and everyone.

(Though how much of a good impression he can leave on that utterly gorgeous woman - where the heck did that come from? - remains to be seen.)

He stops in front of her and takes a deep breath to say hello, to maybe - shyly - ask her if, please, would she take him home for a night? He only needs a place to stay for a little while. And he'll be gone in the morning. Aiden is fully prepared to bat his lashes and attempt to charm the woman into cooing over him and being all, "Of course I'll let you sleep on my bed!" That is the best plan he can figure out in such a short time - the few second jog between where he was and where he is - and he thinks it's workable. He can re-test how good his 'help me, I'm lost, I'm also pulling at your motherly instincts, help me' act really is. It's a win-win situation. For him, anyway.

To his extreme misfortune, the lady gets there first - though he supposes it's only right, ladies first after all, isn't it? (He isn't sure at first what she was doing, she seemed to get closer and closer and then-) She presses a brief, hard kiss to his lips, and it is all Aiden can do to not fall into her arms and let her have her way - whatever way it may be - with him.

Aiden sways and stares at her dumbly. That didn't go as planned. Not that he minds, not in the state that one kiss left him in. He feels as though he's floating: he's maybe a little dizzy and his body feels so light. So there's a chance that he is really floating off. (He hopes the lady isn't so drunk that she can catch hold of his leg when he floats away. He thinks maybe being her personal balloon won't be so bad).

Thankfully, Aiden's out-of-body experience ends not too long after. The lady's mouth is moving. Oh crap. She's talking to me, isn't she? “Now, what have we got ‘ere?”

He has the strange feeling that she's looking him over like a predator would a prey (or maybe like a buyer would an outfit), and he feels strangely flattered by her attention. He tries his best to suppress his smile. “You look a bit too young to be walking around on the streets this late at night, you’ve got to be ten or something."

That snaps him back to himself fully (and it's really only then he realizes that he was so off-kilter that he didn't even notice), and Aiden glares at her, crossing his arms (like a ten-year-old child). "I am not!" he snaps, insulted. "I'm fifteen. Fif. Teen. I'm not ten." He pauses. "Do I really look ten?" he mumbles to himself, abruptly anxious. Oh no, I need a mirror, I do look ten, don't I? No no no, that's horrible!

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"Do you have a mirror I can borrow?"
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"Who does he think he is?"
If that's the worst you got
Better put your fingers back to the keys
One night and one more time
Thanks for the memories

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Aiden is not ten years old. (He is a brat though.) He certainly does not act like he's ten years old, and he's seen and done more than any ten year old he knows (he's seen and done more than any kid his age, too... that counts for something, doesn't it?

[/i]). He has evidence to prove that he's not ten years old, even. Just like his teachers always ask him to, he can prove he's not ten, and does not look or act like he's ten.

Just because you let older people sleep with you doesn't mean you're mentally fifteen, a traitorous part of himself sniggers, and he really, really wants to tear his hair out. I am not ten years old! he wants to scream to the world (only he's afraid that someone else will hear him).

Okay, Aiden. Calm down. This lady doesn't know what she's talking about. She's drunk. Remember? That's why you picked her. Aiden tries to calm himself. He takes several deep breaths, and a few more for good measure. No one has ever gotten under his skin so easily since... since father. Shut up Aiden, father's a nice man, he raised you. It's not a good feeling to have them under his skin (Father hates you now, too, and in desperation he wonders how they fit, there's no space under his skin).

Certainly, there have been people who tried to knock him off the imagined pedestal (the one they thought he's on, but he really isn't) with words - the headmaster at his school, some of his more irritable teachers, a few kids and some of the clients to name a few - and they usually fail.

But the pretty lady before him does it with such ease. He almost shudders as he stares at her amused expression (and doesn't, doesn't think about how she may just be able to tear him to pieces).

Aiden decides then and there that he doesn't like people getting under his skin, and he wishes he never chose to call after this lady.

“Now, when you look into the mirror, don’t be surprised, you aren’t that bad looking for a ten year old.”

Especially since she keeps telling him that he looks ten.

Of all the ages, it has to be ten. He can't help the hurt and anxious expression on his face as he reaches for the mirror. What if... what if his clients are only going with him because they like young kids? He wouldn't put it past the Capitolites to do just that. Everyone has a strange taste here. But if he's ten it means when he grows older they won't want him around anymore. Just like everyone else in your life,[/i] breathes his traitor of a mind.

(He doesn't want them to abandon him.)

”Hey, if give this too you, this mirror, you better give it back or your life won’t be very exciting, okay?”

His hand is still outstretched, as though Aiden is about to take the mirror that is no longer where it was. The lady is hanging onto it, her tone to his ears stern. He blinks at her, at a loss.

"Uh, sure." He pauses. "Is it special?" he asks tentatively, unsure if he wants to take it now. It'll be really bad if I broke it by accident.[/justify][/color][/blockquote][/blockquote]

"Who does he think he is?"
If that's the worst you got
Better put your fingers back to the keys
One night and one more time
Thanks for the memories

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