Keep me hanging around the crime scene {Hayley
May 25, 2011 21:31:26 GMT -5
Post by peanutpie on May 25, 2011 21:31:26 GMT -5
/\/ikko /-\lexander \/ea[/size][/color]
So chew me up, spit me out, take me right out of my mind.[/size][/color]
Have you ever felt just... done? Done with everything that was around you? Well, not in a "I'm going to kill myself, my life sucks, oh woe is me!" Way, but more of a "I want to curl up in bed, hole around and do nothing." type of day? Where you are done with everything that surronds you? Nikko felt that way... Well, it was quite early in the morning. And when you watched the ceiling fan whir the warm spring air so many times, you'd probably want to hole up and do nothing productive for the rest of the day. But, no. Apparently Gianna wanted to do something with him for the day, even though that invitation had seemed a bit false to him. From the day they were children, he had always been a bit naive with her wordings and false, syrupy and elaborate. You know, the gaudy and intricate wordings that somehow changed themselves into little lies.
Well, a majority of the time. But, Nikko had slowly become less numb to the twisted words and manipulated slang that oozed out of Gianna's mouth like snakes from her white teeth. Less docile to the skewed opinions of her theatrical steps, and much more focused on what her motivations could be. Money, sex, drugs, even. Nikko was vaguely aware of the slight influx of drugs in the district, whether it be his sisters LSD (which he still felt a bit off from, mostly because it screwed with your mind for the next year or so after you first took it, with repeat hallucenations or whatever) or even the stuff that he read about in the papers (Oh, the city is at war, playtime for the young and rich, you know me if you see me because I just don't give a shit)
But, in all honesty, Nikko wanted to push aside the whole thought process and just shook his head at the swirling ceiling fan. Hell, he could make the best of this whole thing. Sure, his rabbit was dead. Sadface. But he had an ironed shirt hung in the closet, a dish of eggs ready to be reheated in the refrigerator, and the need to dance around like an idiot in his pajamas and slippers, using a hairbrush as a microphone to a song he made up the previous day. But it was much to angsty, so he just hummed a fast tune very quickly, a flailing mass of limbs moving to a mindful beat. You know, it was quite a sight when you see a 6' 3'' pile of legs and arms dancing like an idiot at seven in the morning. Especially if this person was considered to be one of the most expected to be successful in life. Nope. He was an artist at heart, and while he never would be rich, he noticed that life was going as he would want it to be.
Slipping his shirt over his head and running a quick comb through his dark, curly hair, he threw a pair of khaki-like shorts and took out for a luxurious stroll for Gianna's house.
