Nights in White Satin {Rave!Blitz}

florence {♔} laroche

Dried saliva coated around the almost fragile mouth, lazily hanging open above the pillow beneath him after rotating like the dream infesting his mind. Whipped hair sprawled over his hot glued eyes and porcelain arm, a miniature blanket coating just like the one hiding the clothes shielding everything below the waist, while the button-up lay tossed somewhere in the corner. Though, nearly camouflaged into the sheets beneath, his pale chest lay curled towards the girl nearest, whose straw-like hair wrapped around his dreaming breathes like coil, winding around the warmth of the something rotting across the tip of his tongue, whether it be peppermint or ill-shaken lies.

Sullen stillness soaked the air like humidity, the dips of noise between Florence's clear, stentorian breaths and Sadie's muffled ones connected only by the bridge of arm running from him over hers. With the buoyancy rhythms of his breathing, the sea sickness faltering the eyelids open with its rising tides, stygian dots revealed like pits of water deep enough to drown in. Inadvertently wiping drool from his arm back to the masquerade case with the strings of a tired yawn, with his neck popping like firecrackers with a residue of burning delight. Unlike the monotone realm sinking into his skull, the one beside him was smudged with the hands of a pastel artist, hues of shimmering golds and pinks and reds and dying blues trailing along her tawny hair stretching down across her face.

Fog ran through his mind- as per usual, his train of thought derailed itself oftimes- for the collection of how somebody else lingered under the not-so avalanche of his arm never once scratched at his forehead begging for an answer, the only question loitering like plague in his nerves was the irritable pain in his neck. "Now, I want you to know," his vocal chords abruptly starting, rubbing like raw and producing closer to an uneven rumble tugged into a smirk,

"I charge for round two."

florence {♔} laroche

Like a toy engine he starts up, slowly piecing his conscience together and then snapping into a hazy start, sitting upright besides the arm previously wrapped around Sadie now lay propped lazily. Near attenuated fingers slip between his own mat of dark hair, while his other hand lay full of the sheets in a hope of balance, yet the bags of his eyes seemingly sagging under a lethargic spell. Proclaiming his memory to be photographic was a lie- even he would admit to that- but the night prior rang clear with the bitter red trails of a pair of nails lingering on his back like a burning tattoo from the night before. Her bareback, however, wasn't branded with scratches that dug into his back like he survived a fight, instead, it was layered with nothing more but air, the tangles of hair shielding the top but nothing more.

"Maybe later."

Only when her voice, wavering at best, stab the air fatal, did the notion of her embarrassment register in Florence's mind; on a second whim, his own feelings felt scrambled, had he even enjoyed the night? Faulty recollections embraced his mind like alcohol as he looked away, the taste of it bitter on his tongue; he remembered what took place, laughing awkwardly before, during and after, but that's all he could pick up with. Again, his eyes etched to her back, clothes being wasted to somewhere else in the room, before she turned back at him. Air met with her lips like panic, suddenly a sharp intake and anxiety fleeting in her quavery eyes. Immediate fear pressed into his gut as well, questions of everything that could have gone wrong swarming his child-like attention span.

Imprecations chant from the girl parallel to himself like exorcisms, sputtering to herself with choler, before the feel of a fabric other than bed sheets became noticeable under his shaken leg. Unlike the way his hair parted into individuals, the new material the fingers grasped at loosely felt like clothing, yet small, like a towel of sorts. An immature still froze onto his face once light gave way to showing the part of uniform as underthings, either his or hers, with the waistband trapped between his index and thumb.

"I believe this is your's. The words shot from his mouth, lit with sarcasm

florence {♔} laroche

Laced into her eyes (not her voice, minutes of them being awake and she remained voiceless like an accessory to murder) was stinging, bitter, sharp linings, capsizing the diminishing ego sinking away into his gut. The slip of fabric pinched in between his fingers singe the tips as Sadie takes them and turns her back to him once more, his hand already drifting back into the sheets that contort into his palm like the bottom of an hourglass. Silence caulking the room inscribing the two of them down to the words awkwardly choking in Florence's throat, fumbling into a weak, exasperated sigh; having Sadie flinging a choice of words at him or a blow imprinting her hand print like a brand were more accompanying than pure emptiness lingering in the air.

Words and scenes from last night raced through his mind pristine, trying to piece together somewhere to spring conversation off to trade for the silence. Heavy laughter and childish grins soaking the polaroids of memory, Florence could remember the other thing except if he actually liked it or not -or where his shirt had went, for the matter. The sullen walls of someone else's surrounding them persisting in monotones despite the pastel sunlight painting among them like mocks of the old man that adopted him's disappointment, from the button-up white shirt laying in the corner stained with an empty alcohol bottle resting on top to the bare chests of both of them. He never realized how much he failed to realize, Toby always told him that, but waking up in a stranger of a room was a first, the clothes hanging were either sizes too big or too small, and definitely not matching his taste.

His fingers ended up fishing for clothes somewhere near either his or Sadie's size range (or at least the rough estimate), the rustling of fabrics against his skin picking at the silence, desperately trying to shove it else. On the other hand, Sadie scoured the room for her own scattered, although unsuccessful, settling down for a random shirt off the floor and the handful of clothing Florence managed to find for her, along with himself- a pair of pants two sizes too small and a button-up flower shirt almost too gaudy to exist in nature. Tossing one set to her while changing his own, soaked into the ill saken stills that kept reappearing in waves ever since to the point of regretting not faking waking up, until his partner in crime muttered over her shoulder requesting a name to put to his face.

On the other hand, Florence remembered both his name and her's since he stood by not drinking as if it was a religion, but giving up a leg up was a style known to everybody but him, with fake names rolling through his mind on a camera's roll, spitting out a "Troy," in between grinning lips was as easy as breathing.