One.Shot.Pick.It.Up.Throw.It.Away. |Shrimpeh|
Feb 3, 2011 22:12:10 GMT -5
Post by peanutpie on Feb 3, 2011 22:12:10 GMT -5
Nikko Vea
I don't care if I'm a guilty pleasure for you.
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Nikko Vea sat at the desk in his front room, leaning against the chairs cold wooden surface. Like a small child, the chair was tileted to the back slightly, leaning on the back two legs of the oak chair. In his hand he held a grey pen that he resented. Why? He recalled that his sister had bought it with Vicky... seven years ago? Yes. Nikko closed his eyes and threw it at the pad of paper that sat perched on his desk. It's small blue and white squares were printed expertly on the paper, and as usual, Nikko was procrasinating on his work. The pen was of course, just an excuse to break out the dead bodies and take more pictures. Slowly bringing the pen back into his fingers, he gripped the barrel of it and looked at it carefully. Yep, the same pen that he had gotten for his birthday when he turned... seventeen. Why a pen? His father had thought that professionalism would turn his way and maybe he would inherit the skills to have the business.
Yet, that was left to Ivory, who was obviously more sane and more comfortable with normality than Nikko was. Nikko had always envied his younger sister, mostly because she seemed to have a way with people that nobody really could explain. Ivory seemed to genuinley like people and rarely screwed up. Nikko also envied the way she could wrap the opposite sex around her finger, and the way that she was quite coordinated. Oh, and her obvious favor from their father. He would always have some type of reward over Nikko. Ivory would always recieve more for presents, and since their parents had paid for their housing, Ivory had gotten a larger house. Sure, she was supposted to take over the family business when both Mother and Father were emotionless vegtables, sitting on the couch with a blanket wrapped around their shoulders.
Sure, let Ivory do everything, just give her more of everything. Nikko had always been the older child, pushed aside from his family slightly more than his sister. Sure, his parents were never kid people, but they still favored their well-mannered, pretty daughter over their necrophiliac of a son. Sure, his family wasn't aware of the sickly obsession that haunted their sons mind. Hell, Nikko didn't even know there was a term for it. All he knew was that the bodies he kept were quite alive and were his friends.
He finally just started to get up, the chair scraping the wooden flooring as he carefully stepped up from the desk. He slammed the chair back with a little bit of frustration. Nikko, the frustrated necrophiliac. This could of been for many reasons. But the first one that came to the tounge was Vicky.
Cringing, Nikko grasped the pen on the table and threw it to the ground, sending Mr. Snufflkins into a psychotic rampage of jumping down from the couch in a "thump-thump-thump" manner, dragging the blue blanket he was nesting in onto the ground to mop up whatever dust Nikko's house had it in. Most likely, a lot of the dust was rabbit hair, but if you observed it, there was hair that was not Nikko's short and curly dark drown hair. Sure, you would have to be a fairly observant person to know this, but if you really wanted to have evidence without cracking open the freezer, there you go. Have fun looking at the dust bunnies.
Nikko wasn't quite satisfied with life today, just because he was Nikko. And moodswings did come with Nikko's personality. The constant bubbliness or the deep, gaping emotional wrecks were quite devestating at moments, with the happiness and the saddness and the tragedy and the comedy. Opposite things. Sure, Nikko wasn't bipolar or anything, but honestly, Nikko changed like the seasons.
He strolled into the kitchen where he propped himself up against the brown wooden paneling that he called the kitchen counter. Another thing about being thrown into a house that his parents had selected for him. Unappealing decor, for one thing. Nikko was too lazy to do anything at the moment, or at any time. Snatching a glass from the top cabinet and took the glass from thesecond shelf up. The glass was cooler than the rest of the house, even though it wasn't that warm. He held the glass in his hands for a second before going over to the faucet and filling it to the brim. He drank it slowly, the water running down his face and neck slightly.sexy, no?
He wiped his face with the back of his tee shirt and leaned on the counter. Thinking suddenly, his stomach growled at him. Shuddup Stomach. Shuddup. Nikko finally caved in and opened the pantry. Nothing but a few spare crumbs in his cereal containers and a few dried pasta bits. Of course, he had a little bit of canned vegtables. But, if childlike behavior indicated anything, Nikko was not fond of vegtables. Carrots were tolerable, but not the canned variety.
So, he decided to go see if something he could eat was out there... somewhere. At a grochers, probably. He could go to a bakery. Yes, that was what he would do. Nikko mentally made a list and checked it again. Yes, it worked. He would probably be able to return home with a loaf of bread by the time that the sun went down. Nodding, he grabbed the misshapen wallet his father had bought him last year and shoved it into his jeans, jumping out of the back door onto the back porch, where he paraded down the steps and strode off towards the bakery.
