Times are strange. {Hayley}
Jan 20, 2011 21:12:56 GMT -5
Post by peanutpie on Jan 20, 2011 21:12:56 GMT -5
Nikko Vea
I don't care if I'm a guilty pleasure for you.
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Nikko seemed to be more content since his collection of bodies had expanded. There was now, on top of Marie, who was now dressed in a pleasant blue blouse and skirt, were at least three others. More, of course. Murders were quite frequent in the district. Yet, it seemed to be an accepted practice. A bit odd, but Nikko didn't mind. He had more companions to join him in his silent house, where he would tend to the bodies by giving them new shoes and food. He set them up into pretty nice little scenes, with nice food and everything. There were even tablecloths made of silk on the table, from eternities ago.
In this particular scene Nikko viewed on his camera, he saw that there were dead bodies propped up against chairs, and the table cloth looked quite nice with the kitchen background. The two girls smiled happily at the table, which was furnished with white plates and chicken. Nikko would put the chicken in the refrigerator and the girls in the freezer. Simple as that. Then, he would return to the reality that other people had. Of course, this was Nikko Saporta Vea's reality, but to most people, who hadn't been exposed to his dead body hoarding tendacies, he seemed like the normal twenty three year old kid next door. Sure, he may of been a bit more posessive than the average twenty three year old, but he didn't seem to be any wierder than people could think. Oh, dear. They were very far off.
Today, Nikko was expecting his friend, Naz. Naz, of all people, was probably one of Nikkos closest friends. From the shannanigans they had encountered as a child, they kept in a good contact since the day they turned five. Of course, he had withdrawn himself a bit from his friends since Vicky had abandoned him.
Vicky. Vicky with her black hair, cut into a blunt cut. Vicky, who seemed to walk with an effortless stride, one that was rarely broken by anyone but herself. Vicky, whos smiling eyes seemed to be insistant for Nikko to still love. Vicky, Vicky, Vicky. Vicky, who was good at sewing. Vicky, Vicky, Vicky. Nikko traced his hand around the screen of the camera and threw it to the table. Stupid thing had deleted all of the pictures that were of Vicky of any time. Even when Nikko had gotten the camera and a group picture when he had graduated standard school. The group picture he had taken of Vicky, Naz, Caine and his other friends. Somehow, it had been deleted with the rest of the memories that Vicky had behind her. All that was really left on the camera was pictures of Naz and him when they were screwing around one day; a few ones of Mr. Snufflkins, a few of his parents, who looked pained in their overly starched shirts. A handful of pictures of outside scenery, or random things around the house. A majority of the pictures had dissapeared.
Nikko had pondered this before noticing all of them were of Vicky. He had shrugged this off, and had clicked away to setting up another scene of the dead bodies in normal, everyday situations. Some people considered this to be a bit odd. Now, the pictures were more plentiful. Normal situations. His favorite set was actually of Vesa and Calypso, a woman with light brown skin and curly hair; and a blonde who were lounging on the couch, watching the TV. It was almost an eerie look for them, but Nikko found the pink TV they were observing to be quite intresting. (The television had been drug from his parents basement two weeks earlier, with the intent to replace it with the beat up one in Nikkos bedroom. Of course, this never happened because of the age of it, but still. Give the kid some credit.)
He finally struck the ceiling, making his hand feel a bit raw. Damn popcorn ceiling usually made things worse for him. Mr. Snufflkins was a bit disturbed by the bit of plaster that fell to the ground, and he jumped to avoid the falling specks of white. Sure, it looked like snow, and Mr. Snufflkins hated the snow. Even when Nikko went on the body hunts, or rescues, as he claimed proudly, Mr. Snufflkins reaction to snow was probably bad because of the cold. The rabbit just didn't like the shivering feeling that the snow gave him. And as a precaution, he hopped up to the couch, as if to hide from the specks of falling plaster. Nikko looked at the rabbit, who seemed to enjoy trying to get under the blanket. Mr. Snufflkins gave a glance back at Nikko, and the twenty three year old shot a glance in return.
Sure, Nikko was nervous, and his hand hurt a little bit, but really? His rabbit giving him dirty looks? He must be tired.