painted faces fill the places - briknope

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He just needed a change.

Something that keeps him grounded; something that will chain him to the Earth instead of his mind up in the clouds, wallowing in his own pessimism. He found that within the depths of a bottle that was hidden away by his adoptive parents. While he only had a small little bit – something so unnoticeable that it wouldn’t even matter – he found that it melted his nerves from their rigid iciness and struck him to level-headedness. And so when he solemnly steps into a bar, his high-tops creaking the boards while rock music blared all around him, he eyes the bottles shoved in racks on the walls.

Vodka, whiskey, martinis, to him the possibilities are literally endless. To occupy his mind he tries to think of the name of the blended whiskey his adoptive parents had been keeping hush hush about in the back of the pantry. He remembers the bitter taste, the way it stung his mouth and throat, but then the effects after; a slightly off balance body, but a perfectly on balance mind. The feeling, he remembers, was exquisite. He also remembers a jet black label that took up a third of the bottles front, and something like boats of a golden color smack in the middle, and the name on the top which was something to do with the picture. But a name escaped him.

He found himself sitting next to a pretty, petite blonde with razor sharp indigo eyes, who looked pretty drunk but held herself with a half regal way. She held a clear bottle with half of the golden contents emptied and probably running through her veins, intoxicating her. And then Nero laid eyes upon the black label with the golden boats, he called over the bartender, slapped some money on the table and requested the blended whiskey. “Three Ships. Give me the bottle, not a glass.” Even though the bartender obviously had the questions of his age riding behind his disapproving beady eyes, he pulled the golden bottle and slammed it in front of Nero’s face, telling him to have at it.

And so in that moment, he flicked the cap, and began to drown. Not within the way water may fill a person’s lungs, but the way a memory may fill a person’s mind. The memory of silver-shiny metal from within the doorway of his room, and the way he wakes up in a hospital. With each ounce of hypothetical water filling his lungs, he combat against it with another ounce of the bitter yet heavenly liquid.

“It’s bitter, but it does the job now, doesn’t it?” He quips to the blondie next to him, who, even though she looks younger than him, is drinking the finely brewed blended whiskey. People his age don’t go to bars drinking unless they are desperate, and the reason why she needs to shove down the alcoholic fluid so badly, he’s not sure he would want to know.

{ooc; ugh i'm sorry for this crap xD and it took forever too. sorry D: }

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Broken things can recognize each other. Some may be totally obvious with hunched over shoulders and vacant glance as if they were trying to stare into eternity. They were the ones who made themselves obvious. They were the ones that almost wanted to be recognized in all they were. The most obvious of them though, were the people with their head held high and shoulders back like they were perfectly okay. Those are the people that tape down their truths and dig out their lies with their words of “no, I’m totally okay, why would you say that?” It’s a trick Nero knows too well.

The blonde girl that was perched precariously on the ripped leather barstool next to him held herself with a slightly regal posture, saying that she wasn’t one to mess with. Behind her eyes that had looked like they had taken a piece of the sky themselves was something written in red ink. Something that spoke of a pain far deeper than Nero could even begin to imagine. He couldn’t see the words, but he knew they were there, lingering on a canvas somewhere only she knew. To be honest, he was afraid to find out. All of their stories – the ones that sat on barstools with a bottle – were stories that should never be told in the first place. Due to a series of unfortunate events, though, the person had the ability to tell it.

"True. Might not think that in the morning, but I've got hours to worry about that.” As she spun the words on her vocal chords, she twirled the bottle in her spindly digits, slightly slow and lazy from the alcohol that sang happily in her veins. He eyed the level of the liquid that hit against the glass, desperate for escape – but the only escape would be to flow in her veins until it wore off.

So they both continued to drown. His ship was trapped within a storm that he was trying to fight against. But with each ounce of alcohol, the rain poured harder, and with every other ounce the rain turned to hail and broke holes through the delicate wood of the ship. He knew he was going to sink. He didn’t know how to prevent it from falling to the watery hands of the ocean. So he raised the bottle to his lips and allowed the bitter fluid to dance and twirl and allow him to fall to the depths of the ocean, dragging him down to a place so long-gone and far away, not even the longest rope could ever dream of making it to where he floated.

While he floated, unaware of anything else around him, he remembers shiny-sharp metal and a bright, flashing white that tried to consume him just as the water/alcohol did. He remembers a white of a different kind after waking up and feeling a throbbing pain in his throat, his face directed to the ceiling lights as people all rushed around him, uttering excited words of “he’s alive!” and such sayings that made him confused as to why everybody would be so excited that he’s living and breathing. When they told him why though, that’s when he felt himself shatter. He fell to the ocean and began drowning just as he was at that bar. Well, he had been drowning for a long time, but the bottle in his hand seemed to act as an anchor and continue to drag him to the bottom of the ocean, where it would be a long time before he could find the will to fight against his chains and rise to the surface. Although, I can not see myself rising to the surface and taking a breath for a very long time.