All I Need Is Home :: [Tryst + Sampson]
Feb 4, 2015 7:29:26 GMT -5
Post by L△LIA on Feb 4, 2015 7:29:26 GMT -5
That Antoinette chick is fucking psycho. "Fucking psycho!" I wail into the ear of the mere mortal blessed enough to have me leaning on her shoulder as I pause our journey to — I don't know, we're going somewhere and if I'm along for the ride, it must be somewhere glorious — and puke a rainbow across the sidewalk at our feet. It's blue and pink and pretty like gasoline swirling in a rain puddle, except with congealed bits floating around in it, because I'm a substantial man. (Half dissolved pill capsules? Glow-in-the-dark Capitolite cocktails? Lunch leftovers?) No weak-ass rainbows coming out of this mouth. All I wanted tonight was to get my party on, so I went down to some abandoned warehouse on the south side of town where I'd heard a secret society was throwing a rager. That's supposed to be a good time, am I right? Of course I am. And for a while it was great. First thing that happens when I walk in the place is some guy I don't recognize tells me I've got gorgeous eyes and that I deserve a drink for that, pushing his glass into my hand. I was just like: I know. The world was clearly working fine until that psycho found me. "Antoinette," the name is a curse on my swollen lips, dried blood crackling in the corner as a groan hallelujahs out from my sore lungs, "crazy bitch." Not the Victor. Well, her too, obviously, but her sister is the total headcase and not only because she talks like radio static or whatever. I was just dancing and suddenly I was kissing her, because I'd lost my drink and found her mouth or something. She'd been popping some kind of candyland looking pills and so I took some because that's what less attractive people have to offer me and I wasn't trying to be rude, I was just trying to get a little out of my head. I figure, somebody trapped in a head as bad as hers must know the best ways of getting out of it and yeah. Fuck yeah. We both got really out of it. Except — "She punched my face! My face! Look at my face!" — something went less than perfect and that's unfamiliar territory for me, so I didn't know what to do when she started flinging her fists at me. Everywhere: my shoulder, into my stomach, bruising up my ribs, stomping on my foot, and taking suckershots at my angelic face. The world stopped working fine. Sure, I could have used my god-strength to demolish her with a single blow, but she's a girl and I try my best to be a benevolent baller so I don't accidentally bring about the apocalypse by being too awesome. Even when — "It hurts!" Despite being the innocent victim, I decided to let her put the blame on me, because I'm a gentleman in need of a bad reputation and a rap sheet. The meaning of my incredible life is bigger than psycho girls (I still jacked her candy stash on the way out though), but maybe taking a couple punches is worth it if I get to have some of that Peacekeeper siren action howling down the street just a couple blocks over. "Let's just hitch a ride," I slyly slur to the girl walking me wherever, "they're looking for me anyway. Win-win." |
