Absolon Désiré Merle // District 2 // FIN

The words seem too becomingly purred, from your soft, amaranth lips. You swear that even your heart skips a beat --Someone as beautiful as you, whispering such, with reverence and delight slipping into their tone. Just the thought, is nothing short of a welcoming trance in itself. Oh, how you’ve studied countless novels, perhaps one too many. But it all comes with the delicate practice of being a Casanova such as yourself!

It's a problem, for sure... Being obsessed with something as fickle and unpredictable as love is always a risky hobby. You never know when a sweet peck will be returned with warm, inviting lips, or... Well, a kiss with a fist. You swear you're not that creepy when you put the moves down on someone! Of course, respect is a value that should be held just as high as anything else! It's just that... Well, maybe you're a little bad with making friends. Er, well, close friends, at least. You always begin a little too clingy, and you think that someone you've just met is someone who you can pour your entire heart out to. When it comes to the actual act of talking about yourself? Well... You get some second thoughts --Lots of second thoughts. Suddenly, a close friend becomes nothing more than an acquaintance, and you found that, yet again, you've run away from all of your problems.

It's a thing with Casanovas, you always try to tell yourself. The hopeless romantic is always supposed to be mad crazy about finding love, and they're desperate enough to find it anywhere. It's never worked quite that well for you.. Still, you pursue such avid dreams, in hopes that they might one day come true. When you're not found with your nose buried deep within your books, memorizing the next golden lines to murmur to a special random someone, you're often found speaking such words as gospel from the heart. It's a spectacle, really, and you're sure it attributes to the small little harem of boys and girls that tend to follow you around everywhere.

"My, I've had that poem you recited to that one boy a while ago stuck in my head since I can't remember... It must do good to stay stuck in those books all day."

To which, your lips curl into a smile, and you give your head a nod, trying to keep the hair from falling in front of your eyes.

"I have to ask, is writing your passion? It seems weird, being from a career district and all... But I don't judge! Do you want to become a writer someday? I bet you'd make a great one."

It's true, yes, you do write all day! Amongst the curled, tan pages of the books you've managed to buy and borrow, there most certainly are a few fraying notebooks you leave crammed under the mess of paper, for safekeeping, of course. It's easy enough a hobby to just pass off as writing something cheesy and profound, like.. Philosophy! Or even old sonnets (which is certainly a dying form of literature, if anyone were to ask you.)! But, as abysmal as you are with opening up about yourself, there is simply one side of you that you must confess.

You're... A dork. If we were to put it simply, you're an absolute dork, who only occasionally writes all that gross, gushy, amazingly indulgent poetry. There's a side to you that no one really knows about, simply because you're much too scared to show them.

Much to scared to show them the Absolon, who spends all day writing jokes in their notebooks. The Absolon, who will dedicate hours upon weeks of their life, practicing with long branch-like implements in the comfort of an abandoned house's front yard, which you frequently inhabit. So many Absolons, that the world has never seen... The one that talks to plants when they're alone and afraid, cause they have no one else to talk to, and the Absolon who wishes for nothing more in their life than to be a street performer. Yes, the ones that stand in the market all day, pulling off unrealistic stunts with nothing guarding their bones and skin but wit, experience, and the spectators that might be unlucky enough to break their occasional fall... This is all beside the point, however!

You've got a knack for humor, and when you were forced into career training (which you promptly dropped out of, the moment you could), polearms were your first pick, due to the ways they resembled the poles that street performers incorporate into their lithe acrobatics. You've gotta admit, that you've really picked up the skill it takes to be a performer, but... There's no one with whom you're comfortable sharing such talent, as you're sure they'd do nothing more but laugh in your face. Of course, you have other dreams too... Some of them are a little more conceivable, like a teeny-tiny flower garden, for whenever you get lonely... But the horse-farm you desperately wish you could own is too far-fetched, especially in a higher district.

Maybe if you could just run away to the lower districts... Everything would be more simple. There'd be a fresh start, waiting to greet you, perhaps an acceptance of your strange dreams! Not to mention that the horse-farm idea might not totally be far-fetched, if we managed to land in District 10! You can't fathom how much more of your life you'd find detestable, if you were forced to work those decrepit jewel mines like many of the other people of your District. However, as time marches forward, and your entire childhood looks as if it is a mere wrinkle in a tapestry of your entire life, you're awfully afraid that you might not have any choices left.

You're painstakingly afraid, and you're sick of it, for it's always been this way.

It was the same way, when you were a child, and your parents left you alone for hours to days on end. The neglect was, seemingly, supposed to build character. That's what they all seem to say, but all it built was this unshakable loneliness that has been clinging on in the deepest depths and crevices of your aura. Even when surrounded by those who cheer your words, as they spill from your mouth like wine tainted with sweetness, you can only feel as if these words are merely being spoken to another rotten chance. Perhaps there's a reason those words are pouring in an incessant stream, and perhaps the reason is because you're being drowned in them. All seems futile, at the end of the day, especially when your one-day lover must return to their home, and you never catch a glimpse of their presence again.

You wish the loneliness could cease, but opening up has... Never really been a forte of yours. When your mother and father finally returned from being gone all day, you felt as if that terrifying loneliness would suddenly drop away, and you'd feel better. Of course, for you, this only got worse. Your father would often spill his doubts, but your mother had a way of shutting lips when she didn't find it convenient to listen. Your father simply called it a squabble of sorts, just a bit of yelling, cause even the closest couples are bound to have spats... But it became strikingly apparent that this certainly wasn't the case, when your father ceased speaking for what seemed to be eternity, and lived only to serve the household tyrant. Eventually, her own senile words would come to lash at the atrophied wings of your happiness, until you felt the same, cold numbness inside as your mother. You hate it, you really do, but you can't control when those feelings come, and when they go, and oft they leave you aggressive and utterly unapproachable, or reserved and nearly lifeless.

It's been years, since a disturbance was reported by the neighbors as you'd hoped, and both your parents were sent "somewhere far, far away --Somewhere nice, and somewhere good for them, too." At that time, you were nearing your adolescence, and rehabilitation was needed to allow you to function again. You couldn't understand, as you thought this is how it'd been for everyone else in your life, as none of the kids in your school talked of anything at home. You simply thought everyone was treated this way, and the utter betrayal you felt when your eyes were opened was enough to send you into a full-fledged rage. It took years to coax you out, and a few more to catch back up with the school teachings that hadn't stuck. Being placed in a community home, afterwards, did a great deal on you as well.

Despite being the utter charmer you are now, you didn't use to have a way with words. Your bitter emptiness used to be the only thing you could convey, to all but one person.

It was sweet... Most definitely what pushed you to be how you are today. It's nearly any given minute, that you could hear him speak with that soft and loving tone. The way his words dressed you up, in the most handsome ways possible, and oh how you've longed to match them. Yes, you're dangerously close. Of course you know that!

But there is still absolutely nothing that can compare, to the nights spent in solitary company with him, Silhouette. Silhouette was a pretty name, you figured. You loved the mystery, and the way he'd tell you that if he was Silhouette, that you must be the one casting the shadow. He insisted, the two of you were meant for each other, and that the wedding would be grand. It was a lot like soulmates, but oh, so much more complicated. It was the kind of relationship that could only be described through the galaxies, sitting atop the timeworn roof of an old, decrepit house. He spoke to you in a language of stars and supernovas, so profound and endless, that each night left you so much more agape than the last.

"If I had to describe who you were to me," He'd say, kicking up a few old stones as he trotted through the less-than-immaculate yard of the old abandoned home, "my words would surely fall flat. But if I were to try, I'd say you're vaster than the stars, glittering among the void night sky. Not only this... But the flowers. You're like a flower."

When he told you this, you had paused, along with himself. After picking a few sprigs of lavender, and a swiping a fresh rose from the tangle of the vines of the bush, threatening to grow into the house, Silhouette padded closer to you, and handed you the small gift. "Yes, you're like a flower... A flower struggling to be in bloom. You were never given what you were needed when you were growing, but now that you have them, you find it hard to adapt to these new circumstances. But you'll try anyway."

"But why?" You simply asked. To which, he responded, "Because you, are you... And because you must."

You've never thought of yourself, in the context of flowers before, but you'd guess that's true. Maybe it's why you like to talk to them so much --They all have answers for you, just like Silhouette did, and answers always tend to put you to ease. Finality seems threatening, in retrospect, but when you know something is going to happen, or is happening... You can just prepare better. The unknown is vast, and it makes you feel just as alone as the time your parents left you. Perhaps, almost as alone as you felt, when Silhouette left this earth himself.

Poetry has a way of moving you, but the poetry that Silhouette always sang through his insouciant smile hit you with a chord of melancholy, that seemed foreboding in the least. The worst was when he told you, that all shadows eventually die with the sunlight. Why such a vague warning, you don't know. But in an instant, your life changed, when the sun hit your eyes that crisp autumn morning, and you found that he was gone. Where he went, you have no clue, and he'd never provided any sort of explanation. Distraught, was an understatement, as you still have so many questions left unanswered! Such as the mystery of the abandoned house, and how Silhouette even knew of this safe haven in the first place. However, mostly, it was all just a slur of... why? Why and how? 

You've been caught up in yourself ever since, as you've begun to conceive that perhaps, this is all just one sick trope being played on your life. But, alas, there are no signs of your dear Silhouette's return. You ponder if he's dead, and if he's watching you... If you even believe in something such as an afterlife, where the two of you might be happy together. But, if such a place as the afterlife is true, you're certain that it's forsaken you.

Having never quite moved past this event in your life, you seek the embrace and lips of other people... And for what reason, you're not exactly sure! Perhaps you're seeking for another means of validation, or a way to take the mind off your pain.

But the stars still bring you comfort, and the flowers still sing to your heart when you find no other means to cope. All these things still make you happy, along with the way another pair of fingertips can easily pull through the tangles your long, curled mess of black hair that attacks your shoulders and face, when it's not done up with decorative pins. Along with the way you adore how your bright and passionate, yet soft cognac gaze, reflecting through the joy of someone else's eyes.

Finding your charm in other people is nothing less than a knack of yours. No mirror can compare, you've decided. The romantic language is getting to you, but you can't help it! You always imagine yourself looking the best, when you're seen through the floodgates of other people's imaginations. Your round nose, becomes a cute one, and your big lips, become a soft pair. The tan of your skin, becomes warm and welcoming, much like the sun-kissed red that spreads through your body when you've been out in the sun. Oh yes, there's a flourish of make-up here and there... A bit of steely eyeliner and shadow, to accent that rich amber, and a touch of gloss to bring out the amaranth of your lips. You like to call yourself a bit of an expert, when it it comes to these things...

Even if there's no past to be proud of, you still have... You, right? There are people here, who adore your slightly short and lanky form, and the way you use it to dance atop the world in performance. Surely, there must be someone who looks at the elegant red jacket that you wear almost constantly, and how endearing it's tail seems when it's flowing like flickering tongues of crimson as you stride! And the button downs you wear to match! You're the walking epitome of enchanting, and if the flower brooches pinned to your flowing sleeves, amongst the silvery and smoky sequins that spiral along the soft felt of your vest don't show it, you don't know what will! Maybe getting a pair of shorts that go further down than half your thigh might help... But you can't help it! They were on sale, for one, and for two... Well... Even if it's hidden by the twin tails of your scarlety shirt, you've got a nice ass. Being the Casanova here, if you've got something to flaunt, then flaunt it. 

You like to make up for it by wearing black leather boots, that stop just below the knees. A little stripper-esque, yes. But you're willing to take the risk, cause people tend to notice, and it looks nice to you! Even if forming intimate connections with others is hard... A little spot of attention is never a bad thing.

Ultimately, you don't know where you fall. As a person, you've managed to exist in such a way, where you're all over the place. Whether it be your personality, your background... It all seems contradictory, in hindsight. Even you're in awe, over how you've managed to stitch yourself together in this... Patchwork of a human, who calls himself Absolon. You're eager to find yourself, for the sake of learning answers to the questions and the thoughts that constantly plague your mind, and you're willing to do it with a little help from anything you can get. Whether that's being a hopeless flirt in the square, or returning to that old, abandoned house that Silhouette showed you to years ago, to speak to the flowers in the yard. You get by with your secret notebooks of jokes and puns, and your love for anything that remotely shines and sparkles. If it's enough to take your mind off of the realities of the present moment, it's all okay to you. Even when everything is incomprehensible, and there's nothing left for you to understand... You like to think you're strong.

You like to think you're strong in your own way, because you are, and because you must.