Drowning our troubles [Tom]

kousei ♚
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Drowning our troubles [Tom] Aug 29, 2016 9:31:17 GMT -5

Post by kousei ♚ on Aug 29, 2016 9:31:17 GMT -5

c l a i r e

Even though I'm supposed to be cheap labour, I find myself wondering if I can be anything more. No matter what conclusion I come to, I figure I'm too tired to even bother with any sort of change.

My eyes feel as heavy as lead, my fingers are limp and my arms dangle at my sides. The need to close my eyes is stronger than the pull of gravity itself. It's clear that I need to sleep; I suppose that's what I get for working nearly the whole day non-stop today, twenty four hours and I even insisted that I stayed the last twelve. Faces drifted and blurred in and out, people clocking in and clocking our and then going home to their families. The small tinge of envy was bitter but quickly forgotten, I wasn't allowed to complain. I shouldn't be surprised, I brought this upon myself.

When the twenty fourth hour hits I feel like a sack of bricks has been lifted from my chest. My eyes fly open and I exhale deeply. The Peacekeepers let me go without question because they know I'll be back tomorrow, and the day after that and the day after that. At this point it's a cycle of labour and it won't break until I collapse to the ground and don't get back up. I quickly strip off my work clothes and throw on proper clothes after taking a quick shower.

Before long, I'm making my way down the street and I'm still unable to tell if I'm about to collapse from exhaustion or if I'll collapse and just not get back up. Honestly, what's the difference between being tired and dying?

Isolated, I'm as sturdy as rock in this seemingly endless walk. Despite the darkness threatening the swallow the district whole, the air is surprisingly hot and heavy. The heat is staggering, all I can do is hang my head and breath slowly and deeply as if that'll bring some sort of relief. I feel nothing, numb to it all. I'm numb to it all because I don't exist as a human with nerves, sinew and bone; I exist as another piece of cheap labour to load the oil and shift the barrels. I suppose that would explain why I can't collapse from exhaustion, I may as well be a machine.

But it's all worth it isn't it? Somehow by doing this I'm being selfless, being a good person by working myself to the point of collapse for her. It will all work it, it has to.

My movement is practically automatic, one foot in front of the other. It's as if I lost the capacity to think a long time ago, reduced to mechanical movements and forced twists and turns. "I need a drink." I grunt to myself, stating the obvious. I haven't had anything of the sort in months, never found the time. How can I find the time when I'm trying to save a life? Draining my own life to give to someone else, that's a good enough reason I'm sure.

Without thinking, I turn. Footsteps lightly sound against the dull concrete for what seems like an age before I find myself at the doorstep of the all too familiar bar. Once upon a time me and my school friends would sneak here and the bartender would assume we were old enough to drink and serve us. Peacekeepers didn't care, they had better things to be worrying about. Once upon a time, I didn't have a care in the world because responsibility was a foreign concept to me. Once upon a time, I didn't use this bar as a shelter from myself.

Memories of forever are quickly faded into obscurity when I step inside and step up to the bar with the bar tender cleaning the surface. Surprisingly, the bar is raucous and bustling with people and behind the bar, there's a television showing a recap of the previous games. I can't help but grimace (again) when I see Justice Fray damn right nearly decapitate the boy from here with his axe. Some things I would rather not revisit. And no matter what anyone tells me, watching some kid getting torn apart by a career's axe isn't worth recapping; no wonder people get so drunk.

"I'll just have a shot."

I can't afford to damage myself by getting too drunk. I'm still a piece of cheap labour after all.

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Drowning our troubles [Tom] Aug 31, 2016 22:22:55 GMT -5

Post by Dana Lheureux D9F [Tom] on Aug 31, 2016 22:22:55 GMT -5

The flowing dress that she wears is too short for her mother's liking. Another argument to add to her failures that she had growing upon the pile of destruction that she was. A failure to her step mother's eyes, its all she ever saw of her. Melody Vallanso, a failure, nothing like Minos. She lived in his shadow, even though he was dead. Buried in a grave next to his brother. Their gravestones that had costed a fortune attached to each other with engravings of angels that her parents believe that the twins had become. Melody knew the truth, they were nothing but corpses in the ground, angels don't exist in their shitty world, because if they did, she would be safe and happy, not numb and broken.

Her heels click the ground as she escapes her mother's venomous words that fall from the woman's lips. Darkness engulfs the light that used to shine out in the sky, like Justice snuffed out Minos in the final showdown between them. A kiss with a fist for the blade that nearly took Minos' head off. The day she had seen it made her want to feel sick, but at the same time it had made her feel stronger than she ever had before. Something inside of her bursted out when Minos had perished, a sense of relief to find out that he would get the rest he deserved. The rest that the Vallanso twins needed when they perished. All she hoped is that their corpses remain buried together because it's what both would have wanted.

The heat of the day still continues through the night. The feeling of a humid touch upon her skin reminds Melody of the arena that Minos had been shoved into because the world had something against him. Every thought of Minos burns her mind with the numbness of everything she had known. Caring in every word of his name, yet she couldn't care less about her step brother, who perished. He had left her to die in the miserable and polluted world of District Five. The heat pulls at her skin, making her face redden lightly from the heat. Her destination was clear to herself, a bar that didn't check age, probably from the fact that she could pull off looking over eighteen.

As the door opens in front of her, people stop and stare slightly, eyes watching every moment she makes. A smile forms on her face, but it was fake, like herself. She doesn't care, but cares all at the same time about Minos. Everything had a wall behind it and no one could break her down. She was invincible, strong, and powerful. Nothing could topple the tower that she hides in. Not her father. Not her step mother. No one could topple the tower that she built to make sure she was strong. The television in the corner plays Minos' death over and over again like a record that can't stop, a memory of the boy whose shadow she would be stuck in for the rest of her life, until her bliss of a death.

A grumble and look of disgust as Justice nearly cuts Minos' head off and she can already tell she wants to get so drunk that she could barely remember her name. Something to numb her emotionless thoughts that would pass through her head with every moment. That's when she noticed his gorgeous face. The words fall from his lips like a melody of gorgeousness, "I'll just have a shot." A smile upon her face as she stares him up and down, a tiredness to his form, something that she could easily notice from the bags under his eyes. Something haunted the man sitting next to her. Her voice escapes to the bartender calmly, "I'll have a shot too." Mentally she was of a shot of something else. A smirk at her dirty minded thoughts and alcohol on it's way, she turns to the tired man and speaks, "What's wrong? You look tired. I could help wake you up if you'd like?" A smile upon her lips, eyes staring into the gorgeous blue in front of her, she was ready for something new, something to take up her time. Something like him.

Thinking "says"

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Drowning our troubles [Tom] Sept 10, 2016 19:28:59 GMT -5

Post by kousei ♚ on Sept 10, 2016 19:28:59 GMT -5

c l a i r e

('Work to do.')

Three work to define single point of my existence. There is no build up or start point, just a single end point completely devoid of a climax. 'Work to do.' Nothing to be debated, nothing more to be written or signed off. The start point remains the end point to define the point of my existence; ('work to do') and I don't think the bullet point can be expanded further. It doesn't matter how exhausted I am, if I think I'm at the point of collapse or death; three words take precedent over everything. ('Work to do.')

Until now that is.

As time passes beneath a low hanging oaken ceiling and liquor clasped around my fingertips and heavy in the palm of my hand, I find my mind drifting away to all the 'whys' and 'hows'. While endless, tired questions torment my mind, anticipation manages to worm its way into my heart. The idea of drinking so much I shatter beneath the booze-riddled weight of it all is prominent enough make my eyes widen and low breaths turn into deep ones blurred into non-existence.

'Work to do' - the phrase and idea has never seemed so insignificant to me. Perhaps just the idea of getting to pour liquor down my throat is enough to get me wasted in itself. Or perhaps it's the boy getting his neck sliced open by some rich kid that's made the defining words in my life so insignificant. After all, at least I have a life to be defined by; the thought of being defined by death in itself is enough to make me internally wince and raise the shot glass to my lips.

"What's wrong? You look tired. I could help wake you up if you'd like?"

And those words alone are enough to make all that significant and make me put the shot glass down without even taking a damn sip. My attention is quickly ripped away from the morbid past and the eye widening present. My eyes practically tear themselves away from the shot glass that was once clasped in my hand and clung onto the sturdy skin that once trembled barely a year ago.

It doesn't sound like a genuine question of concern, more like a statement of wanting something. No one would be concerned for me, I'm just cheap labour after all. But the statement of wanting is not at all foreign to me because I'd come to find that a lot of girls wanted something and I just happened to need something in return. Women quickly blurred into obscurity once I started working and now I can't remember the names most of the women I had the honour of proving myself to. After all, that's all they were I suppose; ways to prove myself.

When I turn, I'm half expecting disappointment and obscurity (why would the world need to impress cheap labour?) and half expecting an eye opening, hormone raising spectacle (somethings just have to go well, right?). In all honesty, I've been with both.

Well fuck me, it was worth discarding the possibility of blurring the worlds ('work to do') with a shot glass. Long, brown hair cascades down her face like a flowing waterfall and her eyes match the standard; light brown themselves. A smile even tugs on her cheeks and pulls at her lips and it's at me. Instinctively, I smile back; who would've thought that cheap labour could give a genuine smile?

I run my fingers across the table in front of her. Technique, voice, soft smile, it all comes flooding back. My voice dances on the edge, before the endless call of ('work to do') and memories got lost under work and fatigue I remember my words performing this similar dance across my tongue. Before the bags under my eyes and tracks left across my hands and arms, I danced this dance countless times with countless women.

"Would be a nice change, usually it's me that has to wake people up," I say before pausing, allowing my fingers to stop, "of course, I'd rather not be woken up by someone who doesn't know what they're doing," I chuckle, "then I would have to teach 'em, although that can be pretty fun to." I reply, quickly looking up and down and smiling.

Work to do; this dance is one of the things I'll miss, shame that three words took that away so easily. But then again, a piece of cheap labour like me is too exhausted to care about being robbed of his freedom; especially when he gets a rare taste of it at moments like these.

Last Edit: Sept 10, 2016 19:29:49 GMT -5 by kousei ♚

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Drowning our troubles [Tom] Sept 26, 2016 11:13:45 GMT -5

Post by Dana Lheureux D9F [Tom] on Sept 26, 2016 11:13:45 GMT -5

The bartender was faster than she expected. Shot in hand now, she tilts the liquid back into her mouth, the slight burn giving her life in such a desolated place. District Five was nothing but chemicals and energy to produce for the capitol. As the liquid falls down her esophagus, all she could do was feel her anger at the games and Justice Fray disappear with the clear liquid that was making it's way throughout her body, but one wouldn't be enough. A wave of the fingers, the bartender knew exactly what she wanted, the smile that fell from her lips makes the bartender move a little faster to get her the liquid that would fix her broken mess.

She was the destruction left behind by the boy who currently smiled his goofy smile on the tv, even though blood poured from his neck. Shot number two was easier than the first, just like it always was. Her brother's blood seemed to never end, but after all, it was him, Minos Vallanso, the boy who she had seen kill his own twin brother and had pushed himself to every limit possible in District Five. Drugs had been his best friend since she had known him. The tv echoed with the sound of Minos' taunt and all she could do was feel sick to her stomach. From alcohol or the scene on tv, she couldn't know which of the two. As the scene unfolded before her, her fists clenched in anger. The sound of Minos' chest being slashed open rings in the room. The soft words of 'I'm sorry' ringing from his lips. All she can do is stare at the bartender with hatred.

Another shot for the world that hated her whole being. The destruction surrounding her with debris of Minos Vallanso and all she could do was drink some more. The tilt of her head and the shot, she barely even noticed that the attractive male next to her spoke out loud to her, using the dumb innuendo that she had before. "Would be a nice change, usually it's me that has to wake people up,of course, I'd rather not be woken up by someone who doesn't know what they're doing, then I would have to teach 'em, although that can be pretty fun to." A chuckle from his breath and she lets her own release from her empty body. The man next to her seemed to think of her as never doing the dance that they had done. She's danced the same dance over and over again. Whispers of secrets and inner workings of the men that take her to their place for the night of their life.

As her eyes scanned him again, she could feel her body freeing itself from the despair that she felt every time she would see Minos Vallanso's horrid face. Thoughts of the night to come fill in her head, just like she wanted them to. The man before her was a looker and if she was right about anything, she wanted what would be between his legs. A smirk upon her face as her tongue softly flicks past her lips. A hand gently runs itself to his shoulder. A smirk that widens softly as she feels the hard muscle under her hand. Her voice escapes from her empty body, "You and I both know, that I don't need any teaching, just like you don't need to be taught. The question is do you think that you can handle me? I don't think you can, pretty boy."

A soft wink falls from her face like the dance always had been. Mastery of the art of seduction had been learned from observation and trial and error. Learning the art had been easy for Melody Vallanso, but putting out had been harder, but now she was a master in that too. Melody Vallanso knew the dance like it was the back of her hand. The old Melody Vallanso had been dead for years, this was the new her. Alcohol, seduction, and the dance. Nothing more and Nothing less. Melody Vallanso was empty inside, but soon enough she'd find a way to not feel empty anymore, but alive. The question for her was the fact that an attractive man who seemed better than most sat next to her, but she couldn't care less. She needed to feel something more than the empty pit that held her captive. Melody Vallanso was empty, only the best could fix her again. Was the man next to her the best? She wouldn't know.

Thinking "says"

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Drowning our troubles [Tom] Dec 6, 2016 16:59:04 GMT -5

Post by kousei ♚ on Dec 6, 2016 16:59:04 GMT -5

c l a i r e

She downs another shot and so do I, one for my luck in stumbling upon her and another one for the luck that is to come in a few hours at the latest.

I don't think I've gotten lucky in a good year; and I'm not just talking about the luck that comes with whispering sweet nothings to unknown women in bars. Grey clouds have been entwining and spiraling over my head for months and I've been waiting in anticipation for it to clear, with my heart in my throat, hope on my sleeve. I learned the hard way that the problem with wearing something as fragile as hope on a rugged sleeve is the impending disappointment. Starved of success, I even took to wishing upon white eyes in the sky thinking it would give me something.

Working, caring, living - time's never cast a second thought for anything that lies outside the spectrum of those three verbs. Games, women and drink have long since faded into background noise - oh the woes of having priorities straight. When sickness takes root at home, fun decides to take a bullet and now we're both dying, me and that kid on the screen; granted, the choice of who anyone would rather be is obvious from miles away. Death by flesh splitting steel or death from responsibility and priorities; catch 22 - easiest decision ever.

Besides, look at him and look at me this very moment. A grey graveyard calls his name and he rests in a casket, going through cycles of decay and feeding something while I'm drowning the weight of the world with the possibility of wishes upon a star finally coming true. The fact I'm grinning, drinking, breathing is a testament to whoever the hell has it harder. He bleeds his life's blood all over the grounds of hell and I can't even feel sorry for him or shed a tear; I barely knew his name anyway.

He's quickly put on the back burner of my mind and I tear my eyes from the screen. Out of sight out of mind; besides I have more urgent things to look at than some kid I didn't know bleeding out on the steps of hell. Light brown hair, light brown eyes, liquor in her hands and a seductress on the tip of her tongue and bathed in her tone. In this moment, she's either a pound of flesh to add to my count or a distraction - a drug in her own way. The liquor is blameless, she's the eye of the needle at this point. Hollow, petite, valuable.

What we would do in the dead of the night is unspeakable, but we both know such things are on the forefront of our minds; call it a shared link.

Proving my masculinity was lost in the sickness that came with roots and the labor that came with that damn rig. Countless wishes deflected off a star studded sky has led me to this moment. She smiles and I swear, the hollow star twinkles just a little bit. "You and I both know, that I don't need any teaching, just like you don't need to be taught. The question is do you think that you can handle me? I don't think you can, pretty boy." Her challenge is coupled with a wink and I can't help but chuckle before pushing away the empty shot glass. Masculinity unproven, the challenge doesn't faze me - it's just an invitation with an indecipherable undertone.

Instinct gripping my muscles, I lean forwards closer

and closer

and closer.

Wish upon a star for one night of luck - my nerves are electric in this moment.

Pause; motion stops with my nose hovering just in front of hers, the tips on the verge of contact. Suspense becomes a weapon and my voice of barely above a whisper. "How about you see the answer to that question for yourself," the moment my fingers entwine with and run through her hair, I see a year of bad luck temporarily die before my very eyes. "After all, you and I both know you don't need teaching."

I suppose I should be relieved that my wishes were finally answered, even if it's just for the night - even if it's just temporary.

Last Edit: Dec 6, 2016 17:00:49 GMT -5 by kousei ♚

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Drowning our troubles [Tom] Dec 19, 2016 13:07:26 GMT -5

Post by Dana Lheureux D9F [Tom] on Dec 19, 2016 13:07:26 GMT -5

The storm that had left her behind was gone. A frightening and raging wind that would carry anyone with him, until they were useless, bent and broken upon the ground. All that was left was her, still kicking for life. Her heart could let the sorrows eat her up, or she could let them drift away easily out of her pores into the air where they belonged. Oozing from her skin as she feels herself fall back into a normal life, but her heart was shattered. Shattered by one boy long ago that she can't even remember the name of. His blurred face appears only slightly before her everytime she remembers the life before she turned into Melody Vallanso. She was supposed to be elegant and a tune that could soothe any soul, but now she was a melody of dirty words and gasps of air. No tune created to be the sweet girl she had been when she was younger.

That's how she had gotten into this situation with some guy at a bar. Attractive in his features, but she can see the hints of a tiresome life. The hints of the frustration of something, but the clear words for it don't come to her mind. Only the fact he's attractive and could use her as a way to hold himself up, even if it's just for one night. Even if it's just to please him and make him feel like he can live again in a world full of destruction. A smile pulls to her face. As he comes closer and closer to her. Noses apart from each other. His breath tickling her nose as he speaks to her.

"How about you see the answer to that question for yourself,"

His hand runs through her hair, sending a shiver down her spine. The feeling of his fingers running through her hair sends her back in time when her mother used to brush her hair when she was little. The small smile upon her face as they both joked about the future, never did she know what was coming then. The death of her mother took it's toll on her, but in that moment, she felt at bliss with the man in front of her. An angel in a dark place, even if he was tired of something that took the life from his features. She would bring it back within seconds, but his voice catches her again.

"After all, you and I both know you don't need teaching."

The noise of the bar and the television disappear within seconds. There was only the two of them doing their own thing. Silence and the look of a man who needed something new in his life and the girl who was broken on the inside, but could be mended by him. They were so close. Eyes catch his lips for a second and then back to his eyes. The silence was enveloping them, until she leaned forward. Lips pressing into his as she closed her eyes for a second, only a second. Feeling buzzed made her more confident in her mind, but as soon as she kissed him, the buzz vanished. The vulnerable Melody came forward, praying that he would enjoy the kiss, even if it was going to be only a taste of what was to come later.

She pulls back softly, a smirk pulling at her lips as her hand moves to his chest, feeling the hard body that lies underneath his clothes. She wanted it more than anything, but they were in a bar. A bar where everyone was and she prefered to hear him alone, a special gift just to herself. As she looks at him, she feels her breath escape and she speaks with a newfound confidence from the kiss.

"How about we get out of here, Handsome? I can show you what I've learned over time."

The wink feel from her gaze quickly like it always did. She was the destruction left behind, but she could be a storm, raging on as she finds another purpose in life, to make this guy feel alive again. She knows. She knows that she has him hooked on to her. Melody's melody of cocky words and a smirk so wide had caught a man at the bar and this was part of her destruction. A girl left with nothing, but a shattered heart and a confidence she used for good. This was her melody.
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Drowning our troubles [Tom] Dec 20, 2016 16:49:56 GMT -5

Post by kousei ♚ on Dec 20, 2016 16:49:56 GMT -5

c l a i r e

There's a restart button on my fingertips; I swear I've done this before.

Flashing lights and pure ecstatic electricity - celebrations behind the eye holes of masculinity I let cling to my chest for a number of years that remain impossible to recall. A drum in the corner of my mind, a beat skipped in the passing memories; I was simply Claire, no credibility to the hollow name. I blink, momentarily losing sight of a wish from a fallen star before opening my eyes and gripping the cherished moment once more. Brown hair cascades, forming a curtain around her face - a silk blanket, eyes that blur, stop, shimmer - I've seen this before.

Fluorescence; lights to signal celebration clash in logical sequence but there's only one burning star I can thank for this. Chances to relive old times, dispel the nostalgia, watch the black sky spotted by white stars and pray I can catch the falling star. Press the rewind button one more time and watch the scenario play out again and again and again.

Claire Shim; a creature of habit.

One girl, two girls, sixteen girls, I've lost count -

(lost her again)

- I don't even know her middle name, or her first or last name. All that matters if that she's here, she's willing, she's able (I've said this before, I've done this before, thought this before) and so am I. Pause, stop, rewind, restart - I can't take back ink long since dried on pages after the words are written, neither can I take back desperate wishes made upon a falling star. We're just there, just here, just Claire, just her.

I don't even know her name, I never did. But she's here and she wants me, and I need her and the jigsaw pieces all fit together; the final image all makes sense now. Eighteen years, piecing together broken pieces, deciphering a marred picture; proving a proven cause. I was always just Claire, just there, just a man. That's not how the pieces fit, it never was. It never made sense but now it does.

Just hit restart - watch it play, watch it run, make it happen. I thought that the last time (it all makes sense) and the time after that and the time after that. Fluorescent, divine; I'm stardust and I'm unbeatable, no longer confused, still constant.

(and I'm just drifting through this expanding system)

My expanding system, she's here, she's there and she's an escape route. She presses her lips to mine, sending sparks and flares through my head. Eyes instinctively close and in the second her lips are pressed against mine I can see sparks and flares. Passion running through my veins, forming a red tidal wave in my arteries and a drum in my chest. No longer than a second, a spontaneous moment; I'm petrified for the moment she pulls away but hungry for the chance to feel porcelain skin, feel her burning heart.

When she pulls away I'm scrambling for a rewind button, desperate for an opportunity to restart, watch the star rise and re-write the words across blank pages just so I can watch the ink set all over again. Like an addict starved of substance, the withdrawal already sets in and I'm almost desperately scrambling for my next hit - devoid of all purpose but that next hit. She pulls away smiling and setting her hand on my chest. I swear, for a split second, she's going to tear a cavity through my chest and tear it right out.

We're both stardust in the moment the puzzle pieces fit together.

Rewind - I said that the first time, and the time after that, and the tim-

"How about we get out of here, Handsome? I can show you what I've learned over time." The question is followed by a wink of her eye and I freeze (we freeze) and I stop, I'm just scrambling for the rewind button hidden at my fingertips.

The question hangs in the air, the aftertaste of her lips is the nozzle of a loaded gun pressed against my chest.

And I'm silently begging her to pull the trigger.

My mask of masculinity, cracked by a widening grin, shattered by anticipation - it usually is. (stop, restart, rewind-) Just like the first time, and the time after that, and the time after that. A never ending circle, even if I have strayed from the path a for the last year.

She's nothing, a nobody, and I'll never see her again; so I'll make this last wish count tonight.

"I don't need to be told twice," then a flash, fluorescent lights dim, a hit of sense, "you name the place, my place is a little... unsuitable." I don't give her time to question it before my fingers are entwined with her hair for the second time and my other hand is wrapped around her wrist against my chest.

Wanderlust and passion, they're eccentric but I'm already fumbling and stumbling for the rewind button.

I don't ask her to kiss me again, I just follow the flashing fluorescence and bring my lips to hers and just stop. Just Claire Shim, piecing everything together for the hundredth time. Restart; one more time. Searching, exploring - just wanderlust. Just one of many nights that'll blur back into simple shades of grey after black ink has settled into blank pages and the fluorescence fades away the morning after, as always.

"The name's Claire by the way, you don't need to remember me but after tonight you'll probably want to." Confidence barely louder than whisper spoken inches from her face. Big words to a hollow name - we'll never see each other again but it doesn't matter.

I'm stardust, an addict, a wanderer drifting through this forever expanding universe while in constant search for the restart button resting on my fingertips.

I think I've found it again.