do what you want. [p]

ooc. private for toxemic. using gabe. at the panic room. mia 19th, 81381.

ic. Wraiths of shadow and dying embers hissed ferally across the expanse of tainted midnight horizon, swallowing up the light of the moon with a silent scream and the nameless carnage which they wrought. And amidst this realm of swirling ebon fog and opaque obsidian nightmares slipped a single, ivory-some figure, image torn through with skeleton hands of fractured light and veils of iced rainwater.

Turning a little, his burnished coat gleaming like so many pinpricks in the chill of a fast approaching winter, the moon-washed ‘dragon lifted his magnificent head and peered ahead.

A vivid arc of lightning crested across the darkened sky, a sudden burst of wind sweeping up the hill, raking rigid fingers against the grain of alabastar and gray guard hairs. Battered paws of stained granite twisted across the rock, the bitter wind coming in harsh gusts before subsiding. Long blades of grass gave way under the buffeting zephyrs, the last hints of color in the sky- vibrant reds and oranges- swallowed alive by the moving storm-front. The clouds that blocked out the sun were a deep tinge of purple, almost ink-hued, highlighted in flashes of silver and white by the violent bolts of lightning that streaked across the sky like angry teeth. Another billowing gust of wind slashed at his frame, and he shook himself a little, trying to resettle his disturbed strands of fur. Damn wind.

Gabriel hissed forwards, fingering one of the numerous safety pins jabbed in his two-toned ears. A little tenatively, he ran his fingers through the damp, wavy, lemon-and ink silk that was his hair.

Upon reaching the door of The Panic Room, Gabe merely gave the pair of brawny bouncers there a coy wink, and he was through. He was hot club fodder, and could be found at varying nightclubs at least three out of ten times a week, and so he was hardly impeded when he approached the threshold of any hotspot.

Already he could feel his body vibrating with the loud music, and a smile curved over his gray and white face. His clothes were entirely black- he was sporting tight pants and an equally tight sleeveless mesh shirt laced loosely in the back to reveal the line of corset piercingsm that ran down his spine (as well as his well-toned, gorgeous, slender body), along with countless bracelets (layered over a pair of gray and yellow fingerless long-gloves) and necklaces that seemed to glow of their own accord as he made his way towards the mass of sweaty dancers. He found himself grinding against a deep sanguine arden with a hot red aura a few minutes later, teasing at the other maleÂ’s collarbone. Not long afterwards, the song ended, and the other slipped away.

He headed towards the juice bar, taking a seat on a metal stool and propping his buckled, ink-colored high boots up against the granite base.

<font color= "#abcce4">“I’ll take a virgin Cosmo,"</font> the arden said, his voice silky as he addressed the sleek-looking thill behind the bar. She had a pale yellow glow about her.

Giving him a nod, she began to prepare the drink right in front of him. She conjured a shaker from beneath the bar, and scooped some ice into it. She then gathered the other ingredients– a third of an ounce of Urtylos Kesjym, Sjegla Tak, Jyta't Lena, and cranberry juice respectively– and then mixed them together with a few seconds of shaking. She then deftly poured the concoction into a shot glass. “Here you are."

<font color= "#abcce4">“Thanks,"</font> he purled with a curt nod. He grasped the virgin drink in one black and gray hand and downed it in a single gulp. Gabe extracted a hot pink lighter from one pocket, as well as a single cig, and cpping his hand, lit it deftly.

He laid back and took a long, slow drag.

 

<center><table width=398 bgcolor="#000000" cellpadding=5 cellspacing=0 style="border:1px solid #408bc4;"><tr><td background="http://i140.photobucket.com/albums/r9/shrapnelserpent/atttbl11.jpg" height=100></td></tr><tr><td><div align=justify><font color=white style="font-family:verdana; font-size:10px; line-height:10.5px;"><font color=#244e6f><div align=left><font color= "#abcce4">[ooc.] i wish i could eat your cancer</font></div>
Does Ram' have hair?

<div align=left><font color= "#abcce4">[ic.] when you turn black</font></div>
Time was its own.

It ran without stopping, without pausing or waiting for its loyal worshippers to catch up or pick up where they left off. If a mistake it was made, if a tragedy or glorified moment struck, it kept going. It stopped for no one, not even anyone who regretted waiting for something that would never actually come back. Souls had put themselves on the line, every ounce of their heart and strength put into the loyalty of waiting for their goal. It was a glorified thing, for a very short time. After a while, such an action was considered not loyal, but merely as foolish and stupid.

The depths of realization were coming forth as a tidal wave on unsuspecting vacationers at their beachfront home. It struck with lies and deceit and staggered back with the realization of the waste of precious time that would never return. Up to such a point it had snow-balled. Moments were spent, anxious suspicions and hopes dwelling within, only to be left rejected once more. Such had occurred for weeks, and now, the feelings that were once so strong had to be extinguished, a heart that had felt so much feeling had to be sucked dry.

Something stabbed him in the chest.

It seemed that this eloquent thing, something woven from so many threads, was a thing of contemplation.

Sorrow, such a judgment, was something spun from the finest of fabric, a subtle mixture of a lunar silk woven in a cerulean stroke of tears. It was this translucent fabric, so light and without balance, it seemed that the very shimmer of emotion rolled without grace of boundary down its smooth surface. Down the rows, woven beneath the cotton, and with the hatred, it seemed the perfect reflection of night and its horrors had the softest stain to mar the paradise. Something of cadmium, worn and scrubbed, it seemed this imperfection was something to stay. Ruddy and dark, the thing of bloodied intentions was the true centerpiece of the cool thing, a cloth wiping away the tears and blood, to soak it up into some beautiful flaw. It was sorrow, this wretched thing. It was something that seemed so pristine, but with closer examination no doubt had a motive, and also quite more. Ever weeping of moisture that made this weave seemed to accompany one of its own drops, the tarnished rust of the internal heart.

Emotion had been returning back to Gabe for the past month, but his shock at Haze's death still held him slightly every now and then.

And now, as he was enveloped by the smoke and sweat, he slipped into a subtle semi-consciousness.

There was a certain twitch of anger that was whiplash from bitter thoughts, dancing within sea-blue eyes. Haunting, haunted, eyes.

He tensed. The muscles that etched his hindlegs moved, and, in one quick movement, his slender form was whipped about on the turning barstool. Someone had tapped him on the shoulder. He faced a thin slip of a reed-brown thill- who was eyeing him coyly. "Wanna dance?"

He stared at her for a moment before answering. <font color= "#abcce4">"Eh, no."</font> She seemed more than a little hurt, and he blinked once, twice. She turned around and departed, and as he swirled back, he shrugged.

He was a little surprised to find a rather pretty two-toned male sitting next to him, rummaging a little desperately through his pockets for payment. Nah. Wickedly gorgeous. He held back a supressed giggle as the arden spurted his shot over the counter, and slipping his hand into one of his own pockets, placed a few slips of cash onto the counter, tapping a pair of dark fingers on the other male's wrist as if to stay him. He slid one elbow up on the counter.

<font color= "#abcce4">"I'll pay for it."</font>

He glanced back at his duo-tinctured counterpart with a rather wicked grin on his face. <font color= "#abcce4">"Gabriel yv sha Azela,"</font> he purred. <font color= "#abcce4">"But you can just call me Gabe. Or 'Riel- whichever you prefer. And your name isÂ…?"</font> Gabe's eyes scanned back over the empty shot glass. <font color= "#abcce4">"They just have juice, too, y'know."</font>

He gestured back over to the 'tender, sticking another few bills on the bar. <font color= "#abcce4">"Iced gynadjumusa juice, please- and, uh, whatever he wants."</font>

'Riel gazed at the other, waiting for his reply.
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<center><table width=398 bgcolor="#000000" cellpadding=5 cellspacing=0 style="border:1px solid #408bc4;"><tr><td background="http://i140.photobucket.com/albums/r9/shrapnelserpent/atttbl11.jpg" height=100></td></tr><tr><td><div align=justify><font color=white style="font-family:verdana; font-size:10px; line-height:10.5px;"><font color=#244e6f><div align=left><font color= "#abcce4">[ooc.] no one knows what it's like to be</font></div>
woot. 33

<div align=left><font color= "#abcce4">[ic.] the sad man, to be the bad man, behind blue eyes</font></div>
He needed to see.

Not in the normal sense, but one of an extra layering forbidden to others- one of auras.

He shut his eyes tight before peeling them back open.

Like some drug-induced hallucination, the sharpness of light and dark was so brilliant in that instant moment of waking. The colors were the second thing that sprung out. It was not so much that they were so vivid, but the fact that they were wrong. What should have been green was red, and what should have been red was green.

Everything was pulsing with halos of neon.

Glowing lights. Half naked figures dancing to the beat of some industrial song. Smoke. Drug smoke, the kind that looks green in the right light.

Gabe sighed.

His cigarette was almost down to the filter, and he tapped off the growing ash into a nearby tray before depositing the entire fag into the thing. He gulped down his juice until the wine-colored liquid was gone from the thin, tall glass.

He was too caught up in the beat of the song to think, and with the lack of oxygen and the overpowering scent of smoke around him, the best he could do was to focus on the way the cadence moved through him.

He inhaled deeply, and regained control.

The boy with the seafoam coat was the only reality he knew in this moment, next to the music and the lights. Faintly, there was the mad thought that he could smell his blood. Mostly it was sweat, but it didnÂ’t matter.

All things happened because of his choices. There was no predefined nature for him to have. Things passed, and death was a very real thing. His alienation and loneliness were a part of the fact that he was an individual in the world of herd animals. Being was questioned, reality was questioned, and science was an essential part of his life. This was how he knew how to make his skin knit, and this was how he knew how to mix cocktail fusions of drugs without killing himself.

He only watched as the other dragged down his water. There was a throbbing, hot-pink glow about him, but it dissipated now into pale, cool blue, run through with eddies of translucence.

Gabriel smiled faintly. <font color= "#abcce4">"No thanks needed, Ram,"</FONT> he murred. <font color= "#abcce4">"Hm. Y'know, we could go dance,"</font> he suggested. <font color= "#abcce4">"But, uh, first, do y'wanna go outside? It's fuckin' hot in here." </font>He blinked once, twice, and without even waiting for the luoko's reply, grasped his hand gently and slid off the stool, sort of dragging him into the crowd with him so that Ram wouldn't get lost.

Trapped between the masses of bodies squashed together like so many sardines, he found himself next to that disgusting, chestnut-reed thill again. She pulsed red; the color was torn with hints of black and gray.

“You come with me, hm?" she said, and sidled up next to him, far within what Gabe considered personal space. He took a step away, and scowled. He didn’t want to hurt her. He was well aware of the fact that if she didn’t piss off and leave him alone, he would have to, and he most definitely wouldn’t regret it.

<font color= "#abcce4">“No,"</font> Gabe said deliberately. He was not stupid- he knew that this girl wanted down his pants, and she was willing to do whatever it took to get there.

As he turned away, still clutching Ram's hand in own, he found a paw groping rudely at his crotch.

His arm flew down and grabbed the yellow wrist, shoving it away. It wasn't the same girl, but a different one, and she snarled, obviously angered at him.

He knew why this was happening

Even dressed as he was, his six foot four frame seemed to radiate a sense of "fuck me". He tucked a strand of his lemon-black hair behind one ear, his strange, icy-blue eyes eagerly searching for the door. It'd always been this way. Even when he was younger, people had sworn that he was a little lolita whore. He himself wasn't exactly sure why.

<font color= "#abcce4">"Let's go,"</font> he murred to 'Eth, squeezing through the masses once more.

When the pair finally found themselves at the door, he gestured to one of the burly bouncers. <font color= "#abcce4">"We'll be coming back in,"</font> he said. The set stared suspiciously at Rammy. <font color= "#abcce4">"He's with me." </font>They nodded, and pushed the doors open.

He let go of Ram's hand, and slipped outside.

---

The rain went on. It was a hard rain, a perpetual rain, a sweating and steaming rain; it was a mizzle, a downpour, a fountain; a whipping at the eyes and a undertow at the ankles.

It was a rain to drown all rains and the memory of rain. It came by the ton and the pound; it hacked at the forest and cut the trees like scissors and shaved the grass and tunneled the soil and molted the bushes; it rained a solid, glassy rain- and it never stopped.

Everything was being bleached away. Even the jungles were an immense cartoon nightmare. The white, white wood with the pale cheese-colored leaves, and the ground carved of wet Camenbert, and the tree boles like immense toadstools- everything black and white.

And, as he stood, from a distance he heard a roar.

And the monster came out of the rain.

It was supported a thousand electric-blue legs. It walked swift and terrible. Great whiffs of ozone filled the rainy air, and smoke blew away and was broken up by the rain. And then, in an instant, a dozen whips of static white would fall out of its belly to sting the forest.

'Riel turned his head and saw the blazing flashes. He saw trees split and crumple into ruin. Saw the monstrous dark clouds turn like a black disk overhead and hurl down a hundred more poles of electricity.

Jolts of light struck the heavily impregnated sky, finally releasing a down-pouring of cloudburst upon the mortal realm below. Laced within the luminescent abrasions, the inverse-alabaster empyrean unleashed its torrents, which tossed the clouds as if each were merely vessels spread out upon the waves of the churning sea.

As if the monster had commanded a violent sea to change its course, to suck itself free from its primeval beds, the whirls and savage gouts of water spread and ran, wind and rain and stark lightning over the forest, whistling and shadowing and screaming, sputtering and coalescing about. As if a great sparkling cauldron of silver had been overturned, the liquid churned down the grasses and trees.

He opened his mouth, and he laughed.

Laughlaughlaughlaughlaughlaughlaugh.

<font color= "#abcce4">"Oh, gosh, isn't it just damn gorgeous?"</font>
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