Dark-Aerith

A small child trembled, hiding tangled in the roots of a tree. He was cold, tired, hungry, injury, and scared. Shoulda listend to th'others. He sniffled softly, curling around the wound in his stomach. His belly was on fire, and he couldn't feel anything else, his vision fading around the edges. His fingers tightened around the trinket in his little hand, Wasn't...even...worth it. He tried to toss it away, but it was too hard to loosen his grip. He managed to spit out another mouthful of blood before noticing a figure crouching before him. "P-please," He whimpered, forcing his fingers open to offer his prize, "I'll give you..." Soft,

"--might as well go drink yourself senseless again." "Lithium..." "I won't do it, Boz! If you want to run off to suffer, then do it by yourself." ...By himself? "I ain't th' only one." He presses, tone different, distressed. "That's right, the others--," Angry..., "I'd forgotten. You get off on being a martyr, don't you?" Something snaps. He's not drinking this off. Not again. "Fuckin' son of a bitch!!" His knuckles burn and his partner--brother--is on the ground, shaking. Selfish. As he runs off, there is no burn. His arms don't give so much as a tingle. ...He doesn't need a drink.

It should be a simple patch job, really, but the sheer amount of alcohol in his system at present could drop an elephant in 0.02. His brain cells are, mercifully, safe, but the majority of his rational thoughts have jumped off the proverbial pier with a cinder-block anklet. And now he's started shaking, because it's as close to crying as he's willing to allow himself. But he does it anyway, quietly, leaning against the wall and clutching the bottle like a lifeline. He's already spat on the graves tonight, but no help--  It wasn't their fault. But damn--he whimpers--he can still feel the Teeth.

There was strange music -- maybe Arabic -- heavy -- hard machine noises. No one thought about it. The lights were pulsing and a guy was vomiting in the corner. Razzle was too busy measuring out his dose of glowing liquid, smiling deviously as he tightened the chord around his upper arm with his teeth. There was a woman dancing and waving her arms and wailing about her dumb dead baby. Someone hit her, but she kept shrieking about her dumb dead baby. Didn't matter, she wasn't his mother. He felt a hand on the wrist holding the needle. Tan, tan, tan --egyptian--smooth--caramel and sweet. The eyes, the face, the body -- all beautiful. R

"Heh. It's cute how they think they'll win." "I was thinking more like 'pathetic'." "Trippers." "Fools." A mass of Them gathers together at the foot of the great staircase. "Ha ha, it's fun to watch them struggle." The leader looks down on them, smiling sharply, "Little bastards. Nobility only goes so far." "We'll fix them." Says his queen. He is not here.

Razzle floats on his back, hands cradling his head. He pays no mind to the city so far below. He's too busy tracing symbols in the air. Razzle is lonely and needy. He closes his eyes and focuses on drugs, drugs, drugs... But before he can feel the syringe in his palm, he feels the lips on his neck. "A-ah!" He startles upright, looking around frantically, but nothing meets his eye. Instead, he feels a warm palm running over his bare stomach. Hears a deep, honey-smooth chuckle-- and it's gone, but he's still gasping for breath. ----Cairo.