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debut - locked to Bella
Mar. 1st, 2014 08:12 pm“So, where are you, Sage?”
Adrian had lost track of how many days he had been in the hotel, enjoying his newfound freedom to binge on every vice known to man or Moroi. A nagging voice in the back of his head that sounded an awful lot like a hot blonde Alchemist reminded him that he had responsibilities in Palm Springs that shouldn’t be taken lightly but Adrian wasn’t listening to it, not now. He had just been turned down by said blonde Alchemist and needed to feel numb for a little while so the dark didn’t creep in. As hazy as he was right now at least two days into a binge, Spirit was barely there. Oh, sure, it lingered around the edges and little fingers of power seeped in every once in a while but for the most part the only thing he could manage was alcohol-laced thoughts about how everyone was probably better off without him.
When did he get so depressing? Just a year or so ago, he’d still been the life of every party and now he was laying in a hotel God knows where feeling sorry for himself. Thoughts of what Sydney or Jill might think started to crowd in and harsh his buzz and that’s when Adrian decided he’d had enough of moping for the moment. He’d just get dressed and head back to Palm Springs, maybe work on the next in a series of abstract paintings that were more or less about Sydney. There’d been a triumphant red lily and a haunting golden eye. He thought his next might be a moody abstract in shades of khaki and earth-brown and if that wasn’t a sign of madness, he didn’t know what was; only he could be in love with a woman who found color to be obnoxious.
Adrian? He was all color. He was muddy brown and bright green, deep purple and violent, vibrant blue. He was everything all swirled together, chaotic and resistant to any semblance of order. He was every stereotype of an artist and then some, right down to the cling of stale smoke and expensive gin lingering on his breath.
You’re ridiculous, Ivashkov, he thought to himself, pulling on clothes that were impossibly wrinkled from spending days crumpled on the floor. He tousled his hair lightly and gave his reflection and irrepressible smile, trying to look every inch the charming playboy that he desperately pretended to be. Very few people saw past that but those who did? Well. They were the ones who mattered.
He tugged at the closet door that he’d come through originally and pulled it open, surprised to see it was just an ordinary closet. A big closet, to be sure, but there was no secret world lurking beyond this wardrobe. Adrian walked inside and pressed his hands against the wall, hoping to find some catch or some way back to his own world. His hands got more desperate, beating the wall instead of tapping it, and he finally kicked the damn thing in frustration.
“What the fuck? I just came through here...it was just a few days ago! I just came through here.”
He kicked it one last time for good measure and stormed out. On the way, he grabbed his rapidly-dwindling pack of cigarettes and stuck one in his mouth, lit it and took a drag, needing the nicotine before he had to go face people. It was daylight, which meant humans would be out and about and he needed himself as numb as possible if he was going to try to find a way back home. Dulling Spirit meant actually being able to conduct a conversation without checking auras and that was something he desperately needed to be able to do.
He found the first person walking the halls and reached out, touching the inside of their elbow. He put on his best, cocksure grin and tilted his head.
“So, which one of these doors leads to Palm Springs? If I don’t get back, some crazy girl is going to organize my closet by color and I’m never going to survive that much organization. Help me? I’m desperate.”
It was a little over the top, sure, but Adrian thought it couldn’t hurt. He was, after all, actually telling the truth.
Adrian had lost track of how many days he had been in the hotel, enjoying his newfound freedom to binge on every vice known to man or Moroi. A nagging voice in the back of his head that sounded an awful lot like a hot blonde Alchemist reminded him that he had responsibilities in Palm Springs that shouldn’t be taken lightly but Adrian wasn’t listening to it, not now. He had just been turned down by said blonde Alchemist and needed to feel numb for a little while so the dark didn’t creep in. As hazy as he was right now at least two days into a binge, Spirit was barely there. Oh, sure, it lingered around the edges and little fingers of power seeped in every once in a while but for the most part the only thing he could manage was alcohol-laced thoughts about how everyone was probably better off without him.
When did he get so depressing? Just a year or so ago, he’d still been the life of every party and now he was laying in a hotel God knows where feeling sorry for himself. Thoughts of what Sydney or Jill might think started to crowd in and harsh his buzz and that’s when Adrian decided he’d had enough of moping for the moment. He’d just get dressed and head back to Palm Springs, maybe work on the next in a series of abstract paintings that were more or less about Sydney. There’d been a triumphant red lily and a haunting golden eye. He thought his next might be a moody abstract in shades of khaki and earth-brown and if that wasn’t a sign of madness, he didn’t know what was; only he could be in love with a woman who found color to be obnoxious.
Adrian? He was all color. He was muddy brown and bright green, deep purple and violent, vibrant blue. He was everything all swirled together, chaotic and resistant to any semblance of order. He was every stereotype of an artist and then some, right down to the cling of stale smoke and expensive gin lingering on his breath.
You’re ridiculous, Ivashkov, he thought to himself, pulling on clothes that were impossibly wrinkled from spending days crumpled on the floor. He tousled his hair lightly and gave his reflection and irrepressible smile, trying to look every inch the charming playboy that he desperately pretended to be. Very few people saw past that but those who did? Well. They were the ones who mattered.
He tugged at the closet door that he’d come through originally and pulled it open, surprised to see it was just an ordinary closet. A big closet, to be sure, but there was no secret world lurking beyond this wardrobe. Adrian walked inside and pressed his hands against the wall, hoping to find some catch or some way back to his own world. His hands got more desperate, beating the wall instead of tapping it, and he finally kicked the damn thing in frustration.
“What the fuck? I just came through here...it was just a few days ago! I just came through here.”
He kicked it one last time for good measure and stormed out. On the way, he grabbed his rapidly-dwindling pack of cigarettes and stuck one in his mouth, lit it and took a drag, needing the nicotine before he had to go face people. It was daylight, which meant humans would be out and about and he needed himself as numb as possible if he was going to try to find a way back home. Dulling Spirit meant actually being able to conduct a conversation without checking auras and that was something he desperately needed to be able to do.
He found the first person walking the halls and reached out, touching the inside of their elbow. He put on his best, cocksure grin and tilted his head.
“So, which one of these doors leads to Palm Springs? If I don’t get back, some crazy girl is going to organize my closet by color and I’m never going to survive that much organization. Help me? I’m desperate.”
It was a little over the top, sure, but Adrian thought it couldn’t hurt. He was, after all, actually telling the truth.
