Title: along the boardwalk and up the street
Description: tag: Alex!
Theodore Llewellyn - November 1, 2011 07:18 PM (GMT)
[doHTML]<div style="margin: 0px auto; width: 450px; height: auto; background-color:none; padding-top: 15px; padding-bottom: 15px; border: 0; text-align: justify;"><p>It wasn't immediately clear to him where he'd gotten the tophat from. Or maybe that wasn't the right place to start; perhaps we would be better suited introducing the scene as so: Theo sat in a sofa on the first deck of his oversized and overprized luxury superyacht (super-duper? No, just on the shy side of super), wrapped in a thick wool-blanket to shield his t-shirt clad torso from the cold November winds, with his wool-sock clad feet (it was a bad knit-job; his sister's dabbling in arts and crafts was rarely entirely successful, but he did enjoy how yellow they were) rested on the glass-top table in front of him.
Like this, he was comfortable.
Before he'd left for the day, his personal assistant - Jonas, he was called; manslave, Theo referred to him as - had given him a fresh cup of coffee and introduced what would become today's greatest mystery: the top hat. It happened in a flurry of activity - though 'flurry' was a gross exaggeration, as Jonas' actions were never executed in anything even close to a 'flurry' - in those final moments before he said goodbye: Jonas approached him with coffee cup in hand, prepared exactly the way Theo liked it ('black' and 'strong' were hardly the most complex instructions), and before Theo had even gotten his bearings of this new situation, where he had people to include in his field of attention, a gray beanie had been pulled over his head to cover his ears, and the black top hat was placed snappily atop that again.
"You'll catch your death out here", Jonas had said in inadequate explanation, as though death was something you caught, to which Theo answered, plainly, "You either overestimate me or underestimate the Grim Reaper." A scoff, a laugh, a shake of the head, the admission, tongue-in-cheek, that the latter was undoubtedly the case.
Then he was gone, and Theo was alone, contemplating the curious case of the top hat, sipping his coffee, shivering deeper into his blanket as an especially cold wind crept down his neck and whispered across his skin, and arriving at the conclusion that the top hat must have been stolen, at some point, from someone who fit the description dapper. And now, poor creation, it was destined to live out its life atop the head of someone who'd wear a beanie underneath it, because his manslave was convinced that he would catch his death on the main deck of his yacht if his ears weren't covered.
And soon, he wouldn't be alone.
He contemplated his options in these final moments, feeling the aching pull of a bag of dope stored in a night stand in one of the rooms that made up the contents of his boat (his ship, his home), but feeling also that knowledge: Soon, he wouldn't be alone. And with that knowledge, he lingered, waited, expected any moment that Alex would turn up to accompany him. Maybe he could set the top hat atop his head, instead, and maybe he could lure him inside and drag him along to the bag of dope in an especially assigned nightstand, and maybe he could enjoy one of those rarest of occasions; chasing the elusive dragon with an individual who also fell into Theo's category of connoisseur.
In these final moments before he arrived, he smiled to himself. This was his plan. This was what he was going to do.
Alex Cooper - November 15, 2011 08:10 PM (GMT)
Alex had spent much of his day, like he spent a good many of his days of late, alone. He liked it that way, more or less. He had woken up late, closer to afternoon hours than anything that could be called morning. The night before had been long and cold so he enjoyed every moment he had in his bed. He had spent sometime there, looking up at a crack in his ceiling that right now gave the place character but he was sure it was just a hard rain away from being a whole lot less charming. Alex's new daily routine always started with an energy drink. He found that it did something to soften his dark, etching, and constantly there cravings. He chugged a green liquid that tasted like it should be a cleaning product and sat down at his guitar.
It was amazing to Alex how time could fly as he strummed away. He loved his guitar as much as he loved his left arm. His father had given it to him when he was younger and although Alex had pawned it more times than he would like to admit, he always seemed to get it back. The guitar was old, and loved, scratched in all the right places and had a deep consuming sound that filled Alex's ears.
In Alex's apartment the guitar, a tea kettle and an alarm clock were the only things capable of making noise. He had no radio and couldn't remember that last time he had watched TV. Alex preferred what he called "real" interactions, he didn't need to watch people on a little screen, he wanted to talk to, to touch, to feel people, not just see them and absorb their stories like a sponge. This also of course made Alex a notoriously difficult person to get a hold. He had no phone and it seemed like no one wanted to send letters anymore (which was a great sadness in his opinion).
This didn't make Alex a complete hermit however (although his lonesome day would suggest otherwise). He remembered making plans with Theo last time he had seen him. Still, strumming lightly on his guitar he glanced over at the clock. He figured he should eat something before he headed over to Theo's boat. Alex left his apartment ten minutes later, throwing on his trademark black leather jacket over an old brown t-shirt and dark blue jeans. He walked down the street, wandering, feeling the cool hair brush over him till he found a hot dog kart and order two.
Alex liked Theo, although he could certainly never understand what it would be like to have that much money. Alex couldn't even really picture what it would be like to just have enough money, since he had never been in those shoes, but then again he wondered if anyone really had. But Theo was interesting, a good time for sure, they could drink, talk, occasionally fight, but nothing too serious. However, tonight something was different as Alex walked down the dock. He knew he shouldn't be here. He had been in recovery now long enough to know the words of wisdom, you had to change your people. Addicts couldn't hang around those who they got high with in the past, it was just too much. Alex told himself he was stronger now, that he was moving past his addiction.
The truth was Alex was never past it.
Alex boarded the boat, and looked around until he saw Theo. "Hello Friend," he said with a toothless smile. "Nice socks."
Theodore Llewellyn - December 20, 2011 03:27 PM (GMT)
[doHTML]<div style="margin: 0px auto; width: 450px; height: auto; background-color:none; padding-top: 15px; padding-bottom: 15px; border: 0; text-align: justify;"><p>It occurred to him that he should have worn a sweater today. But he was longing for warm Montefusco winds and daydreaming about long work days on the field, about calloused hands and simple meals shared across a rickety table, and the strongest, cheapest alcohol divided around in cups and mugs and generously shared with neighbours that popped by. (He was daydreaming about heaven in the manner of the abandoned child, and it usually gave him pause to realize it. Today, he allowed the daydream to linger and grow, allowed it to become his prominent train of thought and make a throbbing pain press against the inside of his chest and constrict his breathing until he thought he'd choke on it and be introduced to his heaven - or perhaps hell would be more suitable - prematurely. How his mother would mourn... What sympathy she would gain with shrieks and howls and exquisite misery.) His feet, at the very least, were nice and warm.
The 'hello friend' that floated on the breeze and reached him a smile brought him out of his reverie, but only so much that he lifted his head and stared ahead, off beyond the railings at the city that stretched ahead, becoming too aware of cold Brighton chill as opposed to the warm Montefusco winds of his daydreams. Instantly, he frowned, and had to declare to himself somewhere in his mind that this was not his heaven, and never would be. But of all the unheavenly locations he'd visited in his life, it was one of the least disappointing. He was distracted still, however, by the building discomfort and the transition from daydream to reality, and hadn't yet let his mind wander where it should: someone must have spoken those words.
It didn't turn in that direction until the scene progressed. "Nice socks." He smiled instantly, that tired, crooked smirk-smile-grin of someone who couldn't gather the will or energy to smile with both sides of his mouth, and turned his head to the sound. Squinting into the breeze that threatened to make his eyes water, he saw him. "You notice the socks before the hats? Interesting." The crooked grin widened for a moment, but began to settle soon, distracted from its growth by another chilling wind that slipped inside Theo's blanket and skirted across his skin with teasing precision. He shuddered.
He decided to stand in that moment, pulling his blanket tighter around himself as he rose to his feet and shuffled out from between the couch and the table to face Alex and smile what might be considered a more proper smile. (Both sides of his mouth, this time; standing up was a dizzying task in these states of lowering presence, but energizing nonetheless.) "Go well with my eyes, don't they?" Though it was hollow and not quite sincere, he chuckled, and felt a little more of his energy being depleted with the effort. (Not to worry; he had the cure in a small plastic bag, curled up inside a drawer in a room used specifically for purposes of self-balancing. He'd have it soon.)
"Shit, you want to go inside? It's fucking cold, man." He didn't wait for his response, but began moving right away, dragging his feet across the wooden surface of the deck and through the half-open sliding door that he had to strain to open fully. It drew a dissatisfied grunt from him, the slightest expression of frustration as he stepped into the warmer climate indoors and grunted over his shoulder in an almost mocking tone, "D'you want some tea?" But the mockery passed a moment later, as he walked into the sitting bar-area just within the sliding door and slumped into a low dark-leather chair that had him sinking into comfort immediately. "If Jonas were still here, I'd actually offer."