demetrius-verrill-blog

[demetrius-verrill-blog]

Demetrius glanced over at Dex, wishing that he couldn’t said one sentence less, but it would have felt like he was purposely trying to remove his brother’s presence in his life. He wanted to apologize, say there’s nothing to be sorry for. But he kept those words to himself this time, not wanting to revert back to mentioning the subject he had managed to divert from. It wasn’t a sore topic, just one he tried not to think about. It made him think of his mother crying when she thought no one could hear, his father spending silent nights staring at nothing while slowly drinking beer, his sister lying in Troilus’ bed and sleeping in the sheets of a brother long gone. It made him think of how he carried on his life as normal. 

“Two player game, definitely. How about a racing game?” he replied after a moment. Shooting games were never his thing, he honestly felt awkward and slightly uncomfortable playing them, especially as even arcade games started to improve their graphics. Video games were nice though, because no matter how many times he messed up in a game, Demetrius could always start all over again. Zero consequences. “I’d like to think that I’m pretty good at them.”

  Followed the scuffle of feet and the chime of the door as it opened, had paused expecting Demetrius to lead out first but after a moment of waiting he stepped out. The day was mild, but for a city used to blue skies and sunny days it might as well have been Antarctica. He wasn’t entirely sure which direction he was in anymore, so just spoke straight ahead which unfortunately wasn’t in Demetrius’ direction. “Sorry.”

  He wished he hadn’t pried now. “Not sure,” the conversation jump felt   little odd, abrupt, but it was certainly lighter. “Thinking maybe a racing game, heard that Moxy was supposed to be good, think that’s the new shoot ‘em up though…” It’d been a long time since he’d stepped into an arcade, heard a few dribs and drabs from fellow ‘runners that were big advocates on games but Dex scarcely had the time now. When he jacked in, it was for work, when he left his apartment, it was to train. In-between all of that he crashed.

  “How about you? Got anything in mind? Should play something two player, I’m sure they’ve still got some Nintendo family games in the arcade.”

#c:dex #//feels like shit because i've left this and demetrius alone for so long #; ___ ;

[demetrius-verrill-blog]

His first thought was - god, Lysander looks awful. For Lysander had always looked so composed, had been so composed when Demetrius knew him. There was a kind of confidence and self-assured way that he carried himself with that Demetrius had always admired. It seemed far better than his mess of thoughts, occasional impulsiveness. But whether it was Lysander’s rumpled hair, the darkened circles under his eyes, or the way that his presence just felt barely there, Demetrius was almost convinced that if he touched him, he would discover that Lysander wasn’t tangible. 

Unreachable. 

Demetrius took a cautious step inside, and the simple act of entering the apartment felt...strange. It made him want to understand why death affected Lysander the way it did, and it made him wonder just how normal it was to carry on with life after death as if nothing had ever happened at all. 

“There’s nothing to thank me for. I’ll always come, no matter what the reason.” He wanted to reach up and touch Lysander’s cheek, but instead just let his hand briefly touch Lysander’s shoulder but even doing that felt like it burned, like maybe he wasn’t supposed to. “You look exhausted,” he said softly, and tugged gently at Lysander’s sleeve. “Have you been sleeping? Or, eating, for that matter. Come on, you should go and sit down or something.” After a moment, he added, “And we should put on some music.” 

Music was always comforting, but at the very least, music might help fill up the inevitable void that might be to come. Music was warm, it felt like home, it reminded Demetrius that he was human. And that was something that he needed to know again, for seeing that even Lysander was capable of feeling something after death made Demetrius question just how truly alive he really even was. 

should’ve gone to bed || demetrius + lysander

  Half an hour, that was a while to wait. Lysander wondered if Demetrius was living in the same place. But he didn’t remember it taking that long to get here from his flat back then. Maybe that was because they had been younger. When you’re young, things are more fascinating, nothing seems to take any time at all. The days flew day, blurred into a mess of school and work and familiar faces.

  In actual fact, Lysander was a young man, he just hadn’t realised it yet. 

  Lysander let his thoughts wander. It wasn’t something he was prone to doing, he liked having everything ordered, even what was inside his head. But it was a tipsy-topsy day of misrule. He pressed a couple of buttons on his phone and put on a recomposition of the Four Seasons, that began playing from speakers on the other side of the room. At first he had been suspicious but, god, that violin had won him over. He closed his eyes. He wanted to make Demetrius sit down and listen to all 43 minutes of it. Wanted to grab the sides of his head and let the music pour into his skull. 

  Part 3 of Summer was his favourite, it felt as though that thin, high violin had reached inside him and pulled something out. And the mounting thunder behind it, the danger, the anger - and suddenly it was over, low chords now. It was quiet, his thoughts returned to Demetrius. Somewhere in the back of his mind, something like common sense asked if he shouldn’t be thinking about Abel instead. 

  The knock on the door startled him, and he sighed, switched off the music, heaved his corporeal bones off the sofa and answered the door. It took Lysander a moment to understand Demetrius’ opening statement, and he looked at him with a small frown before he realised. “Oh,” he said, “not bad.” 

  “Sorry, come in.” He stepped aside. “Thank you.”

#p:lysander

[demetrius-verrill-blog]

“Mhm.” He made a soft little noise to indicate that he was ready to leave, standing up and throwing out his crumpled napkin in the nearest garbage can. Demetrius held the door open for Dex while pulling his scarf up over his face again. It really was getting cold lately, and he had never been good with winter. Well, he never liked winter to begin with, but it was the season of death and only brought unpleasant memories. Not that they didn’t always exist like a silent whisper, a constant reminder, but the inherent nature of winter served to just be a reminder of what the season actually was and meant. 

Demetrius hesitated to speak too much, and not that it was any fault but his own for talking about his siblings - sibling? Once, what felt like ages ago, when Demetrius was a much different person, he would have taken every opportunity to speak about his siblings like a proud, adoring parent. “Um. Yeah. I have a younger sister. And had a little brother.”

The way that sounded made Demetrius feel sick, and he took a moment so quell the uneasy feeling he had. “What are you thinking of playing first when we get to the arcade?”

  Finally, the cream paved way and Dex all but attached himself to the straw, the liquid was sweet and now teeming with all bad things such as huge amounts of sugar, he didn’t mind nor care. “You have siblings too – younger or older?” He was undoubtedly curious the pegging of his siblings’ ages would help him to suss out Demetrius himself. Slowly but surely a picture was beginning to form of him, albeit Dex was in no hurry to speed that up. “Yeah.”

  “Wouldn’t notice if you didn’t look for them, I guess,” he lifted his shoulders again, fingers tapping lightly against the cool milkshake glass almost mirroring the tapping of his cane. “Sounds good.” How long had it been sense he’d been to the arcade? Too long no doubt. Longer still with a friend, or rather an acquaintance given they’d only just met. The milkshake had already disappeared by now, gone in a matter of seconds.

  “You ready?”

#c:dex #well after like 2+ weeks guess who finally decided to reply to things #after reading much hamlet i have demetrius inspo again

[demetrius-verrill-blog]

#insp #instagram #jumping on the bandwagon i guess #i know i have replies to do but i had inspo for this #:cc #also?? i made my own template in indesign because i got mad at the photoshop ones #it was so unnecessary but i'm happy with the way it looks o - o ; ; #queued

[demetrius-verrill-blog]

Oltremare still played in Demetrius’ ear when he stepped out of the cab. He paid the driver and thanked them for getting him there so quickly (under the half hour time frame Demetrius thought it would have taken, given the nearly constant city traffic and added unrest), but was now found himself standing on the sidewalk, just staring at the apartment building. The entire ride there, he couldn’t help but start wondering if he should have thought to bring something. But then he started thinking about what was even appropriate to give someone if a family member died. It bothered Demetrius that nothing came to mind. 

Maybe it was just the feeling of being back here, nearly at Lysander’s doorstep that made him aware of just how cool the air was after the light drizzle the hour before. The way the air smelled fresher and less like decomposing garbage than usual, how everything shined a little as if they were glazed in silver. Demetrius took a deep breath of cold air before stepping inside, before he could start reminding himself of all the reasons why he should be nervous.

The elevator ascent felt like forever. He took the earbuds out and carefully wrapped the wires around his music player, just to give himself something to do. 

He wondered how appropriate it would be if he just hugged Lysander. Hugs, at least for Demetrius, always worked to fix emotional slumps. But maybe it wasn’t the right time for that. 

The elevator finally comes to a stop and Demetrius stepped off, feet immediately taking him to stand in front of Lysander’s door. He took a deep breath, knocked twice, and waited. Eventually, the door opened, and Demetrius smiled faintly. “How did I do on the time?” 

Well that sounded stupid. 

should’ve gone to bed || demetrius + lysander

  Lysander had always felt that Demetrius understood him better than anybody else, precisely because they didn’t react appropriately to many things. Demetrius and his almost blase way of handling death, Lysander and… Well, everything else. He wasn’t offended at Demetrius’ tone, in fact he found it comforting, somehow. Maybe he was just overreacting, this wasn’t as awful as it felt. He never normally had strong reactions to things, so why now? God, he’d even sobbed last night, it had taken so much energy out of him. 

  “Thank you,” he mumbled, unsure what else to say. His home was mostly tidy. He hadn’t eaten much of anything at all today, so there was no mess from plates or wrappers. Now that he thought about it, he was hungry. But he settled down, lay on the sofa, on his side, knees to bent into his abdomen. “Yeah, same place.”

  He closed his eyes. Demetrius was the right person to call, he was a good person to have on your side during a crisis. The L word hovered dangerously in front of him, and Lysander couldn’t help but frown ever so slightly. It made him nervous. Implied being around to stay, implied something he wasn’t sure he could still give. He shook it away. “I’ll wait. I’ll see you soon.”

#p:lysander

[demetrius-verrill-blog]

#queued #playlist #on a separate note #here is just nice music #less feelsy for demetrius #but feelsy for me LOL #but here have some yoyo ma

[demetrius-verrill-blog]

#queued #playlist #// hc a song that demetrius actually feels a lot about #i mean i actually do too but that is irrelevant #this was the song he listened to when his brother died and this is the song he listens to #and thinks about what it must be like to #feel again #and i'm sure one day when he hears this song he'll actually be able to cry again #but idk this is night city he'll probably die before then or smth #i am still somewhat feverish and it is late please forgive me

[demetrius-verrill-blog]

“Oh,” was the single sound that slipped from his mouth, a sigh of shock, disbelief, but not sadness. His fingers stopped picking at the corners of his blanket as he pushed himself out of bed and began padding around his apartment for his jacket. Demetrius rationalized the lack of the single emotion he figured should come with this news was probably just because he had never known Lysander’s father very well, but he knew that it was quite far from the truth. “I’m sorry, Lysander,” are the proper words that he managed to say, but he always hated those words. They sounded fake on his own tongue.

But it’s the sound of Lysander’s voice, that sounds so heavy with uncharacteristic emotion in it that concerned Demetrius more. He pressed the phone against his ear a little more firmly as he managed to tug on his jacket and drape a scarf around his neck. “I’ll be there.” The words sounded more like a promise than a simple confirmation, but that was what it was. Demetrius could still be bitter about how Lysander had cheated, leaving Demetrius feeling unimportant and betrayed, but of course in the end it didn’t mean that he didn’t care back at all. Demetrius did care. So much, too much maybe, but so, awfully much. 

He was already out the door and walking to the elevator before he even realized it. “You still live in the same place as before, right? I can definitely be there within the half hour. So...wait for me.” 

should’ve gone to bed || demetrius + lysander

  For Lysander, this was almost humiliating. Having to admit that he needed somebody right now, needed help with his own emotions and feelings. Lysander never needed help - he had decided very early on in his life never to rely on anybody, they would only let you down or fuck you up. He tried to justify it to himself as he pressed the phone to his ear, held it in place using his shoulder, sat up in his seat. 

  One night, he could afford to ask for help. He wouldn’t develop a dependence again - last time he and Demetrius had parted ways, it had hurt him more than he cared to admit. Besides, his father’s death was just proof, just fucking proof of everything he had told himself. He’d tried to help him, put his own happiness on the line for it, and now he was here. Miserable and alone. 

  If only he hadn’t moved that fucking coffee table. 

  It was only after he spoke, heard the tone in Demetrius’ voice, that he realised just how his request could be interpreted, and he wanted to take it back. Not that he didn’t want to fuck, but he had more important things to worry about right now. 

  He cleared his throat, wondered whether to tell him now or later. Fuck, it would come out sooner or later. “Dad died last night,” he said with a candour in his voice that he was unused to. A straightforwardness. He almost liked it. It made a change, anyway. 

  “I just -” He swore under his breath. God, he wasn’t used to this. “I need…” He searched for the words, they evaded him, just at the ends of his fingertips. “I need somebody here.”

#p:lysander #should've gone to bed #/laughing a little cause having sex was definitely not on demetrius' mind

[demetrius-verrill-blog]

The warmth of the cafe was welcome and Demetrius carefully loosened the scarf around his neck. It was warm enough to be without it and he felt safe enough to stop using it as a form of placebo comfort. He quietly sat at a table with Dex, nursing a cup of tea and going in between a sugar cookie. It was enough just to take a breather, sit, and forget that sometimes it felt like the world outside was going downhill. 

“I come here every once in a while, but I used to come more often when I was younger with my siblings,” he said after swallowing his cookie. He ignored the quick flash of memory at his younger brother and instead folded up the napkin with the remaining cookie crumbs. “And, wait, you can do that? I didn’t know that was a thing, uh... so they have connections for interface plugs? I never noticed. Well, if I’m not dragging you around and don’t mind my company, we could definitely hit the arcade.”

  “Yeah café sounds good,” he noticed Demetrius’ lack of mention regarding the arcade and wondered briefly why only to feel a slight twinge of disappointment and almost irritation. Had to remind himself that he was likely only being polite. Decided it was perhaps best not to bring up the arcade again (even if he knew there’d be plenty for both of them to do there) and likely the only place they’d have an even footing. Most of the machines didn’t require you to jack in it was just an optional extra, for techheads like him.

  Following the instructions although in truth he mostly followed Demetrius, paying close attention to distinguish him above the nearby interference and having to be corrected once or twice. Still the café was warm and far away from the increasing upheaval in the park; and they had cookies. He’d ordered a milkshake and was currently paving through the mountain of cream (not a huge favourite of his) to get to the best part.

  “You come here often? It’s nice and,” he paused putting the spoon down, “we can still go to the arcade it’s fine. I can plug into a lot of the machines.”

#c:dex

[demetrius-verrill-blog]

Matteo & Demetrius

Somehow finding the time to go to concert halls was always somewhat of a miracle to Demetrius, and then it was just a matter of matching time with the symphonies that he actually wanted to hear. Although he loved anything classical with a passion that gave him the automatic label of just being old man inside a small twenty-year old’s body, Demetrius was a little picky about both symphonies and the pieces they performed. But a handful of months ago, tickets for the Los Angeles Philharmonic had gone on sale, and the opportunity just seemed to hand itself over. Had he not become a medic, Demetrius, once upon a time, had dreams of being a cellist with them, but of course, it was not to be. His seat was quietly tucked in the back of the first balcony, not that he really minded at all. As long as he could hear Debussy’s La mer and Stravinsky’s The Firebird, it wasn’t as if he needed to be able to see all that well. 

Throughout the entire first half of the concert, Demetrius was entirely absorbed in nothing but the music, the soft, powerful notes of the strings and the light, airy ones of the woodwinds is all that he needs to lose himself - forget that, for a moment, he was physically just inside a concert hall in Night City. He forgot that he actually doesn’t quite fit in with the majority of the spectators, who exude the high-class elegance and old-money pomp, but Demetrius has never cared about any of that. It was just the music, always the music, and that was that. 

As the first half came to a close for intermission, it took a moment for Demetrius to shake himself out of the trance he didn’t quite consciously realize he was in to begin with. By then, most of the people who had been sitting in the seats around him had left to stretch their legs, except for one other man who sat next to him. Without much of a second thought, and perhaps still riding on the exhilaration of the music, turned to the man with a bright smile. “That was really something, wasn’t it?” 

#p:matteo #i can just not for the life of me think of titles #please bear with me #if you come up with one though feel free to just casually add it or something idek #it's late and any title i do come up with is probably going to be strange

[demetrius-verrill-blog]

Demetrius was getting a little tired of the constant ‘promise’ of a consequence. Although he was more than sure that this man would be more than capable of delivering on all his ‘warnings,’ Demetrius didn’t care for them. He feared the other man plenty, but the initial fear that came from the shock had already worn off. There was no reason to go out of his way to, as the man had put it, ‘fuck with him,’ and even if it was one of the least honest things Demetrius has done in his life, he wanted to point out that if he had really wanted to do something along those lines, he would have already done it. Not that he thought it would actually help his situation in the slightest, and he had the restraint and sensibility to keep his mouth shut. 

Without speaking, he followed the other man through what he assumed was the door to the aforementioned ripperdoc place. And when the light switch was turned on, what bothers Demetrius the most is how much he isn’t. Instead, his frown was more one of pity for the corpse lying on the grimy tiled floor, limbs splayed at angles that would be more than uncomfortable for any living person. The frown was more for the less than pleasant smell that reminded him of the time a minifridge his friends had stumbled upon during college was found to house a dead mouse. The frown was also for the unsettling feeling that always rested inside of him. 

He should be feeling more than just the mental acknowledgement that, here, was a dead man with the blood that should have been inside of him splashed on the already dirty room. But Demetrius didn’t spend time thinking about it and quickly moved on from those thoughts as he began scavenging the room for anything useful, and hopefully clean enough that if he did anything, it wouldn’t result in some other unintended problem. 

“Noted,” Demetrius mumbled as he began opening cabinets, silently inspecting the contents. “Just sit down somewhere and hopefully I won’t have to take your cyberoptic out to fix the problem.” It was his lame attempt at lightening the mood; there was of course little chance that Demetrius was even capable of doing that to begin with and not mess something up putting it back in. That wasn’t what he was trained to do. 

The shelves were more or less stocked with the typical kinds of materials that Demetrius was expecting, or more hoping to find, but nothing really quite similar to what lined the cabinets in an AV-4A. It would have to do, he decided, as it wasn’t as if he would really have anything else better to work with. Pulling out a bottle of lidocaine, he walked back over to the man. “Move your head towards the light better. And down a little so I can actually see.” 

13 & Demetrius

#p:13 #i don't know anything about fixing cyberware or medicine soooooooooo #//asjdf

[demetrius-verrill-blog]

Soft, rich notes of Camille de Saint-Saens’ The Swan filled Demetrius’ small apartment. They made Demetrius feel sleepy as he curled into his warm blankets. He would have appreciated an extra day off from work, but it just seemed like there were only more emergency calls made during the holiday season that required extra shifts to be pulled. But now he was finally home, content, having just finished a nice cup of hot chocolate with extra marshmallows and cocooned in soft blankets. Demetrius could already feel his eyelids growing heavy, even though it was still relatively early in the night. 

Given just a few more minutes, Demetrius would have fallen asleep, except the sudden discord in the music that played caused him to abruptly open his eyes in confusion. The Swan was definitely still playing, but when had Beethoven’s Piano Sonata No. 14 started playing? His eyes landed on his phone vibrating at his bedside table, and his mind clicked together the pieces. Without even needing to look at his phone’s screen, Demetrius knew that it was Lysander calling. No one else had that as a ringtone. 

Almost a fantasy.

After a moment’s hesitation, Demetrius pressed the answer button and placed the phone against his ear. “Hi Lysander.” It came out as almost a question, for calls between them were rare now, but it was far from unwelcome. He sat up as he listened to Lysander on the other end, whose voice sounded slightly different than usual. Maybe it was just the reception? His fingers picked at the edges of one of his blankets as he immediately responded, “No, I don’t have anything going on tonight. I could come over, but... what’s the occasion?” 

It wasn’t that Demetrius didn’t want to be where Lysander was, regardless of where that exact place was. But if they had seen each other in the past few years, they were outside, somewhere in the city. But ‘come over’ sounded like going over to Lysander’s place, and that...was different. 

should’ve gone to bed || demetrius + lysander

  Red-eyed, carpet-mouthed, Lysander was hungover. He rarely got them, not since he was a teenager, and even then they tended to be manageable. But he was delicate today. Had gone into work, but spent all day snapping and taking paracetamol when nobody was looking. He had barely got anything done, had glowered when an intern asked if he was okay. Maybe having Q over last night had been a mistake. 

  Now at home, he relished the quiet, but couldn’t help but feel somehow lonely. He saw his dad maybe once or twice a week - visiting two days in a row had been a fluke - but Abel’s absence was all he could think about. He felt it deep in his chest. It hadn’t felt like this when Cordelia had died. He hadn’t felt empty, he had been scared, relieved, upset. But now, what did he have left? Bettering his father’s life had been his reason for getting up in the morning, his motivation to work. 

  It was with some kind of reluctance that he picked up his phone and found Demetrius in the contacts. Like he didn’t want to bother him. Like this was too much too soon. 

  But he pressed the green call button before he could persuade himself not to, and raised it to his ear. The ring tone was deafening. He had half-hoped Demetrius wouldn’t pick up, but then there was a voice at the other end. 

  “Evening, Demetrius.” He tried to sound as normal as possible. “I don’t suppose you’d be free to come over, would you?”

#p:lysander #should've gone to bed

[demetrius-verrill-blog]

Demetrius stopped walking as when Dex came to a stop, glancing around the area as he thought briefly for a moment. He tried to ignore the sounds of the protest behind him, the sounds of words being shouted through a voice amplifier by police that were muffled at this distance. Even if it had nothing to do with someone who had fallen off the edge from cyberpsychosis, the possibility of something happening as a result of simply being in the wrong place at the wrong time brought a confusing, complicated mix of emotions Demetrius associated with his, now dead brother, Troilus. 

“Cafe then? If you’re up for that,” Demetrius asked. Silently, he decided to drop the idea of going to a game arcade -- even if he did want to go, it seemed more than a little impolite to go if it was unlikely that Dex would have much to enjoy by going there. “If we’re thinking of the same place, there’s a cafe nearby that has good cookies,” he offered with a smile. “I think that’s a left and down a couple blocks from here. I think that’ll be far enough away from here that...” his voice cut off slowly, as Demetrius nearly forgot what he was trying to say. 

Probably something along the lines of not dying.  

  Dex craned his head in the general direction of all the noise and fuss, but gained no more insight as to what was going on than what Demetrius informed him of. The netrunner wasn’t sure if the cops being unleashed repelled or pulled him into the swirling mass of people. The decision however seemed to have been made for him, which perhaps was for the best given it seemed likely that Dex would fend well by himself in the middle of an escalating protest. “Yeah,” he uttered, agreeable that they should get out of here if only because he didn’t want to be anywhere close to here when the cops arrived. He lifted his head at what could only be described as an invitation.

  “Yeah—uh, that sounds good,” was that the right response? It’d been a long time since he’d gone and done something, or anything, with a friend outside in realspace. So long in-fact that he couldn’t remember the last time. “Sure there’s a café near here, know there’s an arcade close to the park—game arcade anyway,” he’d gone as a kid, because there wasn’t much to do near where he lived. Unless you included dodging bullets and playing with debris. He’d spend weeks saving up enough to go spend an hour or two in the arcade, filled with old vintage machines, a few newer ones too. Unfortunately this nostalgia for the past only lasted so long after Dex realized even if the arcade was still there, still had the same games, he couldn’t play them. Playing them would require the one thing he lacked. 

  He huffed but slowed to a stop, half hoping and assuming Demetrius would too. “Which way?”

#c:dex #aaa the cutie

[demetrius-verrill-blog]

Demetrius silently traced little shapes onto his glass, where condensation had formed the foggy canvas perfect for doing just that. “...I kind of work there? The AV vehicles are at a completely different building altogether, so I actually rarely step inside hospitals,” he responded, and perhaps it just as well that he didn’t spend time in hospitals. At one time, he had considered working towards a different track, so he would end up as a surgeon or doctor instead of doing EMT work. But that meant patient interactions; it meant putting in time, an investment that Demetrius knew he would undoubtedly become emotionally invested in. And if, in the end, all of modern science’s miracles couldn’t pull through enough, he didn’t want to know what it would feel like then. Or, what it wouldn’t feel like, and what he wouldn’t feel. 

Being an EMT was different. Things happened so quickly, that not much stuck in his mind afterwards about the people he ended up treating. Even faces were something of a blur - but he certainly remembered the ones of those who died. 

His eyes widened slightly in surprise at hearing 'boxer’, as Demetrius hadn’t expected anything along those lines. As much passion John had put into his singing just moments before, he had appeared to be just a little too -- ordered? to be a boxer, although of course, that was just Demetrius’ initial impressions. And what did he really know, anyway? “But a boxer with the name Badger, huh? I don’t know anyone who boxes, but it sounds like a pretty exciting thing to do.” Just probably something too exciting for himself to do though. 

“And well, if you’re serious about having the patience to teach me guitar, I’d love to try,” he continued. His smile brightened a little, and without him really even conscious of it, his thumb drew a tiny smiley face on the glass. 

What Talk of Music - Demetrius and John

The exhilaration was still burning through him when John rejoined Demetrius, but was fading a little as the moment past, left him chuckling, a little self conscious and shy. There was a hint of a flush to his cheeks that he’d deny to the grave, but whether it was embarrassment or the heat of the room or the energy he just expended, it wasn’t precisely clear. “Thank you,” he replied finally, and when he raised his head, his laughing green eyes met his, a little bashful but genuine.

Ran a hand, trembling lightly, through short sweat-touched hair, and itched for a cigarette. Been going good on his mission to quit, but hell, if he didn’t ache for one right now. The scent of cigarette smoke wasn’t helping.

John took his seat next to him, steadfastly ignoring his craving, and ordered another whisky, savoring the burn that warmed his chest and belly as he took a healthy mouthful. “Yeah,” he asked, lips quirking a touch, gaze warm even though he wasn’t glancing to him again yet, toying with his glass. “Glad you could make it out – nice to have a little new company now and again.”

I’m an EMT medic –

Something icy curled into John’s stomach that took a great deal of effort to keep from his face, and he wagered that he had failed, just a flash of emotion around the eyes. “You work at Stuart,” he asked, casually, he thought, but there was a note to it he couldn’t entirely hide. John didn’t want many people knowing about his little misadventure with Xio. It was bad enough, the fleeting memories of being at death’s door, those little slices of agony, or clearer still, the expression on Quin’s face that would have told him how bad it was. The little incident that gave him just enough of a taste of death to have a proper, intimate fear of it. It was inevitable for him, physically, there was no denying it, but that didn’t mean he wanted to die earlier, or to have this sweet-faced young man have a memory of what he looked like with his ribcage crushed.

His expression cleared a little when the topic turned, glanced back to Demetrius to meet his eyes again, a little more relaxed but with that question still lurking worryingly in the background. “Boxer,” he replied quietly, “under the name of Badger.” It wasn’t completely untrue, and with the ink on his resignation slip to his father’s company drying, he’d prefer not to mention it. Didn’t wasn’t to be judged by who his father was. “Still a performance,” he added, with another hint of a smile, eyes gentling. “Still occasionally spontaneous.”

There was a twinge of empathy in him for Demetrius, an understanding of what it was like to be something you didn’t want to be, to be kept from your passion. “Look, I ain’t ever played the cello,” he told him honestly, softly, “but if you don’t know guitar, I can show you a chord or two.”

#p:john

[demetrius-verrill-blog]

Blue Tuesday #9 (Existentialism and worldviews)

#insp #queued

[demetrius-verrill-blog]

“i hate cats, they’re so pretentious and stupid”

me:

#insp #queued #except w/o the sword

[demetrius-verrill-blog]

So play on, play on, play on

#playlist #because nicki is my goddess and i could not resist posting this song #i am #/almost/ sorry #insp: 5am light