I’m not breaking down; I’m breaking out
Smoke rises from beside his hand, but the glowing end of the cigarette is dying, much like everything else about him. The balcony shows the street below, meaningless little lights passing as even more meaningless car honks, engine sounds and random shouts reach his deafened ears. The city by the beach feels empty, the usual tourists’ drunken endeavours don’t faze him any more. The empty hotel balcony is his usual escape when the world is too much: the street below is far enough away that he can pretend not to see and hear it all. That is why he requests the thirteenth floor every single time - that, and the view.
The night is warm, but it will cool off soon because it’s a cloudless sky. His chocolate gaze find the stars above for a moment, noticing how the calm and moonless night endures the lack of light, the lack of either sun or moon. Maybe he should endure more, too. Calm and unblinking as the white stars, surrounded by the endless black void that is life. Not a bad thing to do with a family like his - a life like his.
The sea, further out, is just as black and blinking, stars reflected on the surface, but broken by each wave. The night feels surreal and unending, and yet he has no notice of the passing of time. A thought crosses his mind briefly - would a child in the womb feel this way, and if so is this some kind of rebirth metaphor - but he knows better than to follow any train of thought regarding children, or even a new life; it would remind him of his old one.
There is a part of him that wants to call her, as usual. But he knows she wouldn’t pick up, and what if she even did? There’s nothing left to say or salvage. He cannot think of her as he did before. Instead, his hands curl around the cold steel of the balcony railing, eyes locked on the horizon, whiskey still untouched.
Unusual for his personality, but more commonplace each night he spends out here.
The sound of footsteps in the hall finally make him move; there was no click-clack of heels on the marble hotel floors this time, but a soft sound of... possibly flats. Definitely not the shoes of a hotel clerk, and certainly not that of a drunk woman trying to find some rich or good-looking guy (preferably both, of course, and he had taken advantage of it in his time) to spend the night with in hopes of something more, some kind of fairytale ending perhaps. He never had been sure what exactly they wanted - money, reputation, or if they generally came for affection - possibly just the one in a hundred.
His ex hadn't wanted to even give into him, and perhaps in retrospect he shouldn't have chased her - but it was because of that, that she had been more than a little attractive, hadn't she?
No, it's the not-loudness of the feet shuffling out of the hallway and onto the balcony that stirs him. He drops the glowing smoke into a water glass - even if he had not touched the whiskey yet, he would not waste a good one - an turns around to look at who it was that approached him now, freckled hands still resting on the balcony railing, now behind his back as his own light-brown eyes took in the blue-eyes woman now before him. He doesn't speak - doesn't even lift a hand to pull away some of the bright red hair that marked so many in his family. And he likes to imagine it isn't a rude stare - just looking at her, inquisitively. She is the one to disturb him, after all - but he forgives her for it immediately, for she seems to have fled the mobs below just as much as he has. A doe in the headlights, he might think - damn, but wouldn't that make a fine piece of art? His photographer's eye take in every detail - the way she holds her purse, the way her hands quickly move to close the door behind her, like she shouldn't be caught here, especially not with him.
Dark lashes flutter when she looks up, somehow bold and shy at the same time, and he decides he likes her. Bad things may come from that decision, but he likes her and he cannot help it. Mind some company? "Depends on the company." He cannot help a grin, and a feeling that takes him back years. He really shouldn't, but... "Have I seen you before?" he tilts his head just a little, grin fading into a more charming, warm smile. She looks familiar - but then, in this town everyone may seem familiar if you stayed long enough.
One of the reasons he always stuck to this same hotel when he visited for family matters; never in the house. Too full of people he knows. Too loud, sometimes - all details overlooked. And too... what's the word, stuffy? Anyway - after all that had happened in his life, he preferred the hotels he slept in during his travels, preferred the occasional exposition in a gallery, and the steady income the Zine provided for the other exclusive photos. Once upon a time he'd used that reputation for everything that God forbid - private shoots were an easy pick-up - but as time continues, he knows that life has more to offer.
Take this girl, then - introvert, he thinks, but she probably came with someone; a friend, maybe - yes, a friend. To please someone else, that is why she's here. Something was off though, or she would have stayed down there out of loyalty.
He's glad she didn't.
The night is warm, but it will cool off soon because it’s a cloudless sky. His chocolate gaze find the stars above for a moment, noticing how the calm and moonless night endures the lack of light, the lack of either sun or moon. Maybe he should endure more, too. Calm and unblinking as the white stars, surrounded by the endless black void that is life. Not a bad thing to do with a family like his - a life like his.
The sea, further out, is just as black and blinking, stars reflected on the surface, but broken by each wave. The night feels surreal and unending, and yet he has no notice of the passing of time. A thought crosses his mind briefly - would a child in the womb feel this way, and if so is this some kind of rebirth metaphor - but he knows better than to follow any train of thought regarding children, or even a new life; it would remind him of his old one.
There is a part of him that wants to call her, as usual. But he knows she wouldn’t pick up, and what if she even did? There’s nothing left to say or salvage. He cannot think of her as he did before. Instead, his hands curl around the cold steel of the balcony railing, eyes locked on the horizon, whiskey still untouched.
Unusual for his personality, but more commonplace each night he spends out here.
The sound of footsteps in the hall finally make him move; there was no click-clack of heels on the marble hotel floors this time, but a soft sound of... possibly flats. Definitely not the shoes of a hotel clerk, and certainly not that of a drunk woman trying to find some rich or good-looking guy (preferably both, of course, and he had taken advantage of it in his time) to spend the night with in hopes of something more, some kind of fairytale ending perhaps. He never had been sure what exactly they wanted - money, reputation, or if they generally came for affection - possibly just the one in a hundred.
His ex hadn't wanted to even give into him, and perhaps in retrospect he shouldn't have chased her - but it was because of that, that she had been more than a little attractive, hadn't she?
No, it's the not-loudness of the feet shuffling out of the hallway and onto the balcony that stirs him. He drops the glowing smoke into a water glass - even if he had not touched the whiskey yet, he would not waste a good one - an turns around to look at who it was that approached him now, freckled hands still resting on the balcony railing, now behind his back as his own light-brown eyes took in the blue-eyes woman now before him. He doesn't speak - doesn't even lift a hand to pull away some of the bright red hair that marked so many in his family. And he likes to imagine it isn't a rude stare - just looking at her, inquisitively. She is the one to disturb him, after all - but he forgives her for it immediately, for she seems to have fled the mobs below just as much as he has. A doe in the headlights, he might think - damn, but wouldn't that make a fine piece of art? His photographer's eye take in every detail - the way she holds her purse, the way her hands quickly move to close the door behind her, like she shouldn't be caught here, especially not with him.
Dark lashes flutter when she looks up, somehow bold and shy at the same time, and he decides he likes her. Bad things may come from that decision, but he likes her and he cannot help it. Mind some company? "Depends on the company." He cannot help a grin, and a feeling that takes him back years. He really shouldn't, but... "Have I seen you before?" he tilts his head just a little, grin fading into a more charming, warm smile. She looks familiar - but then, in this town everyone may seem familiar if you stayed long enough.
One of the reasons he always stuck to this same hotel when he visited for family matters; never in the house. Too full of people he knows. Too loud, sometimes - all details overlooked. And too... what's the word, stuffy? Anyway - after all that had happened in his life, he preferred the hotels he slept in during his travels, preferred the occasional exposition in a gallery, and the steady income the Zine provided for the other exclusive photos. Once upon a time he'd used that reputation for everything that God forbid - private shoots were an easy pick-up - but as time continues, he knows that life has more to offer.
Take this girl, then - introvert, he thinks, but she probably came with someone; a friend, maybe - yes, a friend. To please someone else, that is why she's here. Something was off though, or she would have stayed down there out of loyalty.
He's glad she didn't.
Leilan
no. 7 | ice forged in fire
@[lilliana] -continues the joke-
Two things I know I can make: pretty kids, and people mad.
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