. the deathless

[daisy heishang]

She awakes with a stir. Each movement, the slow blinking so that lashes fall against cool skin as well as the whisper of a yawn that mingles with the seemingly tortured act of stretching out of ones deep sleep, painstakingly gradual. Through the corners come an artificial light and what a light it was! Vibrant as if life was coursing through it, just as blood fed the veins of this being - the back of a hand wipes the rest of her wild dreams from those dark eyes, fleshy colored tounge wetting her lips in a drastic attempt at quenching a thirst that could never quite be quenched. Dry mouth. Heavy head. The aftermath of a hit. Alone. The room is devoid of human companions and all that is left is simply her own pet and this intruder of a feline she has allowed to remain. Legs are sore, worn, too heavy for quick movements and her arms move several seconds after she has willed them to act. This makes the act of removing her body from the sweat-stained bed - clearly the aftermath of night sweats. An agitated noise comes from her lips in a voice dry enough that it causes her to pause to take it in. Raspy, too deep to be her own voice. And, yet, it is just that. Worn from a night of hollering and a mouth full of cotton. The cold floor makes her shiver in a cooling delight. The feeling of a warm body adjusting to the abrupt temperature change. Slender fingers dive deep into a mess of dark locks, shaking them out from the wild curls that have developed. Not without a measured amount of time she ambles to her bathroom, head dipping into the sink as she flips the faucet and takes heavy gulps - almost like inhaling- of the water to her dry orifice. The image in the mirror seems like death warmed over, twice, too pale for the freckles that adorn her round face or the dark circles that dip below her brown eyes. Lips are swollen, rosy, perhaps from her own teeth or the heavy petting of whatever stranger she has experienced life with the previous night. As the shower head sprouts water, fingers twisted around the temperature knobs, she relieves herself of the one article of clothing she does have on, a black thong, before climbing into the waking waters. It wakes her almost instantly, but only in the sense of drowsiness. She is still in a drug inflicted stupor, swaying to the music that plays in her head, chuckling under her breath - running fingers through water logged hair. It seems to bring her lazy muscles to life and she brings herself to the tub's cool bottom, legs to her chest, as the spray comes down on her like her own private rainy day. She takes an hour to herself, simply mumbling incoherently though understanding her words quite clearly, before she turns the water off and climbs out of the shower feeling mildly refreshed. A hand wipes the foggy mirror, struck with flushed cheeks and more life in her eyes than she has seen in a weeks time. Hair toweled off and a towel wrapped around her damp body, she emerges from the humid room and makes way for her dresser. An idea dawns on her as she eyes the clock that reads eleven thirty at night and a smile curves her lips so thin that it threatens to crack the skin around it. It is a troublesome grin; the grin of a mischievous person. As she pulls on her underwear, pausing to grab her phone from the nightstand, she dials a familiar number. He answers on the third ring and her grin broadens. "Johnny boyyyy." she sings, her voice leaving no room for well-versed antics. If he knows anything about her he will know that she is ultimately up to no good and he would do best to simply go along. he hesitates as if realizing this exact thought, his voice muffled from what she can only guess is a cigarette or liquor bottle. Birds of a feather, no doubt. "Yea? What's up?" And he is hooked. "Where is our dear love Adam at these days? I'm feeling a tad bit nostalgic." Her words dark and the hint of a lingering dark cloud seems evident in each letter slipping fro her lips. It takes much longer than she would like, but he relinquishes his information when her threats become vivid enough that he has no room to deny that she will not act them out. Knowing him he is probably too fucked to even remember their conversation when he finally lays down for that brief taste of slumber. That's all she needs, the last push of inspiration to get her off her ass and into motion. She would visit her dear Adam for it has been too long. Fully clothed with her hair tied in a ponytail, she's out of her own abode and en route to his own. Surprise. There was the swallowing of the sun (that she clearly missed) that announced night time and then there was the bright light of the moon that announced awakening for those that were consumed by nocturne habits. The soft sounds of the world around her seemed to cause a tremor to her heart, erect the hairs on the back of her slender spine, and exhaust her senses to the point of madness. Night time. A time where she thrived, but most of all the time where the horrible ideas in her mind were acted upon. It's not like she hasn't warned him, had not explored the opportunity with him in the lead before he shut it down, and everyone knows that what Daisy wants Daisy got. Whether you give it willingly or she take it was up for debate. It's all a blur, her movements, her actions, the smiles she casts random individuals that seem to let their eyes fall on her as she passes. The knock on the door, the tenderness that her knuckles feel. Just like her entire life. It is a blur based on her own spontaneous actions - her lack of control. The door unlocks with more time in-between than she would have liked, her fingers tap against her side in anticipation. Though as soon as the door opens, it's all gone, she is perfectly fine and a casual smile graces her features as she looks up like an innocent girl scout on the doorstep of a neighbor. "Hi, lover." It is a teasing voice that speaks these words as if she is so openly welcome by this man, but in the same instance she is quick to raise hell and no matter how sweet her smile they both know this. At first, she isn't sure, but the look on his face make this impromptu visit so much more worth it.  TAGGED: adam kvasha WEARING: all black, obviously. devil lady. NOTES: somewhere jesus is weeping.

[adam kvasha]

It's barely a notch past eight o'clock in the morning. His roommates, like true amoebas, appeared to have multiplied at an alarming rate. Twice as many heads congest the apartment than Adam remembers from the prior night, before he'd gone upstairs to retire to video games. None of these people (if you can call them that) are immediately familiar to him. Yet that's not his main focus, only enticed down from his hole of a bedroom by smoke trails and heavy vibrations of a bass system so early in the day. A crude rave had suddenly materialized while he was asleep. It was almost the end of the weekend ― but to this crowd, that didn't hinder even a moment of their play. Forget work days and priorities, ignore the inevitable comedown, the hangover, the shame and regret and the vicious cycle that handcuffed them to do it all over again. Pills on the table, lines on the kitchen counter, bottles clattering that beautifully aching empty sound that called for more. As much as it took, every dose you could handle. Dare yourself to the limit. Bodies fall to the darkness of the corners, the shelter of bedrooms, even the dirt plot that acted as a backyard. Adam is mesmerized from the vantage point on the staircase, simply digesting it like an animal on the African savanna. What was his role in this setting; predator or prey? Was he to stalk, to plan, to expose them to death? Or hide and slink away, escape before he too was hunted into the ground? He doesn't know it, but the choice has already been made for him. The temptation is right in front of him at the wrong time. It's never too early, a hostile sun fighting through blackout windows, but the party is already coming to a steadfast rhythm under strobe lights and glassy eyes. A couple in a hurry shove past him, handing him a drink as their hands were lost over one another, a door shutting somewhere in the distance as they disappeared. Adam hungrily swallows the caustic liquid, unsure of its contents as it scathed his throat to bring an instant shock to his system. It wasn't his first drink lately, an ongoing freefall from the six months of sobriety he once had under his belt. Up until recently, a relapse brought on by nothing in particular but the eventual liberation from his legal troubles. Finally there was no one watching over him, he had the choice; it was no longer mandated or court-ordered for him, and LA was where he'd escaped to for autonomy in the first place. Now it was time to enjoy it, nothing and no one keeping him in chains. It isn't until later that night when he comes to. The effects of his actions are instantly upon him, nausea pulling at his aching gut, a raspy strain itching the surface of his gullet. His head spins so fast he believes it might roll off his shoulders when he tries to rise off the floor, unsure of how he'd gotten here however many hours ago. The stench floating in the air is suffocating, no light to be found among the unknown surroundings. Clammed skin registers against his own, assuming another was laid against him. With a groan he thuds back against the carpet, desperate to keep the contents of his stomach contained exactly where they were. It's a struggle to keep his eyes open, refusing to adjust to the darkness no matter how hard he strained to clean and aid them with jittered fingertips. His breathing comes in dry heaves, oxygen battling into harsh black lungs. Pain killers, pale dust, sweet skunky smoke; that's what he remembers little by little. How one countered the other, creating the perfect transient bliss until it all had to collapse to black. He'll gladly shrink here, in this spot, forever. That's what he thinks, curling in on himself, tattoos his only covering from an otherwise vulnerable state. The exhaustion catches up, only to be denied by the onslaught of anxiety racking his nerves. He imagines his innards to be twisted organs of cancerous flesh and imbalanced chemicals, held together in cruel fate by poisonous habits. It's as if he lives to want to die, an ideal he'll find in the rattling breaths of those ghosting around him under dank nightfall. His consciousness is shallow for what feels like days on end, willing himself to roll over once he realizes he was never asleep at all. Sleep is a paradise to dream of. His body tosses with him, everything shifting in a shot equilibrium as he moved to his hands and knees, shuffling over various limbs and ashes and filth, the evidence of their antics. His palm squelches into a spot of wet carpet he hopes is spilled vodka and not bile, seeking out any vestige of light before he lost it. Groping through their aphotic prison's walls and obstacles, Adam eventually reaches the flickering light of a dying cell phone, quickly using it to light up the surroundings. It's a dim shaft of revelation and he's thankful it doesn't illuminate the grotesque scene left in their wake. He clambers up the furniture edges and turns on the light, a thousand angry suns baring down on the rustling pile of garbage dwellers. He violently wakes his roommate and screams for the bloodsuckers to leave their apartment, watching them drag their corpses out the door, leaving just as big of a mess as if they still littered their floors. Adam melts into the couch in recovery, finally finding some peace. But it's a peace made temporary, a knock at the door rousing him just in time as his cigarette burned to his fingertips. He flicked it away and lit another, inked knuckles fisting through his hair as the sickness lingered with him on his path to the front door. If it was another round of guests, he'd welcome them. The peephole reveals nothing, the deadbolt echoing open. He regrets his decision when the door opens to a face he hadn't seen in two years, teeth in a smile that split open her face. Daisy Heishang. Reaction delayed, he simply stares at her in a frozen state. "No thanks, I'm not interested in buying any Girl Scout Cookies," he spits through a cloud of smoke. He should close the door in her face, let her relish a kiss with the knotted pine, but if he knows Daisy then she's already got her foot in the door to prevent that. "What the fuck do you want? I'm busy here." TAGGED: daisy heishang WEARING: the face too NOTES: i'm rustyy

[daisy heishang]

Black nailed fingers play twists in the ends of her tied hair, eyes downcast as she watches her foot tap anxiously against the carpeted hallway’s floor as if willing the process to speed up. It happens in a blur as a door opens and a nostalgic face drifts in to view, her foot immediately closing in the space between the door and the narrow escape. Teeth are bared in an almost infectious smile – one that festers and rots and turns everything it casts itself upon to decay. Sweet, sweet Adam has made his grand entrance. Completely misplaced he stands in the doorway, leaning rather, with a scowl darkening his face once the immediate shock drains. She knows this face – this look – with its ghost-pale skin and wrinkled clothes. Everything is familiar to her if not the same. Dark hair, darker eyes, with a body that plays home to so much ink the separation seems impossible in the nighttime. Lanky at best he hovers over her and she ignores the clear disdain in his welcome because she is already settled in her head. In her head she had already won simply by him seeing her face. She inhales the thick smoke with ease, her own lack of nicotine suddenly dawning on her. An urge makes her fingers rise towards his mouth, where the lit cigarette resides, but she quells it in the knowledge that it will start a fight in this hallway and she has much more planned than shedding blood. Much, much more. "But I assure you it's for a good cause." Nectarous voice pierced the brief period of silence, fell into the darkness, and went against any words whispered in the gloom. Such a compelling sound, her voice, that it was with effort or just with confidence that her threats had to be issued. “Adam.” His name fell against the corridor, low in a bare whisper that seemed so sensual, so revealing despite the formality. She pauses, eyes going glazed as if hiding some deep, dark secret, before they sparkled once more with fever. Perhaps it was because she took so little seriously, barely plaguing herself with the off-chance that at any moment her demise could come. If she had any cowardice in her bones, it had yet to be found, for she had yet to fear death even in such an early part in her life. Dismissing baritone was listened to, his words taken seriously being only because that they were familiar and from a familiar face. She looks at him this time and the analytic purpose in her eyes takes a nice, slow retrieval of all the shadows in his face that she may have neglected to remember before those two years passed. Such a charming, undeniable creature with features that had hardened and were cherished by many. He spoke, hatred leaking from that tounge of his and she found herself letting a dry chuckle fall from her own serpentine tounge. "Oh, I know you are, sweets. It's all in your face, those eyes." She smirks at the realization, hand going up to touch a cheek though the obvious retracting of him is a factor. Such an interesting human being. Like the rest of them they could deny their nature by words, on paper, and even in front of an audience but never to themselves. No, that was near impossible. To her, Adam was precious. It fit him because he was that as well as anything but. Growing, morphing, into something she was also far too familiar with. Expressionless face, no point in grinning or laughing or chuckling - she is no jester and they are not easily entertained. "This is the part where you let me in, Adam." Easy, no extra wording. She is confident, true, straight-to-the-point. This is the part where you let me in or I move you myself. And let her in he did, perhaps because she grew tired of his retaliation and shoved the door back with her foot just enough to slip her starved body inside of as it caught him off guard. Dimly lit surroundings against the spiraling dance of smoke and familiar smells of things no one wants to see in the daytime. She casts a glance over her shoulder, eyes settling on the form of Adam. He is in a state if she has ever seen one and she can't help but wonder if his attempts at denying the urges has cast him even further down.  "Well," Daisy's slender brow rose pensively, hollowed cheek withholding large lungs heaving, the man's posture was quite odd. Lithe body came to a slow and gradual stop, taking up a sitting posture as she finds a surface to sit on and her legs become entangled, crossed over one another. Her head was settled at a tilt, eyes burning with deviant curiosity, as she found herself vigorously going over each and every vivid curve of the male's body, like burning each hair and color contribution to her ever-coherent mind for future or past reference. Like a hyena over a carcass or a hawk swooping in for the kill. "Come. Sit. We have so much to talk about." She pauses, looking him over once more. "Although maybe you should take a trip to the toilet before. I will have to stab you if you vomit on me, of course." Her eyes scan over the aftermath of what she could only suspect was a thriving party and the point of which Adam's sense of morality lost it's grip on him. How amusing.  "So this is what being clean looks like." A teasing notion, eyes scanning the dismay before her, before settling back on this spiteful fellow that seems to drag out the beast in her. Fingers slide into the pockets of her snug leather jacket, revealing a pack of cigarettes and a silver lighter (both of which she puts to use so often) and as she lights the nicotine and lets the smothering drag engulf her airways - she blows it out with ease. The floor is all his.  TAGGED: adam kvasha WEARING: all black, obviously. devil lady. NOTES: jesus is still weeping.

[adam kvasha]

There was no medium for Adam when it came to this propensity for destruction. He could never waver for long, not between what was familiar and what was forced. What was dark and what was urged. For years he had surrounded himself by the worst kind of people with the best type of substances, immersed in the shade of danger under constant chaos. It became his identity, one of the few things that had stuck, nursed from the trouble of his youngest years when most excused it as a phase. Adam disagreed ― time and time again, try after try, it was the way to which he returned. It was in his nature. The faith others had shown in him was misguided, knowing eventually he would crash and burn like always. Addictions, legal problems, a lack of future, it was his own undoing. No longer a cry for help or a ploy for attention, it was just Adam the fuck up doing what he did best. At least, that's where his mindset had returned. The darkest recesses of his heart and mind, the places his memories and failures plagued him. His father's disappointments, his brother's superiority, his mother's expectations. And now, closest to home of all as she chose to join him in LA, was Nadia and her eternal optimism in the brother she wanted to rebuild a relationship with. She couldn't know about any of this, she wasn't supposed to see him this way. Not again. Yet here Daisy is, bringing the horrors of his past with her like a hurricane from the East. For months he had rotted in a jail cell because of false allegations, every hour spent wondering why. Their relationship was malicious in even their greatest of days, spent arguing and muting themselves with drugs or sex. Other people wandered in and out of the picture, used as pawns and threats, forever swearing to leave one another but never able to take the plunge. Instead they favored the guise of love, a tumultuous counterpart of the hate that warned to tear them apart. There would be no survivors in this war, there we no rules, no ethics, indulging a scorched earth policy to ruin each other in hopes that possession would be eternal. In a way, Adam had to thank Daisy for her deplorable actions. If he hadn't gone to jail, there was no telling what would have happened between them. Maybe he would have finally beaten her to death and deserved a sentence. Maybe one of her side boyfriends would have murdered him in a rage of jealousy. Maybe they'd have died, side by side, arms flung out with heroin-flooded veins. Instead, he had found a mock salvation. Another girl, another love. A chance in recovery, a sobriety that cleared his vision enough to offer hope in his future footsteps. A job, a life, a new beginning. Living in the fashion few could enforce on him. Of course, his kind grew restless. Some slowly, some instantly; it was a battle to resist what he had known best. A brief glimpse into the real world was even more fearsome than the tawdry hell they chose instead. Daisy would know that. It doesn't take long for Adam to catch the puncture marks, both fresh and healing, that lined the sleeves of her tattoos. Besides a few more visible bones and a few less freckles, she looks the same as he last saw her. She was still sickeningly beautiful, her portrait still resting in the crook of his arm. Maybe some longer hair, a bigger chest, but nothing that distracted from eyes so dark they looked as black as the hollowed soul that lurked beneath. Even her smile iced over, freezing the hiss of her venomous words that seduced and appalled him simultaneously. The disdain that poured through him couldn't ever be humanly measured. How he longed to reach out and slap her across the face, then kiss the bruise off her lips. How he wanted to shake her until she went limp, scream at her for her to understand what she had done to him. And how far he had gone for her. Her suggestions escape him, grasping a threat in each spoken sentence. Maybe it was his paranoia, but he knew her too well to escape it. Two years later and he had shaken the bonds; he could only laugh that she hadn't. And laugh in her face is what he desired most, he was no longer hers, he could love her nevermore. The rage boiled in him, rendering him stoic in her presence. The gall that she boasted by not only tracking him down, but knocking on his door, was enough to make him want to throttle her. The way she said his name, the way her eyes flickered over him, his fists clenched to his side waiting to strike at any movement as the cigarette tipped between his lips, nicotine inhaled greedily to quell his tightening nerves. On top of his nagging side effects, she was an even worse remedy. "The fuck you do," he returned, narrowing his eyes at her. She didn't know him anymore, he had changed. She just didn't have a chance to see it before, it's not like she was responsible for this. Adam wouldn't gift her the honor of tearing off his wings. At the suggestion she be invited inside, he can only laugh sardonically, incredulously even. "If you knew what I was thinking you wouldn't want to come in at all." He's leaning enough on the doorway that she can slip though, not deliberately nor subconsciously, having already made the detrimental mistake of not shutting the door on her. He lingers, refusing to follow her as she surveyed the scene that seemed to require a hazardous material team. His cigarette is finished, tossed outside and the door left ajar, turning to meet her gaze from her new perch on a counter. She was so vile he imagined an aura had to emanate from her, a glow of only a demonic spirit that tarnished all around her and sucked the very life out of every inch she walked over. Deceased dreams, destroyed flowers, skies on fire. She was a picture of the underworld and she was sitting in his living room, trying to beckon him. "I'm good right here," he refuses to both her requests, his sickness fading from concern. He truly feared for himself if he got anywhere near her. For his safety or her own, he couldn't discern but it was not to be tested. Yet. Arms cross over his chest, dismissing the mess around them. As far as he was concerned, it was his roommates' faults therefore their responsibility. "Not my shit," he excuses, kicking over the fragments of a glass of resin. The place was a dump, it was a miracle he hadn't fallen off the wagon sooner. But he did well enough to distract himself before. "I'm a social drinker, nothing wrong with that," he states to the contrary, shrugging as he pulled out two more cigarettes. One tucked behind his ear, the other lit between his lips. "A social smoker, too. Now I'm going to ask again. What the fuck do you want, Daisy? " TAGGED: daisy heishang WEARING: the face too NOTES: rawwrrr

[daisy heishang]

Daisy was a black hole if there ever was one. An individual with sociopath tendencies and an insatiable appetite for destruction. She made wounds fester and hearts decay. She ruined lives with a simple greeting of 'Hello'. There were people like that in this world, unfortunately. Those too dark for normal company and too destructive to keep anything around long. She is vicious, foremost, she always was. Impetuous, demanding, cold, self-centered, and impatient. A godawful mix for such a beautiful face and, yet, people swarm around her like moths to a fire leaving her constantly craving more. She surrounds herself with beautiful things and beautiful people even if she isn’t the most luxurious of individuals and devours romantic dreams of the men around her like a gluttonous beast. Most of all, however, Daisy is lonely. Not the kind of loneliness someone feels when their friends no longer come around or even the kind when family members cease to ring your phone. No. An emptiness borderline mimicking death itself. Alive, but not living. Content but never truly happy. Nothing quite hit home and so she clung to the small semblance of a normal life that she could - the last taste of feeling she would ever feel before she dies. It came at Adam's expense and, without notice, her own. She's too troubled to understand. The roguish ways of his face turning, the dark outline of teeth gnashing, and the flare in those burning eyes only presented more things of interest for her - more things for her to critique and put pen to paper for. Golden hairs stand up on tanned arms, goose bumps barely seen coming forth, as if a slither of a breeze passed between them. She shudders. She's mourning. It's like a part of her has died and that is the secret that will never cross her lips. She hates it. She hates herself. When he was away it made her sick to her stomach to think of him because he was, in fact, gone but never from her head. This one tortured soul she couldn't pry from her mind despite how easily she did it to others. So sad that she would scream a raspy voice into the night until the self-loathing released into wasted breaths - it was tormenting. In an aspect she is co-dependent on him as sick as it is. She does not miss him as a person but the misery behind their union and the excitement. Near death experiences. Hatred. Just barely caring but still more of anything she has ever felt in her earlier years.  She can only assume she would have fared better if she had let him die instead of saving him. He would never be grateful and she would never quite be rid of him.  Fingers rub numbly at an itch in the corners of her bent arm, puncture marks growing sensitive to being exposed to the night air before. Like a storm her irritation built at the silence as his eyes strained themselves to overlook her. She felt like a specimen on a cold morgue table. Like he was judging her because of his new found way of life and it pissed her off more than anything. She uncrosses her legs, swinging them in the open air as she tries to still her troubled mind. Red seems painted across her vision. She craves to draw blood if only from a newly sparked anger. If she loses him then she will be back to having nothing. Starting all over again to try and find another connection in this cruel world. There is confusion there, emotions, possession, but deeper still and without an explanation. There is confusion there, emotions, possession, but deeper still and without an explanation. "Smells of love." Her words mean little, she is just saying something in the same way that she would be sarcastic pointlessly or Atlas would be humorous without effect. In her head, a cackle. The Devil was laughing, but at who? Adam's poor, mangled soul was filled to the brim with anguish and hatred so Daisy's kettle was full of fear, torment; the anxiety of a deer. She willed not to play these games with him - to walk on eggshells until he felt like he could ease towards her like a rabid dog. Each spiteful word comes and goes. She would have to feel much more than she does to let these loose-spoken words bother her as he wishes. If it is fear of her in general or of who he is trying to deny being she cannot disclose, but it amuses her in a sense. That she affects him to such heavy degree. Even now. In his own domain. Half-way across the world from where their story started. "Are you exercising restraint? How cute." She pronounces restfully as her timbre of unsullied splendor seemed to wrap its calming nature around him. An eye roll follows as she slips from the counter, stretching her arms over her head and revealing jagged hip bones barely covered by the slim stretch of skin. She has always been skinny but now it is just unhealthy. Too little food and too many drugs. Too much strain and not enough joy. Her fingers draw her cigarette back to her lips, draining the last of it's life with a quick suck of it before she puts it out on her pants leg. She coughs, once, in the dust. Dark eyes, slit in a narrowed glare, sparkling with agitation and amusement, fall upon him as he spoke harsh words. She half expects him to bare teeth and snarl at her from the way he speaks. Too cautious to take her invitation to move closer, he lingers by the door as if willing himself to sprint away at the last moment. Her eyes roll at his actions. An exaggeration of her at best.  "Stop being so fucking dramatic and sit the fuck down. It's not like you have to sit next to me. You're making me fucking paranoid." She spits in the wake of silence, the words thick with her growing lack of patience in the face of his wariness. While it is hate induced and she has brought it upon herself, that doesn't make it any less annoying. She sighs, leaning back on her elbows on the counter, fingers unzipping the jacket as she closes her eyes and laughs. "Tell me. Have you heard the story of The Death of Koschei The Deathless?" And once again her attention is on him and she waits with eagerness to hear his response. She can only assume it will go along the lines of 'who the fuck cares' instead of humoring her. It's not often she feels like telling a story and little does he know it's one that is very dear to her. TAGGED: adam kvasha WEARING: all black, obviously. devil lady. NOTES: r u a tiger.

[adam kvasha]

If there were ever a more foul stench than a week-old corpse, than the death rattle of one about to greet the gates of Hell, it was Daisy in human form. The regard in which Adam held her should be considered criminal. She wasn't even registered tangibly alive to him, the sick twisted hybrid of a succubus and a siren in a stolen skin. There was nothing pleasant that he could contribute about her, except that she was pleasing to the eye until you got to know her. Or until she spoke. Then all bets were off, it was every man for the hills. There were instincts and urges that she brought out within him Adam didn't even know existed, nothing that could be named without censorship or severe therapy. More often than not, for these past years, she was involved in his major turmoils without fail. It was her honor to do so. At the entrance of their relationship, she was his source of heartache. He wanted her so badly when they first met, while she refused him the time of day in favor of her number of suitors. It took a tattoo as a first date for him to garner her attention. He was young and naive back then, never so smitten with someone as forbidden. How mistaken he had been, easily charmed by the tricks of the devil. After that, it was risk upon risk, until he was wading neck-deep into her habits, her troubles, her dramatics. And then it was their own relationship, two years of violence and manipulation, evolving into mutilation and destruction knowing no bounds. To their social circle, there was no Adam without Daisy, and no Daisy without Adam. They wished to be apart but there was not much else to be found without one another. They tried but could never succeed. He supported her misdoings only to adopt them for himself, eventually enticed by the needle she testified made it all better. She was diet pills and cocaine when he first heard of her, but she quickly graduated to the hard stuff he swore never to try. He'd only underestimated himself. That was it, all it took to actually take. The immortal kiss of death casting its spell without hope of redemption. There was and will be no better high than the first, constantly chasing it through the sickness, the coping, the psychosis. Half of their relationship Adam couldn't recall if you honestly asked him, bits and moments, blurred frames of grunts and groans or bitches and moans that meant nothing at the time until their next fix. It was like a sordid porn, a muted snuff film. It was a miracle that they had survived, despite the money troubles and involvement with dealers and police alike. And when they showed up that night with complaints of domestic abuse, Daisy pulled outside with bruises to her face and arms, the world was suddenly exposed. There no hope for him. He was cast as guilty without another say, the neighbors happy to comment on their tumultuous relationship and happy to pin it on any out of place man frequent to the neighborhood. Adam fought and complained, his own public defender giving up on him while reviewing the history of his priors, the state between Adam and Daisy. They were pointedly cursed. He was owned by her when he hadn't done a thing to her that night. The judge couldn't have cared less, eager to send him off as a junkie with an innate hate for women. Why not smear him to the public while they were at it? Every day. Behind bars. Held legally hostage by a government eager to see him rot simply for his background, already declared guilty because of his past involvements and what they'd assumed he'd done. Foreign roots, strange tattoos, drug affiliation; what more could they pin on him? He was an easy target to fall, given up on by his friends, his family, even his representation. Shaken after his sentence, Adam knew there was no out. There would be little coping in jail, forced to adapt and sober up. Told what to do, when to eat, how to piss. It was only a humbling experience for the fact he didn't do it. They brushed it off as denial, as refusal to claim responsibility for his actions, but Adam was adamant about a wrongful charge he knew would never be proven much less overturned. He had to grin and bear it. And every morning in that shattered little mirror was Daisy's face, laughing back at him. It looked about the same now, too. Her sharp features, dark expressions she thought never told of her inner workings. She was so implanted with her own mistrust and cynicism there was no getting to her. It wasn't a barrier to Adam, it was a flaw. The err of his ways were realized behind bars, forfeiting control for the time he should have done for the things he had committed, a late punishment that he accepted all the same. It redeemed him in a way, which was more than he could ask for. Every second between them was held hostage on edge, the longer and longer the charade went on. It was as if Adam had just entered custody, taken back to that day when their depravity was realized even as he was coming down from their latest fix. She couldn't even look at him while he was brutalized into the back of a cop car. And it's all he witnessed now, the only memory left to be extended as if nothing had ever changed, his wrists feeling equally bound. He ignores her snaps, almost amused by how powerful she assumed herself to be. As if sitting upon a throne of bloodied thorns and decimated skulls, biding time from cancerous lungs. Adam focused on his cigarette, embers more fascinating than the old witch he'd condemned years ago from his memory. Her curses, her threats, they don't bother him, ringing in as empty displays from a makeshift mountaintop. Who did she have here to reign over? Certainly not him. And then she asks him, stripping off the jacket protecting her from the chill of air that should have finally transformed her into the cadaver she was. He turns up the lingering music, having already caught her question. "My grandma told me once, when we needed to be scared. So yes I've fucking heard it, and don't try relating it to you or me, or any part of the fucking story, ok?" he confronts her, pressing forward to trap her against his body between his grip on the counter top. One hand quickly raises to echo against her cheek in a harsh slap, the other instantly at its aid to pull her to his mouth, joining in a rough kiss taking no mercy. She tasted horrid, and he had no better expectation. TAGGED: daisy heishang WEARING: the face too NOTES: Broken - Lauren Hoffman. Do it.

[daisy heishang]

The silence was so abrupt that the sound of the incoherent music playing in the background seemed louder than it had ever been, echoing off the wall. It was claustrophobic. It makes her ears ring. The expression on his face paled in her annoyance. The room seems to darken with his anger, but she pays him no mind. He can burst a vein in his forehead for all she cares. It will not shake her. Fingers laced in her hair, pulling at the roots and rubbing the surface raw with the roughness of it. She licks her teeth and a less than amused expression is cast in his direction. Even she, the Jester, tires of his constant snarling and bravado. He is insulting her intelligence. In the grand scheme of things she could color herself proud of the maliciousness that he had begun to harbor – it sat right at the top with the best – but not now. Not in this moment. Not when she is playing the villain so well.  She is all but bare bone now, her arms victim to the mild breeze that passes through this desolate place, caressing the tender contours of her slender body. If he knew what she had known that night then perhaps the hostility would not be as close to the surface as it was in this moment. No, perhaps there would have been another reason entirely for him to find such deep rooted anger. If he had known that Cole wanted his body cold and lifeless, unobtainable to her forever, then the act if letting him go would not have seemed like such a heartless ordeal. If he would die it would be of her methods and not some love-struck ex-lover with a grudge against anything remotely in his way. Adam could have held his own, without a doubt, but the risk of it, the acceptance of it, just seemed pointless to her. There was no point in giving Cole the chance and there was little she could do save of drive a knife through his heart – which was comforting, but overkill in the long run. Her tounge finds her lips as she thinks about the details of the events that lead to this less than gracious reunion; she gives a brief release of laughter at nothing in particular. His disappearance had been kept under lock and key of her tounge for the entire period in an attempt to keep the information from leaking to the person who questioned her most and that was her secret. Her secret of sacrifice albeit a selfish one. And to pretend it mattered. To sit with an eager expression, sit before him, and question him about his time behind bars would only suffice for digging the blade and twisting it – no method of concern for his well-being would be believable at this point. He certainly would not sit and listen to the woes of her suffering from the overbearing dark cloud named Cole. Why waste the breath? He was as much a trouble to her as she was to him, maybe even more. Her expression softens, but her eyes are distant, her lip somewhat askew in anticipation for Adam's backlash, which thankfully had not yet come. He is the same angry man she watched reluctantly be shoved into that black and white, eyes cursing her in her silence, and it haunts her in ways that he will never understand. If he only knew. there was no other option in her mind. She would have said nothing and let Cole and his friends take him away from her forever or told him and expect a similar outcome. As much as the idea of his lifeless body thrilled her, she could not accept it coming from a jealous lover's hands. It was unheard of! So, she let him be taken. He would be fed daily, but most of all he would be away from the eye of the storm that would stir in his wake. All the death that would come in his absence. The trouble that would come to her doorstep and beat down her door. Ah, but didn't that make him the lucky one? It is a secret that will come to her death bed unless she sees another time fit. She watches him as he moves like the predator that she is, each movement caught with the finest detail and then she is elsewhere entirely as if it was not her point of attraction. The music takes a rise as his lips part to respond and, despite herself, she gives a dry laugh. "And yet you put two and two together." It is the only snide remark she gets out before he is bearing down on her like a hungry wolf. The familiar feeling of skin meeting soft skin stings in the set of her jaw as his lips find hers in a devouring embrace. She can only smirk at the corners of her lips, her hips caged beneath his, fingers lacing in the disheveled mess of his hair as her teeth find his bottom lip and shed the first share of blood. The metallic taste that seemed to spill in all of her ordeals laced with the lingering residents of alcohol and subsided bile.  TAGGED: adam kvasha WEARING: all black, obviously. devil lady. NOTES: Love it. I miss the misery - Halestorm.