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*Your desire for knowledge leads you back to The Piig.* |
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*You hurriedly weave your way through half-drunken bar patrons and puddles of spilled alcohol to an unoccupied table, quick to seat yourself lest someone else take this prize piece of real estate: Aramis is sitting not two tables away, blissfully unaware of your presence. He's bathing in the glow of some new young man, a handsome, slender creature with captivating eyes and an air about him that makes you feel like you should keep your distance if you don't want to fall into a world that is comprised of him and only him. The way Aramis is taken with the young man, you assume that this must be that "Gackt" person your host spoke of not too long ago, and squeam in your chair with anticipation of things to come. Eagerly, you tilt your ear to their conversation...
"It's nice to see a fresh face here," Aramis smiles, both his hands wrapped tightly around his guest's. "This place has so many usual patrons, you begin to feel like they're part of your family, although you'd essentially lay the title of 'Black Sheep' upon their heads. Tell me again, how do you pronounce your name?" "Gackt," the young man replies, somewhat shyly, his gaze locked onto his hand in the strangers. "And I'm Aramis," Aramis replies confidently, the broad smile on his face showing no sign of relenting anytime soon. "But you can call me Rami. Everyone else does." "Then I shall call you Aramis," Gackt says quickly, "Because I am not like everyone else." Aramis blinks, unsure of what to say. It is rare when he is left speechless, his mind scrambling for some equally sharp, somewhat philosophical retort. But as you read the imminent frustration in his face, you (and Gackt, it seems) are more than surprised when the scarred bar patron presses his lips against his newfound object of affection. After a moment longer than he should have stayed, Aramis settles himself back in his chair. "Clever," Gackt laughs. "Very clever indeed! I'm--I can't think of anything to say!" "A perfect counter-attack," Aramis nods, his fingers gently massaging Gackt's hand. "Renders the enemy dumbfounded." Gackt's eyebrows knit together and, after only a heartbeat, announces: "A kiss is an instrument perfectly designed by nature to halt speech when words become superfluous."
*To your left, a pair of unruly winos are practically joined at the hip, arms around each others' necks as they sing some slurred version of a drinking song. They weave in and out of your vision as you try to fix your view on Aramis and Gackt once again. Their faces are close, so close you can assume that they feel each others' breath on their lips, and you inch forward in your chair to catch a hint of what they are saying.*
"I'm in love," Aramis says quietly, stroking Gackt's hair with superficial affection. "In love with your music, the way you move your hands. I'?d like to experience that firsthand... Teach me. Please." "Only if you're truly commited to learning," Gackt answered. "I won't waste my time on people who don't put their heart into their work." Aramis lowers his gaze quickly, as if thinking up something applicable with which to reply. "Then I must admit, I'm just trying to get to know you better," he confesses, relying on charm to attain his goal. Gackt takes his hand away from Aramis and leans back in his chair, an unreadable yet unmistakably negative look on his face. "I am no one's consolation prize," he says firmly. "I am no one's second choice. You settle whatever it is you have to settle before you start chasing me around. I've heard about you, and the stories are none too pleasant. You're obsessive, a whining pessimist who mourns his own ill fortune. I'm not the type to play 'parent' to such a child." An anger begins to rise into Aramis' face, starting in his gut, his muscles tensing as he struggles to keep his composure. "You don't know me," he half-whispers. "And those stories you heard are just that--stories. Tales told by people hold a grudge against me and they are many, let me tell you. So dispel any presumptions about me you already have. Form your opinion on your own experience rather than what others have to say. Try me...you might like me."
*A barmaid steps in front of your field of vision, shocking you back into reality. "Are you going to order something, or just sit here looking pretty?" she asks. "We have plenty of other people who'd LOVE to have that seat, actual PAYING customers!" You take a quick glance around and see no such customers, but decide not to call her bluff. Better to order a drink now and stay rather than get kicked out and miss what's going on.*
"Come upstairs with me," Aramis offers, taking Gackt's hand again, a bit too quickly for your tastes, but it isn't you, so you don't care. "We can talk there, undisturbed." "No one has disturbed us yet," Gackt says quickly. "I think you're just trying to get me to be alone with you." "If we were so undisturbed here, doesn't that mean we were 'alone' here, too?" Aramis retorts. Gackt sighs. It's apparent he has no wish to argue. "Besides," Aramis continues, "I want to get a quick sketch of you. I'm a big fan of portraits, and this smoke gets in my eyes. Five, maybe ten minutes, nothing more, I promise." Gackt looks over Aramis once, twice, three times before deciding that if this man posed any threat at all, he'd surely have noticed it by now. Besides, ten minutes isn't long at all. "All right," he sighs, finally. "Ten minutes."
*You try to stay out of sight as you see Aramis lead Gackt upstairs by the hand, unsure of what will transpire between them. Then, a sudden thought enters your head: Reckless. Is he in the room? What will he say about Aramis bringing Gackt up there? Does he even care? Suddenly, you realize how women become so addicted to gossip and hearsay; most of it is true! You know you can gain nothing by following the upstairs, and leave before the barmaid can bring your drink to you. After all, what's the point in paying for a drink you never wanted in the first place?*
 Bleeding Apocalypse · Wed Jan 19, 2005 @ 04:36pm · 0 Comments |
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