06-24-2019, 02:47 PM
Eiji Lynx woke up int he middle of utter darkness with a gasp.
He steadied himself. He was in his bed in Moscow.
He’d been dreaming about her and how he’d break the news to her folks. In his dream, she wouldn’t listen to reason. He understood denial. It was one of the recognized stages, as Meera mentioned.
He got out of bed. The floor was cold under his bare feet. Outside, the wind seemed to have stopped at last. The night sky was oddly grey, flowing with departing clouds.
Eiji Lynx knew all about denial, because he’d denied himself everything, including the hope of salvation, in the time he’d spent in the eastern colonies. He knew what a death sentence felt like, too, because his civilian life trapped in this city all but kills him. He’d been recalled, unwillingly, to Moscow, to wait for the next mission. It was a nothing special place, just something the higher ups procured for him, a temporary stop, just a shelter he didn’t have to break into.
He’d talked to Meera, and they’d decided that the medication dosage would stay the same. Better for him.
But how to feel better? Every time Meera checked in with him, Eiji’s agony increased. How could he break it to her in his dreams and make her understand?
He got dressed, and let himself out of his room. He needed a drink. He decided he’d sit himself down in the new reopened club and drink. The neon lights would soothe him, and allow his mind to calm.
The sky had cleared, and the stars came out, but the air temperature had dropped sharply. He threaded corners and alleys of the neighborhood, his breath wisping into the air from around his mask which helped to block off some stronger scents. Like the night, the trail had gone cold, and left in its place a deadness no neon lights could fill at this hour.
He pushed open the door into the Kallisti but was stopped in his tracks.
…
He clunked opened the door and let himself in out of the bitter cold of the empty night. Eiji curled up in one of the chairs, and used his bandana as an extra layer over his nose and mouth.
“I can’t!” he hissed through his mask and almost shirked at the strange staff in their liveries of egyptian gold, crimson and all manner of glorious things. They seemed glad of something to do, and he’d only just been seated when his beer arrived in record time.
He couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen any face paint that wasn’t camo or black out. Face painting wasn’t a talent he’d ever developed, growing up, and he was concerned that he might overdo it and end up looking like one of those frightful transvestite performers at the Cabaret. He’d heard the most appalling stories about some show up at the Cabaret that had sealed the center of downtown off.
Eiji Lynx
wolf-ie
He steadied himself. He was in his bed in Moscow.
He’d been dreaming about her and how he’d break the news to her folks. In his dream, she wouldn’t listen to reason. He understood denial. It was one of the recognized stages, as Meera mentioned.
He got out of bed. The floor was cold under his bare feet. Outside, the wind seemed to have stopped at last. The night sky was oddly grey, flowing with departing clouds.
Eiji Lynx knew all about denial, because he’d denied himself everything, including the hope of salvation, in the time he’d spent in the eastern colonies. He knew what a death sentence felt like, too, because his civilian life trapped in this city all but kills him. He’d been recalled, unwillingly, to Moscow, to wait for the next mission. It was a nothing special place, just something the higher ups procured for him, a temporary stop, just a shelter he didn’t have to break into.
He’d talked to Meera, and they’d decided that the medication dosage would stay the same. Better for him.
But how to feel better? Every time Meera checked in with him, Eiji’s agony increased. How could he break it to her in his dreams and make her understand?
He got dressed, and let himself out of his room. He needed a drink. He decided he’d sit himself down in the new reopened club and drink. The neon lights would soothe him, and allow his mind to calm.
The sky had cleared, and the stars came out, but the air temperature had dropped sharply. He threaded corners and alleys of the neighborhood, his breath wisping into the air from around his mask which helped to block off some stronger scents. Like the night, the trail had gone cold, and left in its place a deadness no neon lights could fill at this hour.
He pushed open the door into the Kallisti but was stopped in his tracks.
…
He clunked opened the door and let himself in out of the bitter cold of the empty night. Eiji curled up in one of the chairs, and used his bandana as an extra layer over his nose and mouth.
“I can’t!” he hissed through his mask and almost shirked at the strange staff in their liveries of egyptian gold, crimson and all manner of glorious things. They seemed glad of something to do, and he’d only just been seated when his beer arrived in record time.
He couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen any face paint that wasn’t camo or black out. Face painting wasn’t a talent he’d ever developed, growing up, and he was concerned that he might overdo it and end up looking like one of those frightful transvestite performers at the Cabaret. He’d heard the most appalling stories about some show up at the Cabaret that had sealed the center of downtown off.
Eiji Lynx
wolf-ie
Viktor Lih
Officer of CCDPD
Officer of CCDPD