#unholy.starter

[selfmythclcgy]

open to: everyone location: lounge bar at glass house

The torment was as close as he could get to resolution in his retaliation against his vices. Wiping his fingers along the stick of a bar counter after one too many drinks, biting into a lime or an olive to salivate at the anticipation of something stronger, listening to a slur and feeling it slick on is own tongue— Sinclair could relish it all from a distance. He carried some false sense of faith that as long as he didn't hold a drink, he could keep himself from stumbling out. Soon enough, just as his manager told him, he would have to walk into rooms like these and know how to act. He told himself this was what he needed to do in order to learn how not to behave, but survive. But as he leaned forward to ask for another cup of garnish, a heavier glass was put in his hand. He could smell the fumes of ever bridge that would burn under its influence. "For you, sent from over there," The bartender greeted him with the gift and a nod towards the other end of the bar. Sinclair turned his head away quickly, sliding the glass over to the person next him. Maybe they could skip the line with whatever prize sloshed over the the crystal edge lined with salt. "Take it," He said. "It's on me. I doubt whoever sent it over knows what I drink anymore."

[kissedbruises]

location: the glass house opened to: ALL, pls come to me !

Ms. Barnes does not wish to be disturbed. Please keep your cameras at bay. Emersyn was recovering from a night of her own whimsy, her own fun at her house. Usually, she looked pristine and perfect all day everyday and she did even now, but her eyes gave her away. Sunglasses over her eyes, a few snaps of the camera and she looked at one of her own security to rough them up. Disgusting vulture. She still had this lovely date planned and the Glass House was one of her favorite places to venture. Walking in and being greeted kindly by the owner, being escorted right to a VIP table, she sat down, across from the person she was meeting.

"Well, hello there, darling. I'm not one to travel in bad shape, but let's just say a party I had last night was one for the ages." She smirked, taking off her sunglasses finally. "How are you? Were you waiting long?"

[bcbyteeth]

open to: everyone location: roman's place, sherman oaks, los angeles, california

The windowsill was littered in wilting petals that every so often fell to the porcelain edge of the tub. The only other window Roman had in his apartment had become another shrine for the single flower every night awarded him— and every feeble blossom he gave himself. After every performance, he took the same secret language between him and his mother pressed into particular carnation to remind him just how the show had gone. His very best, and very worst, was left to wilt and fester every morning and night where he should have been able to look out into the humbling view of the city of angles, of possibility. Instead, they took up the space meant to be Roman's way out. They feigned some discarded form of romance, but those who knew him better— not best, as there was no one who knew that— was that his efforts were always elsewhere. That was surely what lead them both here, and now. His thoughts still lingered on the stage on what he would have done better, should have done better, could have done better. The ache from pushing himself too hard rested in every movement of his limbs, and the regret pooled around him. "I've been told I'm suppose to regret nights like these," Roman uttered, finer judgement sitting in the glass on the uneven tile of the bathroom floor.