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Post by drago on Jan 22, 2011 20:56:27 GMT -5
The needle sunk in deep, the line of blood danced down his well formed arm. Circles of crimson moved around previous holes, marks of a life addicted. His eyes rolled back into his head as the plunger stamped home. Poison coursed through his veins, his heart rate exploded into action, but his mind was transported to another where. A line of drool rolled from the corner of his mouth, and the fireworks of imagination started deep in the recesses of his mind. The drug was doing it's work, and seconds of his life were ticking away. Soon death would approach him again, and they would do their dance to see which one walked away on this night. Drago had been the lucky one so far, but at anytime the reaper could sway and his soul would depart to the afterlife. Drago did not care, he poison was all he craved. It was his love, his life, his erection, his soul... dark, beautiful, death. And deep inside he smiled.
It started that morning. The jitters, the itching, the gnawing at the pit of his stomach. Most normal people would say he might have been hungry. However, Drago knew his hunger was just for the dirty liquid he ingested in any form on a daily basis. His preferred method of slow suicide was to plunge it into his blood stream with a dirty needle. His mouth was dry, and the water he swallowed tasted like dog piss. He knew what that tasted like, Drago would do anything for a fix. Drinking the urine of a canine was small potatoes against some of the other things he had done to acquire his drug of choice.
Oral sex in a dark London alley was not too far fetched, though he avoided it as often as possible. Last night had been the first time in a long line of nights he had been able to steal and sell something for the small vial of heroin. He had done much worse, but did not want to think about all those nights, all those clubs, all those painful times that only melted away with the next dose that brought him closer to death. His hands shook and he knew he needed to go and find some way to get the cash to get the fix. His eyes darted across the room to the wand laying in it's holster. Drago would need to perform a crime, something that would help him get his fix for the next week. The stupid muggles would not know what hit them. He slammed his hand into the mirror, shattered the glass, grabbed his wand, and roared out of the small flat. The night was young.
The dark echos of pain floated around in his mind. His body tingled and danced with the electric impulses that ran through his nervous system. His smile was wide, but his stare was vacant. His pockets were filled with small vials, and the blood on his shirt showed that whatever had happened was really bad this time. Three rings laid on the broken coffee table in his flat. They were not his, and one still wrapped around a slightly gray finger. His eyes kept looking at the finger, and it scared him but he could not help but roll and giggle. The drug held his mind, and it would not let go. He slipped his hand into his leather pants, found his member, and did the thing that made the fire works start again.
The little shop was dark, closed for the night, and totally not expecting the violence that would happen in the next three minutes. His eyes longed for what laid within, but his mind wanted what he would purchase after this act was over. He used his wand, a bolt of light ran out to burst the glass. There was a scream from the cleaning crew within the small shop. Drago entered like a disease, and cursed the first person he saw. The old lady did not stand a chance, her body convulsed on the ground and her mop bucket spilled over. Drago tilted his head, and smiled his vacant junkie smile. He was starting to get hard as he moved through the glass. Long shards snatched his shirt, and ripped his skin. This was all a part of the foreplay. He enjoyed this.
A strong arm wrapped around him from behind. The dark skin glittered in the moonlight, and Drago lifted his wand to stick the tip into a large brown eye. The strong man shrieked like a little girl and Dragon bite down on the man's extended fingers. The crunch of bone ripped into his line of hearing made much louder coming from inside his own head. He spit out the two fingers and noticed the gleaming ring that had been held on one. Drago swooped down and placed the ring, finger and all, into his pocket. He turned and lifted a steel toed boot up into the man's crotch. The man fell over, and Drago launched his lean frame on the man. Drago did not stop punching until the man's face was a cold mass of meat, red dripping in streams from the mess remaining. Drago smiled.
He pawned the items off in the next state over. Travel was easy for him, he was a wizard. Muggles never expected a thing. The man who took the jewelry did not even blink at his ripped shirt, streaks of blood, and broken tooth. Drago offered no explanation. He took the muggle money, and went back out into the dark. Drago turned, disappeared, and was at his dealer's house in no time. The transaction went smooth, as it normally did, and he was home in no time. His mind whirled as he thought of the things he had done this night. It was much better than swallowing a load in some alley, and the pay off was much better this way. He wasted no time in loading the needle, tying on the belt, and injecting his own slice of hell into his arm. Drago loved it, it was his mistress, his wife, his dark lover. And that night they danced. Oh, how they danced.
Bright light pierced his eyes. He jumped, and rolled but this was not his bed. He lifted his head, and looked at all the different colors moving through his field of vision. Panic almost took him as he made it to his feet and fell into a line of garbage cans. His wand moved out of it's holster as he leaned on one of the dirty walls in the alley and peered around him. This was not his home, this was not where he had shot up last, and he was not sure how the fuck he got here. He snarled as someone moved close, and retreated down the small lane.
Noise invaded his ears, and he almost fell over as he bounded away from the whirling thing. His eyes feel on a boy walking off the machine and presenting a group of roses that were balloons to a pretty girl. He almost bumped into a tall man wearing a cloak who had stopped and peered across the lane at someone, and looked like his world was standing still. Drago was lost in his confusion, the last fix still moving in his veins as he turned and ran down the path away from the carnival rides. He did not know where he was, did not know where he was going, only knew he had to get out of there or he was going to be sick.
And death laughed at him. |
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Post by ava on Jan 28, 2011 0:33:49 GMT -5
Avalina was not the kind of girl to go to a carnival. The poor girl was so strung out, she barely had time to remind herself to eat. Lately, the nightmares had been getting worse. Ever since her beloved boyfriend disappeared, Ava had miserable dreams of his course. They never went away, and she couldn't do anything to help herself. She didn't talk much, and when she did her stutter came out and taunted her. Oh how she loathed having a stutter. As a child her mother was always saying how she was going to take Avalina to a speech therapist, that it wasn't good for a socialite to have a retarded child.
But Avalina wasn't retarded, in fact, quite the contrary. She was one of the smartest girls Hogwarts ever saw. A memory that haunted her, along with so many others, was the memory of Avalina's first-and last- beauty pagent. She was only five years old, but it was predicted that Avalina would take first place. Predicted or ordered, nobody ever could tell the diffence. When she took the michrophone, the little girl who hardly ever spoke stuttered for the very first time. Well, not the very first time of course. Her parents had heard her stutter before, but took it as fear and thrived off of it. "M-my n-na-ame is A-a-avalin-na R-romonav" She foced out. For some reason the words could not come off of her tounge properly. After this, her mother hid her from the social world, cast in the shadows of so much she would never understand.
Whenever she went to Hogwarts, Avalina was immediately sorted into Hufflepuff, much to her families dismay. All of the Romanov's had been slytherin, it was common knowledge. But Ava wasn't. Even though it was to her family's disapproval, she was proud to be a Hufflepuff and she fit in instantly. The stutter lessened and she was happy. And then there were her brothers.
Being the third of three children is difficult in many forms. First off, Vincent and Drago were twins, both boys. Their father took so much pride in them. They were to carry out the Romanov legacy, and become death eaters like their ancestors. Of course, neither of them ever would, but at the time it made perfect sence. But along came a little girl with black hair and haunting blue eyes. She would never be the heir, or the top Death Eater, it wasn't meant to be that was. So she was given to their mother as her responcibility. Avalina was a dressup doll if anyone ever saw one. Quiet resentment grew over the years.
But back to the carnival. Normally, she wouldn't bother with it, but tonight she had to get out. The tiny apartment she rented was making her restless. Some coworkers had mentioned they were going, so Ava figured if she was going to go somewhere, she might as well go completely out of her comfort zone. She didn't intend to meet the coworkers, no, they were too loud and too nosy. Ava would just slip into the crowd, blend in like she had done all of her life. After wandering for a while she found herself in an alyway, quite alone. It was beggining to make her uneasy when a farmiliar sight caught her eye. The eldest of the twins that Ava had always been closest to, Drago. Surely he was under some kind of influence. He always was, nowadays. But Ava didn't care. Or even mind really. She was drawn to disfunction, no matter where she was. Knowing when he was like this it could be dangerous, even for the only person Drago ever really loved. She greeted him cautiously and slowly.
"D-drag-go? Drago, it's m-me. A-avalina. Y-your sister."
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Post by drago on Jan 30, 2011 9:46:51 GMT -5
Glazed eyes looked up, anger registered on the face, and he fell into the storefront to his left. One arm crossed his thinning chest, and rubbed the recently injected crease in his elbow. The needle hole was still pronounced, and red from the last jabbing. The poison still coursed through his body, and his mind was alight with the fire from within. He did not think straight, even as he knew the face that voice belonged to. Soft, curious, concern. He tried to move away but stumbled on the first step and crashed into the wall once again. His heart hammered a symphony on his rib cage, and the burning red eyes turned once again to look into the face of his sister. Much younger than he, she was healthier. She had not abused herself in the same fashion as Drago seemed to enjoy. She was the intelligent one of the Romanov children that stood in the center of the side street leading to the carnival beyond. He closed his eyes and began the count.
If he reached ten and she was still there then he knew it was no dream. He knew that she was real, and everything that was happening was not some drug induced vision from the previous night's adventure. As much as he wanted to fade into the shadows, he would not be allowed to do as such. He could not run in his current state and expect to get away. A small part of his clouded mind screamed for him to turn on the spot and disappear back to his own small apartment. It would be safe there, prying eyes would not be boring into his soft skin with the curiosity that burned him deeper than the flames that tickled his steel spoon when he had to cook his junk. As scarred as his body was, even with the fading ink from bad tattoos, the scars on the inside were always the worst. No one could see them, no one could lear at them, and no one bothered to try to fix them. Why fix that in which you can not see? It was as pointless as him trying to run to avoid the woman that grew out of the girl whom was his sister. He hit ten, and his gray eyes opened back into the daylight.
One hand went up to cover the mounting sun, and he peered from between his fingers to the girl standing before him. Was this some sort of trick to get him out in the open? Perhaps for her to get him into St. Mungo's Hospital like their brother had threatened to do all those months ago? If this was some sort of trap they had made one terrible mistake. They should have tied him down when they had the chance. Now he was free, and fit to attack anyone who stepped close enough to him to attempt to touch his burning flesh. His eyes narrowed, and he glanced around expecting attackers from all sides. When none came, he looked back to his sister his lips drawn down in a venomous sneer. His head tilted slightly and his hand dropped to his side. The front of his tattered shirt was still blood stained. Blood smeared his hands up to the elbow on the right side, and underneath the nails on his left hand. His wand handle was visible, but he did not make a move for it. He would not need it for this. All he had to do was turn, and be gone. She would not be able to follow him.
He moved away from the wall, testing his balance to make sure he could stand on his own. When he was secure in the fact that all he would need to do is turn and apparate, he turned his full attention to the smaller woman before him. He could not remember the last time he had seen her, and did not particularly care to. All he knew is that they had parted on bad terms, much like every person he parted company with in the last several years. Drago was not one for making, nor keeping, friends of any sort. Family relations did nothing to ease that fact, as he made more enemies with blood than he had with those people he encountered randomly throughout his time on the harsh London streets. It did not matter, he needed to concentrate and push all those thoughts behind him. He needed to allow the animal he had become to take over so he would be ready to react when the attacks started. He did not want to kill her, but he would not hesitate if things did not go the way he intended them to go. It would not matter much to him, the loss of a family member, when he was in the clutches of his self imposed disease. Drago inched away, but only taking half steps. He glanced to the wall, to the far off crowd, and then back to his sister. He needed to make sure he had enough room for a counter attack, or an escape. He was confident there was enough room for both. His eyes locked onto hers.
"What've ya done here then? Ready to make play and take me to Mungo's is it? Ready to do good on your brother's word now? I see. Well then, make a play at it. Le'see what ya got." His words were forced, slurred, and jumbled. He was talking the language of the junkie. His eyes rolled as he spoke, and spittle moved from the corner of his mouth. He would finish a word and lock back onto his target, his sister. His movements were jerky, and if anyone in the distance would happen to look their way they would wonder why the pretty young lady was speaking to the zombie in dirty clothes. They might become concerned, pay too close attention to the encounter, or be too curious and come closer to Drago's position. He did not want that, and when his hand made a grab for his wand he staggered and fell to his knees. The loud popping sound they made as they hit the hard concrete would have sounded like small whizzbangers to any student from the illustrious Hogwart's School. The skin that covered his knee cap ripped, and grit moved into the fresh wound. His hand bounced off his hip, missing the wand completely. His eyes shut, and Drago grunted under his breath. When he opened his eyes, he looked to his sister in alarm. "What're ya doing here?" |
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Post by ava on Jan 31, 2011 23:41:29 GMT -5
Seeing him there, like that, so dangerous and crazy, it should have driven Avalina away, but it didn’t. She did not fear her brother, no matter his condition. He probably didn’t even recognize her, they hadn’t spoken in a long time. It was a really a mutual silence, Drago couldn’t care for himself let alone deal with his little sister, and Ava was so delicate, just a simple sentence could send her into hysteria. As the breeze blew and a chill ran down her spine, Avalina drew her arms around herself as though holding herself together.
It was dark, darker than Avalina was comfortable with. She could faintly see the carnival lights, hear the buzz of activities, smell the food, but it might as well have been a world away. Getting a better look at her brother, her own brother, she realized just how dangerous this could be for her. Drago’s clothes were tattered. All on his arms were marks; probably from the injections he seemed to enjoy giving himself. If she squinted, she could see dried blood upon his forearm, but she didn’t have to know he had drugged himself recently. Eyes bloodshot, he couldn’t hold still, it didn’t take a genius to know what had happened, especially since Ava had personal experience with him. But somehow, she never felt like she was in danger around him. Not even now, in the dark.
“whadaya doin here?!” Drago spoke. His words were such a form of stammering even Avalina couldn’t manage. But she had dealt with him like this before and she would deal with him like this again. It was a hard sight to see regardless. Being the small, fragile thing she was, Avalina had to do everything she could to keep herself out of danger. The two things didn’t seem to relate, but they did. It seemed to Avalina that all of the people she considered to be role models would eventually disappoint her. Any sane person would have left right there and then, but then again she wasn’t really sane.
“D-drago. I-I’m not here t-to h-hurt you. R-relax. What are you d-doing here. Y-you look awful.” Ava spoke slowly and as clearly as she could, but the stutter got in the way of her speech. When she was in her first year her stutter was as bad as it ever was and she would get taunted on a day to day basis, Drago would stop kids from teasing her further. That of course was before his addiction came to be. It was sad, that Ava was probably the only one that remembered those days. Now everybody saw him as a dried up bum, the low life of the streets. Surely if she didn’t calm him down, people would notice. As he always did, he would begin to shout and flail his arms, trying to speak but only making noises.
One of the memories Avalina had tried to forget was the first time she found Drago like this. There was no single word for it. She was only a fourth year, he a seventh. It probably wasn’t the first time, he had been more and more on edge, marks appearing on his arm. Who knows how she wound up in the dungeons, but somehow she had. There he had been, just lying there. A blank stare on his face, drool coming from his mouth, the needle still intact. At the time she thought he was dead. It was a sight she never forgot no matter how hard she tried. That was the moment she realized that everyone will let you down. Everybody.
Hopefully her words got through to him, and he understood. The last thing she needed was for him to cause a scene. They would wonder why she hadn’t run, and she couldn’t really blame. He couldn’t talk and by the looks of it he couldn’t even reach for his wand. At this realization, Ava reached for her own wand, just in case. Slowly she took a step forward, remembering one thing.
Let nobody too close and you’ll never get hurt.
[[ergh. It sucks. I hope you don't mind squishy<3]]
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Post by drago on Feb 2, 2011 14:50:56 GMT -5
Drago looked at her in total disgust. She was so pathetic, weak, and full of shit. If she had ever cared for him, where the hell had she been all these years? When he had been accused of burning their brother's home down, was she there to protect him, to defend him, to take up for him? No, she had been no where. Drago had burned Vincent's home down, but that was completely beside the point in his dark mind. He sighed, and looked away from the little sister he wished he could hate. Of all the people in the world, he could not hate her. In fact, all he could do was sneer at her. She was not there to hurt him? Well she sure the fuck was not there to help him. It was a drain on his senses to just look at her. He staggered, his blood tattered shirt moving against his thin body. His scars and tattoos seemed to glow in the eerie light of the carnival.
Laughter echoed in the background. People were happy, people were in love, people were doing the fun things that Drago no longer understood. He hated them. He hated the noise. He hated the lights. He had no damn clue how he had come to be here, and all he wanted to do was get away. The only things stopping him from getting away was his sister. Avalina, the precious daughter his parents and doubted on since she had been pushed out of their mother's rotten cunt. Drago had been happy to disown his family. He was pleased no one wanted anything to do with him. His bracelets rattled as he ran a hand over his mostly bald head. He looked at her over the deep circles of black under his eyes. His mouth parted, but was too dry to say anything so he closed it. A small line of blood had dried on his arm, a dirty crimson trail that had dripped from the latelst needle wound. Blood crusted on his shirt, pants, shoes. Even his fingers nails were black with it, and hardly any of this was his own.
Drago snapped out of his thoughts, his gray eyes went wide, and he looked at her. If someone saw him here, like this, he could be arrested. That would not be a good thing, and the thought filled him with a deep longing to escape. He might have to go through her, but he did not see this as being a problem. To Drago, she was just another person. She was not real. She was a cloud of yesterday, and the shadow of a family he now hated. He coughed sending deep drops of blood from his lips, his teeth was red from it, and stars burst into his field of vision. He staggered once again but remained on his feet. He pointed one crusty finger nail in her direction.
"What the fuck do you want Ava? Why can't you damn Romanov people leave me the fuck alone?" His voice was hoarse from the coughing, and flecks of blood formed on the corners of his mouth. He bent over and dry heaved twice, using the building at his side to hold himself up. If he did not get out of her soon, he was going to pass out. And he did not want to even think about where that might land him the next time he woke up. He settled himself, and stood upright again. His eyes looked at hers, and he prepared to apparate.
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