Angst everywhere
Fire was a process of oxidization, a chemical reaction leading to the production of other materials through inevitable destruction. Very few things could calm it, and fewer still could tame it. Alaude has always found it funny, no, bizarre that the substance has been used as a metaphor for human emotions, but recent occurrences have been the only indication that perhaps, his own logic has been wrong. Fire spread through his veins, and it had felt like nothing before.
The floods came then. With a bitter laugh, he tosses back another drink of whisky, sloshing another gulp into the glass, returning to his slumped position over a library chair that no-one in their right mind would dare pry him from. Trapped, drowning in fire, no wait that made no sense whatsoever. Trapped, he thinks this through slowly, drowning in a stifling wave of him, choking on words he couldn’t help but trip over, treading water over shark-infested waters.
Now, he thinks, a gleeful giggle working it’s way up his throat, forcing itself through his lips and breaking the silence of the darkened room, now he should unleash something himself, a howling cacophony of wind, rage, drunken attitude onto the world, because there is no more sun, and the clouds have nothing to shield any more.
“Fuck.”
Nausea replaces the fire in his body with waves of sedation, and it’s all he can do to not empty himself here and now. The bottle of alcohol is left where it is, the glass discarded beside it, feet startling a frenzied battle with the floor that leaves the room shaking around him with the tremors racking his body. Fuck, he repeats in his mind, fuck you for leaving me, and have a very fucking nice day.
He reaches the hallway with a mind infected with cyclones, yet the door he slumps against moments later isn’t the one he has just left. Scrambling for purchase on the wall, the floor, the air anything that could lever his body upwards, because this isn’t his room, he needs to get out of here before anyone sees and maybe it’s time to branch out. He can’t stay here, no, nooo this isn’t drunken mind slurring never to fruit plans. This is devastation, and his heart warms to the idea of somewhere of his own.
His body gives up, and so does he. Thoughts he shouldn’t entertain are brimming around the central hope he has given himself, and his mood turns dark once more. Something wet rolls down his cheek, but his eyes are not open to witness what he swipes onto the ends of his fingertips; fuck, and everything starts to go black.
It had been, well, who knows how long it had been since Elena’s death, Daemon had secluded himself in the cave that was his room, the days had merged together. An endless time loop of sleeping and laying in bed. He’d hardly left his room, and when he did, it was to grab a snack so he wouldn’t starve in his room. Daemon hadn’t had much of an appitete since then. He hadn’t had much resolve to do anything for himself anymore. Why should he be allowed to enjoy all the little things that life has to offer, if his darling Elena could not.
Tonight however, it was a little better… He felt like like he was allowed to endulge himself. Maybe a drink or two.. It might numb out the pain. The illusionist worked himself into beliveing he deserved at least that much.. The burning sensation of the alchoal down his throat. The cloudy judgement and fogged memory. And the horrible effects of a bad hangover the next morning. He deserved it.
Daemon slowly made his way out of the dark room and into the hallway. He stood there for a moment, quietly closing the door behind him. Everything felt as if it were being done in slow motion. Seconds felt like minutes and every step he took felt like hours had passed. The faint laugh that echoed quietly down the hall was the only thing that pulled him from his daze.
Who on Earth would be up at this hour..? He thought, only vaugly interested in his own question. To be honest, he wasn’t sure what time it was, only that it was night because the few windows he had walked by had only cast the dull blue light from the moon. He shrugged it off however, not bothering to wonder if it was one of the gaurdians, or an intruder. He couldn’t care less at the moment. Though if it were an intruder, it would only make him more furious with his so called boss. Lack of security could lead to- … It could lead to another tragedy. He winced at the thought, feeling his heart heave in his chest, his stomach churn. Daemon closed his eyes for a moment, trying to allow the pain to settle down on its own..
After what felt like a few hours, though, it was probably only minutes, the pangs of sharp pain had quieted, leaving a dull ache in his chest. He continued down the hall when he noticed subtle movements further ahead of him down the hall. Daemon only frowned at the silloueted figure, he didn’t particularly care who it was, so long as they didn’t get in the way of him spoiling himself with the liquor that hide away in the kitchen. As he approached however, he noticed the figure had blonde hair that stood out in the dark, but only a bit.
Another pang. It had to be Alaude. For a moment Daemon had wished it was some intruder that happend to share the same trait as the cloud guardian, but has he got closer, he was only led to disappointment. It was him. The illusionist didn’t want to have any contact with anyone right now, especially him. Another pang. The mist guardian winced at this one though, he wished the dull aching would return, he couldn’t have a breakdown in the presence of this man. He would never forgive himself for it.
But when Daemon looked back at the man, he was slouched over against a wall. His heavy breathes filled the hallway. This made the illusionist frown. Was he injured? Why was he acting in such a way? He thought, a little more intruiged by this question. He hesitantly approached the other guardian and his curiousity was answered. A thick sent of alchoal practically engulfed the man. Daemon was only a few feet from him now though he couldn’t well see the man’s face in the dark, and what he could see was covered by the blonde mask of bangs.
“Alaude…” His words were hesitant and dry. It had been some time since the mist guardian had spoke. ”Alaude,” he repeated again, as if forgetting he has already said the other’s name. “are you alright?” The moment the question left his lips he figured it was a stupid one. Something must have been wrong to cause him to drink himself to this state of being. Though, as painfull as everything was, he did show some concern for the other man. Even though it hurt to talk to him, it hurt to even see him, he wanted Alaude to be alright. Daemon didn’t need to loose another—- He willed himself to stop his thought process, and waited for an answer, hopefully Alaude wouldn’t pass out on him- was the only thought distracting him from the others.
