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Post by &Ismirshalen on Jul 15, 2009 3:29:44 GMT -5
Ismirshalen blinked his eyes blearily, trying unsuccessfully to focus on the room around him. Dots swam in front of his vision, obscuring objects from view. A raging animal was thrashing around inside his skull. It tore everything in its path to shreds. His heart fluttered in his chest, each successful beat rocking through him and making itself painfully known. A day had gone by since he'd kissed the therapist on their bet. The inside of his mouth had felt wonderfully alive, then. Now it was burning with the taste of stomach acid. Earlier that morning he'd tried to eat something to stop himself from thinking about… it. Now that meal was on its way down the sewers to a lightless place. Speaking of light, the bathroom light was stinging his eyes. He wanted desperately to turn it off. But he couldn’t bring himself to get up and do so. His burning cheek was resting on the side of the toilet bowl. The cold surface felt so good.
From what he'd seen before he'd entered the bathroom, the therapist hadn't been doing so great himself. He'd tried to tell the guy to take some painkillers, but he didn’t know if the other had gone through with it or not. Painkillers. His body trembled as he attempted to heave up more stomach acid. The man's pallid fingers gripped the edges of the toilet seat so tightly that his knuckles stuck out like knives. A sob escaped his throat when he finally stopped the onslaught of hacking. He wanted to die. Death could never be as bad as this.
Ismirshalen was starting to doubt the intelligence of having agreed to such a bet. At this rate he was going to cave before the therapist. And what would that mean? He'd have to marry the guy. Was that even legal in Australia? But forget that, they could simply go and get married elsewhere. Fuck. Married. He didn’t know what to think about it. But that was okay because frankly right now he just couldn’t think. Thinking was a chore. But that was okay because he was stubborn. He'd win this bet. Even if he died trying.
Who would take whose last name? the secretary wondered dizzily, watching swirlies swim across his unpleasant view of the world. Vincent et Ismirshalen DeVrais, ou Vincent et Ismirshalen Linnaeus? Great, now he was starting to think in French. Pure madness.
The jarring sound of fist against door brought Ismirshalen painfully back to reality. A tired voice on the other side of the entrance muttered something that he couldn’t quite make out. But it was demanding enough that he figured out it required him to get out of the vicinity. He got up unsteadily from the toilet bowl, staggering into the wall a few times on his way to the door. When he made it there he leaned his throbbing head against the wooden surface and willed his vision to clear. Once it did he opened the door and came out to face the other man. Who looked about as shitty as Ismirshalen felt. After a bit of tense conversation Dr. DeVrais finally convinced him to go with him to see Red. The murderer.
***
"GET OVER HERE, YOU BLOODY FUCKED UP GIT," Ismirshalen growled through the bars of the cell, reaching his hands in to try to get a grip on the redhead's neck. "I'LL MAKE YOUR FACE THE SAME SHADE OF RED AS YOUR HAIR."
"Calm down, Limpy!" the blind arsonist called over from the corner. "You just get dumped or something?" |
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Post by VinnNAY on Jul 16, 2009 2:00:50 GMT -5
Stop screaming. Stop screaming. Stop screaming.
Vincent’s head was screaming violent profanities along with his batshit insane secretary. Many things were the same in this scenario: Such as the fact that he wanted both Ismirshalen and his brain to shut up. He thought he felt it pop in the morning when he woke up along Izzy. He would have cuddled with the lump but he felt like he just fought a war (And lost). The last thing he wanted that morning was to associate with Britain.
He really felt it wasn’t right to meet up with a serial killer at a time like this but both him and Ismirshalen were stubborn (Of course Vincent being borderline stubborn). So he tried his best to pretend to be as gleeful as a Vincent is. However, he couldn’t keep himself from whining and complaining about trivial things all morning.
Toilets were now meant for throwing up food in (As he witnessed with Ismirshalen). It was amazing how lasting half a day without a cigarette wasn’t a big deal before it got onto his mind that he just had to win. You’d think that letting your lover win a bet would be okay. However, Vincent got it into his head that marriage would be great for both of them. Vincent would be married and Izzy would most definitely get some.
«Michel…» Vincent whined «Stop screaming.»
Need… Nicotine…
(If the bullet wound in Vincent's skull wasn't impairing him then he could invest in a see-through nicotine patch)
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Post by &Ismirshalen on Jul 16, 2009 2:33:20 GMT -5
Ismirshalen turned and looked back at the whiny therapist, feeling like a loose cannon about to sneeze up a load of ammo. "I wasn’t screaming!," he said defensively. Lately he was extremely irritable. The way he was acting reminded him of his wife once a month. Of course she was bitchy all the time so it was hard to tell, but he had been sure that once a month she got a notch worse. Well, while she might have had cramps going on in her lower regions, all the cramps the Brit could ever hope for were going on inside his head. Maybe he would even start bleeding out of his ears. "I'm trying to get t'hat bloody thing over here. Not my fault he's as deaf as he is blind! And my name's not Michel!"
Hey, Michel!" the arsonist hollered over from the corner of the cell. "My name's Red Syd! What'd you two come here to chat about, anyway, besides your menstrual cycles?" The redhead giggled in amusement.
"Glad to see you're looking so peachy, Dr. DeVrais," the git added cheerfully. "Looks like your bullet wound healed up nicely."
"Want me to shoot you in the head too and see how you like it?!" Ismirshalen hissed.
"You sure you guys aren't patients yourselves?"
"Shut up!"
They were off to a great start. |
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Post by VinnNAY on Jul 16, 2009 3:17:05 GMT -5
[[Oh my, Vinny made an English pun]]
Before he went out with Izzy to criminal hell he had the infamous bead of pain in the back of his neck. It had been growing over the morning and traveling up Vincent’s delicate nervous system. And it was just a matter of time before his mind turned into a puddle of brainy mush.
«Michel…» Vincent started quietly. «You know you’re my Michel» He felt truly heartbroken in that thirty second time span. Going through detoxification must be a lot like being a woman, he figured. He reached a hand up to his forehead and let his head hang. The feeling of his dark bangs falling in front of his eyes was just enough to make him completely snap.
«Je déteste les cheveux!» He grunted while trying to pull out his thick rooted hair. Maybe when he got home he’d shave it all off. He needed to let his anger out on something dead before he did on someone he loved.
«And don’t yell at me, Glasscock!» He screamed while whipping around to face Ismirshalen again. Soon enough the arsonist was making more obscene comments.
«You’re going to be DEAD Syd, soon» Maybe he would just turn green and eat him.
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Post by &Ismirshalen on Jul 16, 2009 3:50:59 GMT -5
While Ismirshalen was busy trading insults with the excited blind git the therapist was attempting to rip out his hair. Huffing from all the force he was exerting in trying to stab the other man with his voice, he turned back around to face Dr. DeVrais once more. The poor guy looked like he was having a mental breakdown. A ripple of pity oozed through the secretary, and he almost made a move to comfort him.
But then he called him that name.
"Aw, don't talk like that! It's rude!" Red Syd called back in mock hurt, replying to the doctor's pun on his name. Right before all Hell broke loose.
"I CAN BLOODY YELL AT YOU ALL I WANT, YOU FROG!" he screamed back at the therapist, feeling like pulling out his own hair. But he already had a big enough gap in it from his bald spot. Besides another action was seeming much more satisfying at the moment. Without thinking, because for one thing Ismirshalen had a headache and for another he's a British fuck and just doesn't think even when he can, he slapped the Frenchman in the face.
"Is there something you guys aren't telling me? Did one of you cheat on the other last night? And Glasscock? Are you serious? That's a RIOT!" |
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Post by VinnNAY on Jul 17, 2009 0:20:01 GMT -5
All Vincent could do after that was stare with all his staring power at Ismirshalen. He was horrified and jumpy. Was it withdrawal or the recent act of violence Ismirshalen committed on him? The worst part was that he slapped him on his blind side. It was being molested.
The funny thing was that it didn’t hurt all that much.
Physically.
He made a muffled whimpering noise at Ismirshalen, flinched, slowly turned, and then ran for the hills. He let Red have the satisfaction of winning without even trying this time. He was triple emotional today and he didn’t want anyone to see him like this any longer. Besides, he was living with an emotionally unstable maniac. Count on him to love someone with a mental disorder. Maybe he was just scared of this becoming an abusive relationship. He thought he could handle someone like that. He thought.
Stupid hair. It’s all your fault.
Vincent made it to his room and left the thrown ajar door swing full force wide open. He ran into the infamous bathroom trying to keep himself from sobbing out loud and kept that door wide open, too. He was on a mission and doors took too much time to close. Vincent rummaged through the drawers of his bathroom with aggravated tears running down his pale face. He finally found what he had been searching for after about twelve Russian curse words were used and three drawers were flung around.
He had used it that morning to shave his face. He plugged it in, and thinking about as much as Izzy did when he slapped him, he ran it through his thick hair.
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