[ the festival itself is reminiscent of a routine dinner in arles — excessive food, excessive drink, and excessively misplaced hedonism. there is far too much languid affection going around to feel normal in a place plagued by such darkness, so laurent spends his time fitting together the pieces of this falsely glimmering puzzle, observing behaviors and patterns until the picture begins to become clear in his mind — and not a moment too soon, because his pale hand grips a dewy glass he doesn't remember accepting, smelling strongly of spirits.
it's in the drink. the food. inhibitions lowered, poison in the bloodstream. he studies his drink and ignores the prickling cold at the nape of his neck, the sense memory of hazy pliancy, silken sheets, heavy hands holding him down. at least these memories, these terrors, are his own, brought on by a logical thought pattern, not inflicted by drink or a poisonous morsel. there are far too many people here controlled by whatever they've consumed, so laurent takes his leave, moving quietly to the streets and carelessly tossing the contents of his drink aside.
only — the drink splashes directly onto someone currently busy withering beneath a streetlight. laurent just barely refrains from lobbing the glass, stopping short when he recognizes the dark hair, the mismatched gaze. his shoulder gives a sudden throb, healing nicely but protesting the reminder of his first night, of soft fabric clutched in his hand, of pitiful words falling senselessly from his mouth. sasuke. he'd made a point to discover the man's name after the fact, of course not by asking him directly but by other means. his plan was to never speak to him again.
now sasuke smells like strong drink, and he looks like... well. laurent can tell right away he's consumed one or more of the mind-altering substances being served like children's candy at the festival. ]
You looked so pitiable, I didn't notice you. [ laurent reaches into an inner pocket of his dark jacket, pulling out a silken handkerchief — a royal blue, embroidered with a golden sunburst — and offers it out. he meets his gaze steadily. ] My apologies.
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it's in the drink. the food. inhibitions lowered, poison in the bloodstream. he studies his drink and ignores the prickling cold at the nape of his neck, the sense memory of hazy pliancy, silken sheets, heavy hands holding him down. at least these memories, these terrors, are his own, brought on by a logical thought pattern, not inflicted by drink or a poisonous morsel. there are far too many people here controlled by whatever they've consumed, so laurent takes his leave, moving quietly to the streets and carelessly tossing the contents of his drink aside.
only — the drink splashes directly onto someone currently busy withering beneath a streetlight. laurent just barely refrains from lobbing the glass, stopping short when he recognizes the dark hair, the mismatched gaze. his shoulder gives a sudden throb, healing nicely but protesting the reminder of his first night, of soft fabric clutched in his hand, of pitiful words falling senselessly from his mouth. sasuke. he'd made a point to discover the man's name after the fact, of course not by asking him directly but by other means. his plan was to never speak to him again.
now sasuke smells like strong drink, and he looks like... well. laurent can tell right away he's consumed one or more of the mind-altering substances being served like children's candy at the festival. ]
You looked so pitiable, I didn't notice you. [ laurent reaches into an inner pocket of his dark jacket, pulling out a silken handkerchief — a royal blue, embroidered with a golden sunburst — and offers it out. he meets his gaze steadily. ] My apologies.