Amory Felix

fatespoken @ 2012-01-17T23:00:00

2012-01-18T07:00:42Z

[ audio] || a question

2012-01-06T18:19:30Z

What determines when we're meant to leave? Would you call it something as fanciful as destiny? Logically speaking, it's apparently arbitrary. I've asked myself this question time and time again: why does someone enter the city, stay a month, and then leave on their 32nd day? Why can someone stay for three years and never seem to leave?

~~Everyone is leaving--~~

Maybe I'm the only who wants to know how it works. Or maybe I'm the only person here who doesn't want to leave.

[ Silence follows. Then there's an assortment of sundry sounds: a bottom of a glass clinked against a glass coffee table, the snap of a lighter. Papers are shuffled, footsteps tap against the ground---

The silence is intentional, awkward.]

If you wanted a cat, they're ready.

[ video ] ||

2011-11-30T23:51:13Z

[ We're at the Blue Light after the guests have left: the doors shut, the music stopped, all the lights - save for the one above the bar - snapped off for the night. There's just the sound of clinking glass against the darkness. ]

It shouldn't be this quiet here.

[ ooc: ;________; Am not sure if it's publicly known that they're gone yet, hence the vagueness -- regardless, Ams definitely feels/suspects that something is really off. ]

Also, still responding to tags on my last post... will be slow with tags on this post too because of traveling. ;;]

[ video] || unfortunate miracles of life

2011-11-21T21:26:43Z

1) Eden--- Do you need ingredients for your next round of blood sausage?

2) I need a vet.

[ accidental video] || and there were stars

2011-11-12T02:43:28Z

[ Amory's network posts always seem full of stars and night, and this post is no exception: dark ink floods the screen, freckled with brilliant, white pinpoints. Shrouded in the darkness, the neighboring mountain hills seem arguably existent as they blend into the night.

A telescope points towards the sky, and besides the instrument, sits Amory, stretched out comfortably on the grass. The stack of paper beside him rustles as a chilly gust tries to carry them away, only to be deterred by the weight of the sextant perched on top of the pages. The chill is refreshing and invited, and Amory continues to lay there in peace.

That is, until a horses snout enters into the scene, pressing its wet, white nose against Amory's cheek. She snorts.

Stop---

[ Amory bats the horses nose away with a light tap, visibly laughing as he does so. ]

You're not much for kissing, Aquilo.

[ He props himself up onto his elbows, and reaches out to press the horses' neck against his chest, petting her mane fondly. ]

You like it here, don't you? [ He pauses. ] Maybe I'll ask Charlotte to take care of you, when we get back.

Almost three years now. You think they'd kick us out by now. [ As he continues to stroke Aquilo's mane, he turns his gaze back to the sky, focusing his gaze on something distant and indeterminable. ]

Hopefully they won't.

[ ooc: I... do exist! Really. Apologies abound for being inactive.

Just to quickly fill in the blanks:

Amory has been making his shifts at the Blue Light, but has been overall distant and detached from the city and its residents. He's spending what time he can up in the mountains in a small cabin he's found, avoiding curses and city wide events, while focusing his energy on the sky: mapping out the city stars (an impossible task) and trying to make some sense of the city's cosmology ( as he brought up two summers ago.) It's his way to relax and distract himself from certain ... canon 'things.' ]

text || headlines

2011-09-10T00:50:53Z

GINVERVA WEASLY TURNED MY CATS RAINBOW

[ooc: b- b- backdated]

video || stargazing

2011-08-29T10:56:29Z

[ There's a winking banner of stars out tonight, rendered clear and bright by the distance between the mountain and the electric glow of the city. It's here, a mountain valley, threaded with thick grass and dry wildflowers., where Amory seeks solace for tonight, and many other nights before. The camera angle shifts, and the scene quickly sweeps across the field, briefly revealing a telescope and a white horse grazing in the background.

Back to the stars again - this time another angle. ]

If you could fly far enough, where do you think the stars would lead?

[ This isn't the first time he's asked this question. ]

An illusion? Or an escape we've yet to discover?

[ accidental video] || victory kisses

2011-08-14T08:47:15Z

[ Over the usual chatter and cheer of the Blue Light, a celebratory yell can be heard as a patron slams down a shot glass on the bar. In front of him sit two rows of similar glasses, and in front of the man beside him, sits a similar collection of shot glasses. A gaggle of onlookers, their friends, applaud and cheer along.

You see, what we've got here is a classic drinking game ]

Hey assholes! You saw that didn't you?

[ Amory Felix, lucky enough to be picking up the tips on that bill, had been watching the party in quiet amusement. That is, until the man's celebratory announcement. Amory, who had been wiping down the bar, suddenly leans forward to grasp the man by the collar of his shirt. Wasting no time, he pulls him forward brusquely, engaging him in a deep kiss that sure seems heated.

He holds it for one, two, three, four, five seconds---

Until Amory pulls away, immediately returning to his business of wiping down the bar, as if nothing occurred at all. Unflappable. Or at least, seemingly so. The crowd around the man cheers yet again, now adding cat calls to the mix. ]

You know, if you wanted me to buy you a drink, you only had t' ask.

[ The man smiles and prepares to continue this conversation. Amory, on the other hand, says nothing and moves to the end of the bar. ]

[ooc: Cursed! Free for comment spam and victory kisses all night and sunday evening. <3 Though, I will be gone until late tomorrow, so there shall be backdating!]

∞ [ text ] || backdated to tuesday early morning

2011-07-27T06:07:02Z

Visions suck.

Past, present, future. This. Or nightmares, if you'd prefer. The main difference being that visions have an external cause, while the other stems from the subconscious. There's no way around them ~~not unless you're Eden~~-- not unless you've had them long enough to learn how to deal with them.

I'm guessing the most of you don't.

There'll be a special drink menu at the Blue Light today. Drinks guaranteed to keep you up the entire night. Some of them alcoholic, some of them not, and the majority are likely to be dangerous. But I suspect most of you don't give a damn about your health at this point.

We'll have the typical Jägerbomb and Vod-bomb, and whatever rendition of that mixture. I suggest Tuaca and Red Bull, personally.

A sample of tonight's menu:

Raging Bull
Amaretto, Malibu coconut, Southern Comfort, Vodka and Red Bull.

1.21 Gigawatts
Raspberry Vodka, Grendadine, Red Bull and Hypnotiq.

Lion's Mane
Godiva Chocolate Liquor, Kaluha, Coffee, Rum and Red Bull.

All Nighter
Galliano, Cointreau, Strawberry Liquor, and Red Bull

All drinks will be light on the alcohol and heavy on the energy drinks and/or coffee. Enough to take the edge off the curse while keeping you up. If you'd prefer something other than Red Bull, I'd suggest not - most energy drinks don't mix well. Or if you insist, try a Four Loko. Illegal in America, but sold in the City: malt liquor, caffeine, taurine and guarana. If you're not a liquor type, there's half-off on cappuccinos.

They're all tried and tested. You might of had them before, but I assure you these will keep you up all night. I've used them all myself.

[ ooc: Pretend this is backdated to last night at around 12. Almost all of these drinks are real, except for the Lion's Mane. >>; If you get inspired, I'd suggest being careful as these can knock you out quick and hard. ]

∞ [ memory theater ] || backdated to sunday night

2011-06-27T09:14:53Z

I.

Red vine flowers spiral and weave through hourglass posts of a marble balustrade, strung beneath the belly of the balcony so as to drip down in a verdant canopy of crimson. A pelican nests comfortably on the white railing, the backdrop of illuminated French windows casting its shadow as a monster on the garden below.

Below, in the midnight dark, is Amory Felix. He holds in one hand, an unmarked white bag, and clasped in the other hand, a pebble.

Click is the sound of a pebble thrown against the French window.

“The brightness of her cheek would shame those stars,
As daylight doth a lamp; her eyes in heaven
Would through the airy region stream so bright---"

Another click of a pebble.

“That birds would sing and… and--”

“--think it’s not night,” a voice snaps.

Two of the windows crack open with a marked slam. The golden light reveals Elisa Lowell in all her glory: gym shorts, an old white tank top, and braided red hair trailing just above her stomach.

“Are you trying to be romantic, or intentionally humiliating? The difference is pretty negligible.”

“You won’t pick up your phone,” he replies, “I figured I had to do something absurd.”

She picks up a rock and chucks it at him

“I’m sick of you, Amory Felix”

He winces as it pelts him right in the forehead

“I said I’m sorry—“

“Go away. ”

“I told Erin to call you.”

“Call me and what?” she sounds exasperated, a deeper weariness pulling at her words. “Two hours, Amory. You left me waiting two hours. So I come to your apartment, and what do I see? A drunken asshole wasted on the floor of his own bathroom.”

“I don’t have an excuse,” Amory utters beneath a whisper.

“And I can’t keep dealing with you like this. Not, if you’re still refusing to tell me what’s wrong.”

“There’s no story to it, I promise. It’s just…I’m sorry, Elisa.”

“You didn’t just forget. I know you, Amory Felix. You’re not that stupid.” she accuses him sharply.

Silence rests heavily on the midnight air, and Amory finds himself without the proper words.

“Let me take you somewhere now. It’ll be a late anniversary, but an anniversary nonetheless,” he hesitates, speaking softer. “After that, if you’re done with me, then I’ll understand.”

She examines at him for a long minute, day-old anger still simmering beneath the heat of her stare. Fingers curl against the balustrade railing, and as perfect as a refusal sounds, Elisa still finds herself facing uncertainty.

“I’m not getting my hopes up.”

Being with Amory means to be cast adrift by the same headwinds of a misaligned destiny that forces a normal man to face the absurdity of a world with its secrets only half-buried. Doldrums don’t exist when one loves a child of Fate, and Elisa understands this, but she knows Amory even more, enough to realize that he is too weak to be more than human.

Is a life with Amory Felix worth being pulled into that same inescapable self-destructive pit? Elisa continues to pin him down with a searing glare, ambivalence manifest in the nervous tap of her fingers against the balustrade railing. Eventually, after a few tense seconds, her fondness for him supplants uncertainty.

Heading to the side of the balcony, Elisa pulls free an old rope-ladder from a tangle of vines, and climbs down, rung by rung, to plop herself right in front of Amory. He doesn’t approach her right away, giving Elisa her space while he rummages through the unmarked bag.

From the bag, he produces an olive safari hat, and from beneath that hat, a traditional red-checkered, wicker-basket picnic setup. He offers the hat to Elisa, who accepts it suspiciously, her question suggested in the quirk of an eyebrow.

“Close your eyes,” Amory whispers, wrapping Elisa’s right hand in his own as he waits for her.

Amory then shuts his eyes, and the scene blinks out into darkness, only to reappear in the passing of a minute, night suddenly replaced by the warm sunlight of an emerging dawn. In front of them, tall grass stretches far off into a limitless skyline, while the outline of thick forest borders parallel to where they stand. Not too far in the distance is a herd of wild gazelle, prancing into the air like a team of synchronized jumpers.

"You've got to be kidding me," Elisa glares at Amory, while leaning her hips into his, "This is absolutely called cheating. "

II.

Glass mirrors cloud up steamy and hot as shower water falls like the patter of rain. Beneath a white ceramic sink, wedged between cracked a toilet, Amory Felix sits with his knees pulled to his chest, gouging crimson half-moons into his temples with his nails.

"Ahhhhhh.."

Like some mangled doll, Amory appears to crumple into himself. Hands shift to his shoulders, chin to knees, knees to chest. From between his teeth escapes another groan, and like a blind man, he extends a shaky right hand-- feeling about for something in front of him, reaching and grasping until his nails clip the side of a greenglass bottle. BURNETT’S GIN in bold label lettering.

He tosses back the bottle, nearly drowning himself in it, as streams of clear liquor spill from the corners of his mouth. Spirits to allay his pain, spirits to kill him faster, spirits are the only damn thing he cares about in the world. Amory lays his desperation bare, returning to his drink as quickly as he puts it down.

“Amory.”

The owner of the voice – a tall man with a shock of red hair stands by the doorframe. Ignoring invitations, he crosses the room to crouch beside the brunette. Paint-stained fingers gingerly attempt to coerce the bottle form the brunette's unrelenting grasp.

“Don’t touch me. Don’t you fucking touch me."

Amory’s bears his teeth, eyes alight with bright animalistic fever as he pulls away, smashing his head against the ceramic toilet bowl. A resounding clang follows as the toilet shakes from the impact of his skull. But the pain seems inconsequential, for weak hands are still intent on batting the intruder away, a motion that allows the red-haired man the leeway to snatch away the bottle.

“Give it back--"

"You can only have one, Amory. It's either one or the other," the main responds, calmly. He doesn't patronize the brunette, only laying out the honest facts. On the other hand, his expression is worry-stained, brown eyes straining against the weight of the unspoken truth.

"None of your business, I swear..." his threat fades out, as Amory shies away in another paroxysm of pain. He's a pathetic man, Amory thinks, as another cry forces its way from his throat. Pathetic, grotesque.

"Amory, give it to me."

Anger bubbles up from the depths of delirium, of an intensity that one could believe would materialize and actually penetrate in Amory's glare. Varicolored light and pain, a bright haze sears his sight. He pulls away defensively, then reaching into his pocket to produce a secret treasure: an orange cylinder of pills cradled between his fingers. But before he can unscrew the cap, stronger hands snatch it away, prying Amory's fingers apart as if a chinese finger trap.

"You don't understand! You can't possibly imagine--" he yells, coming at Erin with his nails. He grabs at Erin's arms, but the taller man pulls away, sending Amory toppling into him. Even on top of him, he still tries to grab for it, unable to reach the bottle raised high above the man's head. "I can make you, you know. All-- All I have to do is say it and it's mine--"

Breath escapes him in short, sharp spurts, and his struggles come to an end. Every motion feels like a knifethrust, to the point where he gives up on moving, laying on top of him in pitiable shame. Forfeit is too easy a word, but ease is always the best route for a coward. It just hurts too much to move.

A hand hovers over his cheek, implying that the owner means to brush the sweat from his face. Amory won't stand for it.

"Don't touch me."

Erin nods and pulls Amory up, gently, leaning him against the tile. He settles there, eyes flickering from a loathing stare to a half-lidded exhaustion. His fingers return to digging half moons into the flesh of his palm.

"I told you not to come in here."

"Right. I'll just be in here when they need me identify the corpse."

"At least spare me the dregs of my pride."

The other man says nothing, though he seems like he'd like to-- opening his mouth, then shutting it into a tight line. In silence, he sits there Indian-style as a sentry. The other man just looks like he's about to fall apart.

"Do you want anything?"

"Fuck you."

Erin nods again, pulling himself off the ground and walking toward the door. Looking back, he seems wary-- indecisive, a nagging thought biting at the edge of his mind, unable to find the words to convey it.

"Good night, then."

∞ [ VIDEO ] || backdated to tuesday morning

2011-06-15T06:55:18Z

[ Grey highways reach out toward a blue horizon. The growl of a motor penetrates the otherwise sleepy silence of an unheard of phenomenon: a traffic-less 10 freeway at 10 AM in the morning. Carcasses of abandoned cars dot the street randomly, but it just takes a little weaving to avoid them.

An atrocious looking car mars the scenery, growling steadily as the driver kicks it up from 80 MPH to 90MPH. Behind them are a pack of jauntily moving zombies, following the car like a carrot on a stick. They' are too slow to reach the car, but they're there and make turning around a near impossibility.

Now a close up to the individuals in the car. One truculent Amory Felix at the steering wheel; one Claire Bennet manning the gunner's side, the tip of a rifle peaking out from a lowered window.

They argue. ]

LOOK, I DON'T CARE IF YOU'RE FREAKED OUT OR NOT FREAKED OUT, I DON'T CARE IF IT MIGHT BE A STUPID IDEA. TURN THE DAMN CAR AROUND BEFORE I SHOOT YOU IN THE FOOT AND DO IT MYSELF.

[This with a vaguely threatening rattle.]

"RIGHT, LET'S HEAD RIGHT INTO DOWNTOWN LOS ANGELES. THE EPICENTER OF THE DAMNED. DYING? WHO THE FUCK CARES WHEN YOU'RE IMMORTAL."

[ As they say this, a small group of zombies approach them from ahead. Amory cuts his speed in half, then runs over the zombies with a series of a KA-THUNK, KA-THUNK, KA-THUNKS. A dismembered arm hits the side of the front window with a SQUELCH, leaving a trail of green slimes as it slides back down the glass. ]

"Oh, so it's your goal to piss me off when I'm holding a weapon and both of your hands are occupied doing what? OH RIGHT, wasting gas while you RUN OVER THINGS THAT USED TO BE PEOPLE. YOU'RE RIGHT, THIS IS A MUCH BETTER PLAN THAN MINE."

"Claire. This is MY home."

[ With that, he turns on the CD player and a sixty's song begins to play, by chance. Set against the backdrop of mellow notes are more KA-THUNK KA-THUNK KA-THUNKs as they run over more zombies.]

[ooc: The hummer can fit around 3 (or even more, if they squeeze) hitchhikers, if your character needs a lift. <3 they're heading from santa monica -> los angeles. Also green = Amory and red = Claire.]

∞ [ AUDIO ] || backdated to monday night

2011-06-09T05:00:10Z

[ Spoken quietly, as if never meant to be said at all. ]

A lucky man is someone who doesn't know what's waiting for him after the end.

∞ [ LETTER ] || addressed to Room #521; misfired to the network.

2011-05-25T19:19:52Z

DEAR ROOM #521:

Likely, you don't know me. My name is Amory Felix, and I'm technically your neighbor-- the room right under your floor.

So, there's this abandoned cabin deep in the forest surrounding my family's vineyard. It hasn't been lived in for years, full of cobwebs, rotted furniture. Back when I was a kid, the first time I discovered it, my friend dared me to enter. Close the door, stay inside for five minutes, and promise not to scream.

Have you ever known the feeling of a wet, frigid hand grabbing your shoulders in an empty room?

Of course, my friend thought: "Must be a ghost." Thinking logically, I explained to her that ghosts clearly didn't exist. It was all in my head. An ephemeral delusion. When I got home, I told my mother about the sensation. Then she explained to me, clearly: "Of course that was a ghost." Unfortunately, there was no doubting her.

What I'm saying is that I can be sensitive to certain sensations, sensations which are invisible to many people.

What does this have to do with the two of you?

Your magic-- power, whatever you call it-- tends to fluctuate when the two of you are making love. I understand it may be completely natural reaction, but for your sake and mine, I believe it's an issue we must address. You see, I can feel it. It keeps me up and gives me headaches. It's something like playing the stereo at 3 AM in the morning, while burning toast in the kitchen.

I'm not asking you to stop having sex. Even I'm not that much of a bastard. I'm just asking the two of you, politely, to be more aware of what you're broadcasting, and to make an effort to control it.

Please take this note seriously.

Sincerely,
AMORY FELIX

audio

2011-05-16T07:06:44Z

What I've learned, being here as long as I have, is that the City is like a game. When you look for answers, you're only looking for more questions. You search for an exit? The City buries you. You bring down the barriers, you're still trapped. Pursuing reason is an endless chase.

I can't rationalize throwing oneself into the fray when the pay-off is questionable, and the risk is relatively predictable.

Does being reasonable make you a coward?

[ A strain of quiet, filtering through the speaker. Seconds, a minute passes. ]

Twenty-four. Has that much changed?

[ooc: After flying cross country, I'm completely beat. <3 Going have to cut out early. ]

∞ [ audio ]

2011-04-19T08:02:51Z

Arcturus, Spigo, Regulus. If you know any of them, likely those would be the ones. Spring stars. They only appear to us, to our eyes, from the end of winter to the end of summer.

Arcturus is an impatient little fuck.

The first star you see at night, the 14th brightest. Right ascension somewhere in the 14 hours.

[ There's the soft warble of a midnight bird, fluttering corners of the wind brushing past the communicator. ]

Greek gods have this tendency of memorializing people in the sky, immortalizing them. Actualizing them for eternity as he-who-did-that and is-now-remembered-for-that. But for god's sake, let them die.

[ Silence, now. ]

Two years now. Twenty-three instead of twenty-one, and now twenty-four.

Fuck.

fatespoken @ 2011-04-05T18:06:00

2011-04-05T22:06:32Z

AMORY LICINIUS FELIX

May 6th, 1987 - 2016

video

2011-03-20T04:32:04Z

[ First: A cat's paw, scratching at the buttons of a communicator, claws snapping the device on to reveal a cat sitting on a couch's arm. In the background, you can see a vague mass shrouded by a blanket, messy brown hair sticking up at the top. A thump and a shriek ensues, as Amory's other cat leaps onto the couch's arm to fight the other for the communicator, conveniently using Amory's face as a bridge.

A single, delicate fuck breaks the silence in the room and the communicator falls to the carpet with a clatter. Now, it's at a perfect angle to capture Amory's newly feminine shape, as he nearly topples off the couch, an empty beer bottle and pill bottle tumbling from the folds of the blanket to join the communicator on the floor. ]

Next time, I'm locking you guys in the bath—

[ Amory looks down to examine a... discordance. Fingers unclasp the blanket in shock, and the blanket slides to expose the top of one breast, the distinct curve of a hip, the top of navy blue briefs, a belly button... then a return to his countenance as he scoops up the communicator with another delicate shit.

Quietly. ]

Wasn't twice enough?

[ooc: Backdated to early afternoon on Saturday!]

∞ video

2011-03-08T06:06:26Z

[ A lethargic looking Amory Felix sits in front of the camera, leaning forward on a dark brown couch. Besides him sits one cat, curled just as languorously around a pillow. Dark shadows trace the bottom edge of his eyes, and for a moment, he blinks blearily. ]

Ballet was her nemesis for fix years. But she had to do it-- the requirements of privilege. I rode horses. She did dance.One day we raced down a hill on our bikes, and she careened off the side: bent her leg all the way backwards, shattered her knee-cap.

As we sat there in the brush, waiting my mom, Elisa realized how much she wanted to do ballet, only after realizing what fucking up her leg that badly meant.

[ Pause. ]

Differences sharpen the truth. If they don't reveal them.

[ This anecdote is brought to you by Amory Felix and the pop of a beer bottle, which a thin wrists pulls into the view of the camera -- he's not hiding it at all.

He downs half of the bottle in a single gulp, then leaning back against the couch. Silence, now. ]

I can force myself to do a lot of things. I've dragged myself through mountains of shit, and-- you know, I made a valiant attempt. [ He takes another swig. ] Now, I concede.

fatespoken @ 2011-02-12T22:37:00

2011-02-13T03:37:25Z

[ Amory spends the hour before work at a hole-in-the wall diner, dining on a plate of what appears to be steamed chicken and rice. Yes, just that - and a glass of orange juice on the side. Thumbing through a book, something by David Foster Wallace, he'll be too distracted to notice the addition of unexpected guests at his table. But if you sit down, there's no way he'll let you escape without a few choice questions. ]

[ooc: CRY. So most of these tags will have to come tomorrow, as I am busy- but please, this is open to everyone so feel free to post! ]

∞ [ audio ]

2011-02-04T08:01:57Z

[ His diction sounds like he's reading something. Not really addressing the network directly, as if this whole thing is accidental -- but it's not. ]

Creativity, sensitivity and compassion.

Prefers the company of others. Strongly believes in friends.

[ An audible Hm. ]

Articulate.

Classy, sophisticated, well-mannered.

Rabbits are very sexual.

[ Another pause. ]

Alas, they 'give' too much of themselves.

But a fire rabbit?

Fire-- impatience, aggression and impulsivity.

[ Another mulling pause ]

Taurus is more believable.

[ The rustle and crinkle of folding newspaper pages. ]

Maybe I'm not Asian enough to count.

∞ [ audio & video ]

2011-01-16T13:30:07Z

[ A haze of low voices drifts across the audio. Languorous words from the tongues of five am sleepwalkers and barflies, whose minds keep them running on the vapors of thin, early hours. There's the sound of someone pressing communicator keys, followed by a loud curse- merda - as clumsy hands knock the device into camera mode. All he wanted was to check the weather or something. Lo and behold, there is Amory Felix with a complexion as flush as the cast of red-yellow light draping over him. ]

Hey. A coke with rum.

[ The words are set beneath a grumble, as he slides the device to the side, hitting an empty glass with a loud clink. ]

He sits at the bar, looking-- staring at something. Maybe the bartender he just ordered from. Or maybe he's even thinking, contending with the teeth currently gnawing dully at his conscious. His eyes widen and his lips draw to a small smirk as if silence just told a funny joke. ]

You—You're definitely a two. [ And he can't help but chuckle. ]

[ooc: action is fine, if your character would be out barhopping at 5 am! >> ]

∞ [ audio ]

2011-01-05T06:26:31Z

The easiest way to go about this would be to trash everything, but I know my wine, even more than I know my spirits, and it would qualify as a sin to waste it.

So I'm giving it away.

Half bottles, full bottles and quarter bottles of absinthe, Jack Daniels, gin, vodka, Hennesey X.O, and rum. The wine, a few bottles, is all from the Russian River Valley. If you're familiar with California, it's a wine appellation located in the northern area of Sonoma. The valley's known for Pinot Noir and Chardonnay, and ranks as the best wine you can buy. Trust me, I was raised part of the time at my father's winery in the Valley, and I started tasting stock for him at fourteen. I know enough about nuances and the difference between good wine and shit wine to assure you quality.

Even a sober bartender can serve you a great drink.

[ There's an extended pause as the curse kicks in. ]

I used to be fucking brilliant, you know. I wasn't always a minimum wage chump serving coffee and spirits. I studied astronomy and physics at UC Berkeley, taking third year classes second year. Even did an internship at Fermilab. I had things I was good at, things I was bad at, but if I knew what I wanted- what I loved, then I was brilliant. Give me pain killers and gut my social life, and I could earn the grades I earned. The kind a parent would hang on the wall if he gave a damn.

Sounds like a kid's pipe dream, but I wanted to wanted to become an astronaut. When I couldn't do that, I figured working at NASA would be enough.

Then I inherited my mother's job, and everything unraveled. Hard work's nothing. I can handle pain to a high degree. But when your body's made an enemy of itself, when you're too busy playing dream voyeur to manage more than a few nights of sleep a week, then everything compounds and you reach your limit.

I couldn't handle mediocrity, not when it wasn't my fault. That's what happens when you pride weighs heavier than dedication. So, I dropped out, and have bitched and moaned about it ever since. But I'm done wallowing. Time's not dispensable, as though something to be thrown away like styrofoam peanuts. You say you're stuck in a mire, but if you don't budge than you'll be there until you reach your end.

As trite as it sounds, something's more substantial than nothing. I'm going to learn to deal with mediocrity. Even failure.

First things first, this will be a fucking mountain to cross.

[ooc: Realizing you're in a different time zones sucks. Backdated to an hour and a half ago. ]

[ If you want to action any cursed meet-ups during the day, he'll be going from home-> stables -> coffee shop --> blue light --> home today. Feel free to bump into him anywhere. ]

∞ [ audio ]

2010-12-23T07:45:26Z

I've been over this before.

We didn't really celebrate Christmas. Decorations were superficial, for the sake of my mom's fancy. Dad considered it a vestigial gesture to some winter festival like Saturnalia or Brumalia. The point of the holidays, for me, was getting whatever I wanted. Why? Because I was a spoiled brat. And when you've got centuries worth of junk rotting in your vaults, fulfilling a kid's whims is the easiest way to say you've done something.

Then I grew up and figured out you don't always get what you fucking want. Commodity doesn't really amount to much when what you need is something immaterial.

This Christmas, I'm only asking for something simple. To the displeasure of the asshole who shot me twice in the legs, I'd like to walk out of here by myself soon.

I'm checking out Friday.

Meanwhile, please keep that Greek nurse out of here. You know, the one with the atrocious face and the turkey waddle? I don't want to risk kissing her. If this place isn't enough of a shithole.

[ooc: ... Backdated to yesterday! Um. If you have a reason to be around him, you can kiss him, but otherwise he has luckily found a haven. 8D]

fatespoken @ 2010-11-29T21:26:00

2010-11-30T02:26:06Z

[text to the network | 9:25 PM ]

If you're from home, and want to see me—and you're certain I want to see you— send me a message.

∞ [ accidental video ] | backdated to sunday morning, before sunrise

2010-11-15T01:25:21Z

[ Amory Felix sits on a kitchen chair, leaning against his arm propped up on the table. There's absence in his expression, a stolidity that Amory struggles to maintain, no matter what his appearance suggests. Blood soaks the right arm of his white button-up, decorated with large rip at the top shoulder. It exposes flesh plastered with dried blood. His hair, cropped-short, joins the bloodbath with matted clumps of hair. There's more, but it's cut off from the camera. ]

—the City, right?

[ ooc: Cursed with Road Not Taken! ]