There was the faint sound of water running from somewhere within the living quarters of Dragovich Vollrath. Along with it was the rhythm of a heavy bass line originating from a little electronic device as it belted out tunes from his preferred genre of music. The little device glowed with a soft blue light as it laid on the counter-top in the bathroom. The room was filled with a translucent haze as the hot water rained down on the strapping figure just beyond the curtain. The thick pall of steam created a film of condensation along the single large mirror by the sink. After a short while the sound of the water stopped as Drago decided to move along with the rest of his day.
It hadn't been any easier to get any rest than it had been when he had first arrived here. Dragovich had unfortunately not made much progress in getting comfortable in the Texas branch of Invictus just yet. He had even more difficulty getting to sleep than usual, just the night before had been another rough one. The night terror wasn't the most intense one he'd ever had, but it certainly had not been a gentle awakening. At the very least he had awoken to find Sibylla had returned from her work. As ever his episodes were worlds easier to come down from when she was there, so he'd pulled himself back together well enough thanks to her. He hated burdening such a kind soul with his problems but he was forever grateful for her unending support.
He'd made it a point to thank her as always with as much affection and appreciation as he could muster, even offering to bake up something special as thanks. As it turned out Sibylla had been exhausted from her work in sanctum and instead opted into going get some much needed sleep. She deserved the rest as far as Dragovich was concerned. Very few people were as dedicated or worked as much as Sibylla. Drago still wished they were able to spend a little more time together though. The thought made him frown as he set about toweling himself off. At least they had been assigned as partners since the last round of missions.
It was certainly a wonderful surprise for Drago. He had been anticipating being paired up with any number of the other agents here. He wondered if it had been a decision rooted in logic or one of pathos. Either way he agreed with the decision, and he didn't care if he was biased on the matter. Admittedly he found his anxieties about being separated from his sole confidant had been getting increasingly worse after their transfer. Every opportunity for bureaucracy and figures to be reconsidered and recounted just meant more opportunities to end up alone or have what time he desired with them restricted even further.
Drago let out an annoyed grunt and tied the towel he'd been using around his waist. He had to quit thinking like that. He needed to stop being so dependent on another for his peace of mind. He was aware of the potential complications, though it wasn't always easy. With a sigh the muscular man moved to the sink and went to work completing his preparations for the day's events. Internally he cursed it all, large social gatherings were draining beyond comprehension most of the time. But in the end he felt obligated to attend. Thinking on it he realized he wasn't even sure if it was an optional event. At the very least he'd get to spend some time with his beloved, though he would greatly prefer it be in a less communal setting.
Dragovich was a reserved man, and he despised being stared at like bacteria under a microscope. He could hardly conduct himself in the affectionate manner he felt his partner deserved with an audience waiting in the wings. Few things bothered him more than feeling he was being observed like some sort of freak or an animal in a cage. Part of him knew deep down that he wasn't likely to be the center of attention and that it was illogical to think otherwise, but it was an incredibly stubborn habit. Every eye seemingly burning a hole through him with their gaze. The notion of it sent a shiver of revulsion through him.
Drago let out an uneasy sigh as he retrieved his open razor from it's little black case he kept by the sink. He unfolded the blade and stared at it for a moment as he mentally prepared himself for his least favorite part of the grooming process. Dragovich was also a man who disliked a great many things, among them was mirrors. More specifically he hated the reflections in the mirror, at least more so than the object itself. It was something that had developed a short while after he'd been abducted all those years ago and since it had only become worse. With a deep breath Drago wiped away as much of the condensation as he could leaving a mostly clear view of himself in the mirror.
He shook droplets of water from the hand he'd used to wipe the mirror and peered into his reflection. Then he slowly lifted the razor to his face. As he went about shaving he did his best to keep his mind off of the image in the mirror.
Disgusting. Instead he thought about his choice of razor, reminding himself the tool in his hand was incredibly outdated.
Monster. It had been purchased for the novelty but in the end the archaic blade had become a favorite.
Freak. He let out a quiet chuckle as he shaved what little stubble there had been.
Pretender. The razor was only half as useful as it could of been thanks to the scar tissue, then half again thanks to all the more efficient modern equivalents.
Repulsive. It hadn't taken him long to finish what he was doing and so he cleaned the razor and tucked it away into its proper place by the sink.
Dragovich rubbed the good side of his face with one of his hands, glancing at the mirror to admire his handy work. That was a grave mistake. He looked at his reflection for just a little too long and thus began the down spiral. His gaze was unfocused at first, taking in all of what he saw at once. Eventually his image seemed to sharpen to an unnatural clarity. His mind glossed over the few positive traits he'd heard compliments on before and honed in on each and every imperfection. Every scar and blemish seemed so much darker than he remembered, as if they'd gotten worse over night. With his other hand he traced over some of the markings as if he was searching for evidence of change. Something, anything to confirm his suspicions.
Eventually his focus shifted from the veritable mosaic of cicatrices on his body to the lines on his face and studied his own face. Dragovich clenched his jaw as he looked on, his attention shifting between looking the reflection's eyes and the grisly stigma that had been thrust upon him. Something always felt...wrong, when he looked at his reflection. He understood that the person, no, the thing he saw was supposed to be him. The amber eyes were there, the carmine hair was there too, still damp and matted to his forehead. But something was still off. It always seemed was some alien creature playing at being the one named Dragovich Vollrath.
From deep within the myriad of thoughts that swarmed in his head as he gazed into the mirror that laid before him, one stuck out the most whenever he found himself in such a predicament. If it wasn't him then who was it? And that thought led to another. Why did it want to pretend to be him? And another. Or was he the one pretending? And another. Was this the same thing everyone else saw? How did they put up with it? The flesh in the mirror did not match the mind inside and it was maddening to conceive that no one else was aware of it and not judging him.
It was even worse when Drago considered the illusion in place giving him the facade of being normal. His stature wasn't enough to set him apart from the average man, but a phantom limb and a glowing eye of red light set in an abyssal black sphere added to the inhumaity. The memory of how he'd come to be the thing that he saw in the mirror stung at the edges of his mind. Every detail was burned into his mind with perfect clarity. Dragovich's mind drifted toward it, only barely touching upon the impression the events of the past had left. He found he could almost scent the crisp morning air and hear boots pacing around the room behind him again. The memory was all but on the verge of consuming him when the electronic device that had been playing a selection of music beeped angrily.
Dragovich blinked twice slowly coming to the realization he'd been spaced out for some time. He shook his head and reached for the little device as it beeped again. He thumbed over the touch screen and the little machine went back to peacefully playing music once more. Drago took a moment to be glad he'd set an alarm in case he'd forgotten to start getting ready by now. He turned his attention to a barren space where he was supposed to have set his clothes out before showering. He had unfortunately forgotten to actually place the garments there earlier so now he had to go and get them. Normally this wouldn't of been an issue, and it still might not of been one on account of the company he had in the other room. It wasn't quite as daunting as it would of been had anyone else been present but still it was a touch embarrassing.
Dragovich looked at the door to the other room for a minute or so, trying to decide if it was worth getting worked up over. Eventually he decided to simply shrug it off and just get it over with. It wasn't so much he was worried for his own sake anyway, so without much internal strife he made sure his towel was secure and stepped out into the other room. Without breaking his stride Drago made his way to the closet and dug through it's contents in search of everything he needed. Without making too much noise he located all the components of his formal wear except for the damned tie. He briefly considered abandoning it altogether, after all he wasn't sure what the dress code for this event was. If he went too formal he'd be over dressed, if he didn't try hard enough he'd look like a fool. He grimaced as he found yet another reason he was not a fan of parties or mixers or what ever other asinine name was ascribed to such congregations.
After a little arguing with himself and eventually finding the tie he'd been looking for, he decided to hope that being overdressed would garner less attention than the alternative. With his clothes in hand Drago walked back to the bathroom without so much as a glance around the other room. As soon as he had his privacy once again he proceeded to don his nice new suit. It was combination of black and a deep dark grey. Much to his liking it actually fit properly, that was rare. Prior to joining Invictus finding properly fitting clothes had been a god damned nightmare. Now he was able to get practically everything customized to accommodate his needs. He was still grateful that the shower had been built with taller folks in mind. Otherwise he'd of been stuck doing the awkward "over six feet tall" squat just to get his hair wet.
It took him a little longer than he'd anticipated to finish dressing himself, but that was the price you paid for compulsively checking to make sure you didn't miss a button or put the wrong button through the wrong hole. Then came the tie. Despite being a man at the ripe bold age of twenty four years, he'd never learned to properly tie one of the blasted things. It was like trying to tie a knot in a very upset cobra made of silk. He fumbled with it for about five minutes before getting fed up with it and looking up instructions online. They hadn't been particularly helpful for the most part, but eventually he managed one of the more simple knots with only a fraction of the irritation.
Drago glanced at his reflection to check if he'd done it right, but wasn't sure if it was just his mind playing tricks on him or if it really looked as lopsided to others as it did to him. He fiddled with the knot, trying to adjust how tight it was hoping that would fix the problem. Sadly it did not. With an exacerbated sigh he turned away from the mirror and folded his arms across his chest. Tying knots wasn't supposed to be hard, hell he'd been taught how to tie a tourniquet and he had actually used that knowledge before in the past, well enough anyway. Why was this any different? It was about that time he heard what sounded like movement in the other room. Perhaps his dearest was up and about now. And what was more, perhaps she would be able to help him make sense of the god forsaken fabric serpent.
" Sibylla? Can you help me for but a moment? I need you and your beautiful eyes to tell me if I tied this right. It looks whats the word...crooked? Askew? I think I fucked it up is all." Dragovich said called out as he made his way from the bathroom back out into the other room. Where he spread his arms out, a gesture that could easily be anything from look at me to give me a hug. He was fine with either, "I think maybe I'm overdoing it. Do I look alright? Sorry, if I'm nagging, Milovaný. Or if I woke you up...did you sleep alright? You seemed exhausted when you got back."
Location:His Room
Company:Sibylla
Status:Distressed
[fieldbox="Dragovich Vollrath, #99001C, solid, 10, Palatino Linotype"]
