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[BCOLOR=transparent]i`ll fucking digest you one kiss at a time[/BCOLOR][BCOLOR=transparent]! [/BCOLOR][BCOLOR=transparent]i`ll fucking digest you one kiss at a time[/BCOLOR][BCOLOR=transparent]! [/BCOLOR][BCOLOR=transparent]i`ll fucking digest you[/BCOLOR]
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[BCOLOR=transparent]&[/BCOLOR][BCOLOR=transparent]
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stas [/BCOLOR]
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m[/BCOLOR]
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r[/BCOLOR]
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nakis [/BCOLOR]
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◞*[/BCOLOR]
[BCOLOR=transparent]LOCATION[/BCOLOR][BCOLOR=transparent]
: Main Lounge[/BCOLOR][BCOLOR=transparent]
X[/BCOLOR][BCOLOR=transparent]
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[BCOLOR=transparent] WITH: [/BCOLOR][BCOLOR=transparent]
Wesley (@Archaic), Eva, Klara [/BCOLOR][BCOLOR=transparent]
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◞* [/BCOLOR]
[BCOLOR=transparent]MOOD[/BCOLOR][BCOLOR=transparent]
: Sullen [/BCOLOR]
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302 days.[/BCOLOR]
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302 days since, with a heavy and reluctant heart, his days condemned to working at the host club began. The horizons of freedom came to a close upon Kostas' life when, on a foggy April morning, the scratch of a pen upon expensive paper signed him to work for the Lonely Hearts Club, an institution he would grow to deeply despise. 302 days since Caroline appeared at his doorstep-- how the she-devil had managed to find him so quickly, and with such facility, he would never know-- and another 63 days for when, shiny and new, the club opened its doors just a few blocks away from where he lived. Kostas had often passed by, peering through the tinted windows occasionally when curiosity crept up and took hold, though he was merely left disappointed when the only thing the eventide glass revealed was his own reflection. He hadn't thought much of the place at the time (a time when he was much happier, although he didn’t realize it then), only that it was rather gimmicky and that the employees must be either miserable or desperate or both. How ironic that, just two months under a year later, Kostas would be standing outside its backdoor, waiting with a cigarette pinched between his fingers for an onslaught of customers to arrive so that he could, with fake smiles and whispered, empty compliments, hope to impose a sense of validation upon their dreary lives. With a scowl, he tosses the cigarette onto the ground where, still trailing faint furls of smoke, it falls onto the ground, only to be crushed into a fine ash under his heel. [/BCOLOR]
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A hand disappears into Kostas’ pocket and returns with a silver ring that glistens under the neon light of the narrow street, and, scowl deepening, he slips it onto his middle finger. It strikes him as strange how perfect, how ordinary, it feels upon his finger, despite the fact that he only ever wore the thing on nights when he was working at the host club. The thought sends a feeling of disgust plummeting down to his core. Something, rough and jagged at the edges, lodges itself further within him-- he can sense the thing shifting, sense his mood souring as the seconds tick by. Involuntarily, the same hand rakes itself through his hair, leaving faint tracks where his fingers combed his unkempt locks. When he returned, the club was just beginning to see some customers, mostly familiar faces who had already latched themselves onto an unfortunate. Kostas, briefly scanning the room, had yet to spot one of his own clientele and instead, with arms folded across his chest, leaned against the bar. Socialization didn’t strike him as something he particularly felt like doing at the moment. The bartender, who was cleaning out a shot glass, cast him a brief glance and, sensing this, pretended to be invested in eradicating an invisible spot that seemed to be forever stuck to the glass. [/BCOLOR]
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Kostas looked upon the scene with ennui, his gaze scoping the room with a sort of jaded detachment, before stopping upon the form of Lorenzo. The man was, as per usual, groomed to perfection and already in attendance of a regular, a certain Marie Antoinette whose name he had only learned because of how often she visited the club. He watched as Lorenzo hung her long coat on one of the coat racks and how, when he returned to her company, his hand slid to the delicate small of her back where it did not move. The sight inexplicably irked him, and, his nerves, already irreparably frayed at the edges, wore increasingly thin. They appeared completely absorbed in one another, Marie with her unabashed confiding in Lorenzo about affairs so private, and Lorenzo with his undivided, genuine attention. His ability to give his clients the impression of unadulterated adoration constituted for much of his popularity; it was something that Kostas, no matter how many butterfly-invoking smiles he offered, or how many white lies he was willing to tell, could never hope to fully replicate himself. Honesty was not apart of his allure; one sought his company to lose themselves, not the opposite. They wished to be swallowed hungrily and whole, to be caught in the storm that perpetually followed his being and bubbled beneath his skin. He gave them what their inane husbands did not-- a thrill.[/BCOLOR]
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"I'm fine, thank you very much. Would you both like a drink? I've heard only the best about the Pinot noir they've recently ordered." A voice says, cutting through his thoughts as if to sever the ties that bound him to the confines of his mind and release him to reality. Kostas' attention is drawn away from the tender display of Lorenzo comforting a now distraught Marie, where it focuses on the familiar face of Wesley, a co-worker who had just recently started employment. It was said that he came to the mistress begging for a job-- why anyone wished to work in this hellhole of an establishment, he had no idea, but he had already become quite popular. Whereas veneration was Lorenzo's charm, youth was Wesley's, and the man certainly had plenty of it; he exuded a sort of exuberance that was found in only those still untainted and hopeful. Women ate it up, enamored with the romance behind having such a vibrant force in their life to cherish them. A small, crooked smile tugs at the corner of his lips and, languidly rising from his position against the counter top of the bar, he takes deliberate, predatory strides towards where Wesley and company stood, reaching them relatively swiftly. Kostas slides a nonchalant arm around his shoulders in a display of something that, to outsiders, might resemble friendliness.[/BCOLOR]
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[BCOLOR=transparent]“Aren’t we popular tonight?”[/BCOLOR] He remarks, his intense eyes settling upon the two figures that currently fawned over him. [BCOLOR=transparent]“Mind introducing me, Leo?" [/BCOLOR][/BCOLOR]