"I Don’t Need Therapy" by A Cloud in Circle. Depressive/suicidal black metal from Argentina. From the "In the Solitary Illusion of Forests" split.
((The drawing’s cute but It hope you feel better ;__;))
“She’s deadly, isn’t she?” He replied, a coy smile beginning to spread over his lips. All the while, Teagan had returned to the ceramic jar that was still clutched in his hand- digging out a particularly sizable chunk to tamp down into the ash-blackened bowl of the pipe. His mind couldn’t help but fall back onto the first time he’d ever been caressed by the sweet lull of opium, and how it only took a meager drop of the slick substance to send his body and brain into numb, creeping euphoria. The man’s tolerance had grown insatiably high over the years, and in the few moments it took Roland to revel in the warmth of his initial drag, Teagan had filled the chamber up to its brim.
With a single hand, he struck another match and then brought the pipe up to his lips- the treacle crackling loudly under-flame as he inhaled a languid drag. No matter how many times he’d done it before, the sweet, Earthen taste that slithered over his tongue was nothing less than remarkable- the momentary loosening of tension in his joints even moreso. Once an orange ember was sufficiently smoldering inside, he leaned against the cushions and slid an outstretched arm along the back of the couch- where the entertainer was still seated beside him.
“There’s a reason why they call it the dreamer’s drug.” He murmured, the half lidded gaze he cast his companion nothing short of endearing. “She’s stolen more of my time than I care to admit, but… I’m sure the reason’s made itself clear enough.”
It was an absolutely juvenile thought, but in that second, all he wanted to do was let his hand fall onto Roland’s shoulder, and gently pull himself closer. Although the engineer was more than content with wasting hours strewn over the sofa in a daze, it only seemed to prolong the asphyxiating loneliness he so desperately sought to numb. Being accompanied in his current state seemed surreal, in a way- but somehow satisfied a yearning that had welled within him for so long.
Teagan nibbled at his lip, the gears in his head turning as his mind sank into its more tempting recesses. Blue irises flitted back to the pipe curled in his fingers, and he raised it once more to drag another fiery burn- but instead of inhaling this time, he merely held the smoke in his mouth.
Wordlessly, he placed the lacquer instrument down on his lap- and brought his free hand up to tenderly stroke the rigid curve of the older man’s cheek. Teagan leaned in, closing his eyes as if he were intent on stealing a kiss- but before their lips could seal, he parted them- a thick, milky cloud of white smoke spilling over his tongue and drifting with the slow lull of the entertainer’s breath.
The high he was experiencing was unlike anything he’d felt before. Better than reefer, better than cocaine. There was a perfectly numb sensation that he just hadn’t gotten with other substances.
He could definitely get used to this.
Through pleasantly clouded eyes, he watched the younger man repacking the bowl of the pipe. Sluggishly, he turned his small body, all the better to watch him. “You don’t say…” soothed the entertainer, watching Teagan’s arm as it came to rest on the cushions behind him. “Well, I for one, could get used to this little treasure. Very used to it.” Giving one of Teagan’s thighs a playful squeeze, he ran his tongue over his teeth. He met the younger man halfway as he leaned closer, more than prepared for a kiss. Russell was taken slightly aback as Mr. Ainsland pulled away at the last moment, the thick white smoke spilling from his open mouth. Roland seised the opportunity, closing the already minuscule gap between them. He sucked in a breath, taking in the cloud of smoke with it; it had been a manoeuvre he’d done countless times with partners while enjoying a hit of the Mary J.
Roland couldn’t help but giggle boyishly, the remainder of the smoke escaping hit mouth in short bursts with his laughter. “My…you certainly are a gracious host. Sharing your substances in more than one way.” The performer lazily draped his arms around his lover’s neck, previous anxiety all but forgotten. Nuzzling into the other’s neck, he lowered his voice to a sultry tone. “Mm…what else do you have in store for me?”
Catch you at the woodside. What did that even mean? He was an odd man, wasn’t he? Loretta tried not to giggle. Definitely strange, but he was kind of nice. There weren’t many nice people in Rapture anymore. Only her Mr. B and the other girls were kind to her.
The Big Daddy was closer now - Loretta could hear its heavy footsteps. The girl should have been glad - all the Bubbles took turns to look after the girls - but unless he was her Mr. B, she didn’t want him. Her Mr. B wasn’t like the rest, and she only wanted him.
She looked up at the man, turning her back to the approaching creature. “Wait! Can you help me find my Mr. Bubbles? I don’t like that one.” She pointed towards the approaching shape. “Maybe you know where he is?” She didn’t like this man much, but being with him was better than being alone. Being alone meant she could get hurt by a splicer. The other Sisters had told her to stay away from splicers - especially the ones they called ‘leadheads’. They had weapons with them, which were really dangerous.
Once the thing had come into view, Roland flinched sharply. Instinctively, he backed far away from the girl. He’d seen what had happened to people who put even one finger on those little ones. The entertainer held his hands up where the monster could see them, as if he had just been caught by a pursuing police officer. Keeping his eyes locked on the Daddy, he spoke to the girl, his tone marked by a slight stutter.
"N-Now listen, kiddo. I-I promise I w-won’t let anything happen to ya, just as long as y’don’t let t-that monstrosity hurt me, understood? I uh…I’m n-not so keen on others doin’ damage to me."
"You can make it out to me personally, I’m working on having the bank accept these in the shop’s name, but there’s been some - " he stopped rambling at the sight of the man’s wrists. The scars were more intense than he thought they were - twisting and red, and not very old. Lin quickly looked away and started up again but significantly more subdued. "There’s been some issues with that."
He handed the man a pen, flashing a weak smile. “Here.”
Lin laughed lightly at the man’s attempt to take the conversation on another turn - he figured it’d be rude not to. He knew the other knew he saw. Lin did not like that. He liked pretending to be in the dark. He liked pretending he really was the oblivious shop owner he always assumed to be.
As the other filled out the check he turned away and swore - a sudden realization coming to mind - he could not ignore this. Without be able to keep himself quiet any longer, he dared ask. “Sir, do you - ” Lin hesitated. “Do you intend to use this on yourself?”
Tearing out the cheque and handing it off, Russell opened the box, pulling the pistol out. Turning, he fumbled with it a moment, figuring out how to pop the chamber open. Over the loud click, he heard Mr. Ruan’s words loud and clear.
Do you intend to use this on yourself?
Roland’s shoulder’s sank, his head raised a little higher. To his horror, they both completely understood his presence in the shoppe that afternoon. And here he was so hoping the gunsmith would just leave the matter alone. Perhaps assumed his cat had been a bit ornery and scratched him. Pushing the chamber back, Roland sighed, peering over his shoulder yet not making eye contact with Ruan.
"…No. I don’t. And what would it matter if I did? A sale is a sale, isn’t it? You’ve made some money to-day and you’ve…you’ve a satisfied customer at your counter." The entertainer turned around, his eyes finally locking with the other’s. His tone was level yet stern. "…You won’t tell anyone about this. I’m not allowed to have, well…instruments like this. But I’m not a child, though. I thought this was a city with no rules? They can’t govern me like a misbehaving schoolboy." Eyes still set on the gunsmith, Roland slipped the pistol back in it’s package, tucking it under his arm.