(no subject)
A short vignette inside queencria's Cobra Starship Hooker!Verse, which, if you have not yet read, so go do so immediately, at her writing journal cria_ecrit. All credit for the settings and major plot points goes to her. Thanks for letting me play in this verse! *hugs*
The room is dismal: dark and depressing, par for the course with every other tenement room in every other run down city in the U.S. There's one bed for two people, no window, and a dampness that never quite retreats, even in the dead of summer.
What separates it from those other rooms, though, are the people inside. There's two of them, two boys, two whores. One's leaning against the wall, leg's stretched out so long, they're almost falling off the pathetic excuse for a mattress. The other boy lays curled up, head on the first's thigh. They're talking quietly; they don't want the sound permeating the too thin walls.
The boy sitting up, Ryland, looks worried, like he's trying to keep the finger's he's intertwined with the other, Alex, from shaking. He's absently rubbing at Alex's thumb, but the direction of movement keeps changing.
"Someone should have kept you out of this. You don't belong here." It's spoken with quiet regret to the form not moving on his lap.
It takes a few minutes for a response; today has been difficult, more so than usual, he's still trying to heal. It's bitter, a rarity for this one. " You really think any of us do?You think William is any better suited for this? Or the new kid, Nate?"
"But especially not you. You were meant to do something with your life." He shakes his head, and tightens his grip.
"This is doing something; it's surviving."
The bitterness doesn't sit well; it burns a bit on the way down, though he knows it's not intended for him. He hates seeing Alex like this.
"That isn't quite what I meant, Alex. You've got to get out of this."
Alex shifts so he's staring straight into Ryland's eyes. "We have got to get out of this."
He doesn't want to talk about this, not now, not with Alex in this state. "You see the sunset the other day?"
"Yeah," the other boy seems confused. "What about it?"
"Almost made this scummy city seem pretty."
It's a minute of closed eye contemplation before there's an answer. "Almost. Almost. I hate that word."
"Scuse me?"
Alex shifts back to look up at him. "Almost. It's 'almost' pretty; we could 'almost' get out; things could 'almost' be okay. It's just depressing."
Ryland hates Alex on painkillers; Alex on painkillers is bitter Alex, is Alex who rambles on about the truths everyone avoids. He handles it the best he can.
"Get some sleep. I think the painkillers are kicking in, finally."
Alex grabs at Ryland's wrist, an obvious signal for his attention. Eyes flicker concern for an instant before they meet.
"I love you. You believe me, right?"
"Forever."
The room is dismal: dark and depressing, par for the course with every other tenement room in every other run down city in the U.S. There's one bed for two people, no window, and a dampness that never quite retreats, even in the dead of summer.
What separates it from those other rooms, though, are the people inside. There's two of them, two boys, two whores. One's leaning against the wall, leg's stretched out so long, they're almost falling off the pathetic excuse for a mattress. The other boy lays curled up, head on the first's thigh. They're talking quietly; they don't want the sound permeating the too thin walls.
The boy sitting up, Ryland, looks worried, like he's trying to keep the finger's he's intertwined with the other, Alex, from shaking. He's absently rubbing at Alex's thumb, but the direction of movement keeps changing.
"Someone should have kept you out of this. You don't belong here." It's spoken with quiet regret to the form not moving on his lap.
It takes a few minutes for a response; today has been difficult, more so than usual, he's still trying to heal. It's bitter, a rarity for this one. " You really think any of us do?You think William is any better suited for this? Or the new kid, Nate?"
"But especially not you. You were meant to do something with your life." He shakes his head, and tightens his grip.
"This is doing something; it's surviving."
The bitterness doesn't sit well; it burns a bit on the way down, though he knows it's not intended for him. He hates seeing Alex like this.
"That isn't quite what I meant, Alex. You've got to get out of this."
Alex shifts so he's staring straight into Ryland's eyes. "We have got to get out of this."
He doesn't want to talk about this, not now, not with Alex in this state. "You see the sunset the other day?"
"Yeah," the other boy seems confused. "What about it?"
"Almost made this scummy city seem pretty."
It's a minute of closed eye contemplation before there's an answer. "Almost. Almost. I hate that word."
"Scuse me?"
Alex shifts back to look up at him. "Almost. It's 'almost' pretty; we could 'almost' get out; things could 'almost' be okay. It's just depressing."
Ryland hates Alex on painkillers; Alex on painkillers is bitter Alex, is Alex who rambles on about the truths everyone avoids. He handles it the best he can.
"Get some sleep. I think the painkillers are kicking in, finally."
Alex grabs at Ryland's wrist, an obvious signal for his attention. Eyes flicker concern for an instant before they meet.
"I love you. You believe me, right?"
"Forever."