[personal profile] lilychick
So, I found this on the old computer, in one of these five-minute intervals where it's still working.

I don't know why I never posted it.

Ergo, here it is, before the whole thing freezes up again and I forget I've already typed it out.


We Only Come Out At Night (#6)

"I hate parties," Asa says, and Kevin gives him that look. That sideways glance that's equal parts amusement and disdain.

"Really," he answers. "I never would have guessed."

Kevin is wearing some kind of vintage three-piece suit, cloths and chains hanging out of all the right pockets, only the chains are spiked and the cloths are splashed with fake blood.

(Probably fake, anyway.)

His face is painted pure white, with obnoxiously purple lips, and he wears faint gray contacts that make him look particularly corpse-like. It's altogether a good look, Asa thinks, but slightly distracting when you're trying to talk to him.

Asa has not dressed for the occasion. His straight black hair hangs unadorned, and he wears his largest glasses, their matching color not detracting from the fact that the frames are so fashionably thick that they cross back into being unfashionable. He wears them with pride, as proof that he doesn't belong at this party, even if he *has* attended with the only person who may belong less than him.

Which, of course, is the only reason Kevin attends these parties at all. He's in his element.

(Asa wishes he *had* an element.)

The first person they meet is Damian, and that helps. He's dark, bored, and impossibly good-looking, the unacknowledged three-way bridge between Kevin, Asa, and the rest of the party, and upon seeing Kevin's outfit he bursts into laughter.

"Kevin," he says, once he catches his breath, "I can always count on you to make these things worth going to."

"It's my duty," Kevin answers in a long-suffering way, tipping his head in a bow, the type one usually does with a top hat in hand. Asa wonders why Kevin didn't get a matching top hat. "Is Jeffrey here?"

"Are you kidding?"

He shrugs. "Jack must be here, I assumed Jeff would follow."

"Nah, Jack is here." Damian gestures vaguely behind him. "Glued to the keg, of course. But you know there's no way Jeff would ever show up at one of Frank's parties."

Asa jumps at the name. "I thought this was Brady's party?"

"They're *all* Frank's parties," Damian says knowingly.

Asa turns to Kevin. "You're a fucking rat bastard," he growls, rather nonchalantly if he says so himself.

Kevin gives him one of those wicked, almost malicious smiles, but doesn't answer, instead asking Damian, "And what about Kathleen?"

"She wouldn't miss it."

"Excellent." The smile changes direction, his eyes shooting like an x-ray through the building. "Lead me to her."

"I'm going home," Asa interjects.

"No, you're not," Kevin says, without bothering to look at him.

Expecting this, Asa smirks. "All right, but I'm not going in there, either. I went to the Conservatory to *avoid* these people."

"Classist bitch," Kevin replies without malice. "Suit yourself. I'll be out to check on you."

Asa travels around the house as Kevin and Damian disappear through the door. The air is turning frigid, and the party has not yet spilled outside as expected. He slips through a gate and into Brady McCall's backyard. It's a spacious expanse of fading green; a patio sits unused, as does a covered pool in the distance. Just the slightest amount of water rests atop the plastic cover, and the moonlight flickers over it in a ripple effect.

At the back of the house, a hand suddenly thrusts out of an open window directly above Asa's head. He notices the faded cuff of a suit jacket just in time to catch the beer bottle that drops from on high, snickering gratefully as it falls into his hands. He takes a seat on one of the low stone benches, sips the beer, listens to the noise inside the house, and watches the moonlight.

This is closer to his usual form of entertainment.

The noise grows momentarily louder as the back door opens, and two figures spill out, embroiled in an argument. "Look, Vic," yells the one closer to the house, "I don't need this *shit*. Not today."

Asa can see the other one in the moonlight, just barely recognizes him as Victor Radley -- sometimes it's hard to tell from day to day. Today he's distinguished by tall, thin spikes of hair in a deep violet, and an abundance of piercings of dubious authenticity. Not that he doubts Vic *would* get them -- it's just that he didn't have most of them two days ago.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Vic says calmly.

"Oh yes you fucking do. If you only came here to start shit with me --"

Vic sighs, rubbing his eyes with both palms. "I didn't come to start shit with you. It's just the side effect."

"-- Because I'm not in the mood."

''You're always in the mood. That's your problem." He glances away. "Forget it. I'm going home."

"Fine. I don't want you here --"

But this last barb remains unfinished, because Vic, with the speed of a magician, grabs ahold of the ivy on the fence and is over it in one smooth movement. The second figure staggers out into the light, arm swinging in a huge arc as he tosses his own bottle over the fence after Vic, to no avail -- it can be heard as it shatters futilely on the street.

"Motherfucker," he mutters, turning around and rubbing a sullen hand over short blond hair, and Asa is face-to-face with Frank Carroll.

Frank is startled, but not embarrassed -- he never seems to get embarrassed. "Hey."

"Hey," Asa says, very aware that this is the first time Frank has addressed him in anything other than a derogatory passing shout.

"Some party, huh?" he says with a laugh.

Asa isn't quite sure how to answer this. "Some party," he echoes.

Frank gives him a very intent look -- trying to place him. "Do I know you?"

He debates bringing up a long history of random, anonymous abuse, and decides against it. "Not officially."

Frank grins, but barks out almost suspiciously, "What band are you in?"

Asa raises an eyebrow at the assumption, true though it may be. "Suicide Pact."

"Ah, *Damian's* band."

It's more Kevin's band than it is Damian's, but that's a moot, inside-the-band point. "Yeah."

"Should've known you were one of his." Frank grins again; he has a cherubic face and looks a lot like a child when he smiles. "Are you the one who bitches at society, the one who whines about his family, or the one who's just pissed off at *everyone*?"

"The third one," Asa says modestly.

Frank nods approvingly. "Not bad. You're my favorite."

Taken aback, Asa asks, "I am?"

"Don't let it get around or anything," he jokes. "Nah, I like your style. You'd fit right into Krushd, if we were the art-rock band that *Vic* thinks we are."

And Asa is finding all this really weird, but he's not one to let it show. "Oh yeah?" He gestures at the fence with the neck of his bottle. "Is that what that was about?"

He expects Frank to darken, or otherwise show some aftereffects of this fight, but Frank just smirks. "Not really. That's just one of our many problems." He points back at the house. "Hey, I'm going in for a drink -- I must have lost mine somewhere." He snickers at his own joke. "Why don't you come in?"

Asa shrugs. "I figured all the best parts of the party would come when someone had to 'take it outside'. It's worked so far." His confidence falters. "Besides, I wasn't invited."

"I just invited you," Frank says pointedly.

Asa recognizes this, a little later, as the turning point, where he officially becomes an outsider in the inner circle, and he's not quite sure how he feels about that.

In the meantime, Frank rolls his eyes. "You coming?"

What the hell. At least it'll give him something to write about later.

It's only when he steps through the door that he realizes that Frank still hasn't bothered to ask his name.
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June 2009

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