Post by starrea on Dec 2, 2021 0:31:04 GMT
Any and all inhibitions Lennox had about experimenting with drugs was washed away with Xander's open proclamation of love. Her confidence had initially wavered when the waiter had set the tray down on the table and for the first time since her mother had passed, she was physically faced with the entity that she had spent her most of her life resenting. Memories resurfaced, ones that Lennox had no desire to think about, but they played out regardless. Her mother's voice echoed through her thoughts, voicing reason where she was reluctant to see any. I can't hear them anymore, her mom cried as Lennox rubbed her back, soothing her as her mother leaned forward and dry heaved some more, they don't sing anymore, why won't they sing? And then her mother had turned to face her and speaking with surprising lucidity, don't ever listen to them sing. Once you hear them sing, you'll never be okay with silence again. But her mother's unsettling warning and all other reservations were forgotten as Xander raised his glass and she swooned, love drowning out all else, and before she lost her courage, Lennox leaned forward and popped one of the mushrooms in her mouth just like Xander did.
Slowly, the world began to come alive. Everything began to breathe and colors liberated themselves, spilling beyond the shapes and lines that had constrained them and lazily diffused into the open space. As more color leached out, the room dulled considerably in comparison to the bright and vivacious colors that whimsically danced through the air. The world felt muted but exceptionally tranquil, like they were underwater and each individual person was a drop of ink that never completely dispersed.
A great sense of curiosity took a hold and Lennox and she reached out, wanting to feel the colors with her own hands. Bright orange flames of color danced in the corner of her vision and her attention was drawn towards them, intrigued by how close to flickered to her. They originated from a waitress who stood not too far away from their table as she serviced nearby patrons, but Lennox didn't digest any of her other characteristics. She was hypnotized by the whimsical dances of the orange wisps, completely engrossed as they seemed to slowly gravitate towards her. She couldn't resist reaching out; the shades of orange reacted warmly to her touch, coiling around her fingers. In that moment, the wisps of color were both tangible and not; whilst Lennox understood that she couldn't physically hold them in the same way she could a book, there was no denying the way the wisps were attracted to Lennox's fingers and how they responded to her touch. Lennox had just started to experiment with this new development, weaving the orange in between her fingers and watching it unfurl again, when the waitress started to walk away. The color started to slip through her fingers but it was reluctant to let Lennox go - or maybe Lennox was reluctant to let it go. The strands of orange stretched and stretched with each step the waitress took until the they could stretch no more, and they snapped. Lennox looked down with fascination at the piece of orange that was now all hers, watching it wrap around her arm until it sunk into her skin. What she didn't notice was that when the strands of orange snapped, the waitress lurched forward and fell to her hands and knees, coughing violently as she struggled to breathe. By the time Lennox looked up, the waitress was already being helped to her feet and ushered away.
As Lennox looked around the room, all the faces in the room bled out of focus until one one remained, and it took the air right out of her lungs; Stark. He was older now, but so was she, and his hair was longer but she would know him anywhere and the more she looked at him, the more sure she was. Time froze, and Lennox dared not even breathe in fear of shattering this delicate illusion. He was standing across the room but she knew that he had come there just for her because he was staring at her, waiting for her like he had been right here this whole time. And just like that, Lennox was swept away in his big, blue eyes.
Stark slowly shook his head, looking down at her with his signature look of disapproval. It was enough to stop Lennox from surging forward and running to him; instead, his disappointment anchored her in place and she felt herself shrink and shrivel up until it felt like smaller and more insignificant than dirt on the bottom of his shoe. His disappointment in her filled the room until there was no air left and she choked on the shame that was spilling out of her. Tears welled up in her eyes as she looked to him for guidance, searching for the slightest clue as to what came next. His gaze flickered and she followed his stare to look down at herself for the first time. Horror crept over her skin, leaving an unmistakable chill in its wake as she slowly raised her hands in front of her. The color drained from her face as she stared at her hands, slowly turning them to inspect the inky black that was evidently leaking out of her skin. The black was heavy, heavier than the colors that were free to dance and twirl through the air, and formed thick blobs of black that broke off and slowly sunk to the floor and gradually dispersed. She frantically tried to wipe some of the black off but it didn't respond to her touch the way the colors had and was unaffected by her frantic efforts. She peeled her shirt back, choking back a frightened sob when she saw hundreds of those little black droplets oozing out of all of her pores, slowly dripping down her body.
When Lennox looked back up, Stark was gone. Even amidst her panic, the grief of losing him all over again hit her hard enough that if she hadn't stumbled back to lean on the table behind her, then she would have surely crumbled to the floor. Stark's absence left a vacuum, sucking up all the air in the room and then when that ran out, sucking up all the little pieces of herself that Lennox had built in his vacancy. Without him, she felt profoundly empty in a way that she hadn't in a very long time and she felt lost and helpless to make the next right decision. All of energy was suddenly sapped from her and she couldn't rally the strength to even stand on her own, let alone chase down an old ghost. Tears dripped down her cheeks and she reached up a hand to wipe them away, but when she looked down, black streak of inky black were slowly coagulating on her hand.
Lennox whipped around back to the table, feverish with newfound purpose. She had strayed from the path since Stark had left, but not anymore. He hadn't truly left her; he had always been watching her, guiding her from afar but now she had strayed too far off of her path, and he was forced to reappear to shepherd her back onto the path of righteousness. Her mind worked at the speed of light, searching for possible meaning behind his debut and the answer came quickly.
"Blood," Lennox hissed, snatching the butter knife off of the table and holding it close enough that she could see each individual ridge of the dull blade in spite of the color warping off of it. Stark's teachings came crashing back to her, just as new and fresh as if he had been whispering them into her ear from just behind her, "It's blood. It's in the blood," Lennox's gaze slowly shifted from the blade to her wrists, where large globs of black still dripped off of her, "It's in my blood," She whispered and then leveled the dull blade against the pale skin of her wrist, a grim look of conviction settling across her face as she prepared herself for what she needed to do next.
Slowly, the world began to come alive. Everything began to breathe and colors liberated themselves, spilling beyond the shapes and lines that had constrained them and lazily diffused into the open space. As more color leached out, the room dulled considerably in comparison to the bright and vivacious colors that whimsically danced through the air. The world felt muted but exceptionally tranquil, like they were underwater and each individual person was a drop of ink that never completely dispersed.
A great sense of curiosity took a hold and Lennox and she reached out, wanting to feel the colors with her own hands. Bright orange flames of color danced in the corner of her vision and her attention was drawn towards them, intrigued by how close to flickered to her. They originated from a waitress who stood not too far away from their table as she serviced nearby patrons, but Lennox didn't digest any of her other characteristics. She was hypnotized by the whimsical dances of the orange wisps, completely engrossed as they seemed to slowly gravitate towards her. She couldn't resist reaching out; the shades of orange reacted warmly to her touch, coiling around her fingers. In that moment, the wisps of color were both tangible and not; whilst Lennox understood that she couldn't physically hold them in the same way she could a book, there was no denying the way the wisps were attracted to Lennox's fingers and how they responded to her touch. Lennox had just started to experiment with this new development, weaving the orange in between her fingers and watching it unfurl again, when the waitress started to walk away. The color started to slip through her fingers but it was reluctant to let Lennox go - or maybe Lennox was reluctant to let it go. The strands of orange stretched and stretched with each step the waitress took until the they could stretch no more, and they snapped. Lennox looked down with fascination at the piece of orange that was now all hers, watching it wrap around her arm until it sunk into her skin. What she didn't notice was that when the strands of orange snapped, the waitress lurched forward and fell to her hands and knees, coughing violently as she struggled to breathe. By the time Lennox looked up, the waitress was already being helped to her feet and ushered away.
As Lennox looked around the room, all the faces in the room bled out of focus until one one remained, and it took the air right out of her lungs; Stark. He was older now, but so was she, and his hair was longer but she would know him anywhere and the more she looked at him, the more sure she was. Time froze, and Lennox dared not even breathe in fear of shattering this delicate illusion. He was standing across the room but she knew that he had come there just for her because he was staring at her, waiting for her like he had been right here this whole time. And just like that, Lennox was swept away in his big, blue eyes.
Stark slowly shook his head, looking down at her with his signature look of disapproval. It was enough to stop Lennox from surging forward and running to him; instead, his disappointment anchored her in place and she felt herself shrink and shrivel up until it felt like smaller and more insignificant than dirt on the bottom of his shoe. His disappointment in her filled the room until there was no air left and she choked on the shame that was spilling out of her. Tears welled up in her eyes as she looked to him for guidance, searching for the slightest clue as to what came next. His gaze flickered and she followed his stare to look down at herself for the first time. Horror crept over her skin, leaving an unmistakable chill in its wake as she slowly raised her hands in front of her. The color drained from her face as she stared at her hands, slowly turning them to inspect the inky black that was evidently leaking out of her skin. The black was heavy, heavier than the colors that were free to dance and twirl through the air, and formed thick blobs of black that broke off and slowly sunk to the floor and gradually dispersed. She frantically tried to wipe some of the black off but it didn't respond to her touch the way the colors had and was unaffected by her frantic efforts. She peeled her shirt back, choking back a frightened sob when she saw hundreds of those little black droplets oozing out of all of her pores, slowly dripping down her body.
When Lennox looked back up, Stark was gone. Even amidst her panic, the grief of losing him all over again hit her hard enough that if she hadn't stumbled back to lean on the table behind her, then she would have surely crumbled to the floor. Stark's absence left a vacuum, sucking up all the air in the room and then when that ran out, sucking up all the little pieces of herself that Lennox had built in his vacancy. Without him, she felt profoundly empty in a way that she hadn't in a very long time and she felt lost and helpless to make the next right decision. All of energy was suddenly sapped from her and she couldn't rally the strength to even stand on her own, let alone chase down an old ghost. Tears dripped down her cheeks and she reached up a hand to wipe them away, but when she looked down, black streak of inky black were slowly coagulating on her hand.
Lennox whipped around back to the table, feverish with newfound purpose. She had strayed from the path since Stark had left, but not anymore. He hadn't truly left her; he had always been watching her, guiding her from afar but now she had strayed too far off of her path, and he was forced to reappear to shepherd her back onto the path of righteousness. Her mind worked at the speed of light, searching for possible meaning behind his debut and the answer came quickly.
"Blood," Lennox hissed, snatching the butter knife off of the table and holding it close enough that she could see each individual ridge of the dull blade in spite of the color warping off of it. Stark's teachings came crashing back to her, just as new and fresh as if he had been whispering them into her ear from just behind her, "It's blood. It's in the blood," Lennox's gaze slowly shifted from the blade to her wrists, where large globs of black still dripped off of her, "It's in my blood," She whispered and then leveled the dull blade against the pale skin of her wrist, a grim look of conviction settling across her face as she prepared herself for what she needed to do next.
