Title: Atrophie Exquise (Exquisite Atrophy)

Summary: Anthology Julian’s road to self-destruction in several snapshots. Kira is never too far behind, yet always beyond reach. "Downfall is sweetest when you accept its inevitability."

Author's Notes: Behold Foxdance-sama’s attempt at a quasi-empathic style. The scenes are sectioned into “acts” (while they can be read independent of the others, they flow in sequence). Oh, and yes, a very subtle something between two characters; you can blame sakurazuki for that, knowing I'm pathologically incapable of resisting dares. Blink and you’ll miss it. Hmm, what else… Non-mainstream, non-canon, slightly AU, obviously.

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Take this fetid heart,

Pull it apart

The man you once knew is in there, somewhere

Veuillez trouver me.

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"Atrophie Exquise"

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Act 1 : PEAU

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Its scent was sweet and pungent and spicy; intoxicating to inhale, a relief to exhale. Julian took another puff, deeply.

The living vapor escaped his lips, and he watched it circle in caresses around outstretched fingers – barely there, barely real - drawing higher and higher still in its ascent to the ceiling of his dressing room until it rendezvoused with stark white glow of the fluorescent light.

A flash of pain washed over his eyes, made that intense lime green gaze waver and water before falling away to a trembling hand resting against the arm of his chair. The cigarette clutched between those fingers was nearing death, the smoke fading.

“Too bright,” he murmured, voice deep and velvety and thoroughly stoned. “…Too much.”

Loud banging; violent fists slamming against the wooden slabs of his barricade interrupted his sullen thoughts. “Juno! Fifteen minutes ‘til show time! Haul ass, now!”

Thick lashes flickered riotously before resting against the pallor of skin disguised by the shimmeringhrpb100 situations Writing Challenge/b/phrpbSubject/b – FOX TRAIL/Juno/ “iAtrophie Exquise”/i/ppbTitle: /biAtrophie Exquise/i (Exquisite Atrophy) WIP - Part 1 of 5/ppbFandom:/b iFox Trail/i (original fiction)/ppbCharacters:/b Juno (Julian Midou), Kira Midou/ppbPrompt(s):/b 001. Hide, 090. Companion, 089. Hallucinate, 013. Stoic, 051. Illusive, possibly more/ppbWord Count:/b ?/ppbRating:/b R/ppbSummary:/b Anthology Julian’s road to self-destruction in several snapshots. Kira is never too far behind, yet always beyond reach. "Downfall is sweetest when you accept its inevitability."/ppbAuthor's Notes:/b Behold Foxdance-sama’s attempt at a quasi-empathic style. The scenes are sectioned into “acts” (while they can be read independent of the others, they flow in sequence). Oh, and yes, a very subtle something between two characters; you can blame bsakurazuki/b for that, knowing I'm pathologically incapable of resisting dares. Blink and you’ll miss it. Hmm, what else… Non-mainstream, non-canon, slightly AU, obviously./phrp./pp align='center'Take this fetid heart,/pp align='center'Pull it apart/pp align='center'The man you once knew is in there, somewhere/pp align='center'iVeuillez trouver me./i/pp align='center'- - -bibr/i/b/pp align='center'bi"Atrophie Exquise"/i/b/pp align='center'- - /i/pp align='center'biAct 1 : PEAU/i/b/pp. bibr/i/b/ppIts scent was sweet and pungent and spicy; intoxicating to inhale, a relief to exhale. Julian took another puff, deeply./ppThe living vapor escaped his lips, and he watched it circle in caresses around outstretched fingers – barely there, barely real - drawing higher and higher still in its ascent to the ceiling of his dressing room until it rendezvoused with stark white glow of the fluorescent light./ppA flash of pain washed over his eyes, made that intense lime green gaze waver and water before falling away to a trembling hand resting against the arm of his chair. The cigarette clutched between those fingers was nearing death, the smoke fading./pp“Too bright,” he murmured, voice deep and velvety and thoroughly stoned. “…Too much.”/ppLoud banging; violent fists slamming against the wooden slabs of his barricade interrupted his sullen thoughts. “Juno! Fifteen minutes ‘til show time! Haul ass, inow!/i”/ppThick lashes flickered riotously before resting against the pallor of skin disguised by the shimmering make-up, an illusion hiding the reality of too many sleepless nights and a not-so-charmed life. He closed his mind to the frantic voices, the banging on his door, the commotion of the stage crew, and the roaring fans just beyond this isolated corner of his chaotic universe./ppThe banging only grew louder, however, competing with the noises outside and the noises of his thoughts. That one annoying voice multiplied into several more naggers, all yelling at the same time./pp“Juno, damn it, get onto the platform! We already talked about this…”/pp“Please, I need to retouch your make-up…”/pp“Juno, I have your clip-on mic…”/pp“Midou! I got the stuff, man, come on out!”/ppThe last one registered with a click - Byron, Juno recognized - amidst his manager’s voluble cussing with a hopeful start. He scrambled to his feet… or at least, attempted to./ppHis fingers grew flaccid and released the burnt out stub of nicotine before they clutched at the arms on his seat and pulled his lax body – istand up, damn it/i – turning white at the knuckles as his will fought against alcohol and anxiety over command of his body./ppHe finally managed to stumble to and yank the door open after kicking an empty bottle of Stolichnaya on the floor, the crash and crack and tinkle of breaking glass escaping him completely. “Fuck, my head,” he muttered, baleful as his hazy glance slid past his manager, who was starting his tirade on the stupidity of getting plastered before a major concert, then bypassing the faceless/nameless backstage peons, and finally rested on the person of his Messiah: Byron./pp“Shit, man, you look like hell,” Byron began, kohl-lined eyes exasperated and dilated./pp“Shut up,” Julian could only grunt, impatiently batting away hands equipped with powder puffs and tissue paper and what looked like a clip-on microphone as he desperately grasped for Byron’s. The mix of concerned and bewildered stares went ignored as Julian found, snatched, and struggled with a small plastic filled with colorful pills./ppThere was the soothing sound of ripping plastic, and too quickly the pills slipped down his eager throat even without water. The package was carelessly discarded as Juno collapsed against a wall, clutching his sweaty body with cold arms as he waited for the pills to take effect./pp“Jesus, easy on the shit, man, those are…”/pp“I don’t want to know,” Juno snapped before the drummer could say another word. Ecstasy, coke, morphine, whatever; as long as it worked, as long as it corked this growing chasm is his chest. God, has it always been this hard to breathe?/ppThe Almighty Manager cleared his throat. “Well then. Now that we got that anxiety attack out of the way…” A pause, allowing Juno’s glazed eyes to sweep over the snarky lift of his manager’s lips; the usual scolding without words, because there wasn’t time for squabbles. “Let’s get you into ithe box/i, shall we?”/ppAnd ah, there it was; the mental tug on the leash./ppAnd even as Juno allowed himself be herded up the platform underneath the stage and into a tight, enclosed space – almost an elevator, but too small, too dark – that would rise up to the main stage in a dramatic entrance of drama, dim lights, and pyrotechnics, he remained deathly silent, choking on his own miasma of fears./ppHis hand still shivered. He stuffed them into his pockets, closed his eyes, and concentrated on pushing down the bile rising up his throat. His breaths were shallow, almost pants, and God, getting fainter and fainter and…/ppThe first of the fireworks exploded onstage over him, and the three thousand fans flooding his first concert in Perth went audibly wild./ppAnd he heard himself whisper, so soft it was almost a prayer, “Not the dark, please not the dark, please not ithere/i again…”/ppHe sagged against enclosure’s wall, felt his world falter and fall away as the door closed./phrp align='center'iAnne Lindain (foxdance)/i/pp align='center'i06.09.07/i/pp align='center'bTo be continued…/b/p