almost.like.suicide

Dark, dreary, cold. Just how he always liked it. The only unfavorable condition was of the moist air and slightly damp stone obtained from being many feet under ground; under enough to live in the shabby foundation that made a suitable home for liquors and eternally aging wine goods. Though it was not that far underground, only twelve or so creaky cheap wooden steps taken to get down, or so he judged fro heightened experiences; fingers dusting the railing only to miss four steps and tumble down with a lesser coordination. But he begged to differ.


Here he lay once more, back arched against the arm of the old, dingy, dusty and long forgotten sofa that laid against the wall, always spitting dust into the air whenever seated upon or struck, but he stayed still. Arms linked around his bent knees, a few inches from his chest, but feet on the leather fabric of the seating surface.


His sleeves were rolled to expose fully his excruciatingly pale skin; long lanky arm that held undeniable power grasping each other, wrist in wrist. Head arched down against the will of his straining neck, he kept his eyes closed towards the strands of long black hair of his own continually falling to lash and lick his face lightly from their past positions.


Creaking, like that of the crappy particle board the stairs had been strung together with. It had been the noise that forced his head to turn. Visitors? No one nearly even visited him. No one dared to come to his abyss. But someone had, and his eyes ran over the dark, tall, sharp featured figure slowly taking positioned step after step onto the flimsy structure of the stairwell. Dark, dark shoulder length or so air shrouded the newer's face; over the eyes, under the chin, allowing for shadows to frame its eyes. Something of the figure seemed odd, or possibly off as it stealthily lurked down upon each wood plank to the next.


"I didn't know you were coming." The first spoke, his eyes settling upon the somewhat comforting, dark face of the other as it stepped onto the pure stone of the bottom of the room.


"Neither did I." It replied with the most equally flat and emotionless tone it could must back. It paused upon the stone to run its eyes over the male seated upon the couch.


"Why are you here?" The first demanded, eye settling on the sharp, jutting shoulder of the figure. Its shadow almost seemed to be cast upon the dirty, granite wall behind it, though it was impossible in the purest form of darkness; no windows, no lights. Nothing.


"You know why." It replied, pausing before heading to the already seated subject a few steps, lightly, before stepping in front of the small mahogany coffee table. The counterpart didn't move, yet watched as the other swept a careless hand to push a variety of items; paper, bags, and a spoon, on the table aside, sitting on the edge of the solid wooden table structure.


"Assumptions like that are bad for your health." The other replied, taking a glance to his knees covered with unfaded black cloth.


"You know what I know." His opponent quickly rebuttled, bringing his own cloth covered arms in front of him; to lay his fore arm over his thighs.


"Then you must know I'm not apt into tapping such a thing right now." The first shot a glance in the other's direction; catching him just in the eyes.


The visitor had strange eyes. Pale, and they met with the whites to make something much more pristine. He cocked his head to the side, and replied after; strangely long, thin fingers intertwining with one another.


"Just checking up with you. Am I missing something?" He leaned in, tightening the lock from finger to finger.


"Not unless there is something to miss." The first replied, inwardly sighing to escape the 'stress' of the day; had not other things done it for him. "I'm going out for a few weeks tomorrow; maybe two, possible five. It's not to be known."


The other blinked once, as if in reply, back hunched calmly to speak with his friend.


"I've told you this before." He knew, confirming it so as the other complied.


"I like hearing things repetitively."


"So do I. One can't be too sure." The first turned his head away to his hands once again. Not as long as the visitor's, but slender enough.


"I suppose you and I won't be seeing much of each other for a while." The visitor interrupted, though did now show, in tone of voice, whether it was such a bad or good thing. The first wrinkled his brow.


"I've never heard of such a thing. You know I need this. You know this isn't how it really is." It sounded strange, but the other followed it perfectly, leaning in further to place his elbows on his thighs, and lean his chin in his palms.


"I understand. I was thinking of her earlier. We can't let her get in the way?" He seemed to question.


"I wouldn't. I'd stop, though. For her." He didn't know what he meant anymore, and weaved his fingers apart, then together again. He was not going to be the one bringing up the next topic of conversation. A little silence followed after his statement and movements.


"Not very talkative today, are we?" The other shifted upon his seating, noticing the lack of conversation and the continual ending his first friend had of killing all dialogue.


"Are we ever?" He had replied, keeping his eyes held upon his knees as he tapped his fingers together; an idle gesture.


"Do you remember," The pale eyed man ignored the first question. "When we were back in Germany, and there were no automobiles, just trolleys?" He asked, peering over the ceiling.


"Of course. They used torches as street lamps and the pavement was dirty cobblestone." The first remembered.


"You remember the horse we had?" His eyes settled back onto the other, as he made casual conversation over an animal far gone.


"The black mare with the red eye. Cheap for a horse." The first replied, thinking of the soft blackened ash fur that required brushing many a time.


"It was only because they thought it had the disease. He wasn't blind in that eye." The second shook his head slowly in thought of the animal as well.


"No; it was proven when it mashed that child's face in. When he tried to cut the tail for profit."


"And as if the horse didn't do enough of a job, you had to go over and drown the kid in a puddle." The second smirked, and the first could not resist to vaguely follow.


"A murder was very easy then. No forensics, no suspicions. Not even a word of what happened to dear old Jimmy when he passed that alley way. They were too scared their children would fear and drain them down into debt."


"You couldn't say a murder isn't easy now, though. An arena full of homo sapiens is just like putting a duck in front of a gun. These people sit in large groups and expect nothing to happen."


"'Strength in numbers' they say. It's unfortunate that this gives people like us more of a chance to get more than one." The first leaned back slightly against the rounded arm of the couch, sighing genuinely as he felt his lids droop in a methadonic wariness.


"Numbers? What happens if they're all stupid?" The second leaned upon his knuckles, laying his eyes upon the first again.


"They all die. They see their friends die. It's all exactly the same." He felt his eyelids fall completely over his eyes once he spoke.


"Something wrong?" The second cocked his head to the side upon his knuckles as he pressed for more uplifting conversation.


"No. Tired." The first replied, cocking his own head to the side to limpen it; sleep would have been good.


"Sleep then. I won't bother you." The visitor leaned back slightly as if to tell the other to dip into darkness.


"You very well know I can't." The first responded, in all truth.


"This is true. Yet you might be able to now." The second commented, watching his comrade with white, unblinking eyes. A drop of blood slid down his chin to land on the back of his hand, and he pulled his hand away from his chin to look at it in contrast to his skin.


"You should fix that." The first responded towards the crimson, watching the small amount of body fluid leave a trail down his hand towards his palm.


"Yes. It's a shame these wound have to reopen." He brought his hand up to his mouth and run his tongue from the bottom of the blood path to the top, pulled back and wiped his hand with his other as the first watched silently with a slight longing for such. His grip tightened over his knees only faintly as he said nothing in return, turning his eyes back onto his knees and hands just as the second glanced back up to run the side of his hand down over his thigh.


"At this point, there's not much to talk about." The visitor spoke up instead of the latter.


"There never is." The first replied as he curled his back against the arm of the couch sightly, leaning against it as he loosened his grip over his legs. "Since we share so much, anyway."


"It's almost a shame to me; we see each other so much yet there's nothing to ever share." The second complied.


"It may be so, but there's always older issues. Repetition is good." A sigh, once again, slid through the first's lips, quiet as he relieved what little stress left through exhaling.


"You know you'd be dead by now if you were mortal." He blinked, a random statement, but working nonetheless.


"I would have killed myself within the first twenty years." The first closed his eyes in thought of death, eternal sleep in which he could never grasp.


"Why don't you, then?" The second seemed to lift his white faze, yet it was a hard dilemma to tell.


"I can't. I would have by now." He couldn't figure it out in a sentence, but he flinched slightly anyway to turn slightly towards the back of the couch. "I wish I knew why. It's not an issue of pain."


"Probably an issue of will power." The second chimed in.


"It is most likely so; I'm always scraping for a reason not to rip a bullet through my head or a shard through my chest." The first lifted his lids slightly to look through normal, blurred vision; towards the wooden beamed ceiling higher than most cellar ceilings.


"The you have something to live for." The second concluded, lifting his chin slightly to slide his pallid hands, folded, back under it. A little conversation was better than none, but both could sit silently without conflict. They could talk of anything.


"If you call a task something to live for." He blinked upward, not moving anything but the heaving, mechanical motions of his chest.


"You have to remember how she would act if you did. You remember how she had after the 'fight'?" The second reminded him of the issue they shared.


"By then I realized I was too attached. I can't get attached to anyone; you should know that. I can't involve myself in such things." The first snapped back, lowering his voice slightly towards the other.


"Nor can I. Which is why we must get back on track." The second share his musing thoughts.


"It will only end on the wall. It always has." The first followed the second's thoughts as he stared up towards the deep, dark wooden ceiling.


The other had different plans, and watched the table; eyes rested upon the reflective surface of the bent metal spoon, taking in its very existence as the other dropped his arms back onto the couch, and a silence grew between them. One they could both tolerate.


"How much do you have?" The second asked, rather spontaneously had anyone else been present in the room, but the first sent a glance to the side, then returned it to above.


"One hundred. It was a little skimped this time." He replied, settling further on the furniture to shift only slightly to the left, dragging his fingers up over his chest to nimbly fold together.


"Where did it come from?" The second rocked back slightly on the table, blinking his white eyes over the air, to his counterpart.


"Pick pocketing. You were there. That rather buff man. Pick pocketing doesn't get much anymore. It took about five people just to get that much."


"But getting larger heaps just from basic larceny is easier now. What is it?" The visitor commented, contemplating over thievery.


"People are stupid with the locations of their money."


"It's especially an experience when they hide a lump in a sock drawer or a shoe box." The second spoke in sarcastic tones while retaining the same flat one he always held.


"The only thing worth it now is boosting automobiles." He cocked his head slightly to the side, tapping his fingers slightly on his chest. "Humans have such compassion for machinery."


"They jack their automobiles up on safety with alarms, locks, and lights while they allow their children to walk a mile to school by themselves." The other thought of it as he spoke such things, lifting his eyes to the bare stone wall directly in front of himself.


"I don't understand why a lot of metal can mean so much to someone." The first cocked his head back again, blinking over the mindless banter of himself.


"You also don't have a regular mortal infatuation with things." The second brought up in a tone of idle thought.


"That's not true." The first drew in a blankly numb breath. "I've just learned not to get attached so much. You'd have to as well."


"Now you're just confusing me." The second blinked, lost over the subject.


"And now you're contradicting yourself. I'm not that possessive over things." The first followed his visitor's thoughts just as easily as he followed his own.


"Yes you are. You know it, too." The second managed not to break a smirk or make any remarks. "You can't lie to me."


"And you can't lie to me." The first narrowed his eyes in thought, turning his head off to the side as he drifted slightly, allowing his eyes to blur together , though saying nothing further on the subject.


The second watched on silently at the moment it was, watching his partner daze away into a half-conscious state for a few minutes, then pull back slightly and look sharply over the ceiling. The second knew it would continues like that for an hour or so; very little speech between anyone; a loss of words, possibly, or just the silence both completely lived in.


So the first spoke just to keep himself awake, being drowsy, and a little of what he might have called 'light headed', while others would say something very different.


"How long until night?"


"A few hours, maybe." The second replied, looking across the wooden table. "It was snowing, though."


The first did not bother to reply, having known of this information already; as he thought of it, anyway.


"I suppose that restricts most outside travel."


"Possibly. I'm surprised you don't get bored by yourself down here." The visitor broke a very faint smirk towards the irony.


"Liar." The first rolled his head back once again, keeping his eyes halfway open, and halfway closed as they went from almost in focus to blurry. He did not seem to notice, though, or even mind.


"You're right." The other agreed, then stopped as he heard low speech upstairs. The first heard it as well, and pushed back to sit up, glancing towards the stairwell and door. The visitor did the same, until the first spoke with a newfound hushed voice.


"Was anyone here earlier?" He refused to turn his eyes from the door.


"Not that I know of." The second kept his gaze as well, returning the hushed voice that was barely above a whisper; there were others upstairs and they were speaking in normal tones? "There could have been."


Another voice interrupted; loud and yelling as a series of knocks came on the wooden door; anything but light.


"You down there?" It asked, but both remained silent, the first turning his glance to the second.


"What are you doing?" The voice asked, ceasing the loud knocking coming with it. "I heard talking."


The two looked at each other in silence, as if an exchange of thoughts, then back up to the darkened stairwell.


"Nothing." The first replied loud enough for mortal ears to hear, listening as his voice refracted off of the walls in a bit of an echo. "Just talking to myself."


Then he turned his eyes away, knowing that his visitor had left.

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