Author: Chauni

Website: oocities.com/asukalangley2^nd/

Notes: This is my first original fic in so long, and it actually frightens me a little to be working on such a project. Yes, I have used the name of Solo inside, but this is not the same Solo from the Gundam series; this is my own personal muse and demon, wrapped into one vinyl package. There shall be some yaoi subtexts later, but not just yet, and I’m still unaware between who.

Rain-slicked store walls brought no relief to a screaming head or dying temples, even as he leaned his pallid cheeks against the grainy brick. Insanity crept away for a few heartbeats, random voices losing it's power as lashes dipped down over emerald hues to provide some momentary peace. Solitary confinement in it's most blissful of natures, he took in the silence, took in the gentle mist of drizzling water, and let himself drift on pure senses rather than emotion or thought or logic.

The small mouth that whispered tainted pleas of forgiveness was soon painted with crystal rain, even as fingernails dug unconsciously into grooves in the walls and bent back at bitter angles. The puppetmaster would return soon, would take him over and force him to seek out this figurehead it constantly spoke of. What he would do after he found him was left to be seen, but that wasn't his concern. He was just the tracker, the ride to the rest of eternity.

But it was killing him; he could feel it. His back burned as if wounds had been torn into his flesh and salt dumped by the handfuls inside, then rubbed into every crack with cruel fingers. He could feel blood run waterfalls underneath his shirt, could feel as breath slipped away only to be more allusive when he grasped for it a moment later. And his wings...Damn, but he refused to even look at those.

The slim lashes slipped up and down over his cheeks, so much like the coating of lush caterpillar’s during the high months of summer, and though it brought no comfort. Waking nightmares were the cruelest ones, ones that bore no escape, no refuge, not sanctity above the madness encircling it all. It simply felt completely futile, useless, to attempt to fight against whatever it was that had slipped into his life a few months ago.

The words had been caressing, soft, almost alluring with the promises of power, of the rise in rank, the chance to become something more than the dumping ground messenger and the beaten dog for all. They were coaxing, spun with gold and silken oaths, and he could not help but agree, realizing not how close to some Faust tale he was, selling his inner purpose and being to something much worse than the devil himself.

After all, these words were the ones coming from a creature that wanted him to seek out the Prince of Lies.

The mist struck harder, birthing to almost a storm status, but lacking the spectacular light and sound show. The tiers parted mouth, craning open in an effort to allow the refreshments down his cracking throat, and he swallowed as hard as he could, to the extent of his mouth could take, and drinking from the heaven's never tasted so painfully perfect.

"I want to go home."

Croaked words, ones that hurt his ears as his cracked lips gave birth to that simple statement. To say that he had not expected to say such a thing a few months ago would be an understatement; despising the world he came from, and the people surrounding it, made those whispered phrases all the more lulling, soft hymns sung to the opportunity of freedom.

But they had never told him of the death, of the destruction, at least until he was drowning in the path of fire he had chosen. Resentment filtered in, though so lost between the borderlines that pulsated, he couldn't tell if it was his pure emotions or the ones the controllers felt filtering in. Everything was so damn blurry, charcoal lines rubbed apart by clumsy fingers.

And before, in that other realm, they had tormented him, kicked and abused him, laughed at his misfortune and his lifestyle. They mocked him as they sent him into missions that took him to the center of forever, and returned, broken and bleeding with legs barely strong enough to support his light weight. And even then, if he reappeared with tidings less than thrilling, he was met with unfortunate circumstances that made him shiver when thought of. How he ached still, burning in portions of his body that he could not believe.

So, of course revenge seemed the only option.

The sound of a few streetwalkers met his ears, dreamy and far off on oblivious clouds that floated past just inside the boundaries of his senses, and pushing from the comforting wall, he stumbled down the alley a bit more. Shadows crept over alabaster flesh with hungry tendrils, until the slight frame was encased in utter darkness. To hide here would bring not ultimate relief; he could never deceive himself, after all. A feline, a gleaming beacon in the oblivion, darted from behind forgotten, soggy boxes and ran towards the opening into the street, leaving the tormented boy alone for the moment.

Boy. So slight in nature, he looked as though no more than thirteen summers old, and could look much younger when he wanted to. Eyes turned to large offers of pleading and gratitude, lips that found pouting to be a hobby, and cheeks that could have pleased even the most stubborn of relatives, in all his torture, he had kept his ideal expression of innocence, even if such was long dead. Perhaps that was why he was chosen; perhaps that was why they had promised him so much.

It could never be the innocent one.

One hand slipped under the nylon and cotton, biting the bottom of a worried lip to hold back the shrieks of agony as tentative digits brushed against the ends of broken feathers. It was pure torture to bring such birthright even a little forth, but he needed to assess the damage, needed to know if it was worse than he thought. Turning on one heel, he rooted through the garbage and forgotten lives in the alleys and cans, until he came up with something that proved that perhaps his luck was changing: a broken, but still useable, mirror. Positioning it atop a closed dumpster, and shifting it back and forth until he could get a decent angle, he slipped the coat from his narrow shoulders, his shirt soon to follow.

Nervous eyes peered back towards the mouth of the alley, watching for the appearance of anyone and anything, before he faced the splintered reflection once more. A moment of hesitation and a seemingly lifetime of agony was his rewards as the broken wings flew forth, pristine white dripping with blood. The ends, once something to be so proud of, so admired, were blackened and burnt, singed with the decay of fire, while the hints of gray crept up the lengths of them, until they faded away to the purest white once more.

"Damn them. Damn fucking everything!"

Juvenile features twisted once more, calling up the pain as such holy appendages found sanctuary inside the flesh there were called forth from just a moment prior.

~*~

It coursed through his veins like a second consciousness, stroking unbidden parts of him and turning palmers upwards in their intoxicated heaven. The rain that still lived in his clothes weighted him down, refreshed and rejuvenated like cheap shampoo, or so the commercials usually insinuated. One hand pressed against the littered alley blanket, small jagged brown bottles seeking refuge beneath the flesh of his palms directly between life and love paths. The back of his head rested against the ragged bricks, brown with age and dirt, and the dark hair ran in rivulets down his pallid cheeks.

It was beautiful not to think.

Combat boots taken from some army surplus cult store dug into the ground, weakly and with only the effort of a half dead animal, and slowly, he climbed upwards, pushing and pulling. The black jeans hung from his thin hips, speckled and stained, while his t-shirt in some band tour logo rolled up along his lean stomach and he pressed his back against the wall. Water loosed itself from above, pressing eager mouths against his throat once more, embedding wanton devouring kisses in his hair.

It had been so long...

Fingernails played along the inside of his stomach lining, whispering and tickling him with sensations that could never be real, and he found himself laughing at the intensity of it. The first regret he felt before his saliva had taken the pill from his mouth and down along his digestive track were gone, and now, now, he was beyond all that ridiculous crap of boring bullshit that accompanied the hollow existence of a early adulthood.

This made it a bit more bearable.

Lashes as fine as baby hair laid against the tips of his bright cheeks, even as another set of soft snickers slid through his mouth of their own selfish accord. The shit was good and cheap this time, though laced with something a bit harder than he was used to. Most likely heroin or some bullshit. Oh, well, mine as well ride the rollercoaster all the way now; after all, it was too late to stop what was already half done with anyway.

The flats of his hands pushed him off the wall, and he only stumbled once before he was walking as if he had just won the lotto...or gotten the best lay of his life. Both ranked equal on the general scale of life in his emerald eyes. The corner of his lips were turned upwards, giving almost the impression of dimples before he walked beneath a streetlamp and killed all of the desperate illusion. Hands found their homes in the denim pockets, sliding past the cheap neon green lighter, two dimes, one quarter and a lonely dollar he had found in the gutter a few blocks back.

Turning left, he made his way down the alley that was nestled between the Adult Book Superstore and David's Pizza Court (famous for their business to underage kids looking for cheap beer). He ignored the screaming tenants that lived above the buildings in roach ridden cheap apartments that still seemed to cost a few pennies too much. It wasn't like he wasn't used to it all; he had lived here for more years than he cared to remember, and this was the best place to score anything a bit on the darker side of human lusts.

He could have sworn he felt the threads of crimson vessels sliding through the whites of his eyes, tracing and tying themselves in knots, rotating and mocking the sapphire of his iris. Everything was sharper in it's dull intensity.

Including the small shape a bit further down, nestled in the shadows.

The threads of violent scarlet ran back away from the white as the lashes pulled back wider and wider. The world stopped breathing, ceased living, as he saw the damaged wings, burnt black and bleeding, violated and mangled. The blonde hair, dirty and tangled, matted together with blood and rain, waved in the breeze, dancing across the bottom of his neck, while a choking noise drifted to the voyeur's ears.

The wings pulled themselves into the folds of his back, along the shoulder blades, a few straggly feathers, edges rotted black, floating down to the ground after the split flesh devoured their inhuman appendages once more. The shirt slipped over the head, even as he gently shook his head back and forth, the hair becoming a mess of perfect style. Then the pale, almost shimmering and shifting rainbow green caught the reflection in the stricken glass, catching the taller, slightly older young man staring in a mild shock that was only slightly elevating to something a bit more suffocating, a bit more dangerous.

And it was if his high revisited him, for the world slowed down to a painstaking moment as the small figure turned on battered heels, eyes widening as they met his sky ones, blues half-obscured by the blackened fog of his long bangs.

“Oh, shit."

~*~

The voices grew to a screaming intensity inside of his head, blinding out all sights and sounds as he stared into the threaded mortal eyes of the spy. They slung insults at his own careless, his stupidity and vanity, for even existing, all the while coaxing him into the murder of yet another person. He could feel himself slipping away, floating back on a pure ocean of violet, leaning back and floating as he relinquished control to the others, as he let himself become the puppet once more.

“Oh, shit."

Something about the lack of emotion in the tone, in the fated desire to do nothing more than stare in the quiet shock for a long moment without fear or reservation, but simply with stunned consideration on what exactly was falling before his drugged up eyes intrigued the other boy. His shoulders were so slim, pointed beneath the dark cotton shirt, his torso narrow between it's weight, and his hair, cut short at the base of his neck and long in front, just clung and wept it's own rainy tears onto his neck.

And suddenly, he was fighting against the aura, swimming upstream against the lavender current, ignoring the betraying voices that screamed like violated women. He clawed his way to the forefront, the only man against a million, the only civilian in a world-encompassing war.

What are you DOING? You fool! How dare you!

"He won't hurt us. He won't-"

"I don't care. I'm tired of it; let me try it my way for fucking once!"

The sapphire eyes stared back at him, lashes of such feminine quality residing deep within questions whirling around the dilated pupils. The small tip of a pink tongue slid across his dry lips, mixing with the rain that still trickled down like blood from some open wound. Whether it was the intoxicant giving him the courage, or just his natural resolve, the blonde was not sure, and frankly, at this point, it didn't matter much either way.

“Who're you talking to?" the taller one asked, his head titling to the side as he blinked on.

"Other people," he answered, carefully leaving out the "inside my head" part on a rather intelligent whim.

He straightened again, squinting his eyes to peer into the alley deeper, using the neon lights from the adult store to aid in his search. He looked feminine almost, long lashes, even lips, smooth cheeks bare of any hair, aside from the bangs that hung down in bright chips of oceans melting away to the deepest reflective black, restricting at least some of his sight.

“I don't see anyone," he said, still scowering.

“Don't worry about them."

“Sounds like they ain't on my side too much," the intruder replied, taking a few steps forward, then off to the left, leaning against the cool wall. Relaxing, he mentally attempted to draw his high back up once more, to float on something and give some piece of a mangled explanation to his tired mind.

“They're on no one's side," the boy muttered, barely audible under the soft pant of his breath.

“I know quite a few people like that," slurred the older one, his lips turning numb from the chill. "Selfish bastards."

He's not asking, the messenger thought, tentative as if even thinking such a thing was automatic damnation. Anyone else would have asked, but why not him?

He's not normal, was the calculated response, devoid of curiosity or anything at all that might have been interest. Or he's too stoned to care. Look at his eyes. He probably thinks this is all one huge delusion.

That he could live with. And maybe if he wasn't normal, maybe if he was like him, they could travel together, find the destination together, d-

NO! screamed the voices, all at once, enraged and frustrated. It echoed through him, down through his legs and his arms, in the pit of his stomach and ran rampant through his chest between the ribs. This isn't some fucking field trip vacation you're on, damnit!

And the smaller boy's mouth curled up at the right side, ignorant of the slit sapphire eyes that stared questionably at him. Perhaps, we should begin playing by my rules here. There's something that you fuckers you can do with me that no one else can, and you're getting all the perks. I want one thing, damnit! I want one thing, and I will get it!

"I'm willing to take that risk."

"What risk?" The obvious effort of pulling back the thin flaps that made up his eyelids leaked off him like a shower, even as he lolled his head to the side to get a better view of the other.

"Hey, what do you have going on tonight?" Emerald eyes moved up along the thin body, resting on the flushed, smiling face. "Want to get something to eat? Talk?"

Food. Now that was a godsend, one of those dreams you forget about until something throughout the day flashes by and you remember in one overwhelming flood. "Mmm. Sounds good." Pushing himself off the wall with his shoulders, and the movement seemed to settle him down a bit. "My name's Alex, but most the folks call me Solo. What should I call you?"

"Me?" Shit, when was the last time someone cared enough to even ask him something like that? Been too long for his fickle little memory. "Call me Vin, short for Vinafeil."

"Sounds Italian, old Italian." Hands found sanctuary within dark pockets once again, even as a smile began to pull up at the corners of his loose mouth. "Ever heard of a dine and dash, kid?"

To be continued….