The Thingie (EDITA AND ACHERON)

He really didn’t know why he had expected anything else. The Mafia had not come through and he had not attended the event he had been planning to go to that Sunday. It was Tuesday now. He wasn’t even entirely sure what his plan had even been to begin with, had he even gotten that far. To attack a politician in front of everyone? That would’ve ended well for him, for sure. Still, it was humiliating to be denied their services – even though they surely hadn’t had an issue taking his money.

Why had he even agreed to that foolish deal to begin with? The man in the alley, Ikaros, was clearly just some sort of deranged person. So whatever he meant by seeking him out whether he succeeded or not, Acheron decided not to worry about it for now. The event was Sunday. Now it was Tuesday, and there had still been no signs of the man. He had bigger concerns. Though if he did stop and feel, he’d notice the anxiety gnawing at the pits of his stomach. Instead, it was overpowered by something much more insistent. That unbearable destructive frustration that made him want to tear his skin off. Sleeping was a lost cause.

Thus, he was left to meander the foggy streets at night. There would be no rest for him. And at the odd chance he was jumped or attacked, well. He didn’t care. Either he’d get a chance to release the pent-up frustration or it’d all finally be over. The humiliation, the anger. His powerlessness, the isolation, and a month on the street. His third time being homeless. Even if the years had passed, he was still exactly the same hopeless place that he had always been. Even if he wasn’t, the nightmares would forever remind him of his place within the world. He deserved it, all of it, of course. A rat would only ever spread disease in its wake and he was only being treated accordingly. But it was getting to a point where he was starting to question how much more of it he could take before he broke for the final time. But what was there to break? Demons didn't have a heart.

Acheron paused, feeling the vague presence of someone. Through the fog, across the dirtied streets, stopped by a red light was a woman. The daughter of the mafia leader. The mafia who had screwed him over, let him humiliate himself at that party, who had shamelessly taken his money. His stomach churned as anger started flooding over him. It wasn’t okay. It wasn’t fair. He wasn’t going to let them treat him like that. He was hardly even thinking when he started heading towards her.

Then, an alley up ahead and he was closer now and he had to remember that his heart was not real because it was threateningly close to taking his breath away. Then, before he could coward out without righting this wrong, he grabbed her, pushing her into the darkened alley. He stood, blocking the exit.

“Edita, right? Ditka? Hi. You know who I am?”

A terrible, gnawing sense of unease was telling him that this was a horrible idea. He disregarded it, demons didn’t have  a conscience. His heart too, pounded treacherously in his chest. It wasn’t real, he reminded himself. He didn’t have one.

“Just one more! Please Dita!”

“It’s strawberry!”

“Okay! Just one more…!”

Edita gave the filled shotglass in her hand a sniff - it definitely smelled like synthetic strawberry - before bottoming it and grimacing at the sour taste. The synthetic strawberry flavours did not help it at all. Her friends around her cheered, and she laughed along with them for a moment, before reaching for her crossover bag - some might have called it a fanny pack, but she refused to call it that. It was kinda late. And she had her own exams to worry about tomorrow, whereas Alyssa and Thomas had just finished their big exam of this semester: which was also the reason for their celebratory drinks on this ordinary Tuesday.

But it was getting late and Edita had to go.

“Do you want me to go with you?” Thomas’s voice sounded in her ear, trying to break through and drown out the drumming of the bass that shook through her core. She smiled at the thought of him in her bed - or her in his, but still she shook her head. With a hand on his chest - partly in trying to stabalise herself on her feet, and partly because she liked to touch him, and she knew that he liked that she touched him - she looked up at him, trying to meet his eyes, but not quite getting there.

“No stay - go celebrate with the others.” She pulled her coat from the pile that they had left on the chair.

His hands caressed her bare arms, following her movement as she tried to get her things. “Are you sure?”

By the powers of Dicstian, why did he always have to make sure? “Yes.” She said, emphasising every letter of the word. She could get home by herself. She did not need him to be safe. It’s only a Tuesday!

But she left without Thomas - a first in a while - and immediately as she reached the chill air of the outside, she could feel every fiber of her being. And how every fiber of her being was in swirls and never resting. Inside the club, the bass had covered her drunkenness, her body only registrering the rhytmic drumming, but out here - where the bass line was faint in the chill night, she could finally hear herself. Listen to her body. Boy, it was screaming for help.

She had walked about half a block, rustling through her crossover bag, in denial of the inevitable: she was out of drugs. Shit… She had an early job tomorrow. She could just get up super early tomorrow… But she was already not looking forward to waking up… Grabbing her things inside the bag for one last time - maybe if she touched everything, one last bottle might show up? - she stopped in the streets. This is not happening! She couldn’t believe it. Angrily she stomped her feet, stumbling a bit from her lack of coordination, letting out her frustrations before sighing… For a moment she looked around, biting her lip.

Right - change of plans…

And she turned around and went towards Leeside.

When she reached Erast, her stomach was churning… That last shot had been a mistake, and honestly she was craving a pizzaslice. Everything was turning too fast for her, but she carried on, stumbling down the streets. The fog that laid over the city that night had also seeped through her tight trousers, had dampened her hair and clad her cheeks in droplets, leaving her wet and cold when she stood there in the dark, waiting for the light to turn green at the crossroads. Everything was just wrong right now.

Walking swiftly, trying to keep warmth, while also keeping her balance, she moved further. She just had to reach the Kozlov Factories and grab a few bottles. Just enough for her to last until monday next week when she had to go to work anyways. This would be a quick visit. Just in, out, done, back to her dorm and straight to bed. That was the plan. And it was a good plan. Just in, out -

Suddenly the world began to turn and she was on the ground. Confused she looked up, the quick movement making her head turn and unable to focus for a moment. She blinked, looking at the man. Wha-

Ditka.

Her brows furrowed and she got up on her feet at that. The world was still turning, but her vision got clear at that word. Only her family called her Ditka. And she doubted that her father had sent him. This was something of The Family. She looked at the man in front of her; long dark hair, scrawny, but the same size as her… She had no recognition of this man. Instinctively she clutched her bag closer to her. Not that she had anything of value in it anyways… But she had an inkling that he wasn’t here to rob her…

“No.” She admitted to his question.

She could feel her side and knees hurting from her fall. Maybe it was just the surprise of it… Or maybe she was actually hurt. She doubted that. She was usually difficult to bruise. She reached inside her jacket as she seized the man up in front of her. Fuck, she thought as she found no gun. Ofcourse she had no gun on her. She had been out partying!

“Please refresh my memory.” She demanded. If he was gonna do anything to her, she at least wanted to know who he was. Then she could find him afterwards if she got out of this alive.

Acheron hadn’t realized how hard he had pushed her, until she was suddenly on the ground. It hit him then, something dizzying at the edge of her spirit – she had been drinking. Whatever. He wasn't going to feel bad about cornering her, because he did not have a conscience.

He crossed his arms, leaning against the wall of the entrance as she got to her feet. Her brows furrowed, clutching her bag as if he was planning to steal it. And perhaps he should, if only just to make a point. But that wasn’t the point he was here to make and he wasn’t interested in easy money.

No, she admitted and Acheron furrowed his brows. Of course she didn’t. No one ever did. He was a no one and that was why everyone felt it was within their right to step all over him. And he was sick of it. So sick of it. He was going to prove it, once and for all, that he wasn’t to be ignored and mocked any longer. That he wouldn’t just take it. That was the point he was here to make, consequences be damned. He wasn’t no one. He was a demon. He’d show her exactly how dangerous he was if he needed to.

Still, despite his lack of heart and despite his wickedness, his stomach dropped when she reached inside the jacket. His hand twitched, ready to grab his knife – but he realized at the same time as her, she was not armed. He smiled then, mockingly, tilting his head. He had the upper hand here. Good. Good, he’d prove his point and he’d finally be someone. He’d win this time. He’d be someone. Someone wicked, sure, but at least that was someone.

“Ah, that’s right – I don’t fucking matter, do I? Unless you can take my money, I suppose. Okay then, I’ll fill you in. Acheron. Your family screwed me over. I don’t like that.” He pushed away from the wall and stalked closer, placing his hands in his pockets. He was not tall enough to truly stare her down, but the scorching fire in his dark eyes still served as a warning. “So what are we going to do about that?”