Blood roses;;watch me bleed [open]

[anonymous]

[ooc: I curse boredom for bringing in depression.]

The news. A murder. Some older man apparently killed his much younger wife for cheating. He was in jail awaiting trial. Click.

Anime. "Code Geass"? It looked familiar. The dark-haired boy was shouting at his friend to listen to reason. Click.

Game reviews. There was a feature about an elf with pale skin riding his reptilian steed to war.

A talk show. Something about cross dressers and those that loved them.Click.

The news again. A bank robbery. No injuries. Click.

An interview. Political scandal. Click. Click. Click.

The television set threw its ubiquitous blue glare over the boy slumped uncharacteristically in front of it. The images slowly stopped registering to the glazed-over eyes and become mere colors that shifted as the channel changed. Details of each show became more insignificant until it turned to a drone in the background. Static. Eyes blinked, but cognitive processes had ground to a halt.

Lucius Drake Von Drae, one of the older students in the Academy, decided that he was tired. That was why he couldn't fake an interest in the on-goings of the world around him. He couldn't even force his eyes to focus on the now fuzzy bluish box in front of him. He wasn't tired enough to sleep, though. Just... drained.

It was rare for him to stay in his dorm room all day, for usually he would rather walk around or spend his time somewhere else- what inspiration could he get from his room anyway? It was dark; the curtains were drawn to keep any shred of light in, only except a lone beam. Cold. Perhaps it was the mood, or he was just imagining it, but his room was cold. It made it hard for him to get some sleep during the night, even with the windows closed. It was empty. Too neat, even he himself hates the way he had arranged his things; the books were all properly stacked in the shelves, his clothes hung and folded neatly in the cabinets, and his school things neatly placed by the side of the door. The carpet was soft, his bed was big, he had a nice television with 200 channels and a laptop on the study table...but he wasn't happy with it all.

Maybe he needed something else. He should have brought his violin, at least, since it was hardly possible for him to have the family piano find a perfect spot in the place. He hated the way his room seemed so perfect and cozy. It just...wasn't.

He gave out a deep sigh, turning the television off. It had always been this way, boring and mundane without his usual escapades. He cursed the Alice ban- but had he become too dependent on his alice?

Suddenly annoyed, he pushed himself from the couch and walked to the bathroom to splash some water on his face. He needed to get a hobby, darn it. The hunger was eating at his stomach again, and he doubted eating something heavy would relieve it.

Nothing would. It was a different kind, after all.

He stared at his pale reflection at the mirror, and unceremoniously he opened it to reveal a built-in medicine cabinet. He stared at the supplies: aspirin, a few bottles of...well, he didn't know what those were. And some razors.

He had bought those blades long ago, just in case he needed to do some indoor surgery. There was no other purpose in mind that time. But there was another one now, and out of boredom (he guessed), he decided to try it out.

The pain was small, alarming yet simple. He watched as a lone drop of crimson liquid slid down his arm and fell to the tiled floor. He had only made a small gash, on the middle of his forearm (since he didn't really plan to commit suicide, avoiding the vein on his wrist), but it wasn't enough. The pain stimulated him. He was, after all, a tad masochistic.

He drew another deeper line down the length of his arm, starting from where he had first wounded himself till the end of the forearm. The pain was exquisite, and he was elated to hear himself moan and give a small gasp at that. The rush of blood was faster now, in larger amounts, and he let it all drip to the floor and stain the marble tiles with its color. It somehow made him feel...more at home.

He was briefly reminded of his dead cousin, beautiful and wonderful Ornella, filling his mouth with her own blood and stimulating in him the urge to kill.

Broken, he dropped to the floor. This whole government restriction was killing him. It was their fault that he had stooped so low- low enough to wound himself and take pleasure from it.

The blood drops looked like flowers on the tiles, crimson and elegantly formed in random. Deftly he touched it with his fingers, the one on his good arm. His clothes were getting soiled. But that was alright.

He felt at peace.



[ooc: On a side note, in case you people have no idea who the hell Ornella is, please refer to my bio. Thank you.]

[Xena]

The morning hated me. I just knew it did.

I tripped clumsily when I got out of bed, landing hard on my butt, but thankfully on the carpet. I wasn’t even feeling the slightest bit woozy, so maybe my feet simply managed to stumble over themselves. When I took a quick shower, I stepped on my soap, which somehow fell when I was washing myself. I had a not-so-cushioned landing that happened to be a half split.

I think I broke my leg right there.

I limped as I chose a casual outfit, determined on missing the rounds and act like a student with no Council position. It worked a lot, but sometimes even I forget that I was supposed to be keeping a low profile. Hence, I get caught a lot too, but not as many times as those when I succeeded. The guilt and shame wear off after hearing the same scolding over and over again from a robot though. I smirked discreetly at the memory while I wore a white, sleeveless hoodie with black, illogical text on the front over a smaller, sleeveless shirt of the same color. It was followed by white leggings, and completed it all were Converse shoes.

It’s time to escape that darned robot.

I sneaked out of my room, my eyes darting around to see if students saw me. Well, a girl staying in her dormitory room would be quite a loner, and we don’t have girls like that. As far as I could tell, the whole building was deserted.

I smiled to myself before, after locking my door and slipping the key in my hoodie’s pocket, I sauntered casually in a hurry, finally breaking the calm walk with a brisk jog that ended when I got out of the building. I observed the direction to either of my sides, before letting out a jovial giggle and skipped forward.

That is, until I kicked something.

I gawked, appalled at what seemed like a tin can, before it started to move. Shudder, purr, and die. It repeated the cycle a second time. It shuddered, purred, purred once more, and rose continually until I recognized a dorm robot. I froze. My hand twitched as the truth sank in.

I’ve been caught without even making it to another building.

I sighed and looked at the robot, which seemed particularly happy to see me. Its mouth opened and out came a messy jumble of papers. I looked at it, disgusted. More paperwork? I was about to open my mouth to reject it, but the robot cut to the chase, throwing it recklessly in my open arms, ignoring my protests thrown at how it always gives me work…and partly, how it aimed.

“Distribute these flyers in the male dormitory,” it said in its mechanized tone, before raising its hand and bid its programmed goodbye, “Have a good day”, before rolling off to God knows where. I looked at the crumple of papers in my hands, before growling and gritting my teeth behind closed lips as I struggled to fix everything rather than tearing it to pieces.

I sighed softly, giving up on frustration, and started to do the chore given to me. I walked to the boys’ dormitory—which was, thankfully, only a few ways back. I entered again and, seeing students, sighed once more, before passing the flyers out. I didn’t even read what they were about. Probably some club announcement or something. I knocked continuously on each shut door, handed a paper to their shocked hands, before waltzing gracefully away to the next.

Even if they didn’t open their door, it didn’t matter. I open it myself and leave it inside, closing it shut behind me.

I reached one door and knocked on it, persistent with my chore and annoyed at how the boy inside wasn’t home. I was too impatient to wait out for anyone to come, so I tried the door.

It opened.

Curiosity got the better of me as I started to look around the room. There was a TV and furniture, nothing was misplaced. Everything seemed in order. I shivered at how…how perfect the room was. Control freak, the term jumped to my senses as I heard movement from somewhere inside the room. Unable to resist the urge, I followed, and was greeted by a horrendous, bloody scene.

I stood there, startled and shocked, my mouth hanging open.

Suddenly I felt sick.

I crumpled to the floor noisily, the papers flying from my arms, just staring, not believing what the sight presented.

And to think I bleed a lot. I didn’t know I couldn’t stand seeing other people bleed too.

[anonymous]

He heard the door to his room creak softly as it opened, and steps were heard after that. What person would have taken the liberty of intruding upon his privacy? These students should get a life. And so should you, muttered a voice in his head. You're turning suicidal.

Ridiculous, he scoffed, raising his bleeding arm. The pain was like drugs now. It numbed his mind, blocking every sane thought with the familiar sting. It was heaven. But he shouldn't be doing this- and he had made quite a mess.

He looked down at the floor and frowned at the numerous droplets of blood. Yeah, he should start cleaning.

Then suddenly came a sound he had not anticipated. A crumbling one, like somebody falling to the carpeted floor, and rustling of papers. There were some that were blown into the open bathroom, coating the bloodied floor. He could understand the shock- who would expect a student cut himself? With such trivial properties too. The worst part was, that kid might get the wrong idea.

He gave out a sigh, flexing the fingers that were still connected to his wounded arm. The pain was blinding now, maybe he didn't need to apply alcohol for more. What was he thinking...?

"I believe it is rude to enter a fellow student's quarters without permission." he whispered dangerously calm, turning to see the intruder.

It was a girl.

A familiar one at that.

He raised an eyebrow, genuinely surprised. "Oh? Didn't enjoy the sight, I see. Well, that's what thee gets for coming in. Curiosity killed the cat, thou should know." He turned then, unbothered, to reach in his medical cabinet and pulled out some bandages and a bottle of alcohol. He felt quite excited about what was coming next, in his preparations to 'clean' his wound.

He looked at his visitor somewhat sympathetically. She had chosen such a brilliant time.

"In case thy intrusion is of a different matter, I would like to know the reason now, so speak up." he glanced at the stained razors on the side of his sink. "Unless perhaps thou'd rather another demonstration, eh?"

[Xena]

My mouth twitched as I realized that the fingers of the person started to contract. I found it odd that I was annoyed, perhaps afraid, of whatever else that would’ve faced me in the current, gory scene that I was witnessing. I let my eyes drop to the floor of the room the figure was in, seeing countless drops of blood that blossomed in a captivating manner, calming me down from the previous sight that was embedded deeply into my memories, relieving me from the shock and giving me indifference towards the blood on the tiled floor.

I heard him murmur softly, probably about my lack of chivalry, or the blood on his arm—though I highly doubt that, he looked like he was in serenity, even from behind—or even the mess I made with the papers; he was a control freak, after all. His room screamed the mark of neat and orderly. To be honest, I expected more of a mess from a boy. I didn’t hear him, or didn’t bother to anyway, being too busy regaining my composure, for even though I had calmed down from the droplets of blood, my teenage mind still couldn’t handle the other sight of blood that trickled down his arm.

I felt the pressure of his gaze upon me when he turned, making me change the expression on my face to puzzlement. I saw him before, didn’t I?

At the woods?
In the labyrinth?
During class?
In town?

It all seemed a blur to me now, for memories rarely replayed again and again in a mind whose thoughts scream frequently tend to be buried under others of its kind. But I was certain that I met him before. The more I questioned my certainty, the more my doubt grew, until I seemed positive that I never saw him in at all, that he was naught but a mistaken recollection, that he wasn’t part of my life in any way.

I studied his flawless features, immediately seeing him raise a brow. Apparently, he noticed my discomfort, for he brought it up before anything else. His mouth continued to cite words I’ve heard my whole life, although his tongue spoke of Old English pronouns that I haven’t heard spoken out loud before. The boy turned once more and retrieved something I couldn’t see clearly, something I didn’t bother to see. I hugged my elbows, turning my crimson-red eyes to the door, finally losing interest in the blood.

His voice drew me back to him. "In case thy intrusion is of a different matter, I would like to know the reason now, so speak up." I saw him take a glimpse at the stained blades before adding, “Unless perhaps thou'd rather another demonstration, eh?” I grimaced, hugging my elbows tighter. It’ll be amusing how far he’ll go wounding himself, but I was considerate enough to just follow his order.

For a moment I cast a fleeting glance around the room, before sighing. “I’ve been told to give out flyers,” I nodded my head to the papers covering the blood-splattered floor. “The door usually opens when someone knocks.” I shrugged as my grip loosened. “I thought the room was empty so…” I trailed off, feeling stupid for entering even after hearing the noises. I continued my statement after emitting a soft sigh, surrendering to scolding or whatever that awaits me.

“...I thought I could see why there was no one home.”

[anonymous]

It stung.

At first, the pain was exquisite, and he had handled it so nonchalantly that perhaps he could fool viewers his serenity in such a deep wound. Honestly he was enjoying his pain- it brought his boredom to a close, driving away the empty thoughts with the stinging feeling. But though it felt that it wasn't enough, his hands were trembling already, especially the arm that had been gashed, and he decided to cut his limbs- and the girl- some slack.

There wasn't any towels he wanted to soil in the bathroom, since the only one available was a pure white, and it would be a shame to stain it with the crimson fluid. Besides, removing it would be tiring- and he could not imagine himself scrubbing and bleaching till hours on end. Even if he had plenty of worthless time in his hands, he did not want to spend it all on a single cloth. There was definitely some bandages in the medicine cabinet, he was sure of that, so he walked slowly to its reach and his good arm did all the work to find it.

One roll. That would be enough, he thinks, enclosing the soft fabric-like features with his slender fingers.

It was funny to think that a dignified man like he would ever come to think of wounding himself- and he wondered what had caused him to do something as uncharacteristic as this (as the stereotypic view of a gentleman suggests, but then again, he wasn't exactly a gentleman to begin with). He couldn't say it was grief; he wasn't emotional in any way, after all. He kept his distance, approached people to play with and ease his boredom, yet that was all. Females who proved interesting to him were always smart enough to avoid him, always thinking that it was for the best, that they would never be together, that they hadn't found the right key to his dark abysmal heart.

They were wrong and correct at the same time. First of all, he did not have a damned key to his heart, for as his logical side would rather, hearts don't have locks. They don't even love. All the organ does is beat, pumping blood through veins, just like the liquid that dripped down his arm. Poets and lovers had twisted the scientific truth; it was the brain who does all the emotions. It was its duty. And in no way would he stoop so slow as to acknowledging the more 'romantic' version of the organ.

Second, they were absolutely right about not being the 'perfect one' for him. He came to them because he wanted to, after all, but he never had in mind to stay close. A charming smile, and perhaps a soft kiss or two, but that certainly did not mean he was willing to waste his time with another doe-eyed pretty girl. It was in his nature to probe and tease females to begin with, and if he'd ever find the 'perfect one' was complete bull to him, something he'd never think or care about in any way.

His attention reverted back to the female that had witnessed his 'emotional outburst' (oh, cut it out, he adds in him mind, and he grins to himself at the thought) when she had finally answered his thrown question. Honestly he was thinking of leaving her there and going back to his injuries, but she had actually said something. At least she wasn't completely mute.

She had been looking around the room before he saw her sigh. She seemingly did not enjoy the tidiness of her surroundings- it was mundane, lifeless, too elite for anybody's taste. And judging from her appearance, she was more of the 'varied' type. So to say, she did not like the uniform image his room radiated. He couldn't blame her for that, though; even he himself sometimes felt restless in his own quarters.

“I’ve been told to give out flyers,” she says, nodding at the papers that littered around them. "The door usually opens when someone knocks.”

Oh? He tilts his head at this, letting his crimson locks trail his face. And by assumption, you thought there was nobody present in this room, so you entered? How utterly childish. The words never left his mouth though, since she had added to her sentence.

“I thought the room was empty so...” she took a pause at that, sighing again. Perhaps she knew what was coming, and she daren't protest at the punishment or the insult that might issue out of his mouth. Might. “...I thought I could see why there was no one home.”

He shook his head, showing his disappointment. Though it was his fault too. For one, he should have locked the door. How could he have pulled off a stunt like that without ensuring himself safe from another's sight? He was at fault here, not her. She was just unlucky enough to give in to her childish curiosity that lead her to such a predicament.

But he certainly wasn't going to go easy on her. Or rather, he wasn't going to let this one slide. After all, she still did intrude upon his private chambers, witnessed an unspeakable event, with only a small excuse to back her up. But then, he wasn't quite in the mood for any scolding or whatsoever.

"Well, if that's the case," he spoke, turning his gaze on the bandages in his hand, "Thou should do thy duty and leave now. I'll help myself to one flyer and return the rest." he bent down and started picking the papers from the floor, frowning at those who had blood smeared over them. "Perhaps we should throw away these," he says, indicating a flyer stained with his blood. "I do not wish others to be appalled by this, how about thee?"