ᴬᵖʰᵒⁿⁱᶜ ᵛᵒⁱᶜᵉˢ ᶠⁱˡˡ ˢᵉᵃˢ

1952 Moss Bros Morning Suits

Another long night in the Fort came to a close as the artist made his way from Fleet Hall down to the atrium. It was much later than Sander hand intended to leave, though it wasn’t uncommon for him to find himself adrift in Fort Frolic this time of night.

The atrium lights were dimmed for the night, but the Fort was far from asleep. It seemed as if it never really slept (a trait unfortunately passed to Sander). There was always someone in the bars and patrons of Eve’s Garden coming and going at all hours. Sander turned a blind eye in exchange for the traffic.

Some nights the artist would join the other lost souls in their vigil at the bars, but tonight it seemed far too much effort when home offered a bath and a bottle of wine. Alone he wouldn’t need to hear comments a little too sharp for a glass of whiskey to solve.

The artist hummed to himself as he walked, the sound accompanied by the click of his shoes against the tile floor. A sudden idea struck on the way to the metro station, inspired by improvised melody, and the artist flipped open his sketchbook to find something he had jotted down earlier in the day.

Fort Frolic was home more than home was and the artist had every corridor, every shop etched into his mind. He could walk it blindfolded with ease -- even the far stretches of Poseidon Plaza. He relied on that sense now to tell him where the steps were, where the door was

but not where other people would be.

Sander gasped as he collided with a stranger in the station. He pulled away from the other person quickly and tried to regain some semblance of poise.

“I didn’t see there,” Sander said, though it seemed hard to believe he hadn’t. The stranger was a good deal taller than him and masked. The sight of rabbit ears brought forth a flicker of an emotion Sander couldn’t identify.

“Most certainly señor, I’m a thick built and it takes more to knock me down! Though the worry is more rightful over you, I’m a mere little performer and you are the light, the embodiment of the creativity and dreams of Rapture.” Perhaps they were a bit too close, he realized. Just a step back, almost ashamed of the sacrilege whilst in a semi-state of euphoria caused by the presence. “I hope there’s anything to be done to be forgiven but- ah. The city is beautifully sedated at night, I cannot condemn an instinctual reaction to it.”

Another long night in the Fort came to a close as the artist made his way from Fleet Hall down to the atrium. It was much later than Sander hand intended to leave, though it wasn’t uncommon for him to find himself adrift in Fort Frolic this time of night.

The atrium lights were dimmed for the night, but the Fort was far from asleep. It seemed as if it never really slept (a trait unfortunately passed to Sander). There was always someone in the bars and patrons of Eve’s Garden coming and going at all hours. Sander turned a blind eye in exchange for the traffic.

Some nights the artist would join the other lost souls in their vigil at the bars, but tonight it seemed far too much effort when home offered a bath and a bottle of wine. Alone he wouldn’t need to hear comments a little too sharp for a glass of whiskey to solve.

The artist hummed to himself as he walked, the sound accompanied by the click of his shoes against the tile floor. A sudden idea struck on the way to the metro station, inspired by improvised melody, and the artist flipped open his sketchbook to find something he had jotted down earlier in the day.

Fort Frolic was home more than home was and the artist had every corridor, every shop etched into his mind. He could walk it blindfolded with ease – even the far stretches of Poseidon Plaza. He relied on that sense now to tell him where the steps were, where the door was

but not where other people would be.

Sander gasped as he collided with a stranger in the station. He pulled away from the other person quickly and tried to regain some semblance of poise.

“I didn’t see there,” Sander said, though it seemed hard to believe he hadn’t. The stranger was a good deal taller than him and masked. The sight of rabbit ears brought forth a flicker of an emotion Sander couldn’t identify.

Between the few restive shadows wandering, scuttling around the semi-empty chambers of the fort, his silhouette joined to the nightlife of the Fort and its sparse yet erratic movements, walks turned more in some kind of jogs under the spotlights or open spaces out of habit, to get out the way like an elusive forest creature. He loved it. 

He loved the absence of real silence, so alike to sleeping next to another person and hearing the slightly whistled, almost buzzed, gentle breathing belonging to the city, from the neon insignia pleasantly humming in his ears -the smaller ones, since his masks’ only casted their shape on the curtains or the walls- to the distant yelling and drunken singing from the pubs. He liked how the dimmed lights of the after sunset Rapture reinvented the volumes and shapes of every corner and step while still retaining the familiarity during his stroll back to his apartment. 

And maybe this enrapturing caused the impact a few moments after, where he flinched more by surprise than anything else.         “Madre de dios!” 

He reached for the other figure, progressively recognizing details to leave him in disbelief and stalling with his hands mid air, fingers flicking back unsure whether to land.

A somewhat lopsided smirk took his features at the compliment,  and Ben subconsciously leaned a bit closer to the smooth talker as if hanging onto his every word.

He looked at the notepad laying on the bar between them,  feeling it was almost a shame to have to avert his gaze from Gerard to write on it.  It would be just rude to leave him hanging,  however.

In the neatest and most elegant writing he could muster in his slightly intoxicated state Ben wrote

I started out as a simple stuntman,  but now I am an actor who does his own stunts.  I also direct most of my own movies.  The only cinema that exists outside of Fort Frolic is mine.

bc i need inspiration

“I’ll protect you.”

“You always duck away when you smile.”

“Like I expected, you’re much comfier than my pillow.”

“I’m nervous too.”

“Do you like it?”

“Let me hug you.”

“Piggy back ride?”

“I want to kiss all of the freckles on your cute face.”

“Can you keep holding my hand, please?”

“Wait, the tears are good tears?”

“I think you look cuter with me.”

“I won’t forget this moment.”

“This is where we first met isn’t it?”

“I’ve always wanted to thank you, but was never sure how.”

“If you’re happy then okay.”

“Let’s share.”

“It wouldn’t be the same without you.”

“Everything ends up being about you somehow.”

“It tastes like…. You tried…. I’ll eat it. It’s a good attempt. Really.”

“Why are you hiding against me like this?”

“I heard you weren’t having that great of a day… These are your favorite candies, right?”

“Ah, the puppy dog face. Check mate, huh?”

“Quit poking my sides; you know I’m ticklish!”

“Your hair is sticking out everywhere. Cute.” 

“Wait, let me get a picture of you there.”

“If you need my shoulder, or my hand, or a hug-”

“Kiss me again.”

“I’m sorry, but it was too funny for me to intervene.”

“It doesn’t matter what they think, I just care about what you think.”

“You can ask me as much as you want, I’ll say I love you each time.”

“I’m glad you were here with me.” 

“That trip looked hilarious– but also kinda painful; you okay?”

“I called you because I can’t fall asleep.”

“I let you win.”

“You look good in it.”

“Don’t look away from me.”

“I’m not jealous, I’m just practicing my pout.”

“I just want to hug you.”

“You’ve kissed me like fifty times today.”

“You love me.”

“Can we be alone for a bit?”

“The stars wish they were as bright as you.”

“You make me cliche, but I love it I guess.”

“I’d feel better if you kissed me.”

“You’re overthinking– I’m yours. That’s all I want to be.”

“You’re my favorite.”

“You want to take another selfie?”

“I’d let you if you asked.”

“Since it’s you, I’m gonna let it go.”

“My only regret is not telling you I loved you sooner.”