open to EVERYONE
itâs the hour in the evening in which the stars that hang about the velvet sky are brightest, when everything seems to possess a faint, rosy film of stardust and eventide charm. the energy in paranoia is that of a slow winding down, of drowsy companionship and the quiet, warm prattle specific to the drunk and addicted and their waning hours. how gabriel could drown in these hours, until he knows nothing but round edges in his vision and warm nerves and the honeyed sweetness of a drink burning its way down his throat.Â
he parts from where he sings, pale ivory robe trailing behind him, the smell of jasmine skin and honeysuckle hair cuts through the sharp scent of sitting alcohol and smoke; heâs, at once, a fixture of paranoia as much as he is an anomaly. perhaps there are still those who do not know him by name, only by fragrance or by sound, or something theyâve known in a dream - he doesnât mind it this way, never ever believing he was meant to be more than an enigma, a creature to know in halves.Â
âthere you are,â he says, and itâs not certain if heâs addressing one patron over another, only that they hope he might at all before daylight comes and wakes them. a faint smile flits about his lips. âyou wonât pass out on me, will you?â
âgaaaaaabriel,â nine coos from her booth. sheâs fully horizontal, because, well. who doesnât prefer to be horizontal, right? but she pushes herself up off the elbow sheâs leaning against to sit upright, and thereâs the slight clack of the mint sheâs sucking on moving around in her mouth, hitting against her teeth. âpass out on you? nah, my dude, donât even worry about it, iâm, like, so good.â the complete lack of grace in her movements might suggest otherwise, but honestly, nineâs not flying as high as she usually might be during her drop-ins at paranoia. âdonât you know iâve gotta stay totally fuckinâ centered for my very favorite pop star?â she taps her temple and shoots him a wink ( and, of course, an actual shot from her very cool finger guns ).Â
âhey, where the hell did you get this thing, anyway?â she trails a hand along a few inches of gabrielâs robe. itâs practically part of his lounge singer uniform, sure, but she doesnât think sheâs ever actually asked. âyou always look so beeeeautiful, babes.â fidgety as ever, nine drums her fingertips along the tabletop, then curls her fingers into a fist, knocks on it a couple times. âi dunno, i guess iâm in a funny mood. or a funk. a funky mood! but not like,â she shimmies her shoulders, hums a jazzy beat, ânot like that. like... you know when you donât wanna be alone, but you kinda do wanna be alone, so you go somewhere where youâre surrounded by people, but then you just feel even lonelier? itâs fucked up, dude.âÂ
