His Poison is My Blood

Chapter 2

Had he progressed from those numerous rough drafts, papers scattered along the floor into the bin. A singular paragraph to introduce the premise, who the objective was and the one who flipped the coin down into their favour. 

Any of it, the smallest fragment, had he made any indentation upon where his fingers laid and pressed onto the keys to compile each lousy word that formulated themselves into the structure he had developed. Each comma, each run on, fragment, and the indentations, how everything had changed upon those messages that ended abruptly. 

Some would claim that by the sheer activation of adrenaline, by a miracle there would be something to remember or take a wager with, an answer would flow through the rubbed and raw knuckles, and available to the greedy fingertips that longed for an exit. 

That was not in the deck of cards life had handed out. The inevitable game that he kept losing repeatedly, thus that deck only managed to collect into the stack that was no longer able sorted in a feasible manner, cards scattered out on the floor and his thighs, stepped upon by his own two feet in a scramble to gather and bunch the pieces of laminate. 

The concept of this sequence being nothing more than a dream, had already been shoved off in a crude manner. Yet, carelessly, grazing against the wooden floor he laid upon, there was an echo, reminiscent of years prior before it all had caved in.

Late nights, impassive to his fellow companion who ran a mile for the minute a word was placed onto a page, blankets thrown about only to trip up and down, music rang throughout the walls until late at night when the robins would call and beckon forth. Persistent nudges mixed with papers drawn back and away, slipped from his hands, replaced by two others that felt far more abnormal wrapped around frozen fingers. Cans cracked open with a loud snap and fizz, fingers dusted by sticky residue once dried, and a comfort given in being brought from the taxing work to a foolish dance, held tight until the caffeine had no impact upon either of the two, crashing back onto the mattress. 

May it be the silence, or lack of light casted onto the floor, there was a knock upon the door. Sprung up forth from the sunken position, clothes brushed up against exposed skin, only to grimace and turn from what had been seen in the dim light. What luck, in such a toil he had made the imprudent mistake of turning to the wrong room and in with the closet he was. 

How humorous. 

If not for current circumstances, so chivalrously placed under by the wicked hand of fates, there may have been a distant echo in close proximately to a laugh at the very least. 

Matters at hand were to be taken upon a glance met at once. Fabrics pulled into his hands, thumbs ran over blood-sewn embroidery, until lips pressed thin at the very memory of who he had become. Queen of Spades, his version that is, tight, unrelenting, quick to anger, and all too well-known to Arthur in ways he had deemed to be nothing but a shadow of his past, and he needed to imitate that to the best of his ability. The man outside was not someone he was acquainted with, rather an enemy to be held far out and at arms length.

Faint click of the latch, natural light once more graced despite what blocked a large fragment that would have blessed the frozen wood they sauntered upon. Perform, take place of one who fell from their place. 

"Suppose you'll remain here now, fixed in stone." Back turned in search for anything to cover the gaudy attire around him. Only for a sting of luck to flow through, "Unless there's another reason you dare to impede terms of privacy." Robe snagged from a hanger nearby, pulled around tighter with arms crossed. Fixed back to the unresolved issue.

Black suit, tight and pristine, shoes polished where a visible reflection could be see in full three-sixty. It appeared they were pass the initial transaction. He had managed to sway the Queen into letting him in. Now working alongside in tandem, for now that was. Gaze kept below the neck, heart snagged by each hook and syllable that yanked to tear of what remained.