Lexington

2. Solace

2. Solace

"To live alone is the fate of all great souls." - Arthur Schopenhauer

"LANDO, ARE YOU HERE?" Luc entered the loft briskly, urgently searching for any signs of his blood-sucking companion. A piling collection of empty whiskey bottles; a young, attractive girl bleeding out on the floor from the puncture wounds on her neck; or sometimes even Orlando himself slumped in a hopeless drunken heap.

As Luc waded further into the open-plan room, a sigh of futility escaped his lips. He had unfailingly recognised Lando's typicality, an attitude that never ceased to amaze him. He wasn't entirely sure as he got closer that this was even Lando's residence, eliciting a cautious and subtle entrance. Upon entering, however, Luc discovered that he had indeed been given the right address. And he could confirm because, as always, Lando's apartment was a mess.

The loft he had occupied was very well lit. The natural morning sunlight streamed in through floor-to-ceiling windows dispersed along the old and worn walls of the room and cast light on the stray clothes and takeaway boxes across the floor. The said walls were lined with old bricks from corner to corner, with cobwebs bundling together at the vertices. Luc moved forward, still making sure he avoided potential danger as his boots graced the ground with uncomfortable custom.

The whole place had the same grungy and urban feel, yet the stark contrast in a few pieces of furniture was unmistakably Lando's doing. Luc did not waste time in admiring the contrast of the room itself with the modern furnishings.

Orlando had always expressed his interest in the changing of the world. He adamantly informed Luc of the benefits of living eternally: it allowed him to really view the progression and, in frequent aspects, regression of humanity. Lando's furniture collection was his perception of two long and lonely centuries.

Just scoping the room was enough to confuse any interior decorator, for the whole living space could never be given a definitive style that wasn't just called Orlando.

In a dark corner to the left of the loft a bed stood unmade with white sheets scattered carelessly across the mattress. The bed was pushed up against the wall, sitting on it would give you a full view of the whole space - from the awkward arrangement of sofas to the open kitchen.

An old armchair was placed facing the kitchen, opposite from a brown leather four-seater stretched across the room, acting as a barrier between the living area and the kitchen. The granite counter tops at the other end of the loft were drawn out along one wall and an island about a couple of metres away from it. To Luc's left was a door, one he assumed led to the bathroom which was hidden behind the only internal wall in Lando's accommodation.

"Morning, Luc."

Luc stared at his friend as he emerged in nothing but a bathrobe from another door leading out of the steamy bathroom. He looked on in a strange mix of awe and resentment at the young boy. The one who still believed that life was easy and carefree. That had gotten in way over his head. The young boy who was all up for a laugh and a joke and a game. The young boy who was now in a whole new world, and acting like he owned it.

However, Lando wasn't a young boy any more and life wasn't a game any more. Life was becoming very serious, very quickly.

What Luc secretly loved about the effervescent soul was that he didn't seem to care. Lando, to Luc, was a latch. A link – a connection to the world Luc once lived in himself. A mirror into the world he would never be able to return to. Luc was trapped on the stone cold side of life while Lando floated in an ocean of freedom and nonentities; the ocean that Luc was dragged out of by the legs, and thrown into reality with not so much as a warm towel to help him through.