Ad Schism

Book III • St. George and the Dragon

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The memories of the last month flickered past as the plane left the cloud cover, he could still feel the touch of Nashira as the scintillating New York City skyline emerged. Despite this, he was greeted with another flurry of emotions as the urban sprawl triggered visions of his last night in America, the pain in Sarah's voice and the look in Anton's eyes. It was a surreal experience to think that just two weeks ago he was here, trapped in this decaying world of irreverence and debauchery. He caught glimpse of the Empire State building, there were still worries inside about a relapse, still hesitations about this change, and every evil power within him worked tirelessly to change his course, but still he pressed on.

The sheer power of New York City, its scope and allure, was enough to pull him away from his thoughts and his troubled mind, giving him the strongest urge to paint the town. Perhaps it was all the energy inside that still sat dormant from the 12 hour flight or maybe it was the energy of the city itself that invigorated him so much. Either way he considered this urge with cautious patience, unwilling to let this night get the better of him as it had in the past; he knew he wanted — needed to change, but if the change forced him to completely redefine his lifestyle what good was it really doing for him? He loved to explore the city, to see all the life and culture it radiated, but often times he indulged too deeply; getting tangled in webs he should've never weaved, left to fend for himself in the neon caverns with venomous creatures of every description.. If he was determined to fix himself — and he was — he decided tonight would have to work his way, and his way alone. If not, then it was clear what needed to be done.

After the plane landed, it took about an hour for him to get his luggage. Now leaving baggage claim, he wore a blue long sleeve polo tee, tan denim joggers that had an earthy brown trim and leather boots he had bought in London during his layover. His eyes were cooly hidden behind black wayfarers with a hint of a smirk curving his lips.

A familiar figure stood near the wall towards the backside of the departure exit, he was casually flicking through something on his phone; there were headphones in his ear. Of course though it was incredible to see him again, the last seven days had been a rift in their friendship he was worried would never mend back again. Fortunately Anton responded to the twenty something texts Oliver had sent to pick him up from the airport — he despised the option of bus as every normal person might; never trust the bus. He tapped Anton's shoulder,

"Oh holy shit," Anton started with wide eyes; Oliver laughed, "What the hell, sneaking up on a guy like that, god damn."

"Be more alert next time," Oliver teased, gesturing to his headphones.

"I was just- whatever fuck it," Anton shrugged, shook his hand and hugged him, "It's good to see you man, but before anything else, why?"

"Why what? Why did I leave?"

"Yeah. Suddenly the moment you're able to stand you start popping Xanax again and you're gone for another week partying at some European estate?"

Oliver looked at him, a bit perplexed, "Which country was it in again?"
Anton looked at him for a moment, "What, is this for your memory or for mine?" Oliver dropped his head, "Those first few nights were very, very hazy."

He shook his head, "You said Switzerland."
"Mmm."
Anton didn't say anything.
"I didn't spend that long in Switzerland truth be told." "Yeah I figured, parties don't tend to last the whole week." Oliver's eyebrow raised.

Finally he nodded, "Well in this case you're right, it didn't last all week." Anton let out a laugh, "So where else did you go then?"
Oliver hesitated, "Morocco?"
Anton laughed out loud, "How the fuck?"