Topic: The insane, on occasion, are not without their charms...

Cyril Gastone · Date: 2007-07-13 20:04 EST

"The insane, on occasion, are not without their charms" - Kurt Vonnegut, The Sirens of Titan

Cyril's thoughts ventured to her once more.

Most times it was an unwelcome thing. Tonight' In such a vulnerable and lonely state of mind he didn't mind it all that much. Grasping the empty side of his bed he didn't feel cold sheets. He felt her laying next to him, sleeping quite peacefully as she used to. There was no quiet either, he could hear her breathing. When he inhaled" He could smell her and that particularly floral shampoo that didn't smell quite the same on any other.

And when he opened his eyes"

Cyril didn't see the darkness. He saw...her. The thin lipped smile, the wispy hair, the bright eyes that seemed to light up in a special way just for him, the pointed ears, the perfect curve of neck to shoulder.

The crash of porcelain against the wall rattled him from his fantasies and delusions.

He sat up suddenly, wrapped in nothing but sheets and a cold sweat. Pupils shifted a bit, adjusting to some light sifting through a window as he looked around, and finally to the spot next to him on the bed.

Empty.

Empty as it had been for so long now. Nearly a year to be more precise. Nearly a year and Cyril still yearned for something he once had but would never have again. Not with her. Not with any other.

Now, it's not that he hasn't tried moving on. He most certainly had. A few dates here and there, a few smiles and grins and jokes and flirtations in bars for a pretty girl. He wanted to move on. He wanted nothing more than to forget her name, her face, her existence. Everything about her he tried to purge from his mind on countless occasions. But you see, Cyril loved her. For years. Cyril gave everything to her, be it tangible and intangible.

In the end, however, she left. No warning, no sign, she had found another. And he was left with her ghost, her memories, seeing her in every woman.

Reaching over towards his nightstand, he grasped for the lamp that usually sat there but only found emptiness. Brows furrowed, he looked to the ground and frowned at the sight of light reflecting off broken shards of porcelain. Sheets thrown off, he carefully traversed his way to his bathroom, wincing at the sudden flush of light when he hit the light switch in there.

A moment was taken to evaluate the tired figure staring at him in the mirror before he opened up the medicine cabinet, reaching in to grab that familiar little orange bottle. A light shake was given to it before he sighed. No sounds came from it. Setting the empty bottle back in and closing the cabinet, he went about studying that broken man once more.

He loathed that broken man. He loathed how that broken man allowed himself to be reduced to a fragment of his former self. He very nearly punched that broken man, but managed to restrain himself. What good would it do"

A walk, what could go wrong with that"

Cyril Gastone · Date: 2007-07-13 21:02 EST

After a quick shower and changing into some simple clothing, Cyril departed from his apartment and ventured out into the night. It was late, but not late enough to elimate all the crowds. Rhydin quite possibly blossomed and thrived at night, rather than it's counterpart. But Cyril wasn't much in the mood for gatherings where he had to pretend that all was well, to pretend that he was happy and alive and thriving.

When in all actuality he just wanted to crawl away and die. He simply hadn't the fortitude to make such a thing happen. Not at this point.

Streets and crowds bypassed, he purposefully made his way dockside. The water, the salty air, the breeze, everything about the place was comforting and didn't bring thoughts of her into his mind. Hands buried in blazer pockets, Cyril watched the water of the shoreline ebb and flow. He concentrated on salt as he inhaled, and let silence take over as he closed his eyes.

He wasn't sure at all how long he stood there like that.

Legs started giving to cramps, so he finally opened his eyes and moved along, mind and soul feeling a blank canvas for the moment. It was a cherished feeling, as he knew it was temporary. By morning it would be soiled once more.

Eyes had been cast down as he walked, but hearing some raucous merriments from within an establishment, he glanced over it as he passed it by, catching sight of what was probably a few local workers. All having a good time. All a shadow of his former self.

Rather than join in, he moved right along. Perhaps now he could get a bit of sleep. But fate seemed to have an idea for Cyril tonight. A street corner rounded, he very nearly walked right into the small form there.

"My apologies."

Cyril was quick to apologize, bowing his head to the one he nearly stepped into before lifting his gaze to regard them. She was small, thin, but very pretty. Not in any ethereal sense like many of Rhydin's beauties, it was more natural. Auburn locks, hazel eyes that weren't quite green, milky complexion dotted with freckles on nose and shoulders. She was really quite precious, though the makeup she wore far too much of added age to her youth. The attire she wore, too low up there, and too short down there, made sure to let any know just what she was advertising on that street corner as well.

"N..no sir. It was my fault." She spoke with a meek voice that didn't carry very far. It was either her first night out, or she was very new to her profession. "Do forgive?" She canted her head towards Cyril, a hint of a pointed ear revealed when auburn locks shifted.

Hazels took note of the pointed ear before moving back to her gaze, easy smile starting to form on Cyril's lips. "I assure there is nothing to forgive milady. I was watching the ground before me rather than the people ahead of me."

The girl seemed to be put at some ease hearing that, and nodded to Cyril, fidgeting a moment as she waited for him to move along. She hadn't any need to be moving along just yet. An uncomfortable fidget later, she glanced back to Cyril, still standing there and making no move to walk away. "Is there something I can help you with sir?"

Now, Cyril was not the type of man who went around paying women for use of their bodies. He simply wasn't. But this girl looked like she hadn't eaten a warm or hearty meal in quite some time. Wouldn't he be doing them both a favor? He hadn't any intention to sleep with her no, but companionship and a good conversation would be most welcome, she would earn a few coins for her trouble, and for tonight at least' She would be off the streets, safe.

Yes, that's what he told himself.

Cyril Gastone · Date: 2007-07-13 22:33 EST

Three gold - Thirty silver - Three hundred copper.

It was heartbreaking that there were people who set a price to themselves. That they did so out of necessity. Cyril was not a stupid man, he knew there was a difference between a floozy at the bar who threw herself upon every man willing or not, and a woman who was so in need she felt forced into a profession - if you could call it that - of prostitution. He knew that the woman who walked with him then was not a whore. Just a working woman who needed the money. For what, he couldn't say, but he had his speculations.

"You never told me your name." A genuine interest was carried in his tone when he addressed her. As person. As woman. Not a whore.

Perhaps why she seemed a bit caught off guard as she answered. "Helena."

"That's a beautiful name." He smiled to her, and extended a hand. "I'm Cyril."

Hesitantly. Oh. So. Hesitantly. Helena took Cyril's hand, weak grip, and gave a little shake. 'Nice to meet you.' is the normal thing to say in a situation like this. But all considered in the situation' This wasn't just a friendly meeting.

Sensing her tension, Cyril released her hand, letting his fall back to withdraw into an inner blazer pocket. Pack of cigarettes pulled out, he offered one over to her with an inquiring look. There was less hesitancy then, when Helena took the offered cigarette and placed it to her lips. Cyril was quick to withdraw a lighter and offered a flame over. A puff later, she was smoking away, seeking solace in that cigarette.

For the moment, Cyril allowed the conversation to die so that she might become more at ease. He contemplated a cigarette of his own but decided against it, putting things away back to their proper pockets. Always the same pockets. Lighter in one, cigarettes in the other, inhaler in the third, and nothing in the fourth. He was obsessive about those kinds of things at times. Even with drawers at home the same things had to be put into them each and every time. Socks had to be folded a certain way, draped across pants, shirts in the other drawer...always the same, every time. OCD the therapist had called it.

Helena had finished her cigarette not long before their arrival to his apartment. He would have offered another, but smoking was not a permitted thing in his apartment. With a key twist and the opening of a door, Cyril led her inside.

"It's not much." And indeed it wasn't. Small and drab. He couldn't afford much more than that at the moment. "But do make yourself at home." Door was closed and locked, lights flickered on, blazer was removed and hung on a peg, and a friendly smile was shot towards Helena. "Did you want something to drink" Maybe even something to eat' I'm sure I've something in the kitchen I could whip up."

Helena had been glancing about when she heard the inquiry, and turned a confused look to Cyril, eyes slightly wide. "Something to...no. No thank you." She shook her head to reiterate the answer before her gaze fell. "I don't want to waste your time sir, I have no qualms with getting straight to business."

Cyril was ready to argue the 'sir' and insist she merely call him Cyril, but seeing one, two, three buttons of her blouse get unbuttoned so quickly he stepped forward to encase her hands with his own and cease her movements. "Helena..."

"Oh...I'm sorry. D..did you want to take this to the bedroom?" The poor thing really must have been new to this. Novice. Cyril wouldn't know from any sort of first hand experience, but he could guess that this wasn't how ...this usually went.

"No-"

"The couch then" ...the table?" Auburn brows furrowed, Helena cast a glance around then back to Cyril. "There's not much room in here. If that's what you want then it's fine but-"

"Helena." Cyril spoke a little firmer that time to cut her off, shaking his head. "No." That came quieter, a bit softer. His hands shifted away from hers, to set about buttoning one, two, three buttons. It was hard for a man to talk to a woman with a great deal of her chest exposed. Rather....distracting. Even he wasn't above that. "That isn't at all why I brought you here."

There was no objection to him buttoning her blouse. Most might have considered it invasive into one's personal space, but that was something she was used to by now. "Then why did you bring me here" What did you pay me for?" Wariness had crept into the meek tone of voice.

It was then he noticed hands hadn't moved much since the buttoning, so he pulled them away, letting them fall to his sides. That was safe. Cyril pondered her question briefly before answering. No point in skirting around it. "I needed companionship."

Helena still looked puzzled. "Yes...and that's why you brought me here" But you don't want it anymore?"

"No, no." Cyril shook his head, scratching at an itch on his face, probably a result of the stubble that had built after two days of not shaving. "Not that kind of companionship. Nothing physical Helena..." That might have been a good deal less embarrassing than this, truth be told. At least it was normal to pick a woman off the street for that. To some at least. "I needed a friend for the night. That's all. Nothing more."

Just a friend. Just to talk.

Cyril Gastone · Date: 2007-07-14 00:13 EST

It took a little persuasion, but Cyril finally managed to convince the fair Helena that his intentions, while not exactly honorable, were hardly dishonorable. They sat and ate together. Sandwiches, as Cyril had discovered his cupboards were nearly bare and he wasn't quite the cook he wished he was. They drank together. Water, as there was no need for either to become intoxicated. But most importantly"

They talked for hours. Though that's not entirely accurate. Helena talked, and Cyril was happy to listen.

Her real job, the one Helena worked during the day that people actually knew about, was at a bar at the docks. She cleaned, washed dishes, things of that nature. It was nothing glamorous but she was the type of girl who took whatever work she could get. She had three brothers, two elders and one younger. The elders were often times out at sea, and the younger was thirteen, not quite working age. Her father had passed not too long ago, leaving just herself, her mother, and youngest brother to fend for themselves.

Helena managed not to spin a sob story, no. She was honest, confiding that the nightly jobs were something she had only recently taken up, and that she had no shame in doing it for her family. She shared her real dreams and ambitions, she joked, laughed, and shared stories of childhood long gone, she even flirted a little.

The meekness peeled away, revealing one of the most vibrant, interesting women Cyril had met in some time.

"You've not told me much about yourself Cyril. I didn't mean to dominate the conversation. I hope I'm not boring you." Wearing a smile now, Helena looked over Cyril curiously, as he had grown rather quiet.

Leaning just enough to set a glass of near empty water to the coffee table in front of them, Cyril reclined a bit on the couch they sat on. "Not at all dear Helena. I've loved listening to you talk. As far as myself, there's not much to say. If I were a more interesting person perhaps I wouldn't need to go out at strange hours of the night and pay someone for their company." He smiled a bit ruefully.

Biting her lower lip, Helena's gaze lowered a little as she mulled something over. Her own glass was set aside before she turned on the couch to face Cyril better. "No, if we had met under different circumstances I would have gladly come here with you. Without pay." Grinning, she reached out to rest her hand on his knee, giving a little squeeze. "You're a very kind man Cyril. You just look for friends in the wrong places."

"Do I?" He moved his hand to settle on hers, giving a gentle pat. "I don't think I do."

Words considered, Helena shifted almost uncomfortably before withdrawing her hand from his. Hand dipped to the pouch that hung on the side of her hip and she withdrew the payment she had received from Cyril earlier and set it on the table. He was about to object but she lifted a hand to still his words. "I can't accept your payment for this." Hazel-brown to hazel-green, she scooted a little closer towards him, thoughtful look on her face. "Tonight was wonderful, your kindness and generosity...there are no words for it."

Coins regarded, Cyril frowned at them before turning back to Helena. "I do not mind if you take them. I gave them to you...they are yours."

She smiled, shaking her head. "I can't. I...benefited from this as well." Hand lifted, she gestured between them. "You're not the only one who falls prey to loneliness Cyril. You're not the only one who desires....companionship." Leaning closer, head tilted to the side faintly. "I'd be lying if I said I did not like you."

Smiling wryly, Cyril shook his head. "You don't know me." Rising to his feet, he offered a hand to Helena to assist her to her feet. "Perhaps there's something in the water after all." An amused look was cast to the empty glasses on the table before he turned back to the lovely lady on his couch.

"Well enough." Corners of Helena's lips twitched up even more at the offered hand. She took it and stood, not yet relinquishing the hold she had. "Would it be so wrong to seek companionship in each other tonight?"

Cyril's brows lifted a bit to that, before gesturing to the couch with his free hand. "Is that not what we just did?"

Helena shook her head. "Not that kind of companionship." Her grip loosened on his hand, but she still didn't let go.

It was his turn to be perplexed then. "Helena...that's not what I brought you here. I.." Am not saying no. Why was he not saying no"

"I know it's not...and that's not who I make the offer as." Hand pulled from his, she raked fingers through her hair, pulling it from her face, revealing those pointed ears. "I gave you the money because that's not what I want this to be. I don't want to be that person now. I want to be me right now. Helena. A person, not some filthy.." Trailing off, Helena pursed lips and shook her head.

"That's not how I see you." Cyril spoke quietly, stepping closer. "I see you as Helena." He managed a smile, awkward at best.

"I know." She very nearly sounded defeated, allowing her gaze to lift to his. "It's the first time in a while anyone has. Maybe. Maybe I'm just being selfish. Taking advantage of this situation. But I like you. There's nothing wrong with that." There was hesitation, but it was brief, before she leaned forward suddenly, pressing her lips to his.

This was the moment Cyril Gastone should have done the, what, honorable thing" He should have pushed her away. He had every intention to as well! A little press to her shoulders, that would have done the trick. But in that period of almost a year of attempted dates, of flirting, he hadn't gone beyond that. Not even to kissing. It was- whatever it was- he didn't want to end it. Not immediately. A few seconds passed, and he finally pushed her away, hands still on her shoulders.

Helena had nothing to say. She looked apologetic. Brows furrowed, her gaze lowered from his.

Do it.

"I do like you as well."

Don't resist any more.

"I suppose it wouldn't be wrong."

Not at all. Just. Give. In.

Cyril's hands drifted from her shoulders to the sides of her neck, touch feather light as fingers curled faintly, his thumbs tracing patterns on the front of her throat. Helena tentatively lifted her eyes to his, smile playing on her lips as she moved a little closer, letting her hands rest on the sides of his waist.

You were always weak.

Cyril Gastone · Date: 2007-07-14 00:42 EST

The glasses had been knocked off the table, now moved a couple feet aside from it's original spot. Carpet was slightly damp from the little water that remained within them. The coins that had been on the table had been scattered about haphazardly, littering the floor along with those glasses.

In the bathroom, Cyril sat upon the closed toilet. Inhaler grasped firmly in hand, he breathed in deep as he dispensed the medicine within to his lungs. Breath held, he repeated. And yet again, as he couldn't quite breath.

Eyes wide, he sat a few more moments, letting his breaths become more controlled, more even. With a scowl he stood up, letting inhaler drop to he floor as he crossed the bathroom. "what have I done- what have you done!?" Words spoken in anger, he grasped at his hair, tugging lightly. "Oh God. Oh God...what have I done?" He murmured a few more times, most words illegible now. He paced a bit, passing the mirror a few times. "Accident. It was an accident."

He stopped abruptly, catching sight of himself in the mirror. He approached it, reaching out to touch the smooth reflective surface that mirrored the scratches on his face. Four in total, barely bleeding, all on the left side of his face, all nearly parallel to one another. Fingertips ran down the mirror and towards his own face then, eyes wide and unblinking. "Accident...all of it. What have you done? I can't fix this. You crossed the line."

"You crossed the line!!" Screaming at the mirror, he balled his hand into a fist and hit it. Not hard enough to shatter glass, but enough to put a few large cracks in it. "You're wrong...you're wrong...you're wrong...she wasn't a whore!" Teeth clenched, Cyril turned abruptly and exited the bathroom.

Anger expression and demeanor faded and flesh paled at the sight in the living room, as if he were taking it all in for the first time. "Oh god." Heavy steps carried him further and further inside, and ever so reluctantly he peered past the table in front of the couch as he moved closer that way, finally dropping to his knees next to Helena's form.

"I'm sorry. It wasn't me." Kneeling down, he scooped her up from the floor, cradling her in his arms. Forefinger and middle finger together, he pressed them to the side of her throat, bruised in violets and yellows.

Same as last time.

No pulse.

Cyril Gastone · Date: 2007-07-14 01:05 EST

"Can't let anyone know. They don't understand it wasn't me, they don't understand it's you. All you."

Murmuring to himself, Cyril frantically searched around his apartment. "Damn you. Damn you. Damn you!" Old quilt retrieved, he moved back towards Helena's body with it. "Oh God...I'm sorry." Features in his face distorted momentarily as he draped the quilt over her, then rolled her about to tuck the ends around her. "Sorry. So sorry..."

Cyril cast a glance towards the window. It still wasn't quite day yet, so he had the dark as his ally just a little longer. "You got me in this mess, how do I fix it?"

Corners of his lips turned down in a frown, he leaned to pick up Helena's body and draped it over his shoulder. Didn't take much effort at all, little as she was. "You abandon me now...your hands aren't so clean." Scowling, he exited his apartment, didn't bother locking the door.

What was he to do now"

There was no time to bury the body, not enough night time. Someone would see. Lucky for Cyril, the streets were empty. The odd hour of twilight where no one stirred was upon him. He was quick to move, panicked almost. Alleys were passed through and unknown streets traveled as he ran. Eventually he found himself right there at the docks where this mess had started. No one was around, but that still didn't mean he didn't have to act quickly.

There was one pier in particular that extended far into the deeper reaches of water. It would have to do. He ran down it, thinking. Thinking as hard as he could. There was something else to be done, yes. Helena set down close to the edge, he turned and looked over several of the small boats around him. Petty theft was nothing to him at this point. Quick as he could, he boarded a boat and located a fairly heavy anchor to claim as his own. Off the boat, he untied it from the pier, not for the boat, but for the rope. If it drifted off, it drifted off. Honestly, he wasn't too concerned about that.

He moved to Helena once more, kneeling down next to her. One end of the rope was tied securely to the anchor, the other end tied around her feet. She'd just float right back up if he didn't secure her. That would defeat the purpose of what he was about to, regretfully, do.

"Oh God...please forgive me. Helena...I'm sorry." Cyril lifted her into his arms, cradling her a moment. He didn't want to do this. He didn't. But there wasn't much choice at this point. Day was just starting to break. People would be out and about soon. With a cry of something akin to pain, he let her drop into the water, let her sink down with the aid of the anchor. Surely not a permanent thing, but for now. For now he needed her hidden away.

As soon as her still wrapped body was out of sight, Cyril turned and ran away as fast as he could. Not until he arrived back at his apartment, did he weep.

There would be no sleep for him that night either.