|
|
Post by Dante on Dec 12, 2009 21:32:02 GMT -8
The wind howled fiercely outside, rattling the windowpane, as though the elements were trying to reach him, trying to douse the flame that he was. Looking out, there was nothing but white as snow continued to fall, small flurries flowing around the window, before sticking to something. It had been snowing ever since he had gotten back yesterday, and needless to say, he was sick of it already. The frozen water that was snow happened to be cold, and if there was one thing he disliked almost as much as he liked clowns, it was the cold. Dark red eyes narrowing dangerously at the snow, Dante pretty much growled as he turned away, captive to his own room. It was too wet to ride, and therefore too wet to do anything. At the moment, an injury wasn’t something he wanted; no matter how badly he wanted, no needed, to clear his head. Memories he didn’t know he had danced across his eyes when he blinked, but they were mere fragments of the whole thing, little bits he had found amusing for some reason or another. The whole memory, or what he had of it, only came when he was asleep, casting away nights of nothing but darkness as though they had been nothing more than a feather.
Turning away from the frost covered window, Dante yanked the dark colored blinds shut; everything in his room was dark toned, and either black or red, with grey accent colors. Stopping, Dante ran a tightly gloved finger down the grey accent color, and couldn’t help wonder who had been in charge when he had made that choice. Back before, he had simply thought himself not to be the only in his head no, but the only one who had any type of control, the only one who could be on the surface. Last night his whole world had been rocked, and thrown off what he had thought it was.
D’Noir.
Gloved hand clenching into a fist, there was a flash of white as a very dark grin flickered across Dante’s face, although he was rigid in his anger. That blonde haired blue eyed one who had raised him had caused all of this, and probably not without help of the greasy black haired one called Ren. They were his parents, but in truth, the only one who Dante considered family was Akito, the only one who had ever really shown him any kindness during his life at the main house.
Hand unclenching, Dante shook his head softly, black streaked red hair falling into his eyes, contrasting with his pale skin.
Akito…
It was strange, not just being related with her, but with being on friendly terms with the god. The cat, a monster, befriending the god, as well as being siblings with it, it didn’t seem right. Not to mention that they did look alike, he could see that much now. Although she was much shorter then he was, and he was lean and muscular by choice not by force, one could see the comparisons between the two. How could he have missed it before? Sighing, a soft sound in the otherwise silent room, Dante knew that he could pretty much think circles around himself, and he still wouldn’t understand anything. Maybe he would have, if he had been able to keep his memory, but that would have been a different course of life. He would be living in the main house still, and probably be a totally different being; he didn’t dare call himself a person. Although, he had to admit, he doubted the fact he might be lighter than he was; some things just never changed with him.
Downstairs, the shutting of the door drew him back to window, and he watched as someone went out to play in the snow, and another memory flashed across his vision. Gritting his teeth, Dante turned away, wondering if there was ever going to be anything that didn’t cause a flashback? At least, for the most part, his headaches had gone away. Smirking, Dante noted that the blocks hadn’t been as strong as had thought to be after all, he hadn’t missed the shocked expression on D’Noir’s face when he had figured out that one set had been broken already. And here he was, chasing circles around his mind again, why must everything revolve around last night? Just thinking about what happened to him, not the breaking of the memory block but the other thing, it made him pale even more so, dark shadows under his eyes more prominent than usual, or maybe they were just darker, it was hard to tell. Raising his head, Dante looked around his room, and wondered how to bear the silence that was rapidly being filled with memories, which seemed to have their own weight on his mind. Hilarious, how his last concern had been finals for the first semester, not too long ago.
Gently rubbing a hand over his face, Dante went over to his computer, feet silent against the rich hardwood flooring. The computer itself was small, black, but with an amazing internet speed as well as a memory base. Without much else to do, Dante flipped open Photoshop, and grabbed his tablet. Traditional art was what he tended to be known for, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t do digital just as well, he just didn’t care for it all too much. Without a clear idea of what he was going to draw, Dante set the pen down, and just let his mind direct his fingers.
Drawing had always been the best way to past time, and after a few hours, Dante sat back, finally done. What he had was a picture of a vague face; it had been colored and smudged in such a way that it was more of a background than anything else, and two eyes. One was his own, dark red, narrowed slightly, with a somewhat distant expression, one he knew all too well. The other was a red so bright it seemed to burn on the ultra bright monitor, but there was no eye white; that was an even lighter red then the eye itself. It had a cruel expression, mixed with amusement that was no doubt darker then he could even ponder. Grey framed that eye, and red framed his own. It was all too obvious what he had drawn; himself. Or rather, Inferno and himself he supposed, if you wanted to call the other a name. A touch of amusement hit him there as he put the names together; Dante’s Inferno, pretty much hell.
” Lasciate ogne speranza, voi ch'intrate" Dante muttered to himself, the saying being well known. He was one of many languages though, who knows, maybe he did know Latin. He didn’t know himself anymore, it was possible.
[/blockquote] |
|
