Book Two : Aveline. | Slash Fanfiction

chapter four

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FOUR - 1992, Paris.

AVELINE WAS LATE - very late - but it wasn't exactly an uncommon occurrence for her disorganized self, and she had a brand new, striking hair color. A parting in the center of her head with one side the same shade of deep green she'd had before and the other a dark navy blue, her body dressed in jeans and a silk shirt. Though thankfully, Axl was having another one of his 'moments' as Saul had described it and was refusing to leave the hotel room, so her tardiness wasn't at all noticed.

Weather it was Doug's persuasion or Izzy's unusual temper that scampered him out, the band didn't know, but they were just simply glad to be able to deliver their show to the awaiting venue. Of course, the attitude Axl held above their heads didn't particularly sit well with them, but they remained silently protesting against it and allowed him his tantrums like they did every time it happened.

And - in all truth - Izzy was getting seriously fucking fed up with the utter bullshit his friend called professionalism. After fourteen years of struggling to keep his head straight and focus on the necessary, Izzy had a hold of his severe addictions by the throat and was slowly killing them off. Without the drugs to coax his mind, his eyes had opened up and peeled back the cotton wool; everything was so disorderly and inhumane between them all.

After knocking on the hotel door roughly fifty-eight times, Aveline felt her knuckle begin to graze against the wood, and then she decided that perhaps she had visited the incorrect room from what the bell-boy had informed her. But as a tall blonde, puffing on a cigarette and ponging of god knows what, swung open the door and revealed his pissed off expression, she understood that she did - in fact - have the correct room.

From what she could tell, in that first glancing moment of their greeting, Aveline gathered that Duff didn't like her all that much. Though the slurred words exiting his mouth did catch her off guard with their genuineness and honest opinion. "You're hairs dope." He commented, nodding and removing the cigarette from between his lips. "I need to re-do mine." His brown streaks were really growing out and he thought it looked cool at first, but then it started to develop more than the blonde and he decided it was looking more tacky than anything.

"I can help you." Aveline offered, shrugging her shoulders. "I've got some bleach at home."

He smiled crookedly and nodded, which proved a little too hard for his incapability to balance, as he tumbled into the wall with a soft curse. "Fuck," He grunted, standing back up straight and giggling at her concerned frown. Duff was fine, he was always fine. "Yeah, that'd be sweet, man." He paused. "Totally." He then mumbled, gesturing for the girl with the 'dope' hair to enter their temporary accommodation, trailing behind her short figure.

Aveline podded into the messy room, the three beds all unmade and thrown together with what she could only make out to be porn magazines, condom wrappers and bottles. Many, many, bottles. But it didn't immensely phase her as she wandered on by the piles, in search for the familiar head of curls. Duff had dropped himself down on his own mattress - the one with too many vodka bottles to count - with a large huff and sigh, humming something to himself quietly.

She knocked on the bathroom door, feeling her knuckles form a slight sting as she did so, and gained the distinctive grunt of Saul in response. "It's Aveline." She called out, peaking her head around the wood as it creaked open slightly.

"Oh, hey, Leanie." He smiled, weakly, slumped against the toilet. He had his hair restrained in a low ponytail, curtained off from his face as he'd previously continuously thrown up whatever his body could regurgitate, the swelling within his stomach surfacing throughout his system and breading the pain like an infamous disease. She tilted her head to the side in slight confusion, gently closing the door behind her as she walked over and crouched down before his sprawled out legs, pressing the back of her hand against his forehead and cheeks. They were so clammy yet cold and warm in certain areas that it rose a slight sigh to her lips; he was unbelievably sick.