Nearly Witches //Ryden // DISCONTINUED

Drag Melody

The Mona Lisa was hopping tonight.

And not hopping as in bouncing or jumping- well yes, you could say jumping and bouncing as slang but not literally- but as in thriving. It was practically breathing, the bass exploding beyond the walls of the old, retro as in a throwback to the Victorian era-style building. Lights shown out of all the windows, flickering and shifting in colors in time to the beat. It was a beautiful symphony and yet a burlesque with magnificence Brendon envied. He wished, longed for the abilities of the Mona Lisa; It enthralled all in so, no one asked about what went on inside. People often asked about what went on inside of Brendon. He'd rather keep that part to himself and keep grinding on some stranger while drunk beyond belief.

Tonight of all nights was insignificant. Just another Friday night, where Brendon's only plan was to go to the Mona Lisa, pick up a guy or a chick or anyone, really, and get another fix. That was all his routine usually was: one night stands, sweet memories with intoxicants even sweeter and eardrum-shattering bass in the music they blared at the Mona Lisa. It was his favorite routine of all, if he was being terribly honest. There was just some comfort in losing himself in a party. There was the thrill of everyone around him, the sweet adrenaline of other's energy flowing into his veins. He wasn't alone in his hyperactivity for once and it was comforting in a way. Everything about his club-filled lifestyle was comforting to him, regardless of how unhealthy or unsafe.

Tonight was no exception to his usual plans. He had three things on his agenda: Pick up someone cute, dance the night away and do hard drugs. Well maybe not hard drugs. He didn't consider ecstasy a hard drug. It was exactly like the name said- it brought sheer bliss, a time-stopping masterpiece of watermelon giggles and smoky daydreams. It was like breathing in your partner's scent off their clothes, sighing contently as you recognize them, and know its home. Yet at the same time, it was standing in the middle of a mosh pit at a metal concert, not getting touched by anyone else but having more fun than you could imagine watching the raw display of anger, aggression, brutality, and power. It was incredible, and it was no wonder it was Brendon's favorite club drug. Sure, he'd smoked plenty of weed, snorted a few lines here and there and even done acid, but none of those compared to this high. This high was precious, valuable, beautiful. More beautiful than anyone he'd ever seen in his life. No one's eyes compared to his own when he looked in the mirror, irises the size of the moon as the afternoon chimed nine. No one's lips felt that dry and cracked yet velvety soft after his own drool had graced them, visions tempting him that he couldn't quite reach. He wouldn't trade any of these things for the world, no matter how odd they seemed. Ecstasy was his, well, ecstasy, and although he would never admit it, he loved this drug even more than he loved himself.

Man. He wasn't even in the club yet and he was thinking about drugs.

He rounded the corner, adjusting his nerdy yet attractive white dress shirt, bowtie and suspenders, and flashing a group of ladies a smile. He normally would've ran a hand through his hair in a flirty yet sexy manner, but he'd remembered to put a little gel in it tonight. Gel was probably very bad for his hair, but, fuck, when did he care about what was good for him?

He was getting sidetracked already. Focus, Brendon. Shut the fuck up, ADHD.

He strolled right up to the front door, giving the bouncer a little kiss on the cheek and walking right in as noises of frustration rose from the crowd. Brendon had sucked that guys dick once, and connected the bouncer with his dealer, and now, he got access whenever he wanted. He frequented this club as part of his beloved routine, and everyone there knew. The bartenders winked at him, the manager gave him a little wave and his fellow club-devotees waved him over to come dance. They were all devoted to Los Angeles; The city of angels, and this club was for the ones who wore wings of steel and copper.