The Complex Art of Cutting In Line

The sun began to rise over the city of Rose Garden. The early morning, late night partying, night-life of the city began to die down. Fluffy, voluminous clouds waft over the horizon, painted with a wonderful plethora of pinks, yellows, and purples. He was already up, unlike his friend, barhopping with a few friends. The night was... messy. He got hopelessly drunk, so much so that he’s still a little bit drunk. Don’t even worry about the party drugs. It had been awhile since he had been in the city and he indulged a little bit too much. He hadn’t slept but whatever he was on was certainly keeping him awake. He still looks cute though. Must be his new moisturizer.

He somehow ended up in the guild hall, trying to avoid his oncoming hangover by drinking copious amounts of water. He had just downed his first pitcher when Esialeth came in and said, something... Passport? He thought he already has one... No, it expired. He should go get a new one... He roughly combed his hand through his hair, which was down, and pulled—ow, he just pulled out a hair—and put it into a bun. Which was messy. He was still wearing his party clothes, a white mesh ‘sweater’ over a skin-tight mid-toned blue sports undershirt. And a pair of jeans so ripped that if he passed by a doorknob too confidently, they would catch probably be ripped apart. It was hot, so he dressed hot. He cupped his forehead and slid out from the table he was sitting at. Barely waiting for her to change, he starts to walk onto the street hopefully trailed by Esialeth. Where were the handing out the passports? The train station? (288/500)

Confused, he follows Esialeth into her room. Something that would make him sober. But, he didn’t want that... It masks the pain. Ugh. He looks at his hands, which were shaking slightly. It’s fine. Totally fine. No one would notice. Following Esialeth into their temporary residence, a costly suite at the Silver Moon Inn, he falls onto a chaise chair in the corner of the room. He spots a bottle of Jack underneath his bed, which has been made by the wait staff recently. He somehow focused his eyes. Empty. Damn.

He brings his legs up to his chest and hugs them. Esialeth always has nurtured a talent for alchemy and potion-making... needless to say, he did all the cooking, naturally at home in the kitchen, cleaning up after Esialeth’s potent and smelly chemicals to make her potions. He wonders where she even finds the stuff. The room didn’t have a kitchen but she set up a makeshift chemistry station on a table next to a holo-lacrima television. There was a makeshift range made out of a lighter and a spoon attached to an apparatus that held it up. Ironic. (478/500)

But it does produce dopamine. The small shots of instant gratification breathe life into him. He thinks about the good time he has partying. Was it even a good time. Regret kicks in. He downs the green potion. Ew. Tastes like bitter apple and rotten cream soda. To each their own. Then the purple potion. Tastes like cough syrup. The aftertaste is minty.

He sighs as the symptoms of his late night pass through his system. He rushes to the bathroom and pees for at least a minute. Detox potions tend to do this. He pulls himself together and steps outside. The sun was high in the sky now. The line was longer than ever, passing by the guild hall even through the docks were a couple blocks away. Wonderful. People were fighting on the street, bolts of magic zipping through the sky. He turns and begins to walk to the front of the line.

(>500/500)

He zoned out. This conversation was not for him right now. Without the alcohol and drugs in his system he just felt empty. Not even sad. Just bored. He dug around his pockets for anything. His finger catches on some lint and he pulls it out and toys with it. “You’ve barely even seen them. How would you know,” he turns his head away. The line wasn’t moving. He considered coming back tomorrow or the weekend. As they waited, he zones out of focus, climbing the mountain that is his imagination. Or he is just staring at the cobblestone beneath his. Who knows. But before long, the line shortens and he and Esialeth are a few people away from the front of the line. He lets her take over the conversation. She does seem to like it.

(>500/500)