smoke | mirrors [Lemour]

[анзие (Anz)]

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are the walls to lock you in or others away?

[attr="class","anziescroll"] Every inch of his body calls for sleep, but Leon has to shake away the feeling - just for a little bit longer, or so he tells the aches and pains. He needed to hold onto reality for just a little while longer, even if his vision is fracturing at the edges and a need to recover pulls on his sleeves like a child begging for attention.  A part of him shudders at the imagery, still half caught in her world. His versatility was bent to its limit, and it's taking forever but Leon's finally fucking returning to something that vaguely resembles a clear state of mind. If he dwells on it, Leon would recognize that everything was a little easier to handle - but he doesn't want to. Not now, not yet. The furthest he's gone so far is to recognize that Anarcha Bentley knows what she's doing - both in bed and out. Leon's thumb runs slowly over the clear crystal of his drink. It's not alcoholic - somehow it seemed like a bad idea, considering the state he's already in. Water, however, is suiting him just fine.  His vision blurs as sleep threatens to overtake him then and there. Leon shakes his head, pressing fingers into a bruise Anarcha left on his arm. The pain jolts him back into some degree of awareness, and it's then he notices that Glamour is sitting across from him.  Leon reaches out for his hand without thinking about it. His touch, while one he still hesitates to crave, is soothing in familiarity; a part of Leon hangs his head in the shame of knowing this man so intimately, so differently from the last time they parted. How well does suffering bring two together. "Don't say anything for a sec," Leon murmurs, gripping Glamour's hand tight. He takes a moment to collect his thoughts, order his memories, before saying, "I have something for you." Extracting his hand from his lover's, Leon pulls an envelope from his pocket and slides it across the table. He wonders for a split second if Glamour would think it a love note, and has to bite back a laugh at the thought. He can't imagine giving anyone a love note anymore. The person who has his heart is faceless, or maybe halved. He doesn't know. Taking a deep breath, Leon continues, "It's enough for... whatever you need. Your penthouse. The pool. Your people. Whatever. Just..." Leon pulls back into himself, eyes glazing over with exhaustion. His sentence hangs, waiting, in the air between them, but all he can think about is that once again Leon's started a game of smoke and mirrors, power and domination. Except this time there's no chance of fighting; he's willingly submitted himself to someone else's control, and the thought burns him out more than anything thus far has done. "I need to sleep," he confesses, the lack thereof loosening his tongue like a hard drink. "God, I'm so tired," he breathes. "I'm so fucking tired."

[attr="class","anzieside"] [attr="class","anziehover"] leon krigel victor of the 67th games you're a lion full of power who forgot how to roar