so a man walks into this bar.... no no no... scratch that. a girl walks into an underground club. she's young. 19. exploring avenues. it’s her first time in a place like this. its new. scary. scarier than a normal club. better. all sorts of people here. in feathers, in robes, in neon, in black, in leather, in spandex, in really hot sweaters, in things where certain body parts get chilly. Xerxes' Other Harem. that's the name of this extraordinary place. people say forbidden things happen here. things which set you free. the place where Hedon himself roams happy. scarves... yeah... pretty forbidden. no time for personal idiosyncrasies. a lot of leather here. miss 19 comes in here wanting exactly that. a little variation. not fun though. that was out of her agenda. overrated shit, happiness and love. it took her years, but she came up with the most apt definition for what she thought love was. to love, she felt was to trust. and to trust was to sign a don't ask, don't tell agreement ridden with perpetual, incessant and disappointing curiosity. she just wanted a good feeling. something to alleviate her frustration with all the shit that was going on in her life. dealing with her new identity, trying so hard not to hit the downward spiral. tonight though. she caved. convinced herself that if she did this, things wouldn't seem so fucked up. rest assured this was her last resort (this is for those lousy hypocritical half ass bastards who think what could a 19 year old possibly have to worry about that would make her take such drastic measures. and if you are one of those lame ass idiots stop reading right now). crying, entering copious amounts of "dear diary", even went emo for a while, cutting, blood, the works. drinking, smoking... wow, i she could really use a smoke right now. the cool menthol lifting your innards to a lighter universe and make everything, momentarily, seem okay. but i digress. the point is, she was at the edge of the rope, at the end of her tether, at the... think of some good metaphor, will you. i'm tired and sleep deprived. she decides to do it alone. many who know her know about her situation, none care. not their fault, such level of comprehension was beyond them but somehow, for that very same reason, she was more fucked up than any of them. coffee used to be her reprieve. she gave it up because she had nightmares. 3 days and still going strong. not that strong, though; Xerxes wouldn't have a new customer otherwise. she saw things there. not that she didn't expect to, just that having a grotto inside a basement club was strange, even for this place. and a guy slowly OD-ing himself on chameleon blood isn't quite what she had in mind either. ooh... a guy just shot himself... cool? this night really was turning out be the stuff. she spots a target. all units converge. "hi, i'm miss 19. you are..?" "seriously screwed up, so fuck off!" and the target retreats. two tries later, same shit. brilliant morale boost for miss 19. she knows it. this is the edge of her rope, the end of her tether, (insert your awesome metaphor here). shit. an underworld of all things unsaid. a place which bound you in worse. a place where no matter how fucked up you are, people still need you for their daily fix. and yet. and yet... a little 19 year old bisexual doesn't get acceptance. satan rejects stalin.
an unusual number of people are wearing scarves tonight. still no wind in the grotto. at Xerxes' Other Harem, Hedon lives.
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