Beards and Bitemarks (Vian, Open)

[Eddie Wilson]

It was a grey, uninspiring morning and Eddie along with the other patients had been herded off to partace their first meal of the day. Today said meal was consisting of a sort of tasteless, odorless gruel, possibly stuffed with nourishment as well as one or two slices of bread with cheese. He was sitting at his usual table in the cafeteria, on his usual chair along with his usual company, a young rather awkward man known as Vian. Most people would probably consider Vian to be boring at best and disturbing at worst, but Eddie actually liked the guy. Partly because the guy didn't seem to have any expectations on him whilst they spent time together, but seemed content with sitting around, making small-talk, occasionally going on a long-winded rant about something or other. He was consistent and predictable, wich made him one of the more comfortable people to be around.

He liked the routine of breakfast, and he liked how well he had gotten to know his little corner of the caffeteria. He liked the barred window wich allowed him to gaze upon the inspiring view whilst eating and he even liked the bitemarks at the upper right corner of the window-frame. Some people said it was one of the scary high-profile cannibals that were responsible for the bitemarks, although he couldn't really remember wich one. He was rather sure it wasn't the one with the funky beard, though. He didn't know his name, but he sort of liked him because of the beard. It made him look like a villain from some nineties biker-gangster-movie. He knew it was wrong to judge people because of their beards or lack thereof, but he was only human, and he knew what he liked. If it was okay to judge people because of attractiveness, he could damn right judge them on account of their beards too!

"Hey Vian, you think its right to judge a man on account of his beard?" Eddie asked between sips of orange-juice. His slow, somewhat sluggish deep voice surprisingly thoughtfull. In Eddies world these kind of questions where philosophy of the deepest sort. He was surprised that Aristotle hadn't brought it up at some point, especially since the old, greek geezer had apprantly had quite a kick-ass beard himself.

"I mean, people say you ain't supposed to judge people because of the colour of their skin, but its okay to judge them on account of their clothing. I think beards fall somewhere between." The gargantuan man continued, thoughtfully scratching his massive, scruffy chin with an equally massive hand. In his mind it was a thoughtfull gesture, but to most people he probably looked like an ogre trying to decide wether he had the patience to cook the princess or eat her raw.
"What do you think?" He finally asked. His attention returning to the food for a while. He really wished they could spice up the gruel a bit, and allow you extra sandwiches if you wanted them. Two sandwiches and gruel were hardly enough food for a big man like him! Luckily, you were allowed supposedly unlimited servings of gruel, but just like most things in life, the 'unlimited' servings were not really unlimited. Eddie had more than once been denied more gruel after his fourth bowl, so he had simply stopped asked for more bowl no.3 . It simply wasn't worth the dissapointment he felt when his request was denied by the cruel orderly.

[Vian Vega Aves]

[atrb=border, 0, true][atrb=style, border-left: #ab0125 10px solid; border-right: #ab0125 10px solid; border-top: #ab0125 10px solid; border-bottom: #ab0125 10px solid; background: #d8d8d8; padding-top: 16px; padding-right: 10px; padding-left: 10px; padding-bottom: 12px; -moz-border-radius: 10px; width: 368px;] heaven ablaze in our eyes we’re standing still in time the blood on our hands is wine we Mundane rituals; Vian Vega was used to it. He was used to waking up at random times in the night screaming, pulling the blankets off and throwing a fit. He was used to clawing at his skin as bugs creeped underneath, pulling his skin and twisting it, making the orderlies and doctors put him in a strait jacket, one that was tighter than need be. He was sure there was a jacket with his specific name on it, just because of how often he had used it. But then again, who really knew? He was just a crazy twenty one year old person, suffering in the worst way after losing their biggest lifeline, and his mum knew that. She had wrote him a long letter, followed standard Asylum Rituals as to not give any clues that’d spark him off or even set off any of his strange triggers – and he had gotten it, already opened, and settled on his bed, reading. She was going to visit tomorrow – and considering it was roughly nine at night when Vian was hearded into his bedroom to take very strong sedative medicines, he was somehow automatically put into a fairly good mood. He handed his letter to Jessie and proceeded to take the cup of medicines from the nurse, who looked at him sternly. He looked over at Jessie who saw the handwriting, “Mum coming?” he questioned, and Vian nodded excitedly. He knew Jessie loved his mum just as much as Vian loved her. She was a sweet lady who always visited weekly; sometimes biweekly, depending on the month; but, either way, she always came. Always asked how he was, and told him how much she missed him and Volya. He wasn’t stupid – he knew his brother was dead, but he’d come to terms with seeing the hallucinations and that those weren’t real, even though it felt real. But he still let it go. And then, of course, there were his delusions, which completely seemed more realistic than his hallucinations of his dead brother. He was one crazy fellow, and he had tried to get better, and he was, slowly and surly. Mum would sit with him and just talk for a few hours or so, just let him rest his head against her lap, her fingers stroking through his soft, dark hair, his mouth going on as he talked and rambled. He really loved his mom, and with the happiest thoughts in the world, he popped the pills, swallowed them down and laid in bed, going to sleep. The morning came, and Vian awoke and got dressed in ligh blue scrubs – blue was his mum’s favourite colour – and plus, he liked wearing blue. It made his already light eyes stand out more than normal, and that made him feel even more handsome. He smiled brightly as Jessie walked in, greeting him alongside a nurse who gave him his medication – which he took without any damn hesitation – and proceeded to walk alongside Jessie, talking about how excited he was his mum was coming. Once and a while, Vian would catch glimpses of his brother, but for the time being, he was as sane as any non-admitted patient to Lucid Manor. For the time being, he was as normal as normal could be. The two walked through the halls to the cafeteria where Vian took a few pieces of toast and a few things of fruit – like an apple and an orange – and sat at the usual table he was accustomed to sitting at, with an old mental asylum friend, Eddie Wilson. The man was bigger than he was, but that didn’t stop Vian. He wasn’t afraid of the man, even if he had the occasional blow up – after all, Vian has multiple blow ups on a multi-leveled scale, and just seemingly lose it, but besides that, Vian could randomly ramble and Eddie would reply, even if he wasn’t paying attention. He had the habit of just rambling about whatever came to his mind, sometimes it was to himself, towards others or to his brother, who now sat crisscrossed on the table, one arm’s elbow digging into his flesh of his thigh as he sat, head propped on the palm of the hand that was resting against the thigh. Vian blinked at him a few times, a smile brightening his day even more as he mumbled to himself as Eddie sat down and began to eat. They were moderately quiet against the loud of the room of plastic cutlery against paper and plastic plates, and Vian mumbled quite a bit to himself, talking to his brother more so than anything. He blinked when Eddie finally broke the silence, asking something about judging someone on their… beard? Vian blinked, tilting his head a little as Eddie continued to talk, saying something about not judging someone based off their skin, but off their clothes and whatever, before asking what he thought. He thought about it for a long minute before he shrugged, “I think however someone wants to portray themselves is fine, and that others shouldn’t judge them for it. I mean, Volya and I got tattoos because we wanted to stand out. We ended up getting matching ones, right down to the ones on our wrists. I mean, does that make me strange because I like them? It was Volya’s idea to get them, said something about being different. Or, maybe, you know, getting your face pierced. Some people like that – honestly, I find it nasty, but I don’t judge someone based off of that…” he rambled on, musing. He could go on for a while, honestly, but he stopped, turning just a gentle shade of red, “Sorry. Didn’t mean to ramble on like I normally do,” he stated, quietly, going to nibbling on another piece of toast he had gotten. offer as sacrifice come on and show them your love rip out the wings of a butterfly tag: Eddie words: 971 lyrics: Wings of a Butterfly - HIM

[Eddie Wilson]

Eddie nodded thoughtfully as the smaller man preached tolerance for people wanting to express themselves by looking weird with tattoos and similar things. However, Eddie could not really equate a manly, rugged beard with a silly tattoo. He could not ignore the fact that the man made a fair point nonetheless. At least he did make a fair point before he slipped up into yet another ramble concerning his brother Volya. Eddie wasn't all that surprised, since this was how it usually went down. Vian always managed to steer conversation towards his brothers and occasionally his mother. Eddie was rather fond of this strange habit, partly because it was predictable and constant, and Eddie was a man who enjoyed his constancy and partly because he had made it a little game to guess what "steps" in a conversation that his friends would take to steer it towards his brother.

The gigantic man had scratched his fuzzy cheek as he had listened to the man speak, and he kept scratching it thoughtfully for a while after the man had spoken. Beneath his heavy brow, his little beading eyes moved across the cafeteria, observing who were there and accounted for at the present. The first ones he noticed were a pair of not-so-discreet security-goons that kept a peeled eye on the pair at the table, in case any of them would suddenly decide lash out violently and smash something or someone. It was the light of the high-profile to be watched nearly everyone. "Beards and tattoos ain't really the same things, although you've got a fair point I s'pose." He finally said with a slight, crooked smile on his lips.

He couldn't help but to think about how strange the pair would look to others as they sat there in their matching blue scrubs. They probably looked like a pair of comic relief people out of a movie. One of them ridiculously huge, more than twice the size of his diminutive counterpart. he didn't like that. People had no right to laugh at them for being funny-looking. He focused on his food instead and quickly devoured one of the two sandwiches he had claimed earlier. "I've been thinking about getting a beard. Like that funky cannibal guy. You know, the one that ate a bunch of people. His beard is cool" The man rambled on, his deep voice slightly muffled by the bread in his mouth

[Vian Vega Aves]

[atrb=border, 0, true][atrb=style, border-left: #ab0125 10px solid; border-right: #ab0125 10px solid; border-top: #ab0125 10px solid; border-bottom: #ab0125 10px solid; background: #d8d8d8; padding-top: 16px; padding-right: 10px; padding-left: 10px; padding-bottom: 12px; -moz-border-radius: 10px; width: 368px;] heaven ablaze in our eyes we’re standing still in time the blood on our hands is wine we Vian Vega couldn’t help but pick a bit at his food, shutting up after he went on a ramble about his brother. It was always a bad habit for him to go on about Volya, and he knew that. He probably figured a good amount of people would get irritated at him about it, but honestly? He didn’t particularly care all that much. He thought about it for a long moment, wondering how many people really did get irritated when he went on his rants about his brother, but he pushed those away and gave a shrug at his own thoughts, forcing himself to focus on what Eddie was saying. He tilted his head as he said that the two compared weren’t really the same, and Vian sighed heavily, shaking his head a little, “Well, actually they are. I mean, they’re both imperfections that are placed upon someone to make them stand out, and while one is permanent, unless you have those classy stick on ones that wear off in a few hours, then they’re both relevant to each other. I think that it’s a matter of opinion and personal choice, really. I mean… Volya had a beard for a while. ‘Til I told him he looked like a sleazebag ‘cause honestly he did. We’re too skinny – and to make it worse, imagine me with a beard. It’s a silly thought, ain’t it?” he couldn’t help but laugh himself, shaking his head as his mind wandered off to that thought. He munched at his food quietly as did Eddie, and the two sat in start quietness for a long moment before Eddie piped up and said that he was thinking of getting a beard like the cool “cannibal guy” that roamed the manor’s halls. Vian studied him for a long moment, lost in thought before he nodded, “I think it’ll look good on you. I mean, you have the face for it. I don’t think skinny people like me should be able to have a bushy beard. A mustache maybe, but the heavier builds work better with a beard,” he nodded. He wasn’t trying to say anything rude about Eddie’s structure of bones, mass and body type, but it was the true fact of his opinion – the more body you had, be it the broad shoulders or the heavier tummy, the better one would look with a beard. He was a stick, and he knew his brother was, too, and he didn’t look good with a beard and Vian was planning on never trying it himself. offer as sacrifice come on and show them your love rip out the wings of a butterfly tag: Eddie words: 422 lyrics: Wings of a Butterfly - HIM