Dorm Roof, Sunday Afternoon
Dante perched his elbow on a divider at the edge of the roof, cigarette dangling between his fingers. He eyed the stretch of cheese right past the town skyline. Everything smelled like cheese, which was kind of disgusting, but he could think of a few worse smells that could be hanging in the air right now. So whatever.
Times had been pretty good lately, being a pony aside. On one hand, that was a good thing. On the other, it meant he was thinking; something he'd never really taken the time for before. Had the time for before. And it was screwing with him something good. Made it harder, for one, to keep clinging on to old anger. And, y'know-- maybe keeping it up was a bad thing for him anyway...
There he went again. Thinking. He'd spent so much time running or ready to run, his whole life this mishmash of partying and violence, and now that the latter was gone and the former had settled down into something of a shadow of itself because of it, he barely knew what to do with himself. That was a bad thing. The violence wasn't supposed to be all that he was. It should be a relief to find out that it wasn't.
He sighed and held up the unlit cigarette. Studied it.
Kathy'd always given him a ton of shit about the smoking. If he was completely honest with himself, his heart wasn't in it anymore either. Of all his vices, it felt the most pointless. When he lived hard, he tried to live like a rock song: fast, head to the wall, just going for it. Not like smoking. When he lived slow... he just wanted to hang out in bed, shoot the shit with somebody - Alana, Anders, Ada, Isabela, fuck, even Ringo, whoever - and while Kathy had always been the most vehement about getting him to drop the cigarettes, it didn't help him much there, either.
"Screw it," he said.
He chucked the cigarette over the edge of the roof, watched it fall.
"Fine, Kathy. You win."
About the smoking, sure.
Maybe about the anger, too.
He felt a different emotion kindling in his chest at the thought of it, aching to jump upwards to his face, but that, he shut down. No. Not for her. Not for anybody.
[[ open! ]]
Times had been pretty good lately, being a pony aside. On one hand, that was a good thing. On the other, it meant he was thinking; something he'd never really taken the time for before. Had the time for before. And it was screwing with him something good. Made it harder, for one, to keep clinging on to old anger. And, y'know-- maybe keeping it up was a bad thing for him anyway...
There he went again. Thinking. He'd spent so much time running or ready to run, his whole life this mishmash of partying and violence, and now that the latter was gone and the former had settled down into something of a shadow of itself because of it, he barely knew what to do with himself. That was a bad thing. The violence wasn't supposed to be all that he was. It should be a relief to find out that it wasn't.
He sighed and held up the unlit cigarette. Studied it.
Kathy'd always given him a ton of shit about the smoking. If he was completely honest with himself, his heart wasn't in it anymore either. Of all his vices, it felt the most pointless. When he lived hard, he tried to live like a rock song: fast, head to the wall, just going for it. Not like smoking. When he lived slow... he just wanted to hang out in bed, shoot the shit with somebody - Alana, Anders, Ada, Isabela, fuck, even Ringo, whoever - and while Kathy had always been the most vehement about getting him to drop the cigarettes, it didn't help him much there, either.
"Screw it," he said.
He chucked the cigarette over the edge of the roof, watched it fall.
"Fine, Kathy. You win."
About the smoking, sure.
Maybe about the anger, too.
He felt a different emotion kindling in his chest at the thought of it, aching to jump upwards to his face, but that, he shut down. No. Not for her. Not for anybody.
[[ open! ]]