09-17-2018, 11:02 PM
Beto found himself standing, as if ready to leave. Curious. The spectacle over, energy dispersed among the crowd, it was as if someone had switched the lights on. He had seen what he had wanted to see.
His eyes roamed the environs, a gaudy sea with the occasional buoy of sedate bobbing gently among the waves. Himself one of them, he knew. Suddenly he was tired. The show had pulled him along and the pop of the bubble left little in him now.
Just as he turned to leave, a commotion caught his attention. Two men, twins peacocking in black and white, strode out into the crowd. After a moment, the one in white veered off after a few words. The man in black though...Beto found himself staring.
Then, as now, clearly the performer drew attention and interest. Without his costume and make-up (it had been make-up, hadn't it? The similarity to Brandon one moment, dissimilarity the next, until the end, the face revealed again something new.) he still commanded attention.
The man was quite good looking, though he himself felt no physical attraction. Men or women held little appeal in that way. Beto found himself studying the tattoo, the coiled serpent, fangs visible, ready to plunge into his chest. He rather enjoyed tattoos, sporting full sleeves himself, as well as others scattered all over his body, though, of course, they were rarely seen by anyone else.
For him, the pain had become...addictive. In those moments, Beto felt...almost human, as euphoria- a simple endorphin release, he knew- flooded him. Even now, he itched to go under the needle again. It always grounded him.
In others, they were windows into their soul. Well, they could be. He had often wondered what his choices would reveal to people. Perhaps that was why few saw them. Privacy and solitude were shields from prying eyes. Secrets did not need to be learned.
The man went to the bar and without a second thought, Beto went after him. He was sure others would soon join. Beto merely wanted to speak to him a moment. Competing for attention was not a thing he did.
He slid up to the bar, hand still holding his red. Eyes hooded with shadow, a hint of a smile on his face. "A courageous display, my friend. If this is not what you do for a living, it should be. There are far too many people in the world who deserve a bit of skewering."
His eyes roamed the environs, a gaudy sea with the occasional buoy of sedate bobbing gently among the waves. Himself one of them, he knew. Suddenly he was tired. The show had pulled him along and the pop of the bubble left little in him now.
Just as he turned to leave, a commotion caught his attention. Two men, twins peacocking in black and white, strode out into the crowd. After a moment, the one in white veered off after a few words. The man in black though...Beto found himself staring.
Then, as now, clearly the performer drew attention and interest. Without his costume and make-up (it had been make-up, hadn't it? The similarity to Brandon one moment, dissimilarity the next, until the end, the face revealed again something new.) he still commanded attention.
The man was quite good looking, though he himself felt no physical attraction. Men or women held little appeal in that way. Beto found himself studying the tattoo, the coiled serpent, fangs visible, ready to plunge into his chest. He rather enjoyed tattoos, sporting full sleeves himself, as well as others scattered all over his body, though, of course, they were rarely seen by anyone else.
For him, the pain had become...addictive. In those moments, Beto felt...almost human, as euphoria- a simple endorphin release, he knew- flooded him. Even now, he itched to go under the needle again. It always grounded him.
In others, they were windows into their soul. Well, they could be. He had often wondered what his choices would reveal to people. Perhaps that was why few saw them. Privacy and solitude were shields from prying eyes. Secrets did not need to be learned.
The man went to the bar and without a second thought, Beto went after him. He was sure others would soon join. Beto merely wanted to speak to him a moment. Competing for attention was not a thing he did.
He slid up to the bar, hand still holding his red. Eyes hooded with shadow, a hint of a smile on his face. "A courageous display, my friend. If this is not what you do for a living, it should be. There are far too many people in the world who deserve a bit of skewering."