eff' that, i'll take fifty!

[Anselm de le Poer]

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-- Anselm must have been designed by the devil for his own entertainment. His self image was unique--it was the kind of thing you got when you crossed teenage pseudo-invincibility with outright skill and wit. Maybe it would be better for him if he could learn to live--less risky misadventures, more appreciation for life in general and so on could do him some good. But because of psychological conditioning (or generally being fucked up, that's for the reader to decide), he'd been trained to believe he couldn't feel alive unless he thought he might die. The rush of adrenaline was what got him going; all of the brushes with danger were a collective "fuck you" to anybody (mortal or fictitious) who ever dared him to exist. Essentially, he knew that taking these drugs was like playing with fire--but without anticipating the burn, there was no point in anything. Bring it on. It was also worth mentioning that he didn't consider the chemicals themselves dangerous--it was concerning other sentient beings finding him in a vulnerable state. In this way, he was also testing himself... pushing the limits to see exactly what he could get away with. What could he get away with now? A dopey smile crossed his face as the petite woman drew herself in closer--it delighted him how easily body language could attract or repel. He seemed to do a lot of the latter, so much so that it surprised him when he could still muster up the "ability" to do the former. He made space for her, and she accepted. In his drugged out mind, it amused him endlessly that he could perform this subtle "mind control," even if it wasn't really. She got him back for it, though. He honestly had not expected her to take the most potent of poisons, especially with such confidence. Had she done this before? Puzzled, he only became more so when she asked him specifically why he was here. Even more perplexing was how she'd managed to hit the nail on the head: this place was unique, because turning your head one way or the other gave you a completely different perspective. The sky seemed normal, except for too far back--then you got the damaged roof. The park seemed normal, until you glanced a little further across the street and noticed the other houses in various stages of decay. Directly behind them, the building almost seemed intact.. but obviously in front of them, there was a gaping hole in the floor. "I used to come here a lot before the fire when everyone started showing up," he finally managed. "I guess it felt isolated here and secret, but I guess you proved me wrong. I thought nobody else came here, but here we are..." So what? His tone suggested that he certainly wasn't complaining. Maybe it was still a safe spot for him--he felt strangely comfortable with her here anyway, and this was evinced by his slouching posture. Ever so subtly, every time he moved or fidgeted, he drew himself closer to her, even if just an inch. She was an enigma, and that was what she stood for. She was safe, but nothing that unknown could fail to be exciting. He didn't even realise he was doing it.

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