your love is fake / private for now

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    [align=center][fancypost bgcolor=;border:0;width:450px;text-align:justify;font-size:10pt]Dusk liked to think he had it all together - or at least like, kind of together, you know? But then he went out and did things like this and woke up the next morning with a serious headache and a few new bruises and realized the truth of the matter. Oh well. In a life so pointless, it was not as if there was anything else to do besides vent your petty rage against an ex-home that likely had forgotten your existence anyhow.


    Vision somewhat blurred, Duskmire found himself on WindClan territory with a near stranger. He wasn't fully sure how he'd met up with Jemma or why arson was the first fun activity they could think of, but here they were. His breath reeked of alcohol, a truly unfortunate habit he had developed, and his footsteps were clumsy and ill-placed. Black smoke billowed around them.


    "Hey, watch... watch this!" the BloodClanner slurred, taking a step back and furrowing his brow in concentration. With a noise like a sneeze, he lauched a fireball through the air, which promptly fell to the grass and began to hungrily devour it. Staring at his work in satisfaction, the cream tabby glanced sideways to the new friend he had brought along, seeking approval for his fiery work. The fire they'd been setting was small thus far, but at this rate, it would undoubtedly spiral out of control. This was what he did now, he supposed. Got drunk and set fires. What a grand direction his life was taking.


    info | updated 11/4

    [fancypost borderwidth=0px; text-align: justify]If it made Dusk feel any better, Jemma's memory of the last few hours was nothing but space in her head as well. She didn't think she'd ever gotten blackout drunk in her entire life until now. People who knew her knew she could hold her liquor, or at the very least be smart enough to know how much to let into her system to tolerate it with that stubbornness of hers. But tonight, she'd come out to stretch her legs. She'd been holed up in the Elite for over a month doing nothing but twiddling her thumbs. Her situation with Sola was collecting dust. She wasn't going to wait for her anymore. Tonight, she was reckless with the freedom she was being given, letting it fall over her like cold water. It was all thanks to the boy that she was helping out now, being his accomplice as he set fire to a clan she'd never even stepped foot in until now. She was the spike in his blood that made him want to do it.


    Her laugh was different every time she heard it, but it was the first time Dusk was hearing it, so she hoped it could stay that way. It sounded better, and definitely felt better. It felt... liberating. She gave herself a second to breathe, the wildfire briefly tasting like cigarette smoke to her. She neared him, watching his work through whiskey-colored eyes, which almost looked charcoal black under the starless sky. She turned to him, pouting slightly, an action she would never take to doing sober. Drunk, she had an excuse.


    "I wish I could do shit like that," she mumbled. "All I can do is this." She lifted a paw and slammed it back against the ground, sending a tremor that knocked off a good amount of foliage and branches from the nearby willows and heathers, feeding the flames Dusk had manufactured. It also announced their entrance. She met his eyes with her dark ones and grinned weakly at him. "We should've brought Molotovs."