Domino Chance (aka) Olympia Delane (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
shotofpuregold) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
dreamlikenewyork2016-11-26 02:44 am
shotofpuregold) wrote in dreamlikenewyork2016-11-26 02:44 am
@ muserevival | 133.1. Lyrics
HERE @ muserevival
"Every new beginning
comes from some other
beginning's end."
• Closing Time, Semisonic
This place felt like the biggest gay nightclub in the entire world all of a sudden. Everywhere Domino looked, she could see gay men in various stages of undress, and various levels of foreplay... but not the one dick she was trying to hunt down. It was some extremely lovely views, she couldn't deny that. Normally, she would be soaking this up, and maybe trying to find a sexy chick to hook up with for the night herself. She couldn't let her focus slip on trying to hunt Spencer down, though. He could well be still on a collision course of self-destruction, and it would kill her if she stopped only to get a horrific phone call that he was had showed up in a New York ER as a DOA.
That was her biggest fear. Spencer was the only family she had, he just happened to be one of the biggest pains in the ass on the face of the earth right now. So much for coming to New York to find his brother and get clean. That had been the plan for a fresh start, but his vow to stay sober didn't last long. When things had gone badly when he finally tracked Mitchell down, the addiction urges were too powerful for him to fight. He just wouldn't slow the fuck down for her to stage an intervention on it. Once he trashed himself, he believed he was invincible. There was nothing more dangerous.
By this point, her nerves were shot. No matter where she looked, she couldn't stop that familiar face - or body - anywhere. It was a sea of bodies, and she was tempted to climb up on the fucking bar to try to get a better look. She was sure she had seen Spencer come in here. Looking at the app on her phone, that damn dot hadn't moved in the whole fifteen minutes she had been here, ducking and weaving through buff gyrating bodies grinding on each other. There were two options: Spencer was either still here, or this was a repeat on what happened on the Fourth of July and Spencer threw his phone over the balcony of a highrise apartment on the Strip belonging to a billionaire cigarette tycoon who hired him for a filthy fuck for the night.
Even if she stood there and tried to scream his name at the top of her lungs, she wouldn't be heard over the Madonna and Cher remixes that all meshed into an aggravating mess of autotune that she couldn't identify the damn songs anyway. She was getting that awful panic engulfing her again. It was all too familiar lately. Spencer was out of control. She didn't know if he was taking the medications he had been prescribed because even if he did seem to show up at the shoebox apartment they found to rent here every few days, covered in hickies and hungover, she couldn't get out of him if he even had the prescriptions for the NRTI treatments he had been given. If he even still had them, because she hadn't been able to get him to a doctor here either.
Finally, she managed to spot the top of his head. "Spencer!" she called out, trying to get his attention. He was flanked by no less than four extremely hot guys and seemed to have his eyes and mouth on vital parts of all their anatomies. She didn't want to know how he was managing that. She caught his attention, but as soon as he spotted her, he gave her one of his wicked smirks, and then flipped her off before he disappeared into the masses again. "Fucking hell, Spencer, you cunt!" she shouted. The bartender who looked like he had a fifteen inch dick in those tight pants seemed to realise she was in desperate need of some booze here. He slammed a shot glass on the bar and sloshed a healthy serving of Tequila into it for her.
As much as she was trying to abstain, this night fucking sucked. This whole decision to move to New York for the time being sucked. She grabbed the shot and threw it back straight, ignoring the offered lemon slice. "Another," she demanded, slamming the glass back onto the bar. She plucked some cash from her cleavage and threw it down beside it. If she had to plan another funeral so soon, it was going to kill her. No matter what it took, she was going to need to keep riding Spencer's ass in hopes to finally get him into rehab, or not only would she have abysmal memories of her brother's casket being lowered into a deep, dark hole... they would be accompanied by memories of her husband's too.
muserevival"Every new beginning
comes from some other
beginning's end."
• Closing Time, Semisonic
This place felt like the biggest gay nightclub in the entire world all of a sudden. Everywhere Domino looked, she could see gay men in various stages of undress, and various levels of foreplay... but not the one dick she was trying to hunt down. It was some extremely lovely views, she couldn't deny that. Normally, she would be soaking this up, and maybe trying to find a sexy chick to hook up with for the night herself. She couldn't let her focus slip on trying to hunt Spencer down, though. He could well be still on a collision course of self-destruction, and it would kill her if she stopped only to get a horrific phone call that he was had showed up in a New York ER as a DOA.
That was her biggest fear. Spencer was the only family she had, he just happened to be one of the biggest pains in the ass on the face of the earth right now. So much for coming to New York to find his brother and get clean. That had been the plan for a fresh start, but his vow to stay sober didn't last long. When things had gone badly when he finally tracked Mitchell down, the addiction urges were too powerful for him to fight. He just wouldn't slow the fuck down for her to stage an intervention on it. Once he trashed himself, he believed he was invincible. There was nothing more dangerous.
By this point, her nerves were shot. No matter where she looked, she couldn't stop that familiar face - or body - anywhere. It was a sea of bodies, and she was tempted to climb up on the fucking bar to try to get a better look. She was sure she had seen Spencer come in here. Looking at the app on her phone, that damn dot hadn't moved in the whole fifteen minutes she had been here, ducking and weaving through buff gyrating bodies grinding on each other. There were two options: Spencer was either still here, or this was a repeat on what happened on the Fourth of July and Spencer threw his phone over the balcony of a highrise apartment on the Strip belonging to a billionaire cigarette tycoon who hired him for a filthy fuck for the night.
Even if she stood there and tried to scream his name at the top of her lungs, she wouldn't be heard over the Madonna and Cher remixes that all meshed into an aggravating mess of autotune that she couldn't identify the damn songs anyway. She was getting that awful panic engulfing her again. It was all too familiar lately. Spencer was out of control. She didn't know if he was taking the medications he had been prescribed because even if he did seem to show up at the shoebox apartment they found to rent here every few days, covered in hickies and hungover, she couldn't get out of him if he even had the prescriptions for the NRTI treatments he had been given. If he even still had them, because she hadn't been able to get him to a doctor here either.
Finally, she managed to spot the top of his head. "Spencer!" she called out, trying to get his attention. He was flanked by no less than four extremely hot guys and seemed to have his eyes and mouth on vital parts of all their anatomies. She didn't want to know how he was managing that. She caught his attention, but as soon as he spotted her, he gave her one of his wicked smirks, and then flipped her off before he disappeared into the masses again. "Fucking hell, Spencer, you cunt!" she shouted. The bartender who looked like he had a fifteen inch dick in those tight pants seemed to realise she was in desperate need of some booze here. He slammed a shot glass on the bar and sloshed a healthy serving of Tequila into it for her.
As much as she was trying to abstain, this night fucking sucked. This whole decision to move to New York for the time being sucked. She grabbed the shot and threw it back straight, ignoring the offered lemon slice. "Another," she demanded, slamming the glass back onto the bar. She plucked some cash from her cleavage and threw it down beside it. If she had to plan another funeral so soon, it was going to kill her. No matter what it took, she was going to need to keep riding Spencer's ass in hopes to finally get him into rehab, or not only would she have abysmal memories of her brother's casket being lowered into a deep, dark hole... they would be accompanied by memories of her husband's too.