As much as he wanted to disappear into the bottomless abyss of nothingness, Theo couldn't. He didn't have the courage nor the gall to, especially knowing that he'd still be leaving behind family. His mother, fellow drug addicted brother, and a sister who -- unabashedly -- left them behind to live the high life in Cancun. The man couldn't blame her, though. It was better than living a meaningless life with a menial job that could barely keep her afloat; she did what she could for herself, and Theo was the same. Granted, they were two completely different lives lived, but fulfilling in their own right -- that's what Theo liked to convince himself, at least. He didn't anticipate for life to go this way, though; daydreaming about the day he'd eventually get clean, end up being a real functioning member of society, but life wouldn't always go the way you want it.
Thick skin.
Theo liked to think that he had it; what with his multiple run-ins with the law, the fact that he could conquer any druggy in his wake -- hell, he could even thank his childhood. Sure, it was rocky, rockier than others, but he made it work. Not that it mattered, the man liked to shove the memories as far back as he could, away from his everyday consciousness, no matter how hard it was. It was only a matter of time before it caught up with him. But that didn't matter now; business was booming and with the gleaming proposition from a prospective client of his, Theo knew he'd be raking in the dough -- at least, that's what he thought his venture would turn into. Color him enthusiastic, more than he'd felt in years; a deal like this made his mouth water at the thought.
But he couldn't help but wonder: why the hell did Andy reach out?
Theo didn't talk to the guy much, only for transactions; even then you'd think the man would've caught on to the fact that the only reason Theo was so nice, was because he just wanted to grab some cash and go. He knew he worked at the hotel, but they weren't close enough for job offers -- not that he was complaining. Theo wouldn't protest against the possible cash grab, not at a time in his life where he had to rebuild. And what better way than to work out of a sketchy hotel? Of course, the place had its fair share of rumors, but they weren't enough to keep him away; money was money, the world surrounded it, and Theo wouldn't dare turn down an opportunity for a taste of it. The cash, the clientele, hell he could even have a nice place to stay; a nice change from his drab, messy apartment. Best of all? Transactions would be clean and the cops wouldn't suspect a thing, at least that was what was promised. In a sea of people, one would think they could spot a junkie; Theo didn't make it easy. His hair, albeit messy, still looked put together much like the rest of him. No one would ever suspect that a guy like him was selling and doing drugs, especially not to his degree. Was he proud of it? Maybe a little, but it was all that he knew. With a childhood like his, the vivid memories of drugged up parents and equally drugged up siblings, Theo thought that was the norm. At least, for him.
Was he especially excited? No, the man's firm wave of apathy didn't allow it. But he could act like it, it was better than nothing; he figured: if he faked it long enough, maybe it could happen. What was interesting was the sheer weight of his envelope; heavier than the average parcel, its contents being a worn out golden key that, admittedly, he had no idea what to do with. To say the least, the item gave him a sense of intrigue -- not enough for him to become more inquisitive than he already was -- or wasn’t. The man couldn’t care less about its meaning, it most likely only being the key to a further dilapidated room, possibly covered in cobwebs, maybe even black mold if they were fancy.
"The Empress, eh? Pretty--"
"Sketch? Yeah, I know. Don't worry about it," Theo couldn't pry his eyes away from the post card nestled in his calloused hands, fingers running over the ridges of the imprinted design. What thoughts were going on behind his hazel orbs? Nothing, not a single thing; not that he was stupid, but because what else was there to think about? The man had a solid business structure, one that he was sure he couldn't manage to mess up, not even if he went to somewhere like the Empress. He gulped, pursing his lips as he finally tucked it away into the inside pocket of his jacket; the dark circles under his eyes, creasing, were indicative of his lack of sleep -- he couldn't and wouldn't sleep -- refusing to when he had the chance.
Bad memories always had a way of creeping up on you no matter what. Not even the drugs could numb him. Death was a smell that was heavily present in his stream of consciousness, all too familiar, all too -- no. No, Theo worked hard to forget about it. Dwelling on the thought now would do him no good. He pushed the thought away, shaking his head as he stared off, trying to find something else to occupy his being. What type of people would he even encounter? Bodies went in and out of the hotel like clockwork, people from all walks of life making their stay, making him all the more curious. He didn’t like being curious. Never liked it, in fact. Theo hated being on his toes all the time, not knowing what the fuck he was going to run into, but he thought it was worth the try.
The taxi driver tried having small talk, another thing Theo hated; he knew he didn’t really care, only wanting a hefty tip at the end of the trip. Probably the type raised on kissing ass to get by. But who was he to judge? It was still an honest living, even if their intentions were less than honest. A deafening silence ensued once the driver finally got the message after a few short, phlegmatic responses that should've stopped the conversation way earlier on -- much to his dismay, the driver was more persistent than the average person.
Without another word, Theo felt the car come to a halt, man already collecting his things -- pulling on a pair of wire framed, red sunglasses. If he was going to make an impression, he might as well look good doing it -- even if it meant covering up his horrendous dark circles. Dollar bills were flicked from his wallet, neatly placed on the passenger's seat, a nice tip for dealing with his silence. He could tell the driver was a talker, so succumbing him to the eerie silence must've torture. There was, finally, a thank you; however, behind it was a mixture of emotions, annoyance, concern, Theo couldn't place his finger on it nor did he care enough to dissect it. Dismissing himself from the cab, the man had finally hauled his way in.
Grand to say the least, still a bit sketchy due to its predisposed reputation, but a sight for sore eyes.
The structure, although old, still had a charm to it; creepy, but still charming. An influencer's dream, in fact, he had no doubt that one would pop up at some point. Tired eyes scanned the area, at one point tightening the grip of the duffel bag lazily strewn over his shoulder, contents nearly breaking the cheap zipper open. "Bar, huh? Now where the fuck could that be?" His raspy voice lingered in the air as he failed to censor himself, searching for any sign of where the hell the bar could be. The heaviness in his jacket pocket was noticeable, but much like his intrusive thoughts, he opted to ignore it; what was more important was getting himself to the bar to talk business. "God dammit, I can't see shit with these red lenses," muttering to himself, the man pulled the specs off, tucking them onto the collar of his shirt, light clicking sounding off from them.
At least he was somewhat early, business does that to a person.
After what seemed like an eternity of searching, Theo finally found the bar; it was lifeless, unlike the ones he frequented -- the ones bustling with life, laughter, some semblance of life. There were only a select few that stood out, while the rest of its patrons seemed robotic, it was almost eerie -- that was, if he cared enough to examine them further. He sat himself down in a bare seat, slouching over, placing one hand against the counter while the other ran through his messy, brown locks. Upon first glance, one would think he was having a bad day, but frankly, that was just how he looked. And he intended to keep it that way, no degree of criticism would've staved him away from his look; in fact, he was a fan of the 'half-dead, but still hot' look.
A bright, flashy smile placed itself upon his lips as he looked at the bartender, only asking for a simple whisky on the rocks. Tempted to rip a line right then and there, the man refrained, looking around the premises. His fingers tapped against the counter top, dull thuds accompanying the sound of clinking glasses and soft conversations. He looked over his shoulder, admiring the fixtures, placing a toothpick between his lips to chew, "swanky. Not as creepy as I thought."
