|Heroin | Diacetylmorphine (formnumberfour) wrote in nevermore_logs,|
@ 2013-06-27 00:06:00
|Entry tags:||heroin, opium, vicodin|
Who: Heroin & Vicodin, open to Opium
What: Hello, darling
When: Wednesday night
Where: Streets of NY
Warnings: Drugs, TBD
Heroin stalked the streets, boot heels clicking sharply on the concrete. She was in head to toe black leather, and even her hair looked black in the dim light of the streets. She passed under a streetlamp, the orange light throwing deep shadows on her face.
"What in God's name have you done? Stick your arm for some real fun," she sang to herself, heading into the poorer neighborhoods that drummed up a lot of her business. Addiction and want trailed in her wake. Junkies who thought they were satiated for the night were suddenly craving their next hit. Casual users were craving their next hit worse than they ever had before. It made Heroin smile. Their need, their use, it sparkled under her skin and made her feel so alive.
She nodded to one of her lieutenants, who was currently mid-sale. Heroin never lacked for business, for users, for the desperate who wanted nothing more than their next hit. The price didn't matter. Their health didn't matter. The fact that they might OD, it just didn't matter. All that mattered was that silver needle slipping into their veins, and the blessed euphoria that came when they pushed the plunger down.
"So your sickness weighs a ton," she murmured. "And God's name is smack for some."
Vicodin had been doing much the same, scouting his territory and talking to his top people. He liked to personally resupply them occasionally, to keep his finger on the pulse of the neighborhoods where he did business. Perhaps, when he was more solidly established, he could afford to do it less, but for right now, he liked to see and be seen, to let people know he wasn't going anywhere.
He noticed the woman all in black standing on the other side of the street, and the immrtal radiating off of her made him raise his guard slightly. She felt a bit like Opium, like Mutter, but not quite so intense. It bore further investigation. He wrapped up his current business and crossed the street, coming up next to her.
"Hello," he said, going for English rather than his default German. "You look a bit lost, if you don't mind me saying."
Heroin smirked. "Trust me, I can take care of myself," she assured him. Looking him up and down, she added, "Something tells me that you can, too."
Vicodin grinned, sharp and gleaming in the dim light. "Indeed," he agreed. "And, since I know you can tell as well, let's not go through the dance of telling each other who we are, ja? I'm Vicodin. And who might you be?"
Heroin eyed him, more interested now. "The doctors, they call me diacetylmorphine," she purred. "My beloveds, they call me heroin, among other things. But you, mein bruder, you may call me Diana."
Vicodin raised an eyebrow. "Diana," he replied, rolling the name around in his mouth. "Then I'm Victor. And you'll have to come by my house, there's someone there who'll want to see you."
Heroin raised a matching eyebrow. "Oh yes?" she asked. "And who might that be?"
"Die Mutter ist hier," he said, watching her face.
A delighted smile broke out over Heroin's face. "Opium is here?" she asked, clasping her hands together. "Ja, ja, of course I'll come," she replied. "You don't live far from here, do you?"
"Not really," he replied. "A short cab ride." He offered her his arm. "Come home with me, meine Schwester."
She laughed, and slipped her arm through his. "I bet you say that to all the girls."