Jazz (wonderfulworld) wrote in forgotten_gods, @ 2009-05-25 16:16:00 |
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Entry tags: | heroin, jazz |
Who: Heroin and Jazz
Where: Heroin's studio
When: Backdated to Sunday afternoon
Rating/Warnings: Expect language
What had made her come here? Why was she there? Jazz couldn’t even explain that. Perhaps it had been such a powerful force that had drawn her there that day. It was only a matter of time before she’d come here, anyway. So why not just get it over with now? But Jazz wasn’t one to just throw herself into the lions den and expect to come out without so much as a scratch. Nah, she knew when she was getting into something that would most likely turn out bad. And honestly, she expected this little visit… this spontaneous visit to go sour. Old wounds hardly ever fully healed, especially when they were so deep. When they were so very deep. But she had to get past that . She had figure out a way to live in this city, knowing he was walking around.
Probably got a lot ‘o followers these days
Yeah, she expected him to have plenty now. Back in the day, she had been one. She had been so addicted that one day she found herself in so deep she couldn’t get out without help. But even then, she couldn’t go to her brother. No, he had always been so protective of her and the last thing she had needed was him jumping on Heroin. She was protecting all of them, really. Just… not in the best way.
Rehab. Yeah, that’s where she had gone. She may have never met that one in person, but she was damn sure she remembered a goddess getting help. Hell, Jazz had gone back plenty of times. She just couldn’t stay away from them, the Drug gods. They were just too tempting. And damn did they make her feel good. It was only when she felt she was getting in too deep that she ran off for help. But she’d never asked her family. No, they were always better left alone. She didn’t want any of them getting mixed up in her problems. Jazz could take care of herself, and even if she didn’t want to admit otherwise, she sometimes needed others to take care of her.
And yet, here she was. Sitting at the piano in Heroin’s studio, playing Georgia by Ray Charles. She loved this song. When Ray had gone through his addiction, she had been there with him, to help him, to inspire him. Damn, he’d even made her return to that drug. It was amazing how influential those mortals could be on the gods.
The only reason she hadn’t left was because he wasn’t there. Because Heroin seemed to be absent. She’d found her way in, saw the piano, and the itch kicked in. She had to play. She always had to play. There was no way around it. Nothing could possibly make that itch go away. And this song; this beautiful, wonderful song was just what she needed right now. None other could possibly satisfy her right now. Fingers ran delicately, eloquently over the keys. She knew them all; all the chords, all the keys, every song. It was as though they were engraved in her mind and the only way to ever get one out of her head was to simply play. To let it be heard. And here she was, playing that old sweet song. Sweet, sweet song.