color me, don't color me;;

[Revenge]

Revenge!
Your eyes are the brightest of all the colors...

With the door shut, he could almost block out the horrible smells of liquor and the babble of the drinking attenders and focus more on the task at hand. With each intake of breath, his lung were deeply filled with the equally intoxicating (to him, at least) aroma of wet paint. Stretching his arms out before him, he casually but forcefully flicked his fingers outward, the dripping red from his fingertips making dark circles on the wall, slowly being dragged down a bit by the laws of nature. It was a slow night for one of his hobbies, so he was, thankfully, alone to do as he pleased. He closed his eyes, took in a deep breath, pulling a wisp of dark ebony hair into his mouth where it rested on his lip. Flicking them open again, he surveyed open scene before him. And with graceful but dedicated force, he threw himself at the wall.

Forcefully, he crashed one of the knuckles on his right hand into the wall, dragging his red-stained left fingertips in a swirl. He was creating his own soundless symphony, skimming his gloved hands over the wall, hearing the delicate scrap of the latex against the huge sheets of art paper. The buckets of pigments rested to all side of him, in every shade and hue imaginable. But, when so, he created more and more colors, mixing and taking away, with light brushes of his fingers. Occasionally, he would rub them against the clear plastic the encased his torso and legs over the attire he wore, giving the appearance that he was running streaks of color down himself. Occasionally, he would whip his neck to flip his hair from his eyes in a desperate attempt to keep it clean. And this went on for a long time, until he was completely lost in the depths of the canvas, throwing himself into the murky white and throwing color from his hands to create the scene that was pouring from him.

He didn't notice when the other people came in, he was singing quietly to himself, completely engrossed in his task, as delicate as open heart surgery, but as shocking as electricity. they exchanged quiet remarks, not wanting to disturb him. At first, they could not tell what he was creating - his dedication is what amused them. but soon enough, when he took a step back to see what needed work next, they understood. Nearly the entire wall was covered by his creation. He took of one glove, still unable to notice the people crowded behind him to wipe his face. They stood and admired what he had done. Stretched before them was the scene of a sunset, cradled in the motherly arms of craning mountaintops, and peeking over their shoulders was the fluffy clouds, taking on tinges of pinks and oranges. Above them, a crescent moon, glossed it's misty glow to send the only remaining beams of light, the cloudless dark blue heavens glittering with the pinpricks of light colors that made stars. Clawing at the feet of the mountains was the dark colors f the shadowed grass, lit only by the moon's thick gleam and the last rays of sunlight. On a lake was the reflection of the sky on the babbling waters, colors smeared to show the trees and flowers. However, something with the picture was off. The beautiful scene was stained by the dark sheen of still wet red paint, mixed with white and black to make what was unmistakably blood. Two figure sat amid the horror, the man holding the broken figure of a woman. Each was dressed in black, their ivory skin smeared with blood, as were their clothes, presumably from the slashed neck of the woman. However, each of their eyes were closed, and the viewers were left to wonder what color they would have been. Just looking at it, it made them feel sad for the grief of the man whom had, presumably, lost his love to some unknown force, and his burning anger to get vengeance for her.

The painter, his face unknown, took a pencil from his pocket and scribbled his signature 'xoxo, A. Dawnshadow' at the bottom-right corner. As he stood back and started to remove the clear, paint messed parka and gloves, one of them pulled out a cell phone and took a picture. The flash flared and it made a noise to say the picture was taken. He then suddenly realized people were there. Spinning around, he saw them looking back at the unknown artist, and color flooded to his otherwise pale cheeks. Mumbling an apology for taking so much time, he darted out of the door past them as the went on gaping on the painting. Hanging up the plastic layering, he noticed he had a line of purple in his hair. Oh well.

He turned to leave, but some instinct told him his business here was not done. No matter how much he wanted to go get a coffee and go to his apartment, a sixth sense made him stay. Turning his head, Anthony tried to discover the source of this feeling. This, however, did not relieve him. Mumbling darkly, he moved toward the door, hands in his pockets. To his horror, he found himself in a chair at a lone table. Letting out a frustrated sigh, he decided not to fight the feeling something was off. Pulling a stack of napkins in front of him, he tried to ignore the mostly drunk people around him and try to recall the smell of paint rather than the fruity stench of the personally gross alcohol. Taking out his pencil, he began doodling on the napkins, listening carefully for any sign of what kept him hear. Nobody looked familiar, but maybe he just didn't see them...?

And then, one voice, asking about some kind of drink probably, made him gasp and look up. He knew that voice, and missed it dearly. However, it also brought up a monster of anger at himself and pity for the speaker. Well, if it was him.

"Kaden..." He mumbled.

[Faint]

Kaden sighed, leaning forward on the colorfully splotched bar top to flag down the small woman behind it, a bit ways a way. Her dirty blonde curls bounced happily as she flashed him a curt nod and a small smile. Her attention returned to the task at hand: carrying 4 bottles of what looked to be a generic brand of beer to a group of young adults in the far corner. He was a bit puzzled at her methods, seeing that she carried two bottles in each hand; one between her index and middle finger, the other between her ring and pinky.

"She could have used a tray..." he mumbled quietly to himself, raising an eyebrow at the scene. He clearly spotted a serving try only feet behind her original position, leaning against the cash register perched there. Kaden's eyes traveled back to the woman, who was biting her lip in concentration, only in time to see her fingers slip slightly. But before Kaden could even think of a sarcastic remark to go along with the mishap, she had them re-situated, without even stopping her stride. She set the drinks in front of the customers, retrieved their money, and was back at the cash register in a flash.

Kaden threw a glance at the back room, where animated chatter had been heard for the entirety of the 10 minutes or so he'd been here. There seemed to be a crowd forming in front of the door into the painting room. It was an odd thing; the rooms, that is. It had large rolls of paper spread over the walls, pure white and waiting to be pigmented. You could go in as you please, adorned in large plastic parkas and glove, to paint and splash colors all around the room. The few times he had ventured in he had been amused to find that later in the nights the less than sober patrons seemed obligated to do something; sloppily throwing paint everywhere, completely messing themselves in the process.

Kaden almost laughed at the thought. A few 'Ooh's and 'Aah's came from the room and he assumed whatever had been going on was finished when he saw people part, letting a few wanderers through to the exit. "Sir?" A bored, drawled out voice said somewhere near his ear. Kaden turned his head back toward the bar, instinctively letting out a small "Hm?" of recognition. "Your drink order." She stated simply, looking rather polite, but her voice had a hinted undertone of impatience.

"Just a beer." Kaden replied, lifting a hand to his mouth to yawn slightly. She nodded, before turning around to retrieve his drink. He shifted in his seat, jeans sticking to the leather-like covering on the stool, before shifting to look back at the crowd. Most had left the painting rooms and were back in the main bar, dancing, drinking and whatnot. A few stayed behind, still ogling whatever work of art someone had done in the room.

He was about to turn back to the bar and wait for his drink when he heard something. His name. But not just that, the voice was familiar in an odd, nostalgic way. Kaden's head snapped to the source of the noise. A bemused smile played at his lips at the site. The boy, young man, rather, sat at an off-side table. Completely alone, and napkins strewn in front of him. There were small oodles on them, ones that he couldn't make out from the distance, and a pen in his hand. Wisps of hair played across his forehead, threatening to impair his vision staring straight at Kaden, bewilderment showing on his face.

His small smile soon turned into a grin as he looked upon him, Anthony, His older brother. "Anthony!" He shouted.

[Revenge]

Revenge!
Your eyes are the brightest of all the colors...

His glance flickered from the bar to the wall near it. Pink? Blech. He was so painting it a different color some Sunday. Black, maybe, with an elaborate red design? Or perhaps vice versa. No matter, he did not like the current color. And he would fix it. It just bothered him.

"Anthony!" His attention was swiftly drawn back to the bar as he heard a reply, a figure twisted on the colorful stool to face him out of a wonderful dream that was in reality a nightmare. A charming grin set upon the kid's face - Anthony refused to call him an adult - as he twisted more like some kind of sick act of torture. Silently, Anthony dropped the pencil into his pocket and jumped up from his seat, almost falling over a shorter person behind him. As they yelled something along the lines of 'watch it!' he silently glided towards the bat, glossy eyes wide under the veil of raven hair that swished crossed his features. Hazel orbs saw nothing but the person whom had summoned him forward, thin, chapped, pale lips pressed together, one hand limply swaying at his side, the other hand fumbling nervously in his pocket. He had even noticed the napkins still clutched in his swaying limb.

As he reached the bar, he jerked his neck in the same movement he had used in the painting room, looking down at the hair with an unreadable expression. The same glittering hazel optics reflected off his, but they were of a soft tone than his. It also seemed that his little brother had gotten contacts, for the glasses Anthony recalled him with were gone now. He also seemed very tall for Kaden, and the darker hair confused him a bit. It also seemed Kaden had acquired his brother's taste for skinny legged pants and eyeliner. His eyes scarcely flooded over his brother's clothing, however, since it was pretty much the same. As was his from when they'd last spoken before Anthony'd went to a collage in New York City so long ago - the same black belt and silver buckle in the same of a bat, the same black hair, and the same pale, round features.

However, suddenly, this unreadable look of pleasure turned to one of pain. Kaden must have gotten the book there, from where he'd been thrown from his apartment. Their mom must have sent Kaden to check on him, and, well, the younger Dawnshadow brother had always messed with his older siblings things. It had to be Anthony's fault.

Or... Or maybe, he was seeing and hearing things. He'd been entirely alone since over two years ago. His brother had been one of his very few friends. And he'd never seen any of them after art school. But, then again, this was sick. Seeing his little brother, real or not, sitting at a bar full of drunks, only 16 if he recalled the math correctly. Suddenly, soundlessly angered, Anthony snatched at his younger siblings wrists and pulled him from the stool with as much force as his could muster, converse squeaking ocne on the floor as he pulled his younger sibling towards and finally outside the double doors to the side of the building. Throwing Kaden gently (but enough force to show he wasn't playing) out before him, Anthony closed the door behind him, leaning in the frame. He tried to look threatening, the old anger he'd possessed when they'd last spoken, casting his head slightly down to highlight what he knew was red around his eyes from lack of sleep. Through the gritted, 'snarky' teeth that had been compared to a vampire's as a child, Anthony managed to force words.

"Kaden, what the hell are you doing here? In a fuckin' bar? I leave for two years and you're making all the mistakes mom thought I'd make?" Well, now it was anger. Real anger. not the stuff you see in movies where they throw punches. The real anger that disables movement, that disables the ability to think or to breath or even keep your heart rate steady. However, the words were quiet, never louder than a stage whsiper, even though the wind was picking up. "You shouldn't be here, Kaden. not in the bar. Not in the district. You should be at home with mom. Not here."

A hiss-like sound of frustration escaped his chapped lips, and he suddenly let out a whine of irritation. Shoving a hand in his hoodie pocket, he drew out a crumpled package of a few cigarettes, and a cheap black lighter. With a couple tries, he lit it and touched the end of the flame to the tip of the posion stick, and put the other end to his lips, dragging in the much needed drag, which was just as much his posion as it's own cure for him. Holding in the breath, he released it in a few small bursts, making small rings of smoke that grew in size then vanished. Flicking ashes to the pavement, he went on glowwering at his brother.

[Faint]

Kaden's grin didn't falter as the older sibling strode toward him, a quick nervous pace about him. He wasn't quite sure what to say when Anthony reached him, standing in front of the younger brother perched on the colorful bar seat. It had been a long time since he had seen his brother's face. It was refreshing to see the old familiar wispy black hair and smell the always-present musk of paint that could only be present on a dedicated artist. He noticed a small amount of corner splayed on his hair, and after a moment Kaden pieced together that he must have been the painter causing so much attention in the back.

A small sense of pride washed over him at the thought. His brother had always been talented in the arts, and he assumed that the years in art school since they had been apart had fined those skills to a tee.

He watched as Anthony's face fell slightly, into something more stern. Something that seemed so unfamiliar. "Antho--" He was cut off by a sharp pull at his wrist; The older sibling tugging him off the chair and pulling him away. The movement was abrupt, and nearly toppled Kaden as he fought to keep his balance. Being the natural klutz that he was, his foot caught on the bottom of the stool, causing him to fall forward slightly into his brothers back. "Shit..." He mumbled, hopping just slightly in an attempt to rub the affected foot, and walk at the same time.

It wasn't long before Anthony busted through the doors, pulling Kaden along with him, and turned to look at him. He listened as his brother ranted on to him, yelling, harshly whispering, more like it, about him not belonging here. But it wasn't like he didn't already know that. Why should it stop him. he watched s he brother pulled out a cigarette, lighting in, and looking back at Kaden.

"Anthony." He said, calmly, but a stern edge to his voice. "Calm down." His hands moved up to rest on His older brother's shoulders. "Just..." He trailed off for a moment, picking his words carefully. "settle, and we'll talk about this." He lifted one of the hands to rub the back of his neck out of nervous habit. "So...yeah." Kaden finished, nodding a little to himself.

[Revenge]

Revenge!
Your eyes are the brightest of all the colors...

Kaden cursed under his breath. Anthony didn't care. He was to far gone in his rage and his desperate attempt to drown it. The elder sibling took a long drag, sighing out a painful breath. He hated smoking, he really did, however, it was hard to yell at somebody with a mouthful of smoke. Upward the clouds floated into the starry night sky, and quietly, almost silently, he sighed again, closing his eyes in a dreamy, almost sleepy, fashion. He flicked the ciggerate, and lifted t to about chest level, pinching the orange gleaming end between his middle finger and thumb. Eyes still closed, he sucked in a tiny breath, and if he whimpered in pain it was to quiet to hear. Putting the other half of the posion back into the box in his pocket, he wiped his fingers on his jeans.

He opened his eyes, surveying the damage to his hand. He hadn't intended to hurt himself, really. It just bothered him when people stomped them out and left them there. The pale flesh was glaring at him, fiery red and angry. He was glad it was his left hand. His hazel optics softened a bit, losing just a bit of their harsh, steely edge. His words caused pain too, and he had been spitting them at his brother without a thought. True enough, Kaden deserved them for being here, but that couldn't be helped now. No reason to hurt him more.

"Anthony, calm down..." Anthony looked at his brother, turning his gaze forcefully away from the burn on his hand. It suddenly became hard to breath. He was so different. Not the same little brother he'd left behind. It couldn't be Kaden... Was it just some random person that knew him? Was he so sick from grief that he was hearing Kaden's voice? Was is possible to be that sick? "Just... settle and we'll talk about this."

Anthony didn't want to talk. He felt sick. Really badly sick, how hangovers are portraited in movies and such. He walked a couple feet from the door, as if trying to escape, before falling into the wall, dizzy, unable to breath, and sick to his stomach. Flipping himself to face what he assumed was his brother, he slid down the wall on his back. He curled his knees up to his chest and curled his arms around them, trying to find comfort.

"You're not supposed to be here... This isn't where you belong..." Anthony murmured in a fevered, frantic whisper, as if trying to will away the figure of his little brother. He pressed his forehead into his knees, shaking his head viciously. He bit hard down on his lip, trying to hold back tears. It was his fault Kaden was here...

"I've gotta find a way to take you home... It's my fault, my fault..." Anthony's shaking voice reached out, almost like a small child that got lost in a store reaching out for safety from strangers. He was losing his touch with all he'd learned. Kaden shouldn't be here, trapped here. He had to get Kaden out, back to their mom. He'd get hurt here... Anthony's mind suddenly flashed to his painting, but instead of the man and woman amid the horror, it was he holding his little brother. He simply couldn't allow it.

"How'd you get here?" It was said with subtle tones of anger, and the drive to know.

[Faint]

Kaden's eyes followed the older sibling's hands, watching as his pale fingers engulfed the red hot ash end of the cigarette, and winced slightly as he held it there. It seemed like ages that he kept it there, even though it had most probably only been a few seconds, if that. It pained him to see his fingers pushed against the Small flame, knowing from personal experience how painful it was. True, it healed a matter of seconds later, but that didn't take away the fact that it hurt.

Anthony replaced the cigarette into it's designated box, and looked at him as Kaden spoke out. He seemed stressed, not his usual self. He didn't think he had ever seen him this way. It looked almost painful for him to do anything, and the younger sibling's eyes scanned over the older as he took a few steps away, searching for any type of injury apart from the burn on his hand.

He couldn't find one, but the search proved unnecessary as he threw himself down onto the ground, curling himself into a ball-like form. He was mumbling things Kaden couldn't quite make out, so he stepped forward, kneeling down, and resting on his heels. Finally he could here just the last bit of his ramblings, along with a question.

Kaden's eyes flickered with something unreadable as he stared at his brother. "Well," He started, his tone slow and careful. "It doesn't take much to walk into a bar, you know?" He forced out a small laugh, shrugging his shoulders, knowing full well what the question had been referring to.