<a class="link link--internal" data-proxy-href="/proxy.php?link=http%3A%2F%2Fblackdahliaroleplaying.com%2Findex.php%3Fthreads%2Ffrosts-fellows.583%2F%23post-15740&amp;hash=f48ea343e527479e87b0959d500cf494" href="http://blackdahliaroleplaying.com/index.php?threads/frosts-fellows.583/#post-15740">Elliott</a>, or simply<a class="link link--internal" data-proxy-href="/proxy.php?link=http%3A%2F%2Fblackdahliaroleplaying.com%2Findex.php%3Fthreads%2Ffrosts-fellows.583%2F%23post-15740&amp;hash=f48ea343e527479e87b0959d500cf494" href="http://blackdahliaroleplaying.com/index.php?threads/frosts-fellows.583/#post-15740"> Eli</a>, according to the gold-painted badge pinned to his dark vest, tugged restlessly at his tie, the accursed thing much too tight as usual. He'd always found it ironic that the waiters of this establishment were required to wear such an expensive get-up only for it to be topped off by a cheap piece of plastic, the very same ones worn by employees of Burger King. As the kitchen bustled around him, Eli hummed softly to himself while a careful hand poured a tall flute of white Zinfandel. Straightening the cuffs of his dress shirt, another inconvenient trait of his uniform, he arranged the wine, cheese and other appetizers on his try and carried it out of the kitchen delicately balanced on three fingers. If he got caught using his palm he'd be admonished.<br/><br/>The Anne-Marie was a rather high-end affair, most of their patrons being the more wealthy tourists of Miami's summer months. Anchored along the bay, the restaurant stood out from it's competition, quite literally a retired luxury liner that had been re-purposed into a mobile, gourmet dining experience, accessible only by a series of long docks stretching across the tropical waters beneath. Of course it didn't hurt business that their food was simply exquisite, Eli occasionally snatching a tidbit here and there before the dishes made it to their appropriate tables. It was a habit he'd picked up from the other servers.<br/><br/>With a false smile plastered over his face, and a well-trained cheery demeanor, Eli carried himself smoothly towards his millionth table this evening. Or so it felt like the millionth as he greeted the well-groomed gentleman a second time.<span class="fixed-color" style="color:#0080ff">"Your wine, Sir."</span>He let the glass sit lightly onto the table cloth as he observed the older man's pressed suit, silvered hair and surprisingly handsome features, wondering if he too could perhaps look as refined at such an age.<span class="fixed-color" style="color:#0080ff"><i>You'll look like Quasimodo when you're fifty,</i> </span>his brain quipped. With a mental sigh, his eyes darted back upwards and he paused at the realization that he wasn't the only one staring, though not with even half the intensity.<span class="fixed-color" style="color:#0080ff">"Are you ready to order,"</span>he stumbled over the words, suddenly very uncomfortable.<span class="fixed-color" style="color:#0080ff"> " . . . or . . . ?"</span><br/><br/>"<span class="fixed-color" style="color:#808080">I've seen you somewhere before,"</span>stated as if a matter of undeniable fact as dark eyes roamed up him, making Eli want nothing more than to retreat to the safety of the kitchens.<span class="fixed-color" style="color:#0080ff">"I've worked here a few months,"</span>he tried,<span class="fixed-color" style="color:#0080ff">"Maybe if you've been in before . . . "</span><span class="fixed-color" style="color:#808080">"My first time here." </span>The older man laid his glasses on the table.<span class="fixed-color" style="color:#808080">"Perhaps . . . you've worked in other establishments?"</span>Horror filled him as he came to a realization, his face hardening, smile gone in an instant as his heart hammered against his ribs.<i><span class="fixed-color" style="color:#0080ff">Surely he can't be . . . nononono. </span></i>He was doing so well here. The last thing he needed was to be recognized.<br/><br/>Before he could respond, a hand, wedding ring glinting from it's fingers, slid across the tabletop as smooth as silk and Eli found something clutched reflexively in his palm.<i><span class="fixed-color" style="color:#0080ff">You can't be serious. </span></i>Nausea rising in his throat, he already knew what it was before hazel eyes glanced to confirm, a sizable roll of cash.<span class="fixed-color" style="color:#0080ff">"You're mistaken,"</span>he dropped the money onto the carpet and turned to make a swift escape, but a firm grip on the strings of his apron turned him back, temper rising as the man lowered his voice.<span class="fixed-color" style="color:#808080">"Oh come on, half of Miami has seen that pretty body. I'll double it."</span>Eli couldn't take another second of this embarrassment as anger rippled over him. Before he could stop himself, he'd landed an open-palmed slap hard across the 'gentleman's' face, drawing the surprised glances of other diners.<span class="fixed-color" style="color:#0080ff">"This isn't a strip club. And that's not me, Asshole." </span>Not anymore at least. As Eli turned to see his boss barreling towards him, red-faced, the older man's enraged insults bouncing off his back, Eli ripped the badge from his vest and threw it on the ground.<span class="fixed-color" style="color:#0080ff">"I'll just leave before you say it."</span>He didn't wait for a response, pushing past his coworkers and fleeing the scene, and the dozens of eyes, his feet not moving fast enough as the dock seemed ten miles longer than usual.<br/><br/><br/><br/>Once in the safety of his own apartment, Eli locked the door behind him as if he could shut out all his problems and slid down it as he collapsed, head in his hands, tears threatening at his eyelids. He'd known. It had been in the back of his mind for months now, one of his greatest fears that someday someone would notice, that someone would make the off comment or give him a furtive glance. But he'd never thought it would cost him his job.<br/><br/>His new, less . . . questionable job, that is.<span class="fixed-color" style="color:#0080ff">"I'm such a fuck-up!"</span><br/><br/>He went limp as he roared at the ceiling, eyes glaring as his cat rubbed against his leg, purring warmly. He had to admit, it calmed him a little as he reached out to run his fingers through her dark fur. But he was still jobless and rent was still due, cat or no cat. His mind ran in circles, adding more stress to the pile of problems growing at the forefront. And Eli wanted nothing more in that moment that to cease to exist.<br/><span class="fixed-color" style="color:#0080ff"><br/>
<i>There's one way to pay the rent . . . </i><br/>
<i>No. I won't go back to that.</i></span><br/><br/>There were a thousand other things he'd rather do than go back to dancing at the club, go back to the overwhelming blare of pounding music, the cold of the pole at his back. The eyes, hundreds of eyes. And the unwanted solicitations. He'd hated it, but it paid the bills. And then he'd finally gotten out and now here he was again, back at square one, jobless once more.<br/><br/><i><span class="fixed-color" style="color:#0080ff">Or you could just . . . </span></i>No. There was no way in Hell he would be able to let go of his pride long enough, to sink low enough, to ask his brother for money. Stripping was almost preferable, as demeaning as it was.<br/><br/>Emotional exhaustion draining his body, somehow Eli had managed to change out of his uniform and make it to his bed, burrowing under the blankets and shutting out the world as he switched off the lamp and closed his eyes, Soot's comfortable weight curled up and warming his hip as he waited for darkness to take him into the sweet, sweet arms of a dreamless sleep. For a least a few hours, he could rest from the bustle and chaos of society. For at least a few hours he could escape the pains and turmoil of the cards he'd been dealt.<br/><br/><span class="fixed-color" style="color:#0080ff"><i>Half of Miami has seen that pretty body . . . </i></span><br/><br/><div style="text-align: center"><script class="js-extraPhrases" type="application/json">
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<br/>​</div>When he awoke, he didn't open his eyes. The first thing Eli noticed was that Soot had left his side, the little traitor. The second thing was the cold. He was freezing, in fact, despite the thickness of his canvas jacket. Odd, he couldn't recall putting it on before bed. Nor his boots or jeans for that matter. And . . . why was he so stiff? His bed was plush and contoured to his frame like a cloud. He shouldn't feel as if he'd been sleeping outside on the cold, unforgiving dirt.<i>Was I drinking again?</i>His eyes shot open, expecting to see the unfamiliar furnishings of a stranger's bedroom . . . on the rare occasions he did let himself indulge in human comforts. Instead, he blinked in confusion at a wall of trees and brush, surrounded by a fog so thick that moisture had already beaded along his skin.<br/><br/><i><span class="fixed-color" style="color:#0080ff">The fuck . . . ?</span></i><br/><br/>He was on his feet in seconds, eyes darting in all directions for some indicator of where he was, how he'd gotten here. But as as his eyes searched the haze around him, he saw nothing, no one, could barely make out the faint glow of what looked to be a fire dancing in the distance. Fear began to bubble to the surface as he tucked icy fingers into the pockets of his jacket, his breathes only adding to the fog as he exhaled.<br/><br/><i><span class="fixed-color" style="color:#0080ff">Need to get out of here . . . need to remember . . . </span></i>He couldn't recall, no matter how hard he'd tried, how he'd come to this place. His mouth wasn't dry, his skull wasn't aching, none of the telltale signs of a hangover.<span class="fixed-color" style="color:#0080ff">"Hello? Anyone? Hello!"</span>His voice sounded small amidst the wall of precipitation, falling weakly into the trees as he set one foot forward towards the dim glow in the distance.<i><span class="fixed-color" style="color:#0080ff">Maybe I can get warm there? Or find answers. </span></i>As he moved, picking his way through the thick forest, his breathe caught in his throat as Eli swore he heard the tread of other footsteps. He stopped, motionless and ears straining as he held his lungs, waiting, praying that he would hear nothing. Or that he would? Perhaps someone who could fill in the memories he seemed to have lost.<br/><br/>His body stiffened, nerves turning to ice as he heard it again, the rustle and fall of what sounded to be heavy feet coming from behind him, hard labored breathes drawing nearer with each solid stride. And . . . was that the sound of his own heart echoing, pounding audibly in his ears? No, his own muscle was racing a marathon around his ribcage. As the wheezing breathes drew nearer, something inside Eli screamed that he should run. And so, he bolted . . .<br/><br/>Flying over stumps and weaving through trees as if his life depended on it, careening towards a sense of safety that the light in the distance seemed to offer, Eli was terrified to look back as something chased after him.<i> <span class="fixed-color" style="color:#0080ff">This isn't real. It's not real. Then why are you so afraid? It's just a nightmare. Stop running and you'll wake up.</span></i>Like Hell Eli was going to stop running.<br/><br/>As the light grew closer, he could see the flicker of flames through the fog at last. Although there was no one else. No shelter, nothing to run to and nowhere to hide. Nothing at all, just a lone fire ahead of him. The footsteps closed in, faster than his own even as he drove himself harder. A red glow draped over his shoulders, lighting the ground at his feet.<i><span class="fixed-color" style="color:#0080ff">I'm gonna die. It's just a nightmare. Wake up!</span></i><br/><br/>So close to that false sense of safety the fire offered. As his foot landed in the clearing around the blaze, his toe snagged, sending him flying forward as he caught himself, sticks and pebbles digging painfully into his palms, but the pain was nothing compared to his terror as he turned, scrambling back towards the fire from . . . from . .<br/><br/>Absolutely nothing. No red light, no massive imaginary killer out for his blood. Only Eli's own frantic breathes and the sound of his pulse racing in his ears. "<span class="fixed-color" style="color:#0080ff">I'm crazy . . . " </span>was the only explanation as he blinked into the thick fog around a perimeter of logs, which he must have tripped over. It had seemed so real. He'd felt the thunder of large feet hurling after him, he'd felt the wind and heat of foul breathes along the back of his neck.<br/><br/>It wasn't real. He was ready to wake up now.<br/><br/><a class="username" data-user-id="240" data-username="@Austin121" data-xf-init="member-tooltip" href="https://blackdahliaroleplaying.com/members/240/">@Austin121</a>