The Dandy Highwaymen (Myk)
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Aaron Hunter
- Registered User
- Posts: 311
- Joined: 25 Jun 2015, 15:43
- CrowNet Handle: Pretty Vacant
Re: The Dandy Highwaymen (Myk)
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Last edited by Aaron Hunter on 21 Feb 2022, 12:21, edited 1 time in total.
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Myk
- Registered User
- Posts: 2433
- Joined: 17 May 2011, 15:58
- CrowNet Handle: Thread_Slayer
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Re: The Dandy Highwaymen (Myk)
A lot of people - especially those who’ve spent their entire lives covering up their emotions - have a hard time knowing exactly what vulnerability is. It’s understandable. A lot of behaviors that might look like displays of vulnerability on the surface are actually incredibly manipulative and needy. True vulnerability is consciously choosing not to hide your emotions, feelings, thoughts, or desires from others.This can be as simple as complimenting someone on how good they look, approaching an attractive stranger you don’t know, establishing clear and strong boundaries, or expressing your undying love to someone. It can mean putting yourself in a position where you can be rejected, saying a joke that might not be funny, asserting an opinion that may offend others, joining a table of people you don’t know, and telling someone you’re attracted to them.
The man who blames his “lying shitbag of an ex” for all of his current relationship problems would be a lot better off if he’d just acknowledge that things didn’t work out and that he was a bad partner at times.The coworker who constantly falls short of their performance goals and blames the culture in the office, or the economy, or basically anything but their incompetence, just needs to admit when they need help with something and find someone who can help them get better. The woman who blames all men - not just one man, but all men - for her terrible dating life should probably do the math and realise that she’s at least half to blame for things not working out there too. The reason taking responsibility for your problems is so powerful is because it puts you in control of the solution. When you blame others, you’re handing over control to everyone and everything around you and you can’t control the entire world.
Practicing vulnerability really is as simple as just doing these things. But while being more vulnerable is simple, it’s not always easy. That’s because all of these things require you to stick your neck out emotionally in some way. It’s risky and there are often real consequences to being vulnerable. You will offend some people. You will turn some people off. You might lose a friend or a client or a romantic partner. You might even make yourself a target to the wrong type of person…
There were times when Myk could be the wrong type of person to open up to. So when Aaron began to apologise to him again and bare his heart, those pewter eyes began to sparkle with intrigue, his delicate nose twitched, his brows fixed into a seductive curve, and his lips pursed a wry smile. If he had a tail, it would sway from side to side; the pendulum on life’s fragile clock. The wound on his face began to seal shut of its own accord, pushing out the threads that had wired it together. The Vampire could feel his gums and fingernails itch with excitement too. Yet, before a faint glimmer of his morals could work up the courage to chide him for this trip into such a grim fantasy, Aaron was sliding closer to him with this dark, knowing smile and Myk felt his stomach muscles tighten.
“Oh no…”
The words became a gasp and then a squeak as his tiny frame was lifted and hurled - inelegantly - over the Killer’s shoulder once more. He clawed and scraped for security and balance, as well as a little bit of spite; eventually finding equilibrium with his bicep lodged beneath Aaron’s neck with his talon-like hand splayed across the shoulder. He had just enough time to snake his remaining arm around Aaron’s and grasp a thick, strong wrist before they were off. Myk felt their bodies lurch forward and the weight of the world push back. His bone-white lengths flattened over the back of his head, swallowing him whole. The hard ridge of Aaron’s shoulder pushed uncomfortably into his ribcage, squashing all of his organs into a singular mass and making him feel full, sick. His eyes were clenched shut against his own will at any rate, yet he could see how their environment flickered past them like colourful swipes of an artist’s brush.
When they stopped in an alleyway in the Newborough district just a moment or two later, the atoms in Myk’s body were still vibrating. Aaron released his grip and the Telepath slipped down from his body like a liquid. His toes found the floor first, then his heels - his form jangling slightly from all that silver metal - his knees curled and he fell forward so that when he landed at last, he was sat on his calves; white hair and white hands swirled on the ground around him like he was an Oreo Sundae. Myk’s eyes remained closed as the carousel in his head slowed. The rumble of Aaron’s voice drew his attention, resulting in a silent snarl from the Telepath. As nauseated as he felt, however, he was not about to lose his lunch from a little bit of Celerity. He resentfully crawled to his feet, leaning against the taller man’s right side for support.
Behind a sheltering of white hair and a leather-clad shoulder, the Telepath followed the Killer’s viewpoint. The clusters of partygoers he watched were in varying stages of inebriation: some skipped along at the merry, buzzed end of the scale right up to those whom were bent over, hurling their guts up, and finally there were those whom were trying to use one’s discarded shoe as a mobile phone. Myk fondly recalled the times he had been in their positions, though, he had to admit that many of his memories were probably anecdotal at best given the utter state he’d been in. Like the night before this when he could recall only flashes of what had happened, because the reasons for why he had woken to the gnarly, open wound across his face was still a complete mystery. Subconsciously, he seemed to remember, and when he reached up to brush his hand across the wound, he realised that it was no longer there.
“Ooh,” Myk sang as though he’d just discovered the yellow brick road suddenly implanted on his cheek in place of the wound - and as if it were some kind of improvement. “It’s gone.” He smiled to the Killer while his fingernails tapped softly along his own jawline. “How marvellous…”
A Parisian accent cloaked his words again, veiling them in shadow and mischief. The sharp, insidious look in his eyes sold the tale just as well, though Aaron may not have noticed it as Myk slipped out from behind him and followed the line of the wall into the belly of the streets. In the Telepath’s mind, it was like trading a small tributary for open waters. He felt overly exposed, with no cover to hide himself from the little fish that were swimming nearby. Pewter eyes focused on one pair in particular: their bodies flashed pink, silver, and burnished gold as they moved toward him. Myk became very still. Yet as he stood there, feet on the precipice of a bad decision, his eyes wandered, taking in their detail. And for that string of moments he tried to think as though he were one of the pair of young fish; to immerse himself in the spring waters of their freedom and experience life from an entirely new perspective.
The man on the right was as skinny as he was tall, giving the impression of Silver Birch trees in the dead of Winter. His elbows stuck out from his oversized white t-shirt like broken branches and his hands dipped into the pockets of his skinny, silver jeans that led down, down, down to a pair of immaculate white trainers. Had the Telepath not known any better, he might have mistaken this one for a creature of the night given the very cold, pale nature of his skin and how it appeared so perfectly pure but for a tiny mole that sat high on his right cheekbone. Although his eyes were the same fierce blue as seen in faces of wolves, his thin and dark eyebrows were evidence to the fact that the flame of platinum hair on his head was not his natural colour.
The man on his left, meanwhile - who was clearly struggling to keep his balance and swayed into his companion from time to time - was a lot more colourful by comparison. The brunette was a vision of Hawaiian vacations; his cerise and zebra-striped blouse, golden shorts, and gladiator sandals complemented his rosy cheeks and olive complexion. His obsidian eyes rolled in his crown, however, and his head bobbed so that his handsome features were frequently obscured beneath a mop of thick, dark hair. Each unsteady step spoke of a night filled with fruity cocktails, and Myk was sure he could detect the scent of oranges and pineapples as they passed. His eyes followed their direction, causing his head to turn as if he’d been snared by a fishing wire. When they were around four strides ahead of him, he moved into their shadow, but he didn’t expect for the blonde to stop and glare at him over his shoulder.
Once more, Myk became absolutely still - even the tendrils of his milky-white hair defied the air to hang around him like a heavy veil. He didn’t blink, didn’t breathe, didn’t twitch - just stared at the two boys as if they were whispering secrets to him. It was an eerie sort of tranquility; instead of being soothed, his senses heightened and the line between predator and prey blurred. The world was encased in a cocoon - a bubble - and the only way out was to puncture this skin of tension and climb through. Myk did so with a piercing laugh. The shrill, cackling sound caused the men in front of him to turn and face him, and yet retreat into themselves at the same time, as though exposing their backs was no longer ideal. They were right to do so. Myk approached them like a hunting shark; circling once and then stepping directly into their personal space.
“What do you want?”the blonde asked.
Myk smiled. Those dark pewter eyes glanced at the brunette and then focused back to the demanding blonde.
“Hey. I asked you a qu--”
“What you’ve given him,” the Vampire said pointedly.
“I… I haven’t. I haven’t given him anything.”
The blonde shrunk under that hard gaze.
“Look, whatever--”
Myk canted his head, sighing. “Before the sun rises, child.”
Understanding crossed the boy’s face before he reached into his pocket. With his hand still clenched, he reached toward Myk. The Telepath accepted the offering, feeling the haze of a warm body melting over his skin before the small plastic packet was dropped into his palm. The boy snatched his hand away and Myk very slowly closed his own hand around it before depositing the item into his own trouser pocket.
“There. Happy?” the blonde asked, shifting on the spot. “Are we done here?”
The white-haired Vampire hummed and nodded his head to confirm that the boys were now safe to leave. He watched their hesitation, but once they’d return to the path, Myk smirked to himself and returned to his own. He reminded himself that he was not alone this evening and quickly returned to the Killer’s side feeling much better about this whole thing. As a matter of fact, in about an hour’s time, he’ll probably be feeling ecstatic.
The man who blames his “lying shitbag of an ex” for all of his current relationship problems would be a lot better off if he’d just acknowledge that things didn’t work out and that he was a bad partner at times.The coworker who constantly falls short of their performance goals and blames the culture in the office, or the economy, or basically anything but their incompetence, just needs to admit when they need help with something and find someone who can help them get better. The woman who blames all men - not just one man, but all men - for her terrible dating life should probably do the math and realise that she’s at least half to blame for things not working out there too. The reason taking responsibility for your problems is so powerful is because it puts you in control of the solution. When you blame others, you’re handing over control to everyone and everything around you and you can’t control the entire world.
Practicing vulnerability really is as simple as just doing these things. But while being more vulnerable is simple, it’s not always easy. That’s because all of these things require you to stick your neck out emotionally in some way. It’s risky and there are often real consequences to being vulnerable. You will offend some people. You will turn some people off. You might lose a friend or a client or a romantic partner. You might even make yourself a target to the wrong type of person…
There were times when Myk could be the wrong type of person to open up to. So when Aaron began to apologise to him again and bare his heart, those pewter eyes began to sparkle with intrigue, his delicate nose twitched, his brows fixed into a seductive curve, and his lips pursed a wry smile. If he had a tail, it would sway from side to side; the pendulum on life’s fragile clock. The wound on his face began to seal shut of its own accord, pushing out the threads that had wired it together. The Vampire could feel his gums and fingernails itch with excitement too. Yet, before a faint glimmer of his morals could work up the courage to chide him for this trip into such a grim fantasy, Aaron was sliding closer to him with this dark, knowing smile and Myk felt his stomach muscles tighten.
“Oh no…”
The words became a gasp and then a squeak as his tiny frame was lifted and hurled - inelegantly - over the Killer’s shoulder once more. He clawed and scraped for security and balance, as well as a little bit of spite; eventually finding equilibrium with his bicep lodged beneath Aaron’s neck with his talon-like hand splayed across the shoulder. He had just enough time to snake his remaining arm around Aaron’s and grasp a thick, strong wrist before they were off. Myk felt their bodies lurch forward and the weight of the world push back. His bone-white lengths flattened over the back of his head, swallowing him whole. The hard ridge of Aaron’s shoulder pushed uncomfortably into his ribcage, squashing all of his organs into a singular mass and making him feel full, sick. His eyes were clenched shut against his own will at any rate, yet he could see how their environment flickered past them like colourful swipes of an artist’s brush.
When they stopped in an alleyway in the Newborough district just a moment or two later, the atoms in Myk’s body were still vibrating. Aaron released his grip and the Telepath slipped down from his body like a liquid. His toes found the floor first, then his heels - his form jangling slightly from all that silver metal - his knees curled and he fell forward so that when he landed at last, he was sat on his calves; white hair and white hands swirled on the ground around him like he was an Oreo Sundae. Myk’s eyes remained closed as the carousel in his head slowed. The rumble of Aaron’s voice drew his attention, resulting in a silent snarl from the Telepath. As nauseated as he felt, however, he was not about to lose his lunch from a little bit of Celerity. He resentfully crawled to his feet, leaning against the taller man’s right side for support.
Behind a sheltering of white hair and a leather-clad shoulder, the Telepath followed the Killer’s viewpoint. The clusters of partygoers he watched were in varying stages of inebriation: some skipped along at the merry, buzzed end of the scale right up to those whom were bent over, hurling their guts up, and finally there were those whom were trying to use one’s discarded shoe as a mobile phone. Myk fondly recalled the times he had been in their positions, though, he had to admit that many of his memories were probably anecdotal at best given the utter state he’d been in. Like the night before this when he could recall only flashes of what had happened, because the reasons for why he had woken to the gnarly, open wound across his face was still a complete mystery. Subconsciously, he seemed to remember, and when he reached up to brush his hand across the wound, he realised that it was no longer there.
“Ooh,” Myk sang as though he’d just discovered the yellow brick road suddenly implanted on his cheek in place of the wound - and as if it were some kind of improvement. “It’s gone.” He smiled to the Killer while his fingernails tapped softly along his own jawline. “How marvellous…”
A Parisian accent cloaked his words again, veiling them in shadow and mischief. The sharp, insidious look in his eyes sold the tale just as well, though Aaron may not have noticed it as Myk slipped out from behind him and followed the line of the wall into the belly of the streets. In the Telepath’s mind, it was like trading a small tributary for open waters. He felt overly exposed, with no cover to hide himself from the little fish that were swimming nearby. Pewter eyes focused on one pair in particular: their bodies flashed pink, silver, and burnished gold as they moved toward him. Myk became very still. Yet as he stood there, feet on the precipice of a bad decision, his eyes wandered, taking in their detail. And for that string of moments he tried to think as though he were one of the pair of young fish; to immerse himself in the spring waters of their freedom and experience life from an entirely new perspective.
The man on the right was as skinny as he was tall, giving the impression of Silver Birch trees in the dead of Winter. His elbows stuck out from his oversized white t-shirt like broken branches and his hands dipped into the pockets of his skinny, silver jeans that led down, down, down to a pair of immaculate white trainers. Had the Telepath not known any better, he might have mistaken this one for a creature of the night given the very cold, pale nature of his skin and how it appeared so perfectly pure but for a tiny mole that sat high on his right cheekbone. Although his eyes were the same fierce blue as seen in faces of wolves, his thin and dark eyebrows were evidence to the fact that the flame of platinum hair on his head was not his natural colour.
The man on his left, meanwhile - who was clearly struggling to keep his balance and swayed into his companion from time to time - was a lot more colourful by comparison. The brunette was a vision of Hawaiian vacations; his cerise and zebra-striped blouse, golden shorts, and gladiator sandals complemented his rosy cheeks and olive complexion. His obsidian eyes rolled in his crown, however, and his head bobbed so that his handsome features were frequently obscured beneath a mop of thick, dark hair. Each unsteady step spoke of a night filled with fruity cocktails, and Myk was sure he could detect the scent of oranges and pineapples as they passed. His eyes followed their direction, causing his head to turn as if he’d been snared by a fishing wire. When they were around four strides ahead of him, he moved into their shadow, but he didn’t expect for the blonde to stop and glare at him over his shoulder.
Once more, Myk became absolutely still - even the tendrils of his milky-white hair defied the air to hang around him like a heavy veil. He didn’t blink, didn’t breathe, didn’t twitch - just stared at the two boys as if they were whispering secrets to him. It was an eerie sort of tranquility; instead of being soothed, his senses heightened and the line between predator and prey blurred. The world was encased in a cocoon - a bubble - and the only way out was to puncture this skin of tension and climb through. Myk did so with a piercing laugh. The shrill, cackling sound caused the men in front of him to turn and face him, and yet retreat into themselves at the same time, as though exposing their backs was no longer ideal. They were right to do so. Myk approached them like a hunting shark; circling once and then stepping directly into their personal space.
“What do you want?”the blonde asked.
Myk smiled. Those dark pewter eyes glanced at the brunette and then focused back to the demanding blonde.
“Hey. I asked you a qu--”
“What you’ve given him,” the Vampire said pointedly.
“I… I haven’t. I haven’t given him anything.”
The blonde shrunk under that hard gaze.
“Look, whatever--”
Myk canted his head, sighing. “Before the sun rises, child.”
Understanding crossed the boy’s face before he reached into his pocket. With his hand still clenched, he reached toward Myk. The Telepath accepted the offering, feeling the haze of a warm body melting over his skin before the small plastic packet was dropped into his palm. The boy snatched his hand away and Myk very slowly closed his own hand around it before depositing the item into his own trouser pocket.
“There. Happy?” the blonde asked, shifting on the spot. “Are we done here?”
The white-haired Vampire hummed and nodded his head to confirm that the boys were now safe to leave. He watched their hesitation, but once they’d return to the path, Myk smirked to himself and returned to his own. He reminded himself that he was not alone this evening and quickly returned to the Killer’s side feeling much better about this whole thing. As a matter of fact, in about an hour’s time, he’ll probably be feeling ecstatic.
