The more the music boomed, the bass rattling his ribcage, the more disconnected he felt. The more his eyes lazily glanced from face to face, the more he tipped the bottle back, the more the gravity sunk in. As the alcohol flowed down his throat, it didn't dull the feelings as he had hoped--it just made it sting so much more. Veles gritted his teeth and pushed himself off the bar, cringing as his hand made contact with it.
He slithered through the crowd as though every next step would be the one that he trips, making his way to the exit still on two feet, the bottle in his hand, arms hanging weakly at his sides. His face was hot, so he wiped at it and his fingers came back wet. Pathetic.
Golden orbs watery, lip trembling and hands shaking, Veles could feel the white-hot pang of guilt settle over him, the pit of dread in his gut growing the more he stood in that banquet hall. He kept his head down, passing a Twi'lek that was making out with someone on the floor, and stopped in front of the door. He looked back once more over the room, and a tidal wave of emotion washed over him like an earthquake. Altair.
It didn't take much deducing to realize that the Acolyte knew now. It also didn't take much thinking to realize that no matter what he said, no matter what he did, the best thing to do was to make himself scarce. He had caused enough destruction. The kid had looked up to him, and he'd fumbled it, had potentially ruined his life--the lives of three people--out of immaturity and recklessness.
Reality came crashing down, and he was no longer the 18 year old on Coruscant. No, he was the failed Sith Lord. He was the junkie that destroyed everything he touched. He was the last person anyone wanted to see, and it burned his heart to realize.
"I'm so sorry." He said it aloud, the words choked out, but the telepathic message would echo in Altair's mind for just a moment, almost like an afterthought. Veles burst through the door and stormed down the hall, away from the people. Away from the disaster he'd caused.
@Sreeya
He slithered through the crowd as though every next step would be the one that he trips, making his way to the exit still on two feet, the bottle in his hand, arms hanging weakly at his sides. His face was hot, so he wiped at it and his fingers came back wet. Pathetic.
Golden orbs watery, lip trembling and hands shaking, Veles could feel the white-hot pang of guilt settle over him, the pit of dread in his gut growing the more he stood in that banquet hall. He kept his head down, passing a Twi'lek that was making out with someone on the floor, and stopped in front of the door. He looked back once more over the room, and a tidal wave of emotion washed over him like an earthquake. Altair.
It didn't take much deducing to realize that the Acolyte knew now. It also didn't take much thinking to realize that no matter what he said, no matter what he did, the best thing to do was to make himself scarce. He had caused enough destruction. The kid had looked up to him, and he'd fumbled it, had potentially ruined his life--the lives of three people--out of immaturity and recklessness.
Reality came crashing down, and he was no longer the 18 year old on Coruscant. No, he was the failed Sith Lord. He was the junkie that destroyed everything he touched. He was the last person anyone wanted to see, and it burned his heart to realize.
"I'm so sorry." He said it aloud, the words choked out, but the telepathic message would echo in Altair's mind for just a moment, almost like an afterthought. Veles burst through the door and stormed down the hall, away from the people. Away from the disaster he'd caused.
@Sreeya
Exit.