Break Downs Are More Fun...

Jack was wandering down Diagon Alley, without any specific purpose on her mind. She had no intention to buy anything, though she carried a decent handful of coins in her back pocket. She was wearing a dingy knapsack that she always carried with her filled with random useful objects that she might need if she decided on a spontaneous trip. She usually wore the knapsack in place of a purse like all of the other girls. She preferred the knapsack.

The last encounter she had had in Diagon Alley ad been interesting to say the least...Or, well, the situation that the encounter had led to had been interesting. Though she did not try to dwell on that day. She usually ended up punching something.

Today she was in a positive, yet aimless mood. Why would she ruin it with thoughts of lost causes? No, she thought maybe she could distract herself with some pranks, new acquaintances, a few meaningless purchases, anything of that sort.

She walked on, kicking up dust as she went along, hopping up onto a bench, walking the length before hopping down. She looked up and felt her positiveness fade a little.

The sign to Knockturn Alley was no more chipper than the actual street itself. She put her hands on her hips and turned away from it. She did not want to revisit those memories...Then again...her curiosity about the place was overwhelming. She had only found the need to go there once before and she knew it was primarily dark magic preferential. But every student needed to take a solitary trip there once.

And so began her own journey. She turned onto the cobblestone street and found that it was mostly deserted. She began to glance into windows, keeping a straight, uncrossable expression on her face. She was not looking for trouble...she did not think.

“Show me the way to the next whisky bar. Oh, don't ask why. Oh, don't ask why,” Vito Dee Symons sung, his words slurred. He leaned backwards in the booth he was sitting in, tipping both his head and the bottle of whiskey he was holding, backwards, swallowing the strong alcohol with his eyes closed. He continued to sink back against the booth until he was lying down on the cushioned seat, his head hanging off of the end of it.

Music was playing loudly throughout Satin’s- and people were laughing and talking with each other loudly- but it sounded as if he were listening to all of it from underwater; every noise, every song sounded gargled and he was unable to understand any of it.

And so, he continued to sing a drinking song he knew quite well as he finished off another bottle of whiskey, enjoying the burning sensation that he could feel in his chest as the drink slowly ran down his system, “For if we don't find the next whisky bar, I tell you we must die. I tell you we must die.”

Vito had been that way for as long as a weak, and even though many of the staff members at Satin’s had tried to at least get the man to climb to spiral stairs to continue his drinking in his bedroom, Vito only moved from that booth when he had to get up to vomit in the bathroom, or shower and change his clothes. All the rest of the while, he spent his time lying in that same booth downing alcohol until he could no longer remember why he was so upset with the world in the first place- no, that wasn’t necessarily true; it wasn’t the world that Vito Dee Symons was angry with, it was truth that enraged him. The truth that a sixth year redhead female had so kindly forced Vito to realize.

“He’s going to kill himself if he keeps this up…” one of the dancers whispered to the next, shaking her head slowly as she watched Vito drink, standing not too far at all from his table, “Nah, this happened before when he first opened this place; it’s a faze, in a few days he’ll be back to normal, acting like the king of the world,” the second women replied in the same hushed tone.

As if Vito had heard them- though he had not – Vito’s drunken singing ended, and the sound of shattering glass was heard when the empty whiskey bottle slipped from his fingers and fell to the floor.

Jack continued walking down the street, eyes passing over the dingy windows, latching onto the more...noticeable objects. Lethal looking instruments, distorted pictures, gruesome objects, mysterious books...If she knew they were not full of Dark Magic, she would be more interested.

Her feet stopped outside of a place ad she knew exactly why, though she did not raise her head, but stared at the bottom of the door. It was Satin's, and she knew that her feet had led her here; this was the reason that she had felt the strange need to turn onto Knockturn Alley. She had not planned this at all, she had no idea where she had been heading when she had left her house that morning. But her feet sure knew where they had wanted to take her today.

She sighed and tipped her head up, squinting slightly. The sun was lowering in the sky, and it was that time where it just burned so brilliantly that it lit up everything around her, burning her face and blinding her. She raised a hand as though to brush the rays of sunlight out of her vision.

She let out a resigned sigh and began to turn. Suddenly, the door began to open. Jack lept out of the way and squeezed into the space between Vito's bar and the nearby shop. Two people strolled by, whispering and talking. "That was fun, eh, darling?" "Yeah, baby. Good music. The guy knows how to run a bar." "Could use a little help with his own life though." "Looked like a bum, didn't he? C'mon let's go to my place..."

They walked by and Jack closed her eyes. Damn it. Now she had to investigate. Her personality would not let her turn and walk away. No. She knew that Vito had been losing it...whatever it was, the last time she had seen him. She had seen him lose his cool before.

She walked around the building and slipped into the building. Immediately, the door man stopped her and asked for the door fee. "I know Vito." He stared her down. "Look, if he gives you hell, I'll pay up. In the meantime..." She pulled out a small handful of coins that did not quite measure up to the entry fee. "You can keep that. Okay?" He studied the coins and in the next moment, he slipped them in his pocket. "Good man. Now where is the scoundrel?"

She did not need Vito pointed out, because there was suddenly a shatter of glass. She turned and saw Vito, sitting, well slumping, alone at a booth, looking very un-Vito-ish and very, very drunk.

She sighed and walked over to the booth, sliding onto the chair opposite him. She pointed her wand at the bottle, murmuring "Reparo." Having finally turned seventeen, magic outside of school was no longer prohibited. She set the bottle up on the counter and studied the wretched man before her. "What happened to you?"

That annoying voice broke through the chaotic noises in the club that filled Vito’s ears, and he opened his eyes slowly to investigate. “Heeey redhead,” the man greeted slowly, and attempted to sit back up, only to fall back down on his back so that he was lying down once more. “Woo, I’ve never seen the ceiling spin so fast,” he spoke quietly, a twisted smile upon his full lips. His image was flickering like a dying lightbulb, as it had been the last time he and Jack had visited Satin’s together. He, of course, hadn’t a clue that he was going completely transparent every few milliseconds, for if he had, he would have broken down for sure.

Vito looked at the bottle that Jack had repaired and purred, gripping the glass container by its neck, bringing the rim to his lips once more. He allowed the drink to rush quickly into his mouth until it filled his mouth completely, and swallowed.

It had been a very long time since Vito had last had so much alcohol to drink at one time, for he had always been too worried about his reputation and his appearance to allow himself to drink his troubles away- but something had compelled him to do so, some powerful fear which had been brewing within him ever since he had begun thinking about his past and his future.

“Damn you to hell, b!tch- get out of my kingdom,” he growled abruptly, though he did not look in her direction; he was too busy staring at the ceiling and at the insides of his eyelids as his eyes drooped slightly. He was shifting between consciousness and unconsciousness every few minutes, unable to break the pattern because of all of the alcohol he had swallowed- though he did rather enjoy being able to feel so free.

“mmmm, I wanna get high or somethin’,” Vito spoke quietly once more, his lips upturned in a way that didn’t match his voice or situation one bit. He himself didn’t know who he was talking to, but apparently, it angered him when the no one replied. “Get me something strong to smoke,” he ordered a dancer who had walked by his table at that very moment, grabbing hold of her arm roughly. He pulled her towards him, opened his mouth to say something more, only to let go of her and close his mouth again when words failed him.

She did, however, rush off to do as he had told her.

Jack stared at him as he flopped onto his back, her eyebrows high on her forehead, her eyes twinkling with surprise and confusion. For someone who was so dedicated to looking his best at all times, Vito was acting like an idiot. It was probably the strangest sight Jack had seen in awhile.

He called her a name, but that rolled off her back. She had heard the name muttered about her too many times for it to affect her. Many times she would take it as a compliment, as opposed to a timid pansy. But right now, she was too focused on the pathetic being before her to pay much attention to that.

Jack remembered when her mother would get drunk. There were two moods. Wither she would get angry and violent, and everything Jack did would make the woman wish to kill Jack. Or she would get moody and sad, and cry about everything wrong in the world and Jack would drag the woman upstairs, tuck her in, and let her sleep it off.

If she had to choose, Jack hoped Vito's situation was closer to the latter. From the look of him, this was not a one-time deal. He had sunken in eyes and a looseness and carelessness about him that told her that he had been working up to this for some time now. It was a wonder he was still conscious.

He asked a dancer to get him something to smoke and Jack stared at him from where she was, though she could not see him very well due to the table. She sighed and slid around the bend in the booth until she could look at Vito, who was still lying on his back. "Vito, what happened to you? What are you doing?" She repeated, this time more firmly, as though he needed to answer right now.

“What… happened to me, Jaaack? I drank some- amazing –whiskey today,” The drunk man replied with a smirk, smacking his lips once as if to add on to the answer. He knew full well what Jack was actually asking, even if he was in no state to even even attempt to think; she wanted to know why he was drinking- why he was ruining himself. Why did she care? Vito assumed she wanted to use that information against him, and so he kept the honest answer locked in his mouth- though there was a good chance it would find a way to escape even when shut away in a cage.

Vito rolled over so that he was on his side, allowing his arm and the bottle he was holding in that hand, to dangle over the end of the booth as he laughed icily to himself. What was so amusing to the poltergeist? The situation he was in. The fact that Jack was actually there beside him trying to get information out of him while. he. was. drunk.

Well, Maybe Jack wasn’t as innocent as Vito had first assumed; if she was willing to take advantage of a drunken man in order to win, than she certainly wasn’t the saint she pretended to.

“I hope this is what you wanted, Mr. Symons,” the women Vito had ordered to get him a smoke said cautiously before grabbing hold of Vito’s wrist and stuffing the drug into his hand. He curled his fingers around it and breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank you, beutifull Vito replied, and the women turned away quickly as soon as the words fell from his lips, desperate to get as far away from the moody poltergeist as she could without actually leaving the club.

Vito pulled a lighter out of his pocket, his hands shaking due to the alcohol in his system, and ran his index finger over the switch quickly, watching as a flame formed at the mouth of the lighter. The man brought the flame to the cigarette he held loosely in-between his lips, and lit the end of it. Almost instantly, smoke begun dancing around Vito’s lips. He grinned coldly and inhaled the drug.

“Ooooh that is amazing,” he whispered and rested his head back down on the cushioned seat, closing his eyes slowly. The music had gone back to being gurgled, chaotic noise, but the feeling that washed over Vito at that moment made up for that, “That is soooo much stronger than nicotine. Woo! I think I’ll stick to this stuff,” he added in that same, quiet voice. It was almost hard to tell if he was talking to himself, or the young redhead female before him.

Jack looked down at him confused and disappointed. She could see that he had been drinking. That much was painstakingly obvious. Vito had been drinking...a lot. She wondered if he had been sober at all since she had last seen him. Would he be this bad had he been sober even once since then?

The sad and depressing thing was that she found she actually cared. Perhaps she did not want her rival to become useless, but she did not want to see Vito ruined. He was an intelligent person and a great rival and it would be a shame that he would drown that all out in alcohol and smoke.

But as he took whatever it was in his hand, Jack felt a resolve grow in her. Vito was not going to end up like a bum. He was not going to drink himself to death nor was he going to destroy all of his brain cells with drugs. Jack did not care if she had to force real water down his throat or lock up the wine and hard alcohol herself. She knew that she could keep him from killing himself.

As she thought about it, she realized she was probably the only one who could. The only people Vito knew who would have a heart to save someone hated him. And the type of people who liked Vito were the type of people to allow their "friends" to just kill themselves. Jack was the only one she could think of that had the determination and will to save the declining poltergeist.

Feeling strange as she did so, she reached out and grabbed his wrist that held the cigarette. She lowered her head and said softly, "Vito. Why don;t you put that out and I will help you get up to bed. You need sleep." She wanted to get him away from all of the loud music and the temptation of drugs and alcohol. She crossed her fingers and hoped he was drunk enough to just agree and not go insane.

Vito’s dark eyes snapped open when he felt Jack grab hold of his wrist and snatch his cigarette from him. His eyes were cold- colder than they always were when he was angry, because he had alcohol and drugs to add on to his anger, allowing him to reach a new level of rage that he had never achieved before.

Too bad he was too drunk to act on that rage.

Instead of darting forward and tearing the young female’s head off, Vito gripped the table with one hand and pulled himself upward, his head spinning, and ripped his arm sharply out of her grasp. He narrowed his eyes at her and opened his mouth to speak, “and why… would I do that?” he asked, each word falling from lips slowly, as if it had taken a great effort for him to get them to form in his mind- which was probably the case.

Vito was about to add on to that question when he suddenly collapsed, his head falling backwards against the booth he was sitting in. Well… at least he had managed to sit up, for that alone was a huge accomplishment considering how many toxins he had poisoned his body with during that week. In fact, it was shocking that he was still breathing.

Was the poltergeist trying to end his own life? No. In fact, that wasn’t even an option, being what he was; his life was In the hands of his creator, not his own- and that was one of the many facts that had driven him to the place he was at that very moment, drunk and trying to get himself high. No, Vito Dee Symons was better than that; he wouldn’t end his life even if he had the option to, because he knew that he had it good, and he was proud of the reputation he had created for himself- a reputation that he was going to destroy completely if he kept behaving the way he was.

Vito’s eyelids drooped over his eyelids and he was completely silent for a moment. His breathing was quiet and his blackened heart was beating slowly; that was probably the calmest anyone on earth had ever seen Vito Dee Symons- even if it was involuntary. He flickered in-between transparency and his human disguise once more, though it was slower that time around; it wouldn’t be very long until the unconscious poltergeist became completely transparent.

A handful of people were looking Vito’s way with expressions of shock and fear on their faces; only a few souls knew what the man was, and it apparently wasn’t the easiest thing for strangers to believe.

Vito jerked his arm away from her and she saw the hate and the anger flick behind his eyes as he asked why would he want to do that. She lowered her voice, glancing at the people who were staring at him. "Because you are sick," she said softly, as people began to whisper.

Had he known that people were staring, Vito would have become crazed. To have people staring, telling each other small gossip tidbits about Vito that would bloom into rumors that might ruin his beloved reputation...that would send Vito over the edge, had he been sober enough to notice.

He flopped backwards and Jack had to scoot away from him so that he did not fall over on her. She sighed, glancing at him and then over at the other occupants, who had stopped dancing to ogle the strange sight that was the flickering vision of the drunken poltergeist. The bartender was smirking at him, seeming to be glad to see his eternal tormentor in his own little stupor.

Jack bit her lip and slid around the bend in the booth and then off of her seat, straightening out. She went over to Vito's side and knelt, squinting as she tried to look at him though the flickering vision. She grabbed his arm and pulled it around her shoulders, standing up. Luckily, Vito was sort of short and very fit so that he was not too heavy. She grunted, "Up we get," wondering if he was even still conscious.

The sudden movement woke Vito enough so that he was able to hold at least some of his own wait and take a step forward while leaning against Jack’s side. Had he known that it was Jack that was dragging him up out of his favorite booth in order to help him, he probably would have stored the information somewhere in order to use against her later…. but he actually did need the assistance, and at least while he was intoxicated Jack actually had a chance at doing so, because in any other situation Vito’s pride would have gotten in the way for certain.

The man didn’t open his eyes- hell, he wouldn’t have been able to at that moment even if he’d tried. He had, however, begun speaking quietly under his breath- so quietly that it was almost impossible for anyone else to hear. “Perfection makes perfect…” he muttered, twisting the saying that practice makes perfect into one that he could relate to, “But you have to be born perrrrfect- that’s the rule,” he added. His words made perfect sense to himself even if they didn’t to anyone else- in fact, those very sentences were thoughts that just happened to form themselves into words and leap off of his tongue.

“I hate them. I hate her. All of them,” he whispered to himself just before stumbling, only avoiding colliding with the floor because of the fact that his arm was rested around Jack’s shoulders. He groaned and let his head fall so that his chin was up against his chest; even his thoughts were spinning around, as were the tables and the people in the noisy club whenever he opened his eyes.

Vito’s dark colored hair fell over his face slightly. Normally Vito would run his fingers through his hair instantly upon realizing that his hair wasn’t combed back, but he didn’t that time around, and it was a rather strange thing to witness; it was almost as if the alcohol and the drugs had taken everything Vito was and had smashed it, turning him into a worthless drunk for the evening.

“Leaving me with no choice… you don’t DO THAT to Vito f*ckin' Symons,” he growled, speaking aloud one too many thoughts, “I’m not leaving- you can’t make me.”