Exhaustion had hit him… many days before the present- and not the usual physical exhaustion that one felt after a particularly long day of work. No, this was different, and it was something which he felt from within the walls of his skull, and from deep within his chest. Vito did not feel as if he had worked more diligently than usual at his job- which consisted of keeping everything that had to do with his Kingdome in check, and having sex with every attractive redhead in London that he laid eyes on- rather, he felt as if he was slowly loosing the ability to sit or stand still for much longer than a minute without slipping into a state of half-consciousness. During every second he went without a drink or a blast of nicotine, he was sleepwalking.
And It had started with the reoccurring nightmare of a dead redhead he had never meant to kill, and a growing ache within his chest just beneath his ribcage- a pain which knew not of mercy, and was something that Vito could not rid himself of, no matter how he attempted to do so. A pain which was known to anyone else as fear. Fear of the hallucinations of a dead Jack Dyllan upon his bedroom floor whenever he awoke from that dream once more, and fear of fear itself.
Presently, his brain was buzzing like a broken refrigerator as he sat and stared at the human beings around him, who danced and drank from alcohol-filled glasses. It was a sight which Vito had grown quite fond of, for it often reminded him of the fact that all of those people he was watching, were under his command. With a snap of his fingers he would be able to take away their smiles by snatching their beverages from their hands, or their lit cigarettes from in-between two of their fingers. This satisfaction, however, was not an emotion Vito felt one such a day as he brought the tip of his expensive cigar to his mouth and inhaled slowly. Instead, he felt it difficult to blink without allowing his eyelids to cling to his eyeballs and never release their hold.
A young-faced redhead female was attempting to entertain Vito from where they sat in a booth not too far from the bar, but was failing at her attempts despite her fiery locks, and was beginning to feel rather insignificant, “Vito, let me touch your hair…” she purred, digging into the skin of the back of his neck just below the hairline. She was balancing upon the thin line that was never to be crossed in a desperate attempt to get Vito’s attention, which he could not seem to focus no matter how hard he tried. This did, however, light a bit of a fire within Vito, allowing him to momentarily break free of the trance which he had been subject to for several days already, “Only if you let me have yours,” he responded, and with these words he had threatened to pull each individual strand of the female’s brilliant red hair from the skin of her skull.
It had been this very response which had driven the woman away, teaching her that she was not nearly as beautiful as she thought she was, and that she had been correct to feel insecure when she had approached Vito during the very beginning of the evening. It was the very worst of people that was always brought out when they found themselves around Vito Dee Symons, and there were times when Vito had to do very little in order to achieve this.
His brown eyes slowly strayed from the glass within his grip and began to sweep over the crowd once more, each body moving slowly as the people danced, as if a fuse had blown within Vito’s mind, leaving him incapable of processing motion the way his mind normally did. Some how Vito’s eyes had eventually traveled to that one sacred booth; the table at which he had spent so much of his time at, and the one place he should have been attempting to keep his eyes away from after having been robbed of more than a week’s worth of sleep because of the redhead he usually shared that very booth with.
It should have surprised him, it really should have, and yet, when Vito laid eyes on Jack Dyllan, who was sipping from what he was wise enough to assume was her usual order of soda, and yet it did not surprise him at all. Instead, the sight caused him to ponder whether or not he had fallen asleep and been handed over to his nightmares once again… and yet, Vito stood from his own booth and made his way towards the problem; there was a way to tell if you were sleeping, and pinching was not involved, "I should have you thrown out for showing up here without my invitation- that has been one of our few terms of agreement, after all," he began, making his presence known in an attempt to determine whether or not this version of Jack Dyllan would reply to him in a way a real human being might, or if his demons had decided that it would be great fun to shake him about.
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