http://64.176.89.88/images/Gourryraver.JPG

http://64.176.89.88/msp/VrumZangraver.JPG

I can never face another day
If there ain't no raver's groove to let me play
I can never face another day, yeah
If there ain't no raver's groove to let me play...

The whole club was packed, wall to wall, bodies moving to the beat of music that one could feel through the floor, thudding through any kind of barrier one could think of, including that of flesh or cloth. It was the kind of deep noise that went directly into your body, bypassing your ears, going for your chest and making your heart follow along with its rhythm, the very blood in your body following the beat. The bass was pushed up possible as far as it could go, but then again, the volume of the songs playing was so loud that it was impossible to hear anyone unless they were shouting. Everyone there liked it that way, liked having the music so loud that it would truly take effort for someoe to come and talk to you, to have the music so loud that it was hard to think.

The heat flowing from so many different bodies was intense, a wash of warmth which was part of the reason why so many people wore very little, if anything at all, while dancing amidst the crowds. It took a while to get used to that kind of atmosphere, the heat and the volume, but after experience one was able to filter it out, in a way, one's body just increasing its resistance, ignoring music, filtering it out, and coping with the heat in its own ways. Regulars were rarely bothered by things that would annoy and frustrate newcomers, especially for the twinkies who got upset at what the oppressive atmosphere did to their hair or clothes. They were unused to it and weren't prepared, and they payed the price, and it was rare to see a twinkie for more then one night, as one experience with the real club was enough to drive most of them away, even at the sake of their image.

Out amongst the crowd a few distinctive features could be seen, moving along with the flow. People with light hair stood out in particular, or those who had bleached and/or dyed their hair different colors. Almost any hair color was a viable option at this place, but the lighter colors automatically caught the eye. However, what attention the hair could not grab was seized and immediately throttled by the clothes and accessories that those among the crowd wore. One could sit back and stare for hours and still see something different with every person who went gyrating by, arms pumping, legs moving. Every person had added their own touches, trying to make themselves unique, and although at a glance the entire crowd was just one mass of people, those who made the effort truly did stand out. Multiple necklaces, bracelets, earrings, anklets, armlets, everything was game to be added in an effort to generate and garner more attention. Clips, hairties, shredded or torn clothing dyed various colors, all in various combinations. The entire place was a cornucopia of hues, all blending together into one indescribably vibrant multi-color amongst the people who had chosen to gather here. This entire atmosphere was enhanced by the multi-chromatic lights and lasers, flashing and moving in tune with the music, different colors in thousands of places at once, a barrage on the sensitive eyes of anyone who had not become accustomed to the entire scene.

Although he had not wanted to, Vrumugun had done just that.

At the moment he was sitting off to one side, which got him a few disapproving glances from people who were dancing. However, considering he had become something of a regular fixture at these kind of things, particularly at this club, he didn't get as many as he had before. And it wasn't as if he didn't dance, he just wasn't dancing at the moment. The dancing he didn't mind. If Zangulus could drag himself away from everybody for just a few seconds to ask him, then he would go join him, but at the moment he was just sitting and watching.

He could feel the beat pounding in the back of his head. He had to admit, he did not mind the music. He actually kind of enjoyed the repetitive beat, the speed, the energy that it all seemed to carry, the occasional happy to eerie vocals. It appealed to him on some level, and he had taken to searching for some of the music on his own.

That wasn't why he was here, however. The reason he felt so dissatisfied was that it wasn't his choice to be here. Although perhaps he may have gravitated to this scene on his own, although the probability was not likely, the sheer number of people did not appeal to him. He didn't like watching so many people around him, to have them look at him in askance as to why he wasn't with them. It bothered him on some level, but he knew that if he got up to join them, they would stop staring at him. All he had to do was actually go up and make the effort. He was making an excuse for himself, another reason why he would be dissatisfied with being here. He shouldn't have to make up an excuse to cover up the real reason. That wasn't why he was upset. He actually liked being with them, he actually probably would have enjoyed himself more...

If he had chosen to be here in the first place.

He leaned back, glancing at himself for a few moments, shaking his head as he remembered just what he looked like. He had never been very self-aware, often forgetting how he looked until someone's cruel or insensitive comments brought it back to his attention, and despite the odd articles of clothing he was wearing, he often wasn't even aware of himself.

On his bare chest rested a large, thick silver ankh, one of the few parts of his ensemble that he had chosen himself. He was wearing a thin black leather vest, which matched along with his pants, which were tighter then he personally would have liked. Zangulus had insisted, however, and in the end it was useful, considering that his legs weren't as warm as they may have been otherwise and they never hindered him, even when he was dancing. He didn't like the looks he got because of them, however. Although he normally wasn't self-conscious, he didn't like people staring at him, whether it was because they thought he looked weird or they thought he looked attractive. He just didn't trust being stared at, there were too many lies and complications that went behind their eyes.

His feet were covered with large, thick-soled boots, which surprisingly weren't that difficult to move around in. He had been careful in considering the size and weight of the boots so that they wouldn't impede him when he danced. Originally the question had been if he would dance, but now the if was not even considered. There was no if, only when.

On his left shoulder a black cross had been drawn with marker, and a metallic armlet wrapped itself around his opposite bicep. Below the metallic band, but above his wrist a few inches, also drawn with black marker, was a swirl that barely met at the ends, and, unlike many present, his hands were unadorned, with neither ring nor glove nor bracelet. On his left forearm he had drawn a gaping wound with red and black markers, forever trapped in the act of bleeding. Around his neck was a leather spiked collar, and his head was covered by a black bandanna that he had no intention of taking off at any point in time for his own reasons.

He scratched for a moment at the corner of his eyes before forcing his hand away. He had forgotten about that...the corners of his eye now led up into a black swirl Zangulus had done with an eyeliner pencil, and underneath his right eye was a teardrop done with face paint. Although he had been wearing this kind of face makeup for a long time, he still felt slight itching near his eyes that he couldn't help but scratch at times. He wasn't sure as to the teardrop's status, considering how unreliable face paint could be, but he personally didn't care. How he looked had never really mattered to him, not even here, but this look had become so associated with him that he almost felt obligated to continue with it.

It had been his choice originally to lean more towards a goth look then the typical raver. Zangulus had originally tried to get him to follow his lead, but Vrumugun had refused. He never liked bright colors and he refused to wear them, finding them demeaning. Although he still wasn't happy with some parts of his attire that Zangulus would not allow him to change, he was overall pleased with the darker, more morbid look he had constructed or himself. He wasn't so goth as to be ostracized and the fact that he danced and danced enthusiastically helped. Also the fact he came with Zangulus, who dressed in a much more stereotypical raver fashion.

He sighed to himself, brushing some of his limp brown hair away from his odd icy eyes. Another thing that set him apart was that he did absolutely nothing with his hair, not dying it, decorating it, tying it back, or anything that would have brought it more attention. He knew as well as anyone else that his hair was boring, having no body or shine of its own. It was just his hair, and the rest of him was enough to get attention.

Sometimes he couldn't believe he allowed himself to be dragged here in this kind of fashion. When he thought back to who he normally was, or used to be before he became part of the scene, he never would have imagined that he would be here now, dressed as he was. But then again, he never imagined he would meet someone like Zangulus, and he never knew that someone like Zangulus could be just so persistent and so convincing. It was Zangulus' fault he was here, but in a way, he wasn't annoyed at all. This made him wonder if perhaps he was beginning to come out of his highly anti-social and emotionless shell, but he knew it would never be that easy. He had been coming here for some time, but the moment he left he reverted back to his normal self, keeping his face emotionless with his voice, keeping everything inside, from joy to sadness. But the fact that here, in certain circumstances, he could finally let some things go, was enough to make him wonder whether or not his shell was breaking. Or at least getting a door.

He looked back into the crowd, watching people go by, thousands of colors all at once, but he had learned to filter out enough so he wasn't overwhelmed. He noted a young man digging into a plush backpack, pulling out a bag of candy, handing it out to people he had never even met and would probably never see again. He danced close enough to pass by, and Vrumugun took the candy that was offered to him, giving the man a soft smile before he continued on his way, vanishing into the body of people moving all at once.

He stared at it. It was a lollipop, one of the kinds with gum in the center by the looks of it. He unwrapped it and stuck it in his mouth, watching other people go by. He wondered momentarily where Zangulus was, then rolled his eyes. There was no doubt where Zangulus was, the attention whore. He was in the middle of everything, dancing, moving, demanding attention, getting close to so many people while smiling that infuriatingly intriguing smile of his, capturing people's attention before they vanished again. He'd be in the center, moving to his own rhythm and style, black hair lit by the flashing lights. He'd be waiting, wanting to feel people watching, wanting to know he had them, wanting to know he was being watched and admired, forever wanting that attention, trying to get people to watch him, be with him, share with him the atmosphere. And here, it wasn't hard to find.

Vrumugun could feel it, he knew he could. The vibe that the rave was giving off. He knew it well, as was demonstrated by the man who had given him the candy without even knowing who he was. The general feeling of acceptance, of mutual love, of joy and happiness. The vibe that drew so many people back, including Zangulus.

He sighed, the lollipop kept between his teeth and cheek, letting the flavor trickle slowly down his throat. Blueberry. One of his favorite flavors actually, although he was almost positive that the man who gave it to him had no idea.

In a way, he himself also loved this kind of atmosphere, the mutual love and respect that seemed to emanate from everyone present. Through most of his life he had been alienated, which was what had caused him to build up his large, thick emotional wall, but here, that was unneccessary. Here he could have fun, here he could actually show emotion without any unpleasant repurcussions, almost as if it were a loving family he had never had. He loved the atmosphere, the loving kindness that allowed that man to give him candy, but more so then that, for him to take it trustingly, not suspecting any kind of harm, knowing it was a friendly gesture. There weren't enough simple, friendly gestures in the world, but here, that seemed to be everything. He gladly would have stayed here, come just to bask in the loving aura that seemed to be everywhere.

But he wasn't here because he chose to be here.

No, he was here to make sure Zangulus didn't do something stupid. To be able to drive him back when he wasn't able to. To babysit him "just in case". A duty he had never volunteered to take, and yet here he was.

Sometimes Zangulus drove him insane. He couldn't understand or tolerate sometimes the man's vanity, or need for attention, or the bizarre limits he would go to to get something he wanted. But other times, Zangulus could be understanding, fun-loving, and was able to get Vrumugun out of his shell.

For instance, he was able to get Vrumugun out into the scene, which was something no one else on earth possibly could have ever done. And how he had managed this miraculous feat was why he was with him. Why the two of them continued to spend time together, despite that attributes about the other that drove them crazy.

He gladly would have come if Zangulus just wanted him to have fun, just wanted him to come out sometimes. That was the reason he originally gave, but it soon became apparent that such a simple excuse was painfully transparent. Zangulus needed someone there to fall back on, someone there to be able to drive when he couldn't without question, and someone to watch his belongings.
He would have come gladly if Zangulus had dragged him here with his happiness in mind. He never would feel these misgivings, regrets, or tinges of unhappiness if Zangulus had just wanted him to have fun, to share something with him.

But that was why he was unhappy.

He had been going to these raves for what seemed like ages now, and he had long ago decided that Zangulus could take care of himself. He continued to drive, but he no longer shadowed him through the club. He no longer went to check when he was gone longer then usual.

However, he continued coming. He didn't exactly know why. Zangulus could drive himself if Vrumugun truly did not want to come. Perhaps the vibe had gotten to him too, and he just refused to admit to himself he enjoyed spending time here. He wouldn't put it past himself.

He leaned back, recognizing a familiar figure pushing their way through the dancers. No...he wasn't pushing...he was just sliding by, working their way into their dance rhythm for only a few moments then moving on. He knew who it was immediately just by how easily they blended with other people before continuing, and he sighed, biting down on the lollipop quickly, feeling and hearing it fracture underneath his teeth with a loud crack. It wasn't good to have something sticking out of your mouth when you were dancing, which was what he knew he would ask him to do. He continued to crunch on the sweet shards while Zangulus worked his way through the crowd to where he knew Vrumugun would be.

Vrumugun pulled the now bereft-of-candy stick out of his mouth and, not seeing any trash receptacle nearby, put it in his pocket for disposal later. He watched Zangulus finally extract himself fully from the crowd.

Zangulus always went to the extreme in trying to grab attention, covering his face with translucent sparkles, his eyes marked with dark blue eyeshadow. His black hair constantly covered his right eye, although this didn't seem to bother him, and it was kept back in a tight, wavy ponytail. If there was one thing he was proud of, it was his hair, and it showed in how it shone with health underneath the lights.

Around his neck he wore a thin cross with one curled tip, which rested on a broad, muscular chest covered with black mesh, which continued on down his arms, stopping at his wrists. He covered the mesh with a ripped and torn jean jacket, a safety pin attached at the bottom with a cord tied to it, the opposite end tied to a pacifier. His hands bore several plastic, multi-colored rings, and he was wearing a massive pair of jeans, so much so that they constantly sagged below his waistline, revealing his briefs. They stayed on his body somehow, although Vrumugun was never sure how, and underneath the massive folds of light blue cloth the toes of his sneakers could be seen, bright red. The constant nights of dancing and exertion had made Zangulus rather fit and muscular, him having been on the scene far longer then Vrumugun with much more energy and enthusiasiam, and he was a stark contrast to Vrumugun's thin, lanky, pale form.

He couldn't hear Zangulus' voice over the music, but he knew what he was asking. He lifted himself off the chair he was sitting on, watching Zangulus smirk, holding out one hand before disappearing back into the crowd. As if he knew he would follow him, which he would.

While Zangulus could merge and move through the crowd, Vrumugun was not so co-ordinated or skilled with large groups. Instead, he often managed to slide by someone while they weren't paying attention, always managing to find the moments of blank space before it was filled by another body. It had always been an ability of his, one he had used previously to avoid crowds, although now he used it to manage them. He followed Zangulus' progress on through the group of people, sure that he was again being lead to the center of the floor. Or the rough approximization of it.

Zangulus stopped, apparently having found the area he was looking for, and, without even checking to make sure Vrumugun was there, began dancing, moving his arms and legs in perfect time with the deep bassline. His hair followed him perfectly, and Vrumugun shook his head, unable to hide his admiration for Zangulus' skill. He had been doing this far longer then Vrumugun had, and he was able to dance far better then he could ever aspire to. His movements were graceful, perfect, in line with every sound, every chord that came from DJ. Vrumugun slid into place next to him, and began to dance himself.

He disliked other people on principle. He had known too many and had to deal with too many in his various jobs to ever believe that any person could not be infuriatingly stupid or rude. He knew enough about people to lose his faith in them.

However, when he was in this mass, this group of people all here for one reason, to enjoy the music and the vibe, he lost that cynicism, that sarcasm. In an ironic way, he felt as if he was alone, as if no one was watching him, because there was no one there except him, who was everyone. It was a transcendent experience, and he knew that had to be one of the reasons why he kept coming, why he couldn't keep himself away. He was here with these people, and he finally clicked into rhythm with them when his desire finally matched with theirs. He wanted to enjoy the music with the others, and there were no other motives, nothing else. The simplicity of it made him feel so unfettered, as if he dropped all the thoughts that had been bothering him. He was finally one with something, someone, and it was that acceptance that allowed him to dance, to overcome his hatred of people to move.

He wasn't skilled himself, but he had learned to dance by Zangulus' side, and he had learned everything he knew from him in the privacy of their apartment, although even though it was just the two of them, Vrumugun was often overcome with shyness and awkwardness. Zangulus had modified his moves to incorporate Vrumugun in some way, deciding the best practice would be there, in the rave, where the fear that Vrumugun subconsciously held of other people would not interfere, and here he was correct. Vrumugun truly shone on a dance floor, in the middle of everything, when he could forget. Vrumugun's moves were simplistic, but primal, raw, filled with the energy and joy of just being there. It was the motions of someone desperatly trying to express themselves, to expres things they constantly kept hidden, and Vrumugun kept so much inside that when he was allowed to express himself, in whatever way was possible, they had an energy that could not help but grab attention. It was beautiful in a fearsome and sad way. Zangulus' co-ordination and precision incorporated Vrumugun, the careful measured steps all working, adapting to whatever Vrumugun was doing perfectly, and the two of them moved as one being. At these times Vrumugun could forget everything that Zangulus had done, forget all the irritating things he could do, and just enjoy being with him, enjoy his company. He could just be there, letting his emotions, everything he kept inside, work it's way through his dance, and know that Zangulus was there with him, with every step and every arm movement. A spin and Zangulus was spinning around with him, some part of his skin always brushing against him, letting him know he was there.

Zangulus could be infuriating, frustrating, and anything far from the perfect friend, but at these times, he was everything in a friend that Vrumugun could ever want. He was there.

The beats moved his heart, and he could feel his thin body shuddering along with every thump of the bass drum, and it motivated his motions. He expressed his joy at being accepted through his motions, or at least attempted to, and Zangulus moved with him at all times, adapting to anything that Vrumugun could throw at him. He never worried that Zangulus would get lost, or get confused, or make a mistake. He knew that he would find some way to adapt, some way to work with it. Everything that he did Zangulus could counter, and this left him free to do anything. He tossed his head, watching his hair move in almost slow motion through a kaleidoscopic world of flashing and changing colors, lasers and beams of light going on and off through different shades, and he caught the tip-ends of Zangulus' ponytail in his vision for a few moments before he was gone, again moving with him, mirroring and countering his motions with every beat.

Was it these moments that made him come? That made him accompany Zangulus through all the stupid things he had to do to get ready, to put up with his fretting over what he wore and what he was doing and how he acted, to put up with all the preparation, with all the things that Zangulus made him wear, with all the awkward lessons Zangulus had insisted on before they even went at first? Was it all for this, these precious minutes in the middle of the floor surrounded by dozens of equally oddly dressed people, moving on the same lines and doing the same things as he was doing, all with only one thing on their minds? People doing everything he did, moving with him, just enjoying the music, nothing more, nothing less. Just trying to find happiness and finding it here, with thousands of other questors, in the realm of deep, loud music, the bright, flashing lights, the unity of one being with one mind with one goal.

Maybe that was what he came here for, the raver manifesto...Zangulus had explained plur to him a long time ago, and he had scoffed at the entire idea, not knowing anything about the scene at first, taking it as a world of drugs, of separation, of people all out for themselves, to get high, to get anything, but now he understood. He understood the first time Zangulus had dragged him in the club, dragged him immediately to the center of the floor, and danced with him. It had only taken him seconds to pick up the beat, and only seconds more to allow himself to follow them. Since then he had always gone with Zangulus, although he told himself and Zangulus that it was for his safety.

Was it this, this peace, love, understanding, respect, that he had come to desire in life? This otherworldly place where people stopped being cruel for no reason to one another, and came in this primal collection to celebrate what a body would naturally do when presented with music? Was it this primitive, natural feeling he got when he danced, when he moved with Zangulus with such precision, to know he had a partner, someone who danced with him? The knowledge that he belonged here, with these people, with this music thrumming in his ears, whirling and dancing with Zangulus right with him, moving without saying a single word, always dancing, always in motion.

He didn't want to come here originally, he knew that much. And when he was here, on the sidelines, he resented it. But when he was in the center, when he was dancing, it all faded away, and he wanted more then anything to be there. He wanted nothing more then just to be here, with Zangulus and everyone else, to be here to enjoy music he loved, to express emotions that otherwise were kept locked inside, tightly and securely.

But he knew the moment he walked away, the feeling would vanish, and he again would wonder why he let Zangulus drag him here. He would doubt his feelings of euphoria on the dance floor, and misunderstand why he enjoyed coming here. Again, he would not understand, he would forget, and he would again become resentful.

The cycle had gone on for so long. He didn't know what to do about it, and had just come to accept it. This feeling of happiness and belonging he got here was enough for him. When he was in either phase he could not understand his emotions at the other side of the spectrum, and he decided that such a feat was impossible.

He opened his eyes and watched a woman with what seemed like a thousand necklaces and bracelets covering her arms, her neck, even what seemed to be thighs, go by before she vanished again into the crowd. He held his arms upwards, reaching for something he didn't even know, his body telling him to do so, telling him to reach, to reach out, to move his arms, his body.

He felt someone tap his shoulder, and he turned to see Zangulus looking at him. He smiled at him for a moment, waved, then moved back into the crowd that was surrounding him.

Vrumugun, curious, wondered what had happened. Usually it was Vrumugun's exhaustion that made him leave the dance floor. While Zangulus had apparently unlimited stamina, Vrumugun could only dance for so long before he had to go rest. Zangulus almost never broke things off like this...was he going to get something to drink?

He followed him shortly into the crowd before finding him dancing with someone else, this one with long blonde hair. Vrumugun sighed for a moment, knowing of Zangulus capricious nature, and with it had gone his feeling of happiness. He threaded his way back through the moving bodies, sighing.

He felt a tinge of bitterness rise in him. Usually Zangulus waited until he had left before searching for someone else to dance with.

He hoped this was going to be a temporary thing, like the many others who had come. Too often he had to share the car with someone new that Zangulus had met on the dance-floor, listen to the two of them chatter on in the backseat as if he didn't exist, and with whom he would be amused with for a week or so before the relationship mutually disintegrated.

He hated that about Zangulus, how he could just throw away relationships that easily, or make them so quickly. He never thought about it either, he just chose someone he happened to think was pretty, or sometimes even someone who happened to be there. He always claimed that he was searching for that "special someone", and it didn't matter who or what sex they were. He had an entire speech about freedom and exploration and being open to other experiences, but Vrumugun didn't believe a word of it. He knew Zangulus too well. He needed attention, constant attention, and every person he brought to the house was there to give him attention until he found the other aspects of their personalities that he didn't like, and then they would leave and forget about eachother. And in the meantime, Vrumugun had to deal with all the sideaffects of people staying up all night, Zangulus and whoever it was doing whatever it was they did, and getting enough food for the new guest.

He shouldn't have to deal with it, but he did. Just like he shouldn't have to let Zangulus walk all over him like this.

But he did...

Vrumugun finally made it back to his wall, sliding back into his seat slowly. Zangulus had a short attention span and rarely could stay dedicated to anything for long. Vrumugun was surprised that they had remained friends as long as they had, considering how easily Zangulus could move on after he had met someone. Vrumugun had proven to be the only person he had formed any kind of lasting attachment too, so much so to take him to anything that interested him, wanting to share things that made him happy with him. Vrumugun didn't understand why he was so special, but that didn't stop him from hating all the people that Zangulus decided to bring home.

He waited for Zangulus to inevitably show up, as he always did, to introduce him to his new "friend", a name he'd forget a few days after he had been introduced. He would probably never see whoever his mark was tonight again. Sometimes they only lasted a night.

He watched the crowd move by, this time a woman digging a pack of candy out of a furry backpack, again passing them out to random people, sometimes striking up a conversation with them before moving on. Vrumugun sighed and leaned his elbows on his knees, staring down at the dirty floor, wishing that the happiness he had felt so shortly before would come back to replace the growing cynicism and depression.

The freedom of emotion that came so easily on the dancefloor had apparently lodged whatever door that had opened in his shell open, and he felt tears rising to his eyes.

The irony was just amazing...the only place he ever really felt happy was here, but it was also the only place where he had ever cried openly, with other people around. Although his eyes showed his internal distress, his face continued to hold onto its emotionless mask, his breath coming in short and quick, efforts of his own mind to control his emotions, although he could not stop crying. It wasn't because he was sad, it was because he was angry, and helpless, and he hated it so much but he couldn't do anything about it.

The presence of shoes in his field of vision caused him to raise his head, wondering who Zangulus' newest flame would be. He sniffed for a moment before lookin upwards, rubbing the back of one hand across his face, clearing some of the remaining tears.

Instead, he saw the girl who had been handing out candy, watching him with a look of utmost sympathy. Without asking, she dropped to her knees and wrapped her arms around him for a moment, in a quiet, quick hug. Despite the fact that he knew the atmosphere here was close and loving, he always felt alarmed and surprised when someone actually touched him, much less in such a caring and heart-felt manner. He didn't return her hug, only staring in confusion as she pulled herself away, smiling at him in a sad way before she dug through the bag she held in one hand, pulling out a piece of candy. She held it out to him, and Vrumugun found his tears had ceased, mainly due to his confusion. He took the candy with a weak smile, watching as she smiled in return, the sadness that it previously held vanishing at the sight of him smiling again.

"Don't be sad." She shouted over the music. "You're too pretty to be sad. Too pretty and too loved."

She looked at one of her wrists, pulling a bracelet off before dropping it in his lap, proceeding to vanish back into the crowd. A bracelet was a common gift, but still...it was a gift. He took the bracelet silently, staring at it with quiet contemplation. He put it in his pocket, still not fond of garishly bright colored plastic beads.

Despite how false her statement seemed, the sincerity behind it and the hug was true, and he couldn't help but smile to himself. No, he wasn't pretty, and, he narrowed his eyes slightly, he surely was not loved. But she had meant what she said. She had been concerned for someone she didn't even know, had never even met and probably would never meet again. She had been so concerned in seeing his distress that she understood it, understood how it was grief, just helpless furious grief, and without even needing to know the motive, tried to help. She had reached out to him with a hug just because he looked so sad, and that in itself made him feel better, and restored a little of his faith in the human race. That would never happen to him anywhere outside of here, in this vibe, and that had to be yet another reason why he came to these, why he tolerated everything that happened to him.

He stared at the wrapped piece of candy, this time a Starburst. He unwrapped it and chewed on it slowly, watching as more people went by. This time it was strawberry. Not bad. The random acts of kindness from one of the strangers he would probably never see again had cheered him up slightly and he felt better. He actually believed he could deal with yet another of Zangulus' "friends" without exploding internally.

"Vrumugun!"

He looked to one side, seeing the familiar visage of Zangulus coming towards him, the blonde he had been dancing with in tow. He was smiling and waving, although Vrumugun had made it clear in several ways at several times how he felt about his friends. He could tell that Zangulus felt a bit awkward about doing this to him yet again from the strange twist in his smile and hesitance in his eyes.

The blonde had bright blue eyes, and long blonde hair that was dyed at the tips. Vrumugun sighed to himself. It was another candy raver...he could tell simply because he exuded this aura of cheerfulness, of optimism, of happiness and innocence without saying a word...although the necklaces and bracelets didn't hurt.

Underneath both of his eyes were stars drawn in marker, but in the style of crayons. Clinging tenaciously to one of the blonde tendrils that made its way down his back was a solitary butterfly clip, and he was wearing a blue shirt which ended at about his ribcage, one sleeve missing, obviously manually torn off, while the other was intact. Underneath it he could barely see the edge of a mesh undershirt, similar to what Zangulus wore, although this one did not continue down his arms. A tattoo of a sword with a light blue blade was on his left arm, or at least, it looked like one, and he was wearing black, fingerless gloves, covered with multicolored rings of bracelets. Hanging from his neck were several strings of brightly colored beads and a pacifier. Down both his forearms ran what appeared to be lightning bolts done in black, and a chain ran from the pocket of his torn and ripped black jeans to one of his beltloops. To Vrumugun's surprise, he was not wearing shoes. That was risky and uncommon, considering the things that could be spilt or dropped on the floor amidst all the motion and music. Vrumugun did notice with some confusion, however, that he seemed to be built the same as Zangulus, which was somewhat rare. They were about the same height as well, also unusual.

"Vrumugun, this is Gourry! Gourry, Vrumugun!" Zangulus shouted over the music. Gourry smiled brightly and waved.

"Hi!"

Vrumugun heaved a deep sigh. He had never taken to the candy ravers simply because he was not that optimistic, and that kind of overbearing cheeriness often wore on his nerves. Zangulus couldn't have picked a more irritating person to bring home. Vrumugun didn't try to hide the sarcasm from his voice with his response.

"Charmed."

Gourry didn't even seem to notice, or perhaps he didn't hear, as Zangulus led him back to the floor. Vrumugun watched with a great deal of dissatisfaction and quiet anger, and he got up. He didn't want to be in here anymore knowing that the two of them were probably already dancing, matching movements, grabbing attention in the center of the party already. He slid through the crowd until he came to the exit, finally emerging out the back parking lot. He just could not be in there anymore.

The rush of fresh air was refreshing, and Vrumugun rubbed a hand for a moment over his forehead, noticing that he was sweating. Not unusual, considering all the activity he had engaged in fairly recently and the heat that was always present there. He searched around for a moment for a drinking fountain or something of the like, the muted sound of the music coming from the club behind him sounding quiet and faraway.

He had to walk a block away until he finally found one, drinking for a few moments before making his way back to the parking lot. He did get a few glances from passersby, but this neighborhood was known for raves, and he didn't get as much flak as he had expected. He also had a goth tinge to him, and considering that this area was also home to several of the vampclubs, as he called them, he also fit in in that aspect.

A few others had found their way outside and were amusing themselves in various ways, through drugs or other activities, although Vrumugun had never dabbled in either area. He had been offered some E on several occasions, although he had refused. He knew too much about it to take it, although he wasn't sure about Zangulus. He narrowed his eyes for a moment, sure that even if he did ask Zangulus about it, he wouldn't get a truthful answer.

He found the car, digging his keys out of his pocket and opening the front door, sitting inside with a sigh of discontent.

He glanced at the clock. It was only three am. This had to be a record for Zangulus.

Most of the time Vrumugun would tolerate his little flings or his constant welcomes and farewells until four thirty. He sighed again and turned on the radio, picking out a tape from the mess that rested between his seat and the passengers, putting it in the player. He let the beat gently rise to him, keeping the volume at a reasonable level. It was the same kind of music playing in the club. He did love the music, particularly speed garage, although he loved almost everything that played.

But there were several things he did not love about the scene.

He pushed himself back into his seat, closing his eyes and trying to let the music take him away, trying to focus on anything else then the fact that he was going to have to drive Vrumugun and most likely Gourry home as well. He frowned for a moment. Zangulus usually had the taste to leave the candys alone. Especially the new ones, which Gourry very obviously was. He wondered for a moment what would have inspired Gourry to have gone to a rave in the first place, or told him how to dress. He was obviously trying to blend in. Vrumugun smiled. The mission of almost everyone there was to not look like anyone else.

The memory of the woman who had given him the candy and hugged him came back to him, and he paused. He was probably being too hard on Gourry, considering. He was going against just what the woman had been trying to get through to him, and he felt regret for a few moments.

He narrowed his eyes, his bitterness rising again. No, he had no reason to feel regret. As much as he wanted to be as plurry as possible to others on the scene, Zangulus had left him alone on the dance floor for someone else, not even bothering to wait for Vrumugun to get tired or give some miserable excuse. It happened repeatedly and frequently, and he was getting tired of it. Very tired of it. He highly doubted that fit with the ideals of peace, love, understanding, and respect.

He didn't want to have to deal with Gourry. He had to deal with him being with Zangulus, he had to know, to know that he had been passed up, replaced as it were, by him. That he wasn't good enough or interesting enough to keep Zangulus' attention for more then two seconds. He had that knowledge. He didn't want to have any more. He didn't want to have to drive the two of them home, or deal with Zangulus' complete inability to understand what he did wrong despite how carefully he would try to explain it.

He sighed and tried to let the beats keep his mind off of things, wishing he could just erase everything that caused him such distress.

He did like the scene. He enjoyed some of the time he spent there.

No, it was the aftermath that he hated.

He must have dozed off in the car because he woke to the sound of tapping on the glass. He groggily came to, finding Zangulus tapping at his window.

Much to his surprise, he was alone.

Slightly confused but still very upset, he slowly unlocked the passenger side door, watching as Zangulus made his way around the car until he reached the door, sliding in quickly. He crossed his arms immediately, staring down at the apholstery at his feet which was almost entirely obscured by his jeans. He did not look happy.

Vrumugun for a moment almost considered being sympathetic, but his bitterness rose through instead. He narrowed his eyes for a moment, staring at Zangulus across from him. His tone as bitter and angry. "Where is Gourry?"

Zangulus narrowed his own eyes, although he did not look at Vrumugun, and mumbled underneath his breath. "He's taken."

Vrumugun shook his head, not hiding his own slight sigh of disgust before he started the car, leaning his arm against the his seat to look behind him. In a strange way, he almost felt pleased with knowing that whatever plans Zangulus had had been foiled, and he did indeed feel happy that he wouldn't have to deal with Gourry after all.

So now you know how it feels to be rejected for someone else...

Vrumugun did not voice his thoughts outloud, keeping them internal as usual, and his face was impassive as he pulled away, beginning the drive home.