Dorian & Brent

Immediately after my sixteenth birthday, I left the flotillas and headed to the family estate in Pentapolis of the Valley.  I was determined to attend Aerynd University’s Waterfront Annex conservatory.  I backpacked my way across Bharat, working as an Bliethdale artist’s model; I never considered myself the prettiest, but I smiled deceptively locking myself in another mind.

As I crossed Bharat I met an Ascomanni, Brent, who acted as muscle to protect models from overly amorous artists and auteurs.  He was a a few years older than me.  Brent had a strong secure beach body, that had a thick mat of auburn brown chest hair.  Brent was different than the flotilla boys, he engaged in rough-housing, and the closest I knew that summer to camp-adventures.  Overall, being in his company made one feel protected no matter what.  Brent made me feel as if I could tell him I was ecchi and not be thrown in the trash.  I never told him but I like to pretend he knew and was kind to help me.  I wouldn’t have minded if Brent was my first kiss (he wasn’t).

Since Brent was Blithedale security we were all able to go at night, and play in the bars and clubs without being molested by Bharat’s governing class.  With Brent around yacht-parties off the coast became available to us, and were regularly indulged because of the ability to easily procure poppy java and salvia cigarettes.  On one weekend, a group of us models and security were invited to dine and sunbathe on the Blithedale local chairman.  As we were walking the deck to lunch inside, Brent ran up and grabbed me around the waist, to throw both of us into the pool.  I’m a good sport and laughed after catching my breath.  I was flustered and flushed that Brent had been so close to me – with his shirt off no less!

The Blithedale Chairman asked Brent if I was as much a paper weight as I looked.

I was hurt – my emotional high did not even get to last a full moment, let alone minute; I had never heard the term ‘paperweight’ before.

Brent chuckled.  “He’s as light as he looks.”    Brent picked me up again, this time cradled in his arms (swoon!) and – saying “Fun to throw around!” – he again threw me in the water.

After Bharat, I took an ocean-liner back to Biell, in The Valley.

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Dorian’s Want for Birthday Parties

The power went out on my block last night, delaying yesterday’s Vagabond Ways themed post.

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Growing up I wanted a surprise birthday party a home filled with joy and people that wanted to be there – like what I saw in my mom and dad’s old blu-rays.  That dream never come true, even in grade-school when it was mandatory to report to a classmate’s birthday.  What I feared was not getting older, but that no one would come to a birthday for me.  My parents’ constant migration following the Huxia Rejenys flotillas, based upon access to knowledge and culture that would help them in their accumulations, kept my social circle small and intimate to just myself and my books.

While in Huxia, my parents celebrated my sixteenth milestone two months late because they couldn’t be bothered to take time off from research and worship.  I stopped sending invitations and chose to ignore celebration, taking enjoyment only from cards – and then settle for Facebook birthday posts.  My birthday became where I learned to exist within the cracks, becoming the excuse for wanting to avoid any fuss that would draw attention.

Eventually, at 16 I left the flotillas and headed to the family estate in Pentapolis of the Valley, working my way across Bharat as an artist’s model; I never considered myself the prettiest, but I smiled deceptively locking myself in another mind.  After Bharat, I took an ocean-liner back to Biell, in The Valley.  Having graduated high school early I treated what would’ve been senior year as a skip year.  During this time, I hung with the freaks and the wild ones, drank and got into drugs.  I lived hard in every moment. I joined Blithedale, and met Michel Caillois, who I wanted to teach me how everything worked.

At Aerynd University I avoided most social circles, believing they’d peak beneath my mask and judge me inappropriate – or worse, inadequate.  Around friends, I remained shy as if they were strangers because facades kept everyone at an arm’s length.  It was simpler to cover my self-consciousness and inferiority beneath masks, that were fashioned for inclusion by adopting specific friend-interests, and sub-cultures, and abandoning my own.

The Vagabond’s Identity Part 1

My father owned the third largest architecture firm, that was contracted by The Society to redesign Caentibiry Alley.  My mother was a classically trained dancer and teacher.  My parents’ wealth allowed me to grow up in the privileged district of the City of Flowers in Biell.

I spent my childhood in Vargaria and Huxia, where as a family we converted to Rejenys.  Growing up I wanted to be a graphic fiction writer, with stories published in genre collections and periodicals. At 16, I worked my way across Bharat as an artist’s model.  I never considered myself the prettiest, but I smiled deceptively locking myself in another mind.

After Bharat, I took an ocean-liner back to Biell, in The Valley.  Having graduated high school early I treated what would’ve been senior year as a skip year.  During this time, I hung with the freaks and the wild ones, drank and got into drugs.  I lived hard in every moment. I joined Blithedale, and met Michel Caillois, who I wanted to teach me how everything worked. Continue reading “The Vagabond’s Identity Part 1”