Lost
Staring at the bright pastel colors, dancing in that fiery sunset sky, with tired, glossy eyes, En Dwi Gast let out a heavy sigh. He was exhausted. Despite his sharp getup, the black kimono jacket with nothing but a golden medallion underneath, the perfectly fitted custom ripped jeans and the white, leather loafers with no sockc. Despite driving 300 km per hour in his glistening, azure car, the usually optimistic billionaire felt more miserable than ever before.
How..uh, would you feel if your one and only love, was about to leave you? For 50 years, designing clothes was the fashion genius's passion, his obsession and the air that he simply could never survive without. Now though, for the first time since he started his own company in early 70s, the tycoon suffered from a creative block.
Before, he prided him self on never running out of ideas. For decades he was fascinated by colors, different concepts, textures and shapes, he could look at almost anything and make a whole line inspired by it. Like a child before a christmas tree, his eyes would light up every time he saw something truly exquisite.
Yet out of every single thing that could catch his attention, he was most of all fascinated by people. Their personalities, their bodies, their style. Every collection reflected, mirrored, represented his past lovers. Alas now, it feels as if though he has seen it all, he has finally run empty. Perhaps it was due to his old age? Perhaps he was a blindingly bright star heading towards it's own supernova explosion.
His eyes switched to the diamond encrusted, golden watch resting heavily upon his left wrist, it was 22:30 and yet he could still see the sun slowly sinking behind the horizon. It truly was a beautiful evening, but not even the breathtaking combination of champagne and apricot shades could bring a smile to his stone cold frown behind those black frame glasses.
En has been on the road for six excruciating hours, hoping that by driving through the mojave desert, he would at least get some inspiration on his way to a meeting with this main rival company. Collaborations never scared the silverfox, in fact he has done it a couple of times with Armani, Valentino, Chanel, Versache, Gucci, Prada and many more. It was rather the thought of going there empty handed, with no concept sketches, no fresh ideas, nothing to bring to the table that frightened En Dwi so much.
Nevertheless, much to his distaste, this just simply had to be done. For who is he if he can not do his only job? Who is he if he can not do the only thing that brought meaning into his life? The thought of burning out like a wax candle before it would be cast aside and forgotten, the thought of waking up one morning with his first thought being "What now?" is something the tycoon feared even more than the humiliation awaiting him at "Planet Ego" headquarters. So he gripped the ebony leather wheel harder, adding speed with a determined look in his golden toned, hazel eyes.
A boisterous roar rippled through the silverfox's ears, an almost thunder like rumble came from the engine. Confusion spread across En Dwi's face when he saw a variation of silver and bronze sparks bolt from underneath the car hood, his vehicle was slowly losing it's speed. Hah, this night couldn't get any worse the designer thought to him self, realizing it was said way too soon. Much to his misery, he just noticed that there is no signal on his phone. This was exactly what he needed in addition to his mid life crisis, get stuck in the middle of nowhere.
Sinking back into his luxurious seat, he took in everything surrounding him..."That is one big pile of shit" he cursed under his breath, pinching the bridge of his nose with a pained, sarcastic smirk tugging at his rather fuller than average lips. This is a ah...a disaster. Like a crashing plane, his overly burdened mind was about to blow up.
It took him a good few minutes to collect his scattered thoughts. Looking at this catastrophic situation, he really could only do two things. Either get out of his car and walk towards the nearest Hotel, or sit here and wait for searching helicopters to appear. Though, he could wait here and hitch a lift, but let's be honest, nobody drives here and who the hell would pick up a 6'4 foot tall, faggot looking man? Famous designer or not, billionaire or not, En was way to familiar with how most people perceive him. Sadly even in modern society, the numbers of people who accept differences in others is flawed.
Waiting for someone to notice his absence would take over 24 hours at least, 48 hours at most, he couldn't wait for help in this heat without water. And only 30 minutes ago, his GPS did notify him of a local shelter. This meant, En Dwi Gast would have to walk 13 miles in the desert. "Mozel tov, you geezer" The billionaire quietly murmured to him self, getting out of the car with nothing but his phone, cream white leather wallet and a water bottle in his hand. He knew it was going to be a long night.
"You useless, ratty little child!" The grey haired king's fist clenched around long, curly ink black locks, hauling Loki by his hair towards the well furnished, dark office that only brought back painful memories when the boy thought of it. The youngest prince was desperately grasping at everything around him, like a defenceless animal being dragged into a deep, cold cave by it's ravenous predator. He no longer cared for the scratch marks his tender little nails left on the dark red, polished mahogany walls.
"Please, I beg of you sir! Anything but this, please father! It was an accident!" He cried and begged, desperate for help, but Odin did not cave in, not one single bit. Only grew more frustrated by Loki's stridulous, pleading voice.
It was not the first time since queen Frigga of Asgard, died in that fire, this particular horrendous little ritual has happened many times before. On multiple occasions his quite ill tempered father punished him for what seemed to be almost nothing. After all, Asgard's royal family could afford purchasing another plate, if one of them got shattered into pieces. Oh how the king hated his youngest son, adopted son.
Loki Odinson, formerly known as Laufeyson, was seen as a parasite that Odin's beloved wife died saving from what happened to her. Their king, blind from his sorrow, blamed Loki for it all. He punished him for every single, tiny and irrelevant mistake, something he wouldn't even think twice about if his oldest daughter Hela, and middle son Thor, would have done. Even if repeatedly.
The boy closed his teary, horror riddled eyes as his own father hit his back with a heavy, hazel brown leather belt. Loki could hear his own pale, delicate skin tearing in half with each agonizing blow. It was sadly, a rather familiar sound to him at this point, resembling the noise of a whip striking a rebellious stallion. "This is fine" the youngest prince thought to him self, repeating multiple times in his head as Odin hit him for the...he forgot how many times already, gave up counting, caring, hoping....all he knew was fear.
And yet despite it all, he truly tried to be strong. Strong like his mother was when she pushed him out of the way before the flaming building collapsed right over her head. That was the last time he saw her, father would not even let him attend her funeral.
Loki's siblings thought him arrogant and cold for daring to not show up on a day like this. Their Queen, their mother was going to be turned into ashes. Odin was a skilled liesmith, a true monarch, there couldn't be anything easier than twisting his adopted son's image in the eyes of his country, who's loyal subjects gladly believed those lies. After all, every tale is in need of a villain. For the youngest prince, was nothing but a useless freeloader in his own eyes, and he damn sure made everybody else see him as such too.
Whimpering in pain, Loki was determined to not utter a sound, and so his father whipped that frail body, aligning the old leather belt with princes swollen flesh, over and over again. He did so with nothing but anger written all over his gruff face, watching drops of crimson blood flow down his own son's shaking body without care, nor even a hint of sympathy.
The king of Asgard was not satisfied with Loki's punishment, twisting his features into a grimace, he let out a sigh of annoyance. And as soon as the cold belt buckle struck Loki against his tail bone, a horrid scream of a young, vulnerable voice echoed through the always half empty castle halls....after that, prince couldn't stop himself from screaming, it was too much, more than he could possibly take. Loki was almost convinced his cries for help were heard far, far across the white rose garden that Frigga adored so much.
However, no one listened, no one cared. For who would believe a delusional 8 year old kid, over their beloved king's word? Who would go against his father, to save him? He was of no value to anybody, so he bit his tongue and took the rest of his beating quietly after that realization, until there was barely any flesh left upon his bones to batter.
"Loki! Wake up! Home sweet home, your highness." A familiar, female voice awoke him, nearly startling him from the night terror that has haunted his dreams ever since he left Asgard, leaving the golden, hollow palace behind. Natalia, the Russian redhead, their lead guitarist was gently shaking his limp body back to reality. It looks like they have finally arrived at their destiantion after a crowded concert. Which as per usual, was a run down, rotten Motel who's tired employees wouldn't bother to care if they smoked pot and partied to loud music all night long.
Loki's eyelids felt heavy, yet with bloodshot eyeballs underneath he still forced them open, squinting at the bright, neon lights coming from that God awful Motel sign in front of them. He quickly gave Natasha a warm smile, to assure their mother hen that he was completely fine, fully aware of the fact that she pretty much knew this couldn't be any further away from the truth. It is almost freeky how this woman is able to know everything about you from the first glance, Loki often suspected her to be a mind reader.
Speaking of, it was getting pathetic at this point. The now grown up prince, was 25 years of age, has made a successful life of his own as the lead singer in a band he created with his nearest, most trustworthy companions. They are his most favorite people on the entire planet, damaged troublemakers at heart just like yours truly. Hence their popular band name "Tricksta".
Without them, he quite frankly had no idea where he would be at this very moment. Perhaps laying dead in a ditch somewhere, no doubt his corpse would be rotting in a place where nobody could find him until someone eventually, even accidentally would trip over his devoured by maggots skeleton.
Alas, despite this new family that treated him better than anybody else has ever done before, he still felt empty as bloody fucking hell. Deprived of emotional intimacy my ass he internally laughed at his therapist's words, no fucking shit, mate. Loki was stuck, didn't know where to go, how to evolve, what to do with the rest of his life anymore. His passion for music and partying, getting high and getting laid with everybody he fancied was slowly burning out. What now? his mind screamed.
Looking at the bright, flaming sun setting down behind the sandy horison he blew out a cloud of smoke, ditching his cigarette on the balcony floor before heading inside. What now?