Darien felt like a ghost. He was just here, existing, not really alive or dead. Life felt empty and loneliness crept in to give him cold sanctuary. There were many nights (and even from the time he woke until he went to bed) that he wondered if he should return home. What's here for me? Then again, what's back there for me? Nothing. He was stuck in a horrible depressive rut and nothing seemed to help him out of it. He tried to numb himself of these feelings, drinking and getting high, but all it did was leave him even more hollow. Where substances failed, he has started doing something out of character for him - finding comfort in other people.

The sun was starting to set as he woke up in a stranger's bed. Vague memories of the night before and well into the morning are there the moment he opened his eyes. Beside him, a woman (whose name now eludes him) was still passed out, her naked frame spread out with arms above her head and wrapped in the pillows. His head throbbed, he felt nauseous and that familiar pain of guilt and self-loathing crept in. Slowly and as quiet as possible, he grabs his clothes off the floor (and thankfully they were all there); plain white shirt, faded jeans and a denim jacket. His blonde hair is messy, five o'clock shadow prominent. Though he looks somewhat presentable, he still looks the part; a dirt bag. He grabs his red shoes that somehow ended up in the middle of the kitchen and slips out the door. In typical, one-night stand fashion of walking out in hasty shame.

He had sold various valuables at a pawnshop a few days before (things like jewelry and electronics). He should have used the money for important things, like food or keeping it for an emergency, but he lacked any self-control. As if the Piper was playing a tune just for him, he wanders out into the cool dark streets for a night of debauchery. Was he selfish? Sure. Was he vulnerable? Always. Could he act like an adult and actually do something with his life? Sure, but where was the fun in that? To try and erase the self-hatred he was feeling, he needed to numb himself as soon as possible. Luckily, this woman's apartment was downtown and the nightlife was starting up just as he entered the street. Reaching into his pocket, he grabs a cigarette and lights it up, feeling the pockets in his jeans. Wallet was still there, so that was good. I probably should have checked that before leaving. Wasting no time, he begins to walk. But not just to any bar. The paranoid fear of running into that woman he just left (even though he had a better chance of winning the lottery) keeps him moving. For several blocks, in fact. He loses count.

He walks into an unfamiliar street, filled with those like him; not necessarily Fae, but Supernaturals. He feels uncomfortable, uninvited and out of place. Darien realizes he's been around humans far too long, but even with them he felt unwelcomed. Keeping his head down, he tries to keep mum too. No eye-contact and only glancing up to see the signs. One reads 'FOG: Night Club' and without even hesitating he goes in. He's immediately greeted by darkness, flashing lights and lasers. Bass thumps his chest and body and once he navigates the maze, inside there is a packed dance floor. He takes a moment to locate the bar and slides between the sweaty, drunk bodies.

"Two Whiskey Sours." He has to basically scream into the bartender's ears over the music, picking a stool in the corner and inconspicuously settles in. A new, almost disco sounding song begins to play as his drinks are given. Darien begins to sip, two college aged men approach and are clearly smashed beyond reason. One has a girl around his arm and she too is clearly drunk, her neck covered in glowing necklaces that make her blonde hair reflect the bright obnoxious colors. As her boyfriend (or companion for the night, who knew) argue over what to order, she notices Darien and slides over to sit next to him. Her douchey looking company doesn't even notice she's no longer under his arm. "I've never seen you here before and I know everyone who comes here." He gives her a polite smile in acknowledgement. She gets a little closer. "My name is Harper." She gives a very silly smile and he can't quite tell if she's trying to be sexy, with her needing to yell to speak and being out of her mind .. not exactly attractive. "Darien."

Can't I just get drunk by myself? He leans in, pointing at the group she came to the bar with. "Your boyfriend is looking for you." It was a lie, but it's not like she'd tell. Harper does look at them, before going into a laughing fit. She just keeps laughing, and laughing. She's drunker than I expected .. great. Darien just raises his glass and takes a large swig, nearly finishing his first drink. Then, he feels her hand on his thigh, her fingers making little circles a little too close to his parts. He grabs her hand, pushing it away and gives her a classic 'what the fuck' look. She leans in even closer, her lips right against his ear. "He won't mind. In fact, I bet he'd like you, too."

Darien smirks, uncomfortable. Harper pulls away, smiling at him like some love sick puppy and he lets go of her hand, to which she quickly returns it to where she had it before. He stares at her supposed boyfriend, before looking back at her. Sternly, his voice overpowers the music. "Not interested." Harper doesn't seem phased or defeated, but all Darien could think of was a certain someone. There was only one man he thought about, he wanted to be weak with, and some drunk asshole with his slutty girlfriend wasn't it. She doesn't give up, continuing to try and persuade him. It starts to annoy Darien and he gets up, downing his one drink and grabbing his other. She makes a scene, enough to where Harper's companion finally notices she's missing. He quickly closes the small space between them, aggressive and stupidness in his eyes. "HEY!" He grabs Darien's shoulder and all Darien can do is raise his arms up in a surrender type pose "I just want to be left alone, okay? Nothing, no problems." Harper gets up and goes behind her boy toy, whispering something into his ear. The look he gives Darien isn't a good one and he knows too well, so Darien quickly turns and begins to walk to the dance floor, hoping he'd get lost in the bodies. He can hear the man yelling obscenities at him, and all the Fae can do is quickly down his last Whiskey Sour and placing it on an empty table before entering the dance floor in a nervous haze. Now the alcohol was hitting him and the room seemed to spin. The heat from all the dancing faces and sweat is intoxicating, but Darien is feeling out of it. He puts his hands to his face, covering his eyes and standing there, letting the music vibrate his body and finally he feels ... safe. Forgotten, a true ghost.