canon; frankenstein. type; modern au.

[lurched]

[ his hands move inside his dark jacket pockets, long fingers searching for a fag. he finds one and places the slender, white stick in between his lips. a lighter flicks open, and the low flame eats at the end of the cigarette. the end burns a bright orange as he sucks in a puff, and smoke slowly flows from his lips, like a smoke machine or a bellowing dragon, as he tastes the tobacco on his tongue. his throat burns as the sharp smoke moves down into his lungs; it feels like his insides are on fire, like there's a forest fire inside him. he's never smoked before, but since his father had troubles quitting it, starting it feels like a silent rebellion. a strike against a ghost and against a figure that's possibly one as well.

a hand moves through his black locks -- a nervous tick copied from his older brother -- as the cigarette moves along his fingers. ]

How many more do you think you'll play? Just a rough guess. No need to be accurate here. [ he makes a vague gesture with his cigarette. ]

You play my brother, Victor, and that captain. Walton, right? [ a pause as he takes another drag. ] I'm curious as to whether or not I'll be the last. Do you think you'll have anymore two AM epiphanies as you procrastinate on your homework? Perhaps Henry deserves an account? Or my mother? Oh, she wasn't in the story for long, but she did greatly influence it. [ the hard, sharp angles of his face take on a dark, pensive quality as his tongue clacked against the roof of his mouth. ]

In any case, please do play with me for longer than a second, will you? I've already been abandoned once. I would prefer to skip that this time, thanks.