Daemeyn - Toxic

Bars and clubs aren’t really my thing. Usually. I mean, I’m nineteen. They really hold no appeal for a nineteen year old since said teenager can’t drink. Lately, though, I’ve been going clubbing on a nightly basis, decked out in my false air of self-importance, cash that I earned for myself, and my “cancer sticks”. There really isn’t a point to going out every night, especially since all I’m going to do is sit at a bar by myself for hours. Why the hell does it hold so much appeal? I’ve no idea, yet I’m in my car and two blocks away from my favourite club in the area.


I guess it’s a fitting name for a place where you go and get…well, intoxicated. There’s dancing, the usual bump and grind crap. There’s a disc jockey, a cocky bastard that thinks he’s actually good at what he does. Then there’s a bar that wraps around the entire thing, at least fifteen bartenders on the clock at all times. The bar itself is scrubbed clean every night, but that’s probably because it’s the most expensive thing in the whole building. The bathrooms, however, are disgusting. The one time I used one— No, actually, I didn’t use it. I walked in and walked right back out. The worst bathrooms ever. The bartenders and baristas aren’t as bad, thank goodness, but they’re not the cleanest of people you’ll meet. Most of them are hard-asses. They’ll get you your drink and move on. There’s no time for communication in a joint like Toxic.

Destination reached, or nearly, I step from my car, an inexpensive little silver thing that I’m only using until I save up enough for my Ducati, and lock it up. It might only be temporary, but it’s present.

Seeing as Toxic is huge, I’ve parked down the street and have to walk up the line of clubbers to the door. The bouncer, Jack, greets me by name and lets me right in. The bitching and moaning of those still in line follows me into the bar. I am greeted by smoke, a good song being slaughtered by the DJ, and a few other regulars seated at one end of the bar. I nod in response and head towards my usual corner, sitting on the high stool that should just get my name stitched into it since my ass is the only ass it sees night after night.

“Vernors, no ice.” I needn’t wait for one of the nearby bartenders to notice me, by the time I’m seated there’s one in front of me and one on my left side where the bar turns at a ninety-degree angle and disappears behind me, both of them waiting for my order. Mr. I-Am-Oh-So-Intmidating, the guy standing infront of me, peels away to grab my soda, while Mr. I’m-The-Backup-Since-I’m-Not-As-Buff turns to someone else he can snatch an order and a few bucks from.

“Three big ones,” says Mr. I-Am-Oh-So-Intimidating. But he’s too late, I’d already put my three bills on the counter before he even came back with my drink. I was learning the game and playing well. The guy just picked up the cash and walked off. Apparently, tonight was an extra busy night. A group of giggling women stumbled in, already toasted at ten o’clock. One of them wore a crown that flashed “Bride-to-Be” in red lights, surrounded by ridiculous pink feathers. Bachelorette party.

I wonder where the “Husband-to-Be” is, if their wedding will be the traditional style, where they’re taking their honeymoon vacation…how long it will last. Not long, probably. No one ever lasts anymore.

“Daemeyn?! Ohmygod! Is that yoooou?!”

Holy fuck. No way. God, please no. I’ll do anyth—

“Like, ohmygod! It is you!”

She came out of nowhere. I turned just in time to see big tits and bleached hair flying at me. Her arms closed around my neck, dragging me down a bit, and I had no choice but wrap my arms around her to keep her from falling.

“Hello, Amy.” Had she always been so…perky?

“Hi yourself, sexy.”

Indeed, always that perky. She was the only one that would openly refer to me as sexy in public. I wasn’t the regular guy, traipsing around in polos, my hair gelled to perfection. Nah, that wasn’t me. I preferred to keep my inky hair a mess, nearly down in my eyes, and I definitely didn’t wear polos. Tee-shirts, mostly band tee’s, and jeans, the occasional hoodie when it was chilly. I had snakebites. “DAEMEYN” was tattooed across my shoulders in an old-looking font and other tattoos inked into my skin in various spots. I was pretty well cut, I guess. I wasn’t huge and buff or anything like Mr. I’m-Oh-So-Intimidating with his steroid self. Of average height, I couldn’t be considered tall, and average weight, I didn’t even have the benefit of towering over people. A girl did once tell me I have nice shoulders, though, and strong arms. Good, eh?

“What’s going on, then? What are you doing in New York?” I was always good at seeming politely interested, whether or not I actually was.

Amy told me about how she was attending New York University now and lived in the area. Her parents were supporting her, of course, and she was very pleased with the fact that she didn’t have to work. She hoped to find a rich man to marry soon so she could quit her schooling and just live. Absolutely stupid. Abso-fucking-lutely stupid.

“What about you, hon? How long have you been in the Big Apple?”

“Since I finished high school two years ago.”

She tilted her head at me. “That’s right, you were always ahead of me, huh?”

I told her that I always had been and made a mental note that I had to move. Soon. There was no way in hell I was going to live in the same area as Amy, go to the same club as Amy, and go to school with Amy. Nonono. Besides, it was about time to move anyways. I hated staying in the same spot for too long.

She and I spoke for a while longer, nothing too exciting was to be said. By the end of our conversation, I was absolutely set in moving from the state. It was just time. Even in one of the busiest cities in the world, I couldn’t escape my ex-schoolmates. Definitely time to move from the state. Again.

I’d moved around a lot as a kid because my dad worked for the military, but when my mom left we settled in California for a while. We lived there for three years, whilst I went through grades six through eight, then moved to Florida. I hated Florida, too much sun. That lasted less than a year, my freshman year of high school, before we moved to Maine. Two years later we shipped ourselves to Washington, where I experienced my senior and final year. I wasn’t a huge fan of Washington, it was too boring since we lived in some small town.

So I booked it to New York as soon as I graduated.

Daemeyn - Toxic

Kaiya Knox

New Orleans, United States

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Artist's Description

Something I started, never finished, but found amusing for the moment. Daemeyn is certainly one of my favorite characters, but a story plot hasn’t really come to me completely. So…this is what there is of him.

Artwork Comments

  • ufosIsee
  • Kaiya Knox
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