the 6' 2" lean figure quietly strode into Jacobson's Used and Rare Books. He was wearing his usual all black clothing and long black trench coat. He had his bag over his shoulder. He was on a quest. Searching for something. For what? To find himself I suppose you could say. He had recently found out something about himself that he set out to learn more about. You see he's a telepathic empath. But what did that mean exactly? He knew he could talk to others with his mind. He knew that he could feel the feeling of other people. But what exactly did all of this mean? Majick had been mentioned. Majick? What is majick? That is what he wanted to learn as well. Why? So that maybe he could understand everything better perhaps? That could be it.

So this tall and lean figure walks into Jacobson's Used and Rare Books. He stands there for a moment and looks around. He sees a figure behind the counter. Should he ask for help in looking for what he's searching for? No. He doesn't want to do that. He doesn't want anyone to know what he's searching for. He looks around some more. He sees yet more people searching the many bookshelves. What are they searching for? Anything specific? He doesn't care. His mind is set on one thing and one thing only.

He begins to walk towards the many shelves lined with books. There's so many. Where should he start? What should he even be looking for? What section should he be looking in? It sure would be helpful if he had the slightest idea for those answers. He stood there for a moment more before he began to look at the names written on the edges of the books. He wasn't sure what he was looking for. He hoped that he would know it upon sight.

(Do you mind if I join this one?)

((Sure. Go ahead. Keep in mind though that I've got a desire today to write longish posts...))

((Mmkie.))

Lucifer sat at a table, his face in a book at a very hidden corner of the bookshop. He had no desire to be seen, and he was hunched over, his right elbow firmly placed on it.

His red hair hung in the air loosely, shading the sides of his face so that only his hair could be seen. But if you knew him well enough, his hair was enough to pick him out of the crowd.

He flipped the pages quietly, green eyes glued to the text. It was a book on some kind of magic. Magic that had been unwanted, and wasn't supposed to be there, but just happened to come by some mishap of another user's magic source. Lucifer had fit into that category quite well, and as he flipped through the final pages, he swallowed hardly. Magic like a disease? Surely, that was a mistake...

He flipped through the book again, trying to find the page. The text was still there, clear as day. He traced over it with his finger to be certain, and still, it held the same details. Lucifer couldn't contain the fact that he was... diseased.

He sat there, blinking at the open book, trying to figure out whether he should be confused, angry, or sad. But right now, he was just... confused and silent.

A chain hung loosely at his neck, and a cross is visible that is dangling at the front of his neck. The cross was wrapped in vines, but since you cant's see the front of him, the silver chain at the back of his neck will have to appeal to you visually. For now, anyway.

He's wearing black leather, completely clinging to his skin, and a black coat over his clothes. It's real leather, as to compliment his other clothes. It was a slightly cool day, so he didn't see why his leather wouldn't work.

He also had bought new combat boots for today. All in all, the outfit suited him well.

Erik hadn't taken the time to look at everyone to see if he knew anyone. Of course he wouldn't know anyone. He only knew 2 people in this city still for he had no desire to befriend anyone else.

He was now too busy reading the edges of the books lining the shelves to notice anyone at this point. He was on a mission and nothing was going to detur him from that mission.

Cooking. Parenting. Sexuality. Animals.

Blah...what the hell am I doing here? I don't even know what I'm looking for.

Home improvement. Self improvement. Christianity.

So many books. How am I supposed to know what I'm looking for?

He could feel his frustration building. One book at a time he looked at them. His head was spinning looking at all these titles but not finding anything he was looking for.

Growing pissed off at looking for something he knew not what he was looking for he went over to a corner and sat down on the floor. He set his bag beside him, closed his eyes and leaned his head against the wall. There were empty chairs around but he decided against sitting in a chair. He felt better sitting on the floor.

Dammit all to hell he finally muttered to himself as he sat there. Sulking in a sense.

Who was he kidding? He really didn't even understand what that had meant. Illness? Feh. He'd beleive that thought when... Well, the thought of it sickened him. He shuddered at that thought.

He carefully lifted himslef out of the chair he was sitting in, and picked up the book. Though he couldn't see it, he looked like he'd just witnessed the death of someone close to him. But he was just... confused right now. If he could sense Erik's confusion, it'd probably be similar, but more mild. That was if he could sense him. But he couldn't.

He blinked, though it seemed he was fluttering his eyelashes, trying to hide something saddening. After all, he looked like a saddened angel. He didn't care.

Damnit... where did this go again? He frowned, looking across the thousands of books in the store. Well, to hell with that. Lucifer just shoved it where it didn't belong, and turned around.

He walked back towards his table, and only half paying attention, almost tripped over a placed stack of books. But having his kind of luck, he not only almost tripped on it, he kicked over the whole stack and sent books all across the floor.

That was just great. Just wonderful. He looked like an idiot in the store, and he was attracting attention.

Fuck that. Lucifer bent over quickly to try and collect and restack the books, and tried to get it done fast, so he would lessen the stares.

Well, that idea was out of the question. He frowned deeply, walking over to the side of the kicked over pile, and collecting the last of the books. And by now, he was an embarrasment to look at.

Frustrated, he dropped the collected books ontop of the now restacked pile, and headed back towards the table.

He sat down, placing his elbow on the table again, and placing his forehead in his palm.

He hadn't noticed before, but he had cut himself on something when he almost tripped. Blood trickled down two of his knuckles, but he just ignored it.

Erik heard to the noise from somewhere in the bookstore. But he made no move to go check it out like everyone else was doing. He wasn't like everyone else. He didn't feel the need to gather round like a herd of animals trying to bust their necks to see what was going on.

'Dammit. Why can't a person find what they are looking for in a place like this? There's too many damn books.' He hadn't realized he had spoken out loud in his mind until after he'd already done so.

Fuck it he muttered to himself. He didn't give a shit at this point. He was filled with frustration. Why couldn't he find something as simple as a book to read? A book that would give him the answers he sought out?

He lifted his head off the wall and reached into his bag. He took out his pencil and notebook. Finding an empty page he started writing. When he wrote it was like he tuned out everything around him.

What I Want
I want to die.
I don't want to be alive.
I am so tired.
I am so empty inside.
I want to be dead.
I don't want to feel
Anymore pain.
I have had way too much.
There is no room
For me to feel anymore.
Why am I alive?
I WANT TO DIE!

After he finished writing he sat there reading and rereading what he had just written. He sighed.

What? The voice was familiar, but it seemed so... odd. He couldn't place his finger on it. He'd heard it somewhere before, but not in a while. Damnit! Now he was curious as to who that voice belonged to. He didn't know anyone besides... well, he knew a few people, but this one was different.

Ah, fuck it. Just fuck it entirely.

Lucifer got up, turned around, pushed his chair around, and walked across the book... well, aisles, if you could call them that. He pulled out yet another book, and looked at it carefully. Poetry. Dark poetry. 'From the Soul' was its title. Lucifer shoved it back in its place quickly when he saw someone coming, then when they'd passed, he grabbed it again, and went to sit down to read it.

'These crimson scars trace farther than you would know. I said I missed you. These scarlet longings fall from embers of a burned out fire. I said I missed you. These shaking hands clutch a violet knife. I said I lost my grip. These grayed out demons create patterns upon pallettes. Such a violent pattern, written upon soft flesh. I wanted to miss you.' He had a tendancy to read out loud in his mind. He brushed that out of his mind. How did that crap get published?

I could've written better than that. He said in his mind. He wasn't sure whether he was saying these things to himself, or out loud in his mind. He didn't care; there were too many unnish people around, and it wasn't like anyone could hear him.

((By the way; love the poem. :) ))

((Thank you. I'm using my own poetry that I've written for him.))

Erik sat there rereading what he'd written. Satisfied that it turned out the way he wanted it to he closed the notebook and placed it along with the pencil back into his bag.

He had closed his eyes and leaned his head against the wall again. He heard a voice. He opened his eyes again and looked around. But no one was near. He closed his eyes again. The voice was familiar. But he couldn't quite put his finger on it.

He listened closer to the voice. It sounded like it was reading some sort of poem. From the sounds of the poem it could have been written much better than that.

'That is the shittiest poem I have ever heard.' He had meant to say it to himself but it ended up going 'public' so to speak. 'I write tons better than that. Too bad mine aren't published. Of course I'd have to actually share them with others for that to happen.'

He continued to sit there with his eyes closed and head against the wall. He actually chuckled to himself. Wow. He actually found something funny. Too bad that didn't happen often.

Again came the voice. This time he almost knew who it was, but just figured it was a stranger. Conversation? Maybe. He'd try.

'I don't care much for poetry, but that really was shit,' he said casually, though he was frustrated as hell. His poetry never turned out the way he wanted it to. Never. Even if he had the right emotion. His trash was filled with poems he didn't like. Especially poems from his past.

No. He didn't want to think of that. His mother had recently passed away, and... Shit. Don't think about that, Lucifer scolded himself. He didn't want to think of it, nor did he have the time. He'd never have the time, it seemed.

Conversation. Back to conversation. Don't think about anything else.

'I love poetry. I write my own for I find that all the one's that I have read that have been published are mere shit compared to my own.'

The voice he was speaking with seemed so familiar. Yet...not. It had been quite a while since he had last spoken to anyone...both through the mind and through actual speech.

'I'm sorry to have bothered you. I will let you get back to whatever you were doing.'

Why was he appologizing? Because he felt odd that he had interupted someone else's thoughts or whatever. His gaze fell upon the shelves lined with books once more.

Dammit. He needed to get busy and continue his search for whatever it was he was searching for. Slowly he stood up and once more began reading the names of the books. Book after book after book he read the titles of but still hadn't found what he was looking for. He was starting to get discouraged.

He nodded, though he didn't know why, for the person he was speaking to obviously couldn't see him. That was odd. Oh well.

For the final time, he got up, blood still calmly dripping down his hand. What the hell? He figured it wasn't very deep, but it just kept bleeding, and it hurt like a bitch.

He groaned slightly, holding his right hand with his left. He had gloves on, but they were cut just below his knuckles, and the tip of the glove where his thumb was was cut off. They were old baseball gloves, and they were, obviously, black.

He made his way towards the exit of the store, grabbing the book he misplaced and purchasing it for later use. But Erik had caught his eye. He hadn't remembered seeing Erik in such a long time that he had almost forgotten what he looked like. He still didn't remember who the figure was, but he looked so familiar.

Erik had come across a book that didn't have any words on the side binding. Slowly he pulled it out. Maybe this was the book he was looking for? He turned it over onto its side so he could read the title. How to Properly Train Your Horse the book read.

"Dammit," he muttered out loud.

Forcefully he shoved the book back onto the shelf. He was now to the point of getting very pissed off and knew that if he didn't find what he was looking for he was going to give up.

Erik then felt someone looking at him. He brought his eyes away from the books in front of him and turned his head sideways to see who was looking at him. He had pushed away all images of everyone he'd met so he didn't recognize the guy standing there looking at him.

"Do I have a booger hanging out of my nose?" Smart ass.

Shit. He hadn't meant to stare at him like that. Shit, shit. What was a good enough excuse? Lucifer tried to think of something, but then just decided against it. He'd rather not sound like a dumbass. He grabbed his book, blinked, and then started to walk away. "Actually, no. You just looked like someone I knew." He shrugged. His voice was soft, but still hinted an accent. A very strong one, at that.

Apparently he didn't know the man standing before him. "Sorry I wasted your time." He said, finally dissapearing out of the store.

Not one to be told something like that then cast aside as if he were nothing, Erik turned away from the book shelf and headed towards the door. People were looking at him.

"What? You all have a problem? Is there a booger hanging from my nose?" Smart ass.

He strode out of the book store. He paused to look around to see if he could find the guy who had been staring at him.

"Hey. You there. Wait."

His Russian accent was quite strong in his voice. He'd been teaching himself to speak english better but his accent would never leave him.

Lucifer spun around on the heel of his boot, and glanced at Erik briefly. He didn't remember him. He'd remembered the accent, but not the particular person. "What is it?" He asked, book firmly secured in his arm, and blood dripping freely onto the sidewalk.

"Do you have a problem?" He asked, frowning slightly. He didn't have time for this, and he didn't want to deal with anything at this point.

The man had reminded him of Erik, but he tried to swallow the thought away. He didn't want to think of Erik, or anyone. Please just make this quick. I don't want to be reminded of him. Just leave me alone. He said in his mind, though not publicly.

Erik watched as the guy turned around. He was so familiar but Erik couldn't place him. He had erased his mind of all faces he had ever met. At the time he had felt that was for the best. The best to erase all the pain.

But this voice...it was so familiar. He was starting to wish he'd not have erased everything from his mind.

"Do I know you from somewhere?" Erik just blurted the question right out. Erik just stood there and waited for the guy to answer.

"I couldn't say," he said, blinking slightly, "but if that's all you wnat I can't help you." He blinked back more tears. Damnit, get away Lucifer scolded himself again. So many memories. Lucifer walked away, leaving Erik standing there. He had always seemed to run away from things like that. 'Damnit Lucifer...' He spoke, though he didn't realize it was out loud again. His thoughts were free to anyone who could hear them mentally.

'You know he reminds you of Erik. You should've just said it.' He walked on further, sadness in hsi voice... even mentally.

"I'm sorry I bothered you," Erik replied. He stood there and watched the man walking away. He was getting ready to run and walk away himself when he heard the guy speak again...his voice dripping with sadness.

'I remind you of Erik? That's odd because my name IS Erik. How do you know me?'

Erik was trying hard to remember this guy. The name the guy spoke in his mind...Lucifer...was so strongly familiar. But his memories...all gone. Dammit why'd he do that?

"Right," Lucifer mumbled, continuing to walk away until he had heard his voice. He probably just had that same name because it was popular, and he somehow doubted that actually was the Erik he knew.

He stopped, but didn't turn around. He just wanted to get away from everything. He didn't want to be bothered to remember people. He just hurt from the mere mention of the name.

'I... Oh forget it, damnit. Your probably not who I thought you were anyway. I was thinking of someone close to me, but that's none of your business.'

'And how would you know that I'm not who you thought I was if you won't even come and talk to me?'

Even his mind voice was dripping with his Russian accent. He hadn't moved at all. Just stood there. Waiting. Waiting to see if this guy would actually come and talk to him.

Erik looked up at the sky. The sun was beating down. He was growing hot under his trench. But he was hesitant to take it off. The deep scars on his arms. People always stopped and stared when he took his trench off.

Lucifer flinched. Every time the man spoke to him, it reminded him more of Erik. He would've left already, taking off at a run, but something compelled him to stay in this spot. Frozen directly in it. Never moving.

It had warmed up a lot, and the sun was broiling, but he didn't dare to take his jacket off. He didn't want to, and he wouldn't. Simple as that.

He finally turned around, having the courage to speak. 'Erik?' he asked. 'Erik Sokoll?'

((Assuming he told him his last name.))

Erik watched as the guy stopped walking. Was he going to finally turn around and come talk to him? It didn't look like it. He watched as the guy turned around however. Perhaps he was indeed going to come and talk with Erik.

Erik brought his hand up to wipe the gathering sweat from his brow. He stopped as the guy spoke.

'Yes. I am he.'

Lucifer paused, not knowing what to say, and still in doubt that it actually was the Erik he knew. But even if it was him, was it worth it just to walk back there? Just to see someone who obviously didn't remember him? To speak to someone he'd have to remind of his existance?

Lucifer didn't want anything to do with that. It was enough that he didn't remember him. 'It was nice seeing you again, then.' He was near tears, and if he spoke again, he probably would start getting dramatic. Better save anyone from that; he sighed softly, turning around once more. If Erik wanted anything to do with him, he'd have to come after him, because Lucifer didn't seem like he wanted to stop walking anytime soon.

Erik stood there confused as he watched the guy start walking again. 'Hey! Wait!' Erik began to run to catch up to the guy. When he reached him Erik reached out a hand to grab the guy by his arm. Not in a mean sense. Just to get the guy to stop a moment.

"Hey. Wait a minute. Talk to me. Please."

His voice almost sounded like he was...pleading?...begging? He was trying so hard to remember. How exactly he had managed to wipe out his memories is beyond anyone's clue cause he, himself, has no clue and doesn't exactly remember what exactly happened either.

Lucifer stopped, feeling someone grab him by his arm. He knew it was Erik, but didn't turn around. Still didn't want anything to do with him.

"What do you want from me now?" He asked. He didn't want to stop to talk to him, he just wanted out of this place. He never ever wanted to run like he did now. He didn't care if his memories were wiped unintentionally, because he didn't want anything to do with him. Not now.

Perhaps he'd give him one chance. Just one, because he was practically begging him.

Erik had gotten the guy to stop walking. Relief. The guy obviously knew him. How else would he have known Erik's full name?

"How do you know me? Please. I'm not trying to be rude or anything. I have no memories of anything except who I am."

Erik had moved around the guy so that he was standing in front of him. His face looked so familiar. Erik was trying hard to search his mind for any trace of who this guy is.

"Please. I can't explain how I have no memories of anything because I can't remember what happened. But I know that you're familiar."

Lucifer couldn't stand this. He was so... angry inside. He couldn't beleive this. He didn't want to explain anything to anyone; he just wanted to get on with his life, regardless of who was in it.

Lucifer simply shrugged. He didn't know what to tell him. He didn't want to tell him, rather. "You were a friend of mine." The word 'were' stung. Badly. It hurt to even talk that way.

Lucifer tried to gather himself, and refrained from shouting out things he desperately wanted to say. He smothered his boot in the ground for no apparent reason.

Erik looked around at the people that were walking by and staring. He glared at them all.

"What's wrong? Do I have a booger hanging from my nose?" he snapped at them.

He looked back at the guy in front of him. "Look. Let's get away from these nosey assholes and go somewhere more quiet and talk. Please."

He didn't want to go anywhere. He promised himself he'd only give him a few minutes. He wanted to say no, but somehow he couldn't bring himself to do it.

"Right," he mumbled again, walking on, not caring if Erik was following or not, and not looking behind him to check. If he had been following him, he had said something else. "My apartment isn't far." He said quietly.

He frowned, and just continued walking, the sound of his boots against the pavement and the sound of his heart pounding in his head. His apartment was never far.

He hadn't wanted to deal with this, and it was quite clear.

Erik nodded and turned to follow the guy. His mind reeling to try to remember. What exactly had happened to cause Erik's memory to be no longer there? He kept silent as he followed behind the guy as if he were a lost puppy following someone hoping that they'd become its master. Right now Erik felt like a lost puppy. He could only remember his name. How sad was that?

His boots continued to beat against the pavement until he finally came to a small case of stairs and a doorway. He walked up them like an irritated god would, but he was just an irritated mortal. An angry one, at that.

He dug his hand into his pocket and quickly grabbed a key. He placed it in the slot, and then opened the door, annoyance even in his movements. Anyone could tell. They were sharp and distinct, and he didn't want to let Erik in. He remembered the last time Erik had been here, and Lucifer climbed numerous flights of stairs with him on his back. A memory he didn't like to remember.

He made sure Erik wasn't just standing there, and then herded him up the stairs. "The elevator's still not working, so you're going to have to climb the stairs." He said tiredly. Why did he even agree to talk to him again? Anger flared within him, and that only motivated him to move up the stairs faster, the heels of his boots making extremely loud noises at they hit against the cement and partly metal stairs, echoing off the walls.

Six flights of stairs, seven flights of stairs... Various numbers had passed them, but by the seventh flight of stairs, the number 82 was placed solidly on his door. He reached in his pocket again, dug out another key, and then unlocked it and quickly shoved it back in his pocket. He wasn't one for patience. "Come on in," he said, holding the door open for Erik before he stepped in.

Erik followed the guy through the doorway and up the stairs. The guy appeared to be angry. Angry about what? That Erik was trying to remember everything? Perhaps. That Erik asked him to talk to him to try to help him remember? Probably. Erik was beginning to feel really shitty about the whole deal and was suddenly wishing he'd not have noticed being stared at in the bookstore.

Everything was somehow familiar to Erik but nothing really ringing a bell in his head. Erik continued to follow the guy up the stairs. He nodded his head as the guy told him the elevator wasn't working...still?

Erik followed the guy up what felt like hundreds of stairs. But he hadn't even began to breathe heavy. He probably would have if he wasn't in such good shape from walking all the time. Erik walked into the apartment when the guy told him to. Once inside the door he stood off to the side not knowing what to do at that moment.

"You can sit down if you want," Lucifer said, walking in and shutting the door. He wasn't going to have any second thoughts about plopping down on the couch and sitting there tiredly. And indeed he was tired.

The apartment hadn't changed since his last visit, and the walls were still chipping. He needed to repaint them, but didn't want to. The couch was old and offered little comfort, but Lucifer had gotten used to it. It wasn't much, but it was what he called home.

He realized he probably was being nasty to Erik, but this was personal. Even though he didn't mean to, he couldn't help it. It was like having someone you love just dissapear without a trace, being worried sick, then them having no idea who you were. Yes, in fact, that was exactly how it was.

Erik nodded his head. "Thanks," he said as he walked over to the opposite end of the couch and sat down. Erik didn't look around nor did he look at the guy sitting on the other end of the couch. He was nervous.

"So...um...you said that we were friends? What did you mean by that?"

There was no beatin around the bush. He wanted to know. So many empty spaces in his head. Too many. Everything gone. Everything but his name.

He shrugged. He had said that, hadn't he? Well, now he had to explain. That sucked. He hated explaining, and he was utterly terrible at it. This time he wasn't even going to try and make his response sound logical. He leaned back on the couch, and rested his head on one of the arms. Nobody's touched me since you have, he thought, but made sure to keep it to himself this time.

"You dissapeared. Didn't see you after that," he said softly, forgetting those were the days he sat in darkness, contemplating his death. And those were the days when he'd found nothing better to do but play with a knife. And when he found nothing better to do than get into fights and try to drink poison. How pathetic was that? Underneath all that leather, his body was beaten and bruised, scratched and mutilated enough for new scars to appear.

He didn't care. All these thoughts were overly saddening, and Lucifer thought that maybe that was why he hated Erik so much. Maybe he didn't want to be as depressed as Erik made him. Maybe he just... had a reason for all this hate.

The confusion was clear on Erik's face. Dissappeared? Where did he go? He surely didn't know and from the sounds of it this guy didn't either.

He sighed and he slumped backwards onto the couch. He had been sitting rigid on the edge of it when he first sat down. Now he was slumped backwards in a sort of depressed mannor.

"I dissappeared? How? When? What happened? Why can't I remember anything?" His voice was almost panic filled at not being able to remember anything at all.

Lucifer shook his head, "Don't know, kid." He said shortly. He was no longer 'Erik' to him, as he was no long 'Lucifer' to Erik. He was just some guy in a bookshop that claimed to know him. That was a pity. Lucifer knew Erik would never be the same, but he was having a hard time convincing himself that.

Maybe he shouldn't have hated him for this. But he had reason enough to, so why not?

"I don't remember when. You just up and left."

It was the truth. Damnit Lucifer, why don't you just shoot yourself and call it a day? He had to ask himself. Truth was, that was the happiest thought of his at that moment. Death. It seemed more calming to him than the current situation.

Erik leaned forward a bit to put his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands.

"I just up and left? Any idea why?"

He felt like such an idiot asking these questions.

"Dammit why can't I remember anything?"

His voice sounded confused...lost...alone. For that is how he truly felt. Lost and alone. He might as well have been dead it seemed. He couldn't remember anything and it seemed no one knew anything.

"Can't say I know." Conversation was frustrating. It was hard, and it was only making the two of them worse. He should have just left him there without a word, and then he'd have felt better. He would have been gone by todaym and if Erik wasn't occupying him, he'd be setting up his death. But soon enough, after the 'shell' of Erik left the building, he'd be doing it anyway. He was just delaying the process.

"I don't remember much after that," he shrugged. He just wished he had the old Erik back, and was sitting next to him, but refrained from doing so because of the situation.

(Bah, this was the first shitty post, because everyone was bothering me to get off the computer. Sorry, but I have to go. :aww: )