Kaz shrugged. "I had it at first, for a few years. Then I lost it, till I killed my dad. But it wasn't the best feeling in the world. You kinda go on autopilot, and everything seems dull and pointless. It's basically extreme, untreated depression without the active will to want to die. Not that I didn't try," he said, thinking to the tattooed bands on his wrists that helped hide some of his…nastier scars
“You tried?” Vaughn questioned, watching Kaz with slight difference. He didn’t know that that might be someone touchy to ask about. Something he most likely shouldn’t even bring up. But he was never really taught things like basic interaction skills with anyone outside of family. He had been homeschooled, so his parents and sister were the only people he had real conversations with, so he thought it was complete normal to talk about it with anyone.
"I, um. I didn't quite know what death was when I was younger. I thought, if you hurt yourself enough, you'd get wings and become an angel and you'd get to fly away from all your problems." Kaz rolled up one of his sleeves, showing the four black bands on his left wrist. The skin on the underside was raised in several uniform scars, which were made almost invisible by the ink. "It obviously didn't work, because I'm still stuck here."
Vaughn frowned heavily at the bands and scars. He had an understanding of what death was at a young age. Images of dismembered parts flashing in his mind, but he shoved them away. He had plenty of scars, just not from self harm. Not knowing how to properly deal with someone telling him about that, he reached out and ran his finger tips lightly along the bands.
Kaz gulped around nothing as Vaughn touched the bands, the movement meshing their electrical fields together and sending small waves of electricity up his arm. He didn't dare move, instead watching Vaughn's face, trying to figure out what he was thinking
Vaughn continued to trail his fingers along the scars for a moment longer. They felt deep. Not as deep as a scar from a bullet wound, he had two of those, but decently deep. He failed at ending his life, you should try and do it for him the whispers hissed. He stopped touching and leaned back again.
Kaz almost missed the feeling of Vaughn's touch, and he mentally slapped himself for it. Wow, aren't you a sad, needy little drunk? a small voice in the back of his mind piped up. He ignored it, resolving to grab another beer from the waiter passing by
Vaughn grabbed a bottle from the waiter, popping the cap off and taking a long drink of the liquor. He set the bottle down and looked back at Kaz. “How king has it been since that happened?” He asked.
"Maybe…Two years? Three?" he said, taking a drink of his beer. "I don't know. I'm bad with keeping track of time."
Vaughn hummed in response as he nodded his head. “Doesn’t sound fun,” he simply said, taking another swig of his liquor as he uncrossed his legs
Kaz shrugged. "Well, now that I've had my sob story, I think it's your turn for a little show and tell. Or just tell. Whatever floats your boat," he said, sipping his drink absently
Vaughn nose wrinkled at that. “Rather not,” he said, shaking his head. He didn’t trust Kaz. Whatever Kaz shared with him was his choice, but Vaughn wouldn't go around telling strangers his problems.
"Aww, come on. Just one little fact? Like um…" he trailed off, frowning into his beer while he thought. "Where are you from? 'Vaughn Finley' isn't a very American sounding name, no offense."
“I was born in America, but my parents were Irish,” Vaughn explained, taking a sip of the liquor after speaking. “Luckily didn’t get my mothers red hair, though.” He remember his mother then. Lots of freckles and curly red hair. His sister, Adeline, looked just like their mother. Unfortunately, he looked like an identical, younger image of his father. Just a constant reminder of how he was related to the sickening bastard.
"Irish?" Kaz asked. "That's actually pretty cool. I got to go there once, back when my cousin was still living with his folks. We spent an entire summer in Dublin." He smiled a little at the memory. It was one of the few nice things he had to cling onto when his father was hunting him down
Vaughn nodded slowly. “It sounds nice. I’ve never gotten to go,” he said, shoe tapping on the floor as he glanced around the room, the longer section of of his hair falling into one of his eyes.
"It was. It was nice to get away for once, even if my aunt and uncle were huge dicks the entire time. But hey, my cousin and I had fun." He trailed off a little. "It was actually…It was actually the last thing I got to enjoy before I went soulless."
Vaughn’s fingers tapped on the table as he drank and listened. Kaz was pretty chatty. Better for Vaughn, he wasn’t much of a talker unless he was completely wasted. “Haven’t enjoyed anything since?” He asked, looking at Kaz with that same heavy gaze.
Kaz gulped, the alcohol in his system causing his brain to take Vaughn's words in the complete wrong way for a moment. "N-No, I've enjoyed things since. It's a little difficult, since not having my soul for maybe 10-ish years triggered a lot of my anxiety and depression and stuff, but give me enough alcohol and I'm usually alright," he said, trying to play his brain's slip-up off
“What are you, a wild drunk or something?” Vaughn further questioned, arching a dark brow now as he leaned forward with his elbows against the table top, hands folded.
Kaz shook his head. "No, no. Not really. It depends, but I'm either irritable or flirty when drunk. But it takes a lot to get me drunk now." He knew in the back of his mind it probably wasn't the best idea to hint that he had an alcohol problem. Ah, well. Too late now
Vaughn gave a nod in agreement. “You and me both..” he mumbled. So Kaz was an alcoholic too? At least they had something else in common. Mental problems and alcohol abuse. God, that was hilarious.
Kaz forced a small laugh. "Yeah. Pills are great and all, but they only help so much. Better tipsy than having to listen to something in the back of your brain telling you to stab someone."
And voices in Kaz’s mind? Bloody hell, Vaughn felt like he was listening to a much more talkative version of himself. He hummed in agreement that time. “I completely agree,” he responded. “Do you get used to it, the voices?”
"Not really. Some of them are easy to ignore. Others just pop in as intrusive thoughts. It gets really bad when I use my powers though. It's a lot like something screaming in my head, and it hurts to ignore it then," he said, taking another drink of his beer