[center][h2][color=ed1c24][i][b]Drake “D” Edwards[/b][/i][/color][/h2]
[img] https://image.ibb.co/mbnbKq/drake3post.jpg [/img][/center]
[hr][center][color=ed1c24][b]Location:[/b][/color] Various  
[color=ed1c24][b]Interactions/Mentions:[/b][/color] None
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[color=f6989d][b]11:59pm[/b][/color]

	[i]Dum-dum... dum-dum... dum-dum...[/i]
	Drake stared at the alarm clock, the red digitized numbers glowing back at him.  The rhythm of his heart was the only thing he could hear in the otherwise dark room.  Bloodshot eyes blinked as the '11' turned into a '12'.  A fierce, but silent determination kept Drake conscious, focused.  There was one main objective at night these days.  Stay awake.

	He had methods for achieving this.  On the nights where he had company, it was a little easier to stay occupied.  Tonight, though, it would be more challenging.  Sleep is inevitable.  At some point, you can't push it off anymore.  Best he could do, when crashing, is hope that he crashes so hard that he doesn't dream.  There were no more dreams, per se, anyway.  Just the same, exponentially intensive nightmare.

	Drake pulled himself out of bed and walked toward the bathroom, shutting the door behind him before turning on the light.  He looked at himself in the mirror, examining the stranger on the other side of the glass.  One solid red eye, another red eye with just hints and accents of the blue color it once was.  Nearly matching pupils just seemed like a foreign concept.  All his life, he knew the face that stared back.  Not so much these days.  Dark pockets had developed under his eyes as he waged his new war against sleep.  He looked perpetually tired.  Forcing himself to look away, Drake turned on the faucet and splashed his face with water a few times before reaching into one of the drawers under the sink and pulling out a small black medicinal bottle.  The label read '[i]NutraBio 100% Pure Caffeine[/i]'.  He poured some pills into his hand, not even bothering to count them out anymore, and tossed them into his mouth before swallowing with a labored gulp.  He was on Day 2 of no sleep.  The crash was coming, as it always does.  He gave his reflection one more glare before turning off the light and exiting the bathroom.

[color=f6989d][b]12:37am[/b][/color]

	Drake found himself on a treadmill in the gym.  In black sweatpants, a red tanked shirt and dark sneakers, Drake ran at a fairly casual pace, allowing his mind to focus in on the music blaring out of buds in his ears.  His eyes stared out into eternity as he continued to move, thinking about almost nothing.  Just letting his body go on autopilot.  It was his method of centering himself.  This was his conscious rest, his mental palate cleanser.

[color=f6989d][b]2:20am[/b][/color]

	Drake sat on one of the benches that lined the courtyard.  In his lap was an open book and to his side were 2 more stacked upon one another.  He read under the night sky with the flickered glow of his fiery hand, using the flame like a flashlight to illuminate the pages as he smoked on a cigarette.  The page he was on currently was discussing the history of the Neyaphem, an ancient horde of demonic humanoid mutants from biblical times.  There was a small illustration of one of them.  With pointed ears and an angular composition, the caption below it read [i]"Azazel"[/i].

[color=f6989d][b]4:02am[/b][/color]

	Drake waited in the back of the grocery store parking lot, leaning back against his motorcycle.  He pulled out his phone and looked at the display.  His guy was already 2 minutes late.  As he stared at the asphalt below his feet, he unexpectedly, involuntarily yawned.  His eyes went wide as his blood pressure began to rise.  Yawning isn't good. It wasn't long before he saw the headlights of a black Lincoln Towncar with tinted windows.  There was a small sense of relief as the vehicle slowed to a stop in front of him.  Drake stood up and approached the window, reaching in his pocket for his wallet.

	"[color=fff79a]Wussup, D![/color]"  The driver was not someone Drake would consider a friend, but he always talked to Drake like they were old buddies.

	"[color=f7976a]You're late,[/color]" Drake said sharply before pulling out a wad of bills and passing it to him.  With one hand, the driver took the money and with his other, he passed Drake a small white plastic bag.

	"[color=fff79a]Yeah, yeah,[/color]" he said, shrugging off the comment.  "[color=fff79a]Don't party too hard, now, brother.  Or [i]do![/i][/color]"  Amused with himself, the driver could be heard laughing as the window rolled up and the Lincoln took off.  Drake put the baggy in his pants pocket and moved back to the motorcycle.  He started the ignition and revved the bike a few times, letting the sudden loudness stimulate his senses before taking off in the opposite direction.

[color=f6989d][b]5:16am[/b][/color]

	He had about another 45 more minutes before anyone else typically wanted to use the pool.  His clothes were in a pile on one of the lounge chairs as he stood in just boxers, submerged in the water from the waist down.  Drakes hands were extended outward, his palms pointed ahead as he tried to regulate his breathing and concentrate.  Beads of sweat formed on his brow as he attempted manipulate his composure, summoning whatever amount of aggravation he had in his emotional well to try and transform it into flame.  With a snarl and finally a primal shout, fire spewed out his hands.  The reflection from the water's surface make it look like 4 streams of flame were dancing in front of him.  Though he managed to summon the fire, there was no aim or precision in his execution.  It was something he was trying to improve upon.  Right now the fire came forth like a wild water hose, serpentining in a multitude of directions.  It was why he chose to train in the pool while others were just beginning to wake up.  It would take much more training to grasp the full sense of control he needed to use his power effectively, though.  Luckily Drake was just full of free time these days.

[color=f6989d][b]6:29am[/b][/color]

	Drake arrived back in his room just in time to disable his alarm clock before it went off.  He put his white baggy away in the drawer of his night stand by the half-empty bottle of whiskey, a box of condoms and a fresh pack of smokes.  It was essentially his drawer of sin.  He then moved back into the bathroom with a fresh set of clothing, discarding his sweats and tank top for a pair of black denim jeans and a white button up shirt with long sleeves that he rolled up to his elbows.  He combed his disheveled hair back into place, the water from the pool having left it in disarray, before giving the stranger in the mirror one last look.

	[i][color=f7976a]Time to start the day.[/color][/i]