(no subject)
Title: A Requiem Unsung
"Author:" Well, just call me Icarus.
Characters involved: Beckett, Alastor [OC of mine]
Brief Synopsis: As briefly as possible, the assassination of nobility.
Editor's notes: Well, as you've all guessed by this being the first and only post Ive ever done here, I'm new. Was referred to the community by a friend who's already in it and figured I might as well throw my colors into the mix. Now, this is just what I do best in my writings. I have nothing against Beckett since his personality kept my interest during the E.I.Co scenes in the movies. On that note, I'd also like to add that people all seem to wonder how someone will die, so this is just my idea on the matter [Well, if he didn't die in the flick, then here's how I'd imagine it happening]. There were a few other ideas swirling around in my head, but I'm gonna keep them locked away for a rainy day.
Last note and Ill shut up: Enjoy, everyone. Hope this newbie finds a place in community fics.
Midnight, not a single star in the sky, but the lunar eclipse bled through the clouds like God's bloodshot eye looking upon his creations past sins. He was standing over the aptly named "lord" in his sleep, the visage of malice settling across the crimson mask, that white smirk giving the ceramic face a flicker of life. The idea of taking the life of another always piqued the interest of this particular individual, so much so to the point of actually carrying out the fell contract of murder. It was simple (a sedative delivered by syringe moments earlier ensured it would be) a quick slit and this man would bleed like the animal he accused so many of being. No... A second smile would be too good for this man. He would feel it, but it was rather boring... cliche, even. The cold, dark hues stared for minutes on end behind that mask deciding this mans fate, but to no avail. Everything that he'd though of, he'd done already and some weren't nearly complex enough to satiate this mask. A small, black pocket watch was withdrawn from his pocket before he put it down on the table, face open and left it open so it would continue to speak the hour to him. Rolling the lifeless sleeper onto his back, Alastor would pick up a quill and inkwell and a small note the man had written earlier. Studying it for a moment, he reproduced the signature very accurately... almost to the point of a mirror image. But, he wasn't planning on the conventional staged suicide. Just then, inspiration struck! A flick of the wrist and some quick motions produced the sanguine ichor within the mans body to flow from his arms. Taking up a cloth, he soaked in the widening crimson abyss on the floor and began to draw upon the mans white, linen sheets. A skull and crossed swords was the end result, but after a quick pulse check, the man was still alive. Shaking his head, he went quickly to work.
The next morning, when the guard saw the white flag of submission smeared with that blasphemous sigil, they eagerly sought the "lord." The door was locked from the inside... either that or something was blocking it. After a heavy shove, they saw that after the chair behind the door broke, a string began run rapidly through a small pulley system and lowered the man, who was right side up at the moment, down until his head pointed at the floor. Within seconds a glint of the thin, metallic wire ran across his throat and cut him open, spilling the remains of his life at the feet of the guards who had come in search of his advice. A small note rest on the edge of the wire web that was tied all about the room. "In memorium, we find ourselves staring into the eyes of a dead man who, now, lays before us. With crimson palms and sullen hearts, our lives are hereby forfeit to the ebb and flow of the ocean, for only a requiem such as mine will be sung in blood and iron. Cast in the name of Justice, ye be guilty" On the back of the paper, more blood lay, now staining the hands of its readers. Dead center of the web, the small black pocket watch hung and swayed gently, finally turning so they could see the face of the clock which had stopped only two seconds ago.
"Author:" Well, just call me Icarus.
Characters involved: Beckett, Alastor [OC of mine]
Brief Synopsis: As briefly as possible, the assassination of nobility.
Editor's notes: Well, as you've all guessed by this being the first and only post Ive ever done here, I'm new. Was referred to the community by a friend who's already in it and figured I might as well throw my colors into the mix. Now, this is just what I do best in my writings. I have nothing against Beckett since his personality kept my interest during the E.I.Co scenes in the movies. On that note, I'd also like to add that people all seem to wonder how someone will die, so this is just my idea on the matter [Well, if he didn't die in the flick, then here's how I'd imagine it happening]. There were a few other ideas swirling around in my head, but I'm gonna keep them locked away for a rainy day.
Last note and Ill shut up: Enjoy, everyone. Hope this newbie finds a place in community fics.
Midnight, not a single star in the sky, but the lunar eclipse bled through the clouds like God's bloodshot eye looking upon his creations past sins. He was standing over the aptly named "lord" in his sleep, the visage of malice settling across the crimson mask, that white smirk giving the ceramic face a flicker of life. The idea of taking the life of another always piqued the interest of this particular individual, so much so to the point of actually carrying out the fell contract of murder. It was simple (a sedative delivered by syringe moments earlier ensured it would be) a quick slit and this man would bleed like the animal he accused so many of being. No... A second smile would be too good for this man. He would feel it, but it was rather boring... cliche, even. The cold, dark hues stared for minutes on end behind that mask deciding this mans fate, but to no avail. Everything that he'd though of, he'd done already and some weren't nearly complex enough to satiate this mask. A small, black pocket watch was withdrawn from his pocket before he put it down on the table, face open and left it open so it would continue to speak the hour to him. Rolling the lifeless sleeper onto his back, Alastor would pick up a quill and inkwell and a small note the man had written earlier. Studying it for a moment, he reproduced the signature very accurately... almost to the point of a mirror image. But, he wasn't planning on the conventional staged suicide. Just then, inspiration struck! A flick of the wrist and some quick motions produced the sanguine ichor within the mans body to flow from his arms. Taking up a cloth, he soaked in the widening crimson abyss on the floor and began to draw upon the mans white, linen sheets. A skull and crossed swords was the end result, but after a quick pulse check, the man was still alive. Shaking his head, he went quickly to work.
The next morning, when the guard saw the white flag of submission smeared with that blasphemous sigil, they eagerly sought the "lord." The door was locked from the inside... either that or something was blocking it. After a heavy shove, they saw that after the chair behind the door broke, a string began run rapidly through a small pulley system and lowered the man, who was right side up at the moment, down until his head pointed at the floor. Within seconds a glint of the thin, metallic wire ran across his throat and cut him open, spilling the remains of his life at the feet of the guards who had come in search of his advice. A small note rest on the edge of the wire web that was tied all about the room. "In memorium, we find ourselves staring into the eyes of a dead man who, now, lays before us. With crimson palms and sullen hearts, our lives are hereby forfeit to the ebb and flow of the ocean, for only a requiem such as mine will be sung in blood and iron. Cast in the name of Justice, ye be guilty" On the back of the paper, more blood lay, now staining the hands of its readers. Dead center of the web, the small black pocket watch hung and swayed gently, finally turning so they could see the face of the clock which had stopped only two seconds ago.