Date: Friday, 7 July 2000
Time: Late afternoon
Location: Cobalt Viriconium antique records shoppe, Muggle London
Characters Involved: Montague Morsus and OPEN (Please, ask before joining)
Status: Incomplete
Rating: PG-13 at the very least
(
She shuddered in disgust, necrophiliac, necrophiliac! The lilies of her spirits high withered, disappearing into Lethe, leaving a faint scent of their sprinkling colour )
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What a sublime feeling.
There, there, along with Weber and Verdi, was the much lusted record, and Montague took it in his hands, wishing it would be the Der Ring des Nibelungen - his total artwork, the Gesamtkunstwerk of Romanticism. What was it with Montague and Romanticism? Sometimes he liked to think that Romanticism was merely a mockery of his fall, the spiraling down into depths of madness and evil. To some, it would seem he repented. And only to the very few it would be known - he relished the lack of light ( ... )
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Barely able to lift his feet from the floor, Terry took two, very hesitant steps backwards; nearly having a run-in with the racks and bins of records behind him. His feet, he noted rather distractedly, had seemingly, not to mention, suddenly gained a hundred pounds each and refused to be budged.
But, Terry reasoned with himself in an attempt to calm his rapid heart and ragged breath, at least Montague hadn't seen him...
Yet.Perhaps it would be prudent, Terry thought hurriedly, to merely stay back in the dusty shadows while the other man browsed. Perhaps he wouldn't be found out- ... perhaps, being idealistic was stupid ( ... )
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Then again - nothing surprising. The boy was a container of all sorts of mental insecurities, clearly.
"You are bothered," Montague said after a few seconds filled with silence - only the small drops of Terry's cigarette ashes making a 'banging' sound against the floor.
It was interesting - watching the other man tremble, very imperceptibly, eyes closed, with random twitches of his limbs disturbing the peace of the moment. Should he let the boy suffer a bit more or release him now? Play or no play? Such an interesting choice. Did Montague feel like a Muggle Messiah or more like their Lucifer? (Such an interesting notion, that.)
It said - in every deed there is an element of play, and there was a firework of ( ... )
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With eyes slightly unfocused, Terry listened to the heated words that Montague spoke. Madness and Horror. And, as per usual, the boy reacted only with slowly dilating pupils and a look of worry. -Adding in a little eye-widening at the man's finishing words and action- never a kiss. A touch ( ... )
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The boy stopped abruptly in front of Montague as the man began to speak. Terry bit his lip distractedly; in a vain attempt to pull his thoughts back together- eyes, out of habit, dropping to the (filthy, disgusting, dirty, cracked, stained, discoloured) ground. "I-…"
He paused, his worried expression clearing- a blank one taking its place. "Yes."
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Wasn't this reminiscent of something from the past? A feeling of deja-vu, that strange sensation of - bullshit, this has happened before, rewind! - creeped over the taller man. He never liked deja-vus. They only meant one thing--
Repetition.
Life had to be new with every new day. (And yet, it kept on plaguing him with the same nightmares. Still, still.)
"Good," he repeated, before smiling - for the briefest of seconds! - and turning around to walk away from the boy. There he was again, adopting that decisive stride of his, the monumental tribute to the unredeemably lost. Lost and masochistically happy about it. It's with that final victorious smirk that martyrs went down.
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