OOC Memory 001 Sight/Touch
Routine.
He had risen from the bed in the morning, same as any sleepless night before. He didn't sleep, didn't need to, but laying down and pretending he was normal, why did he bother? Was it the need to blend in? "Wake up", Get Dressed, Eat, Bakery, Tea, Bakery, Home, Shower, Bed. Repeat
First the shirt, then the pants, comb his hair, only to stare at himself in the mirror. Black stalled briefly at the last task, crimson eyes folding over a particular crystal in his sock drawer. When he picked it up, the world around him faded into as close as a dream as he'd ever have:
Cold. He could feel it was cold. The wind blew at his long coat, whipping around his form lightly. The crash of waves elongated the spray of water against his face. The sand under his feet was soft, giving the appeal of the beach a perfect place to haunt in the middle of the night. Alone and quiet, the demon had enough time to himself. Tonight though, red flickered against his horizon, beckoning him forwards. Instead of the abandoned shallow banks of beach, a small campfire burned in the distance.
Life.
The demon entered the campfire celebration, eyes wandering over the people dancing and eating. Strange to see life so full in trying times. But in one of their hands, his eyes fixated on a reddish brown object, fingers threading over the strings. The man holding the fabled violin took note of his curiosity, beckoning him over and into his hands the instrument of the devil first joined with his senses. Smooth, light, beautiful. Words could not describe, and letting hands guide, he began to play as he was instructed. Slow at first, but rapidly learning as always each position of hand, each chord, and every inch of that violin.
His fingers bent lightly, moving the bow across and with practiced ease, he was already adjusting to the new obsession. The vibration against his chin was a faint joy, feeling the strings vibrate along with the rest of the cursed instrument. His head canted, toying with the violin hour after hour, until the celebration had died down. The demon continued to play.
A natural. By any other name, the demon was a natural. The weapon in hand, strings under his touch, crimson eyes fell upon his fingers. Faster. Faster. More. He wanted more. But the man was tiring under the demon's beckoning to the point of exhaustion. His demons whisper had already begun, enticing the man to continue to teach. What other lesson could he bestow without having a son of his own.
He rose to his feet, hours later, stepping over the dead body of his teacher. Exhaustion, revelation, the need to please. He tucked the violin under his chin, setting the bow to the strings and once again, began to play. The way his fingers twitched with practice ease over the strings, made it seem like he had played for years.
His heart was beating fast, back on the bed with the crystal sliding from his fingers. When had he fallen back against it? Routine. "Wake up" Get Dressed, Bakery, Tea, Bakery, Go Home...
No. Black turned a different direction, moving towards the elevator. He'd spend all night if he had to in the S-yard, and if necessary the night after that, and the night after that.
He had risen from the bed in the morning, same as any sleepless night before. He didn't sleep, didn't need to, but laying down and pretending he was normal, why did he bother? Was it the need to blend in? "Wake up", Get Dressed, Eat, Bakery, Tea, Bakery, Home, Shower, Bed. Repeat
First the shirt, then the pants, comb his hair, only to stare at himself in the mirror. Black stalled briefly at the last task, crimson eyes folding over a particular crystal in his sock drawer. When he picked it up, the world around him faded into as close as a dream as he'd ever have:
Cold. He could feel it was cold. The wind blew at his long coat, whipping around his form lightly. The crash of waves elongated the spray of water against his face. The sand under his feet was soft, giving the appeal of the beach a perfect place to haunt in the middle of the night. Alone and quiet, the demon had enough time to himself. Tonight though, red flickered against his horizon, beckoning him forwards. Instead of the abandoned shallow banks of beach, a small campfire burned in the distance.
Life.
The demon entered the campfire celebration, eyes wandering over the people dancing and eating. Strange to see life so full in trying times. But in one of their hands, his eyes fixated on a reddish brown object, fingers threading over the strings. The man holding the fabled violin took note of his curiosity, beckoning him over and into his hands the instrument of the devil first joined with his senses. Smooth, light, beautiful. Words could not describe, and letting hands guide, he began to play as he was instructed. Slow at first, but rapidly learning as always each position of hand, each chord, and every inch of that violin.
His fingers bent lightly, moving the bow across and with practiced ease, he was already adjusting to the new obsession. The vibration against his chin was a faint joy, feeling the strings vibrate along with the rest of the cursed instrument. His head canted, toying with the violin hour after hour, until the celebration had died down. The demon continued to play.
A natural. By any other name, the demon was a natural. The weapon in hand, strings under his touch, crimson eyes fell upon his fingers. Faster. Faster. More. He wanted more. But the man was tiring under the demon's beckoning to the point of exhaustion. His demons whisper had already begun, enticing the man to continue to teach. What other lesson could he bestow without having a son of his own.
He rose to his feet, hours later, stepping over the dead body of his teacher. Exhaustion, revelation, the need to please. He tucked the violin under his chin, setting the bow to the strings and once again, began to play. The way his fingers twitched with practice ease over the strings, made it seem like he had played for years.
His heart was beating fast, back on the bed with the crystal sliding from his fingers. When had he fallen back against it? Routine. "Wake up" Get Dressed, Bakery, Tea, Bakery, Go Home...
No. Black turned a different direction, moving towards the elevator. He'd spend all night if he had to in the S-yard, and if necessary the night after that, and the night after that.