(no subject)
Who: The Showman
What: Rejuvenation time
When: A few weeks into the new year.
Where: The Theatre of the Real
Interactions: Closed
Warnings: Possible ick regarding blood sacrifices, nudity, NPC death.
Special Notes: NOTICE: This event most likely be felt by any and all psychics, dreamwalkers, dimension jumpers or magicians, if only for a second.
You tell me one size fits us all. Yeah, like an old straightjacket...'>
Whores. He despised the dirty, inferior things.
Sometimes he wondered to himself what it was about them he hated the most.
Was it the way they cried for the parents they ran away from?
Was it when they swore at him, threatened him as they tried to hide their fear?
Or was it when they writhed and licked their lips, propositioning him with their ...assets.
Make no mistake, he loved women. He loved how others loved women. He loved how women loved to be loved, and watched.
And touched.
He watched as the light from a circle of candles flickered on her naked body. He watched the muscles in her arms ripple under her skin as she strained against the bonds which restrained her to the altar.
But this one, this one screeched like a crow, begging to be set free, that mommy and daddy would give all the money he asked for.
"Silence is golden, my little harlot."
She wanted to spit in his face but her throat had been rendered ash dry from screaming. "You have no right to do this!" She rasped. Each word made her throat feel bloody.
"Perhaps if you had made some wiser choices in your life, you would not be in this situation. And yet, here we are."
"Please. Please let me go."
"I'm sorry my dear, I'm afraid I can't do that." From the depths of his coat he pulled an ornate dagger. "As much as I'd relish the opportunity to cease your infernal caterwauling, it's either you or myself. I chose myself."
Her eyes opened as wide and as round as they possibly could as he advanced upon her.
***
The girl he once knew was had left, and the indigent bum had also left and somehow forgotten. Their separation and her rejection of all that she was left his own spirit with nothing to cling to.
So he floated away.
Away from the herds of Izses, past the air whales, through the mountain mists. The skies had turn from blue to black and he could feel everything and yet nothing. He was no longer a presence in her mind nor anyone else's.
It felt nice.
No he thought. It can't end like this. I've come to far. I'm so close now!
He floated into the aether, into nothing, to be one with the collective consciousness that no one believed in anymore. None except the most sensitive.
The stuff dreams were made of.
And on that plain of theoretical existence he saw in the distance a glimmer. He felt the vacuum. He was forced to answer the call.
***
The Showman had finished revelling in the silence of the dead hooker. He felt her essence infuse into him, her living energy. Thanks to her youth, he could remain his own spry self for a few more months. He took a deep breath.
Unexpectedly he reeled at the feeling of a lack of gravity. He lurched and could swear his toes left the ground. His brain buzzed and a cunning, quiet rage ran through his body and seemed to burn in his fingertips. He thought he heard screaming somewhere in Australia.
Just as quickly as he felt it, it had subsided and left him feeling invigorated. He could feel the cold, mouldy dampness of his theatre, smell the whore's blood and sweat. Most of all he could feel the weight of his clothes against his skin, something denied to him for hundreds of years. Was he mortal? Did something go wrong?
He felt an urge, a wicked urge, one not unlike he had back in his life.
He wanted. He simply wanted.
Feeding the want was the only way to quiet the rage within.
Maybe that would get the child's attention...
OOC NOTES: Welllll the Showman has merged with Mr. Gone.
We are aaaalllll fucked.
What: Rejuvenation time
When: A few weeks into the new year.
Where: The Theatre of the Real
Interactions: Closed
Warnings: Possible ick regarding blood sacrifices, nudity, NPC death.
Special Notes: NOTICE: This event most likely be felt by any and all psychics, dreamwalkers, dimension jumpers or magicians, if only for a second.
You tell me one size fits us all. Yeah, like an old straightjacket...'>
Whores. He despised the dirty, inferior things.
Sometimes he wondered to himself what it was about them he hated the most.
Was it the way they cried for the parents they ran away from?
Was it when they swore at him, threatened him as they tried to hide their fear?
Or was it when they writhed and licked their lips, propositioning him with their ...assets.
Make no mistake, he loved women. He loved how others loved women. He loved how women loved to be loved, and watched.
And touched.
He watched as the light from a circle of candles flickered on her naked body. He watched the muscles in her arms ripple under her skin as she strained against the bonds which restrained her to the altar.
But this one, this one screeched like a crow, begging to be set free, that mommy and daddy would give all the money he asked for.
"Silence is golden, my little harlot."
She wanted to spit in his face but her throat had been rendered ash dry from screaming. "You have no right to do this!" She rasped. Each word made her throat feel bloody.
"Perhaps if you had made some wiser choices in your life, you would not be in this situation. And yet, here we are."
"Please. Please let me go."
"I'm sorry my dear, I'm afraid I can't do that." From the depths of his coat he pulled an ornate dagger. "As much as I'd relish the opportunity to cease your infernal caterwauling, it's either you or myself. I chose myself."
Her eyes opened as wide and as round as they possibly could as he advanced upon her.
***
The girl he once knew was had left, and the indigent bum had also left and somehow forgotten. Their separation and her rejection of all that she was left his own spirit with nothing to cling to.
So he floated away.
Away from the herds of Izses, past the air whales, through the mountain mists. The skies had turn from blue to black and he could feel everything and yet nothing. He was no longer a presence in her mind nor anyone else's.
It felt nice.
No he thought. It can't end like this. I've come to far. I'm so close now!
He floated into the aether, into nothing, to be one with the collective consciousness that no one believed in anymore. None except the most sensitive.
The stuff dreams were made of.
And on that plain of theoretical existence he saw in the distance a glimmer. He felt the vacuum. He was forced to answer the call.
***
The Showman had finished revelling in the silence of the dead hooker. He felt her essence infuse into him, her living energy. Thanks to her youth, he could remain his own spry self for a few more months. He took a deep breath.
Unexpectedly he reeled at the feeling of a lack of gravity. He lurched and could swear his toes left the ground. His brain buzzed and a cunning, quiet rage ran through his body and seemed to burn in his fingertips. He thought he heard screaming somewhere in Australia.
Just as quickly as he felt it, it had subsided and left him feeling invigorated. He could feel the cold, mouldy dampness of his theatre, smell the whore's blood and sweat. Most of all he could feel the weight of his clothes against his skin, something denied to him for hundreds of years. Was he mortal? Did something go wrong?
He felt an urge, a wicked urge, one not unlike he had back in his life.
He wanted. He simply wanted.
Feeding the want was the only way to quiet the rage within.
Maybe that would get the child's attention...
OOC NOTES: Welllll the Showman has merged with Mr. Gone.
We are aaaalllll fucked.