[Neverwhere] Lye to Me
Title: Lye to Me
Day/Theme: 17. putting the lie in life
Series: Neverwhere
Character/Pairing: Croup, Vandamar
Rating: PG and a bad pun
The two men in their strange-fitting suits studied the scene with professional interest. There were several subjects with an underlying theme. All of the victims were in separate cases, but they had all been killed with lye in one way or another. Every suspended body showed signs of caustic burns inside and out. The two hadn’t come for the show, though and began walking down the corridor. The smaller of the two couldn’t stay quiet for very long.
“In the old days, you had to get lye from the ashes of hardwoods,” he said. “Nowadays, they process it. Mass production takes all the poetry out of a poison.” The big man grunted an answer. It might’ve been an agreement.
“And charming as the tableau is, it won’t last,” he shrugged like it was a shame. “Lye eats through glass eventually. So much effort gone to waste.”
“Ruins the taste,” the big man added. His partner nodded sagely. The door at the end was chained shut, but it didn’t stop them.
“Mediocre artistry is always a disappointment. You allow yourself to expect so much more, but in the end, true art is a rare thing. The rest of them are just pretending, and it is pitiable to see them so try so hard.” He grinned up at the tall man, teeth bared in a mouth that could say the word pity without any notion of how it felt. He nodded back at the row of cases. “They would tell you, if they could. They got so used to being alive that they took it for granted. It isn’t until they realize that their life is only going to be as long as the razor at their throats that all that living bubbles to the surface.”
“I like it when it bubbles,” the big man agreed, sucking on one of his canines. They went past the second locked door like it wasn’t there and found the hidden trapped door without even looking for it. Down the stairs into the basement they went without a sound, where their target was preparing his most recent victim. There was a young woman bound in a kneeling position and the artist in question was using an elaborate funnel system to pour liguid lye down her throat. He was so absorbed that he didn’t notice his audience until the smaller man spoke again.
“Disappointing, isn’t it?” he said. The ‘artist’ spun around, dropping the bucket and sloshing lye on the floor. Behind him, the woman thrashed, trying to vomit around the hose down her throat.
“To see what could’ve been an inspired portrayal of one of life’s truths,” the smaller man continued, walking around the funnel apparatus with an expression of relish. The ‘artist’ turned to run and found the big man already blocking the way.
“Become something so trite and forced.” The small man looked around, taking in the machinery, the case, the girl who had stopped choking but was still jerking, and back to the serial killer kicking in his grim partner’s grip. He flashed his teeth again and the wet click could’ve come from them or the switchblade that was suddenly in his hand. “Shall we enlighten him, Mr. Vandamar?”
“After you, Mr. Croup.” And while no one had noticed the cries of the past victims, it wasn’t long before these new shrieks could be heard all the way to the street.
Day/Theme: 17. putting the lie in life
Series: Neverwhere
Character/Pairing: Croup, Vandamar
Rating: PG and a bad pun
The two men in their strange-fitting suits studied the scene with professional interest. There were several subjects with an underlying theme. All of the victims were in separate cases, but they had all been killed with lye in one way or another. Every suspended body showed signs of caustic burns inside and out. The two hadn’t come for the show, though and began walking down the corridor. The smaller of the two couldn’t stay quiet for very long.
“In the old days, you had to get lye from the ashes of hardwoods,” he said. “Nowadays, they process it. Mass production takes all the poetry out of a poison.” The big man grunted an answer. It might’ve been an agreement.
“And charming as the tableau is, it won’t last,” he shrugged like it was a shame. “Lye eats through glass eventually. So much effort gone to waste.”
“Ruins the taste,” the big man added. His partner nodded sagely. The door at the end was chained shut, but it didn’t stop them.
“Mediocre artistry is always a disappointment. You allow yourself to expect so much more, but in the end, true art is a rare thing. The rest of them are just pretending, and it is pitiable to see them so try so hard.” He grinned up at the tall man, teeth bared in a mouth that could say the word pity without any notion of how it felt. He nodded back at the row of cases. “They would tell you, if they could. They got so used to being alive that they took it for granted. It isn’t until they realize that their life is only going to be as long as the razor at their throats that all that living bubbles to the surface.”
“I like it when it bubbles,” the big man agreed, sucking on one of his canines. They went past the second locked door like it wasn’t there and found the hidden trapped door without even looking for it. Down the stairs into the basement they went without a sound, where their target was preparing his most recent victim. There was a young woman bound in a kneeling position and the artist in question was using an elaborate funnel system to pour liguid lye down her throat. He was so absorbed that he didn’t notice his audience until the smaller man spoke again.
“Disappointing, isn’t it?” he said. The ‘artist’ spun around, dropping the bucket and sloshing lye on the floor. Behind him, the woman thrashed, trying to vomit around the hose down her throat.
“To see what could’ve been an inspired portrayal of one of life’s truths,” the smaller man continued, walking around the funnel apparatus with an expression of relish. The ‘artist’ turned to run and found the big man already blocking the way.
“Become something so trite and forced.” The small man looked around, taking in the machinery, the case, the girl who had stopped choking but was still jerking, and back to the serial killer kicking in his grim partner’s grip. He flashed his teeth again and the wet click could’ve come from them or the switchblade that was suddenly in his hand. “Shall we enlighten him, Mr. Vandamar?”
“After you, Mr. Croup.” And while no one had noticed the cries of the past victims, it wasn’t long before these new shrieks could be heard all the way to the street.