Post by Cassus on Sept 24, 2012 23:05:33 GMT -5
(( I'm too lazy to look up the actual guy who found toast jesus so creative liberty whatever eat my shorts))
There is a small town nestled in the boondocks of Connecticut. It's further west then the voidic entity will likely ever go. She holds much more of a preference for Europe and it's zest - it's history - then she does for this side of the world. Far before the conception of America there had been wars and conspiracies and flat ends of the earth where people throttled off.
But here, in the states, it is new territory and although pale in comparison; like a plum to a apple. It's ripe and succulent.
The only supernaturals here are lurking in the south. They drink on bourbon street and blend into bars and whore-houses. She has kept her ear to the grape-vine and oh the things the arm's have reached out to touch her with. If she does not like it (she takes pleasure in working for her energy as much as a nagged husband does a late friday evening at work) she knows certainly her bonded would. A vampire of only five hundred might startle visibly at the sights and decadence where she was more inclined to see through a glass eye and stick to shadow.
But this is not Louisiana and it's recovering city. This is not Chicago and it's busy body businessman and this is not New york and it's delicate hierarchy. This is a small forgotten town in Connecticut where a man years ago had flown to Europe and made a deal with her for fame. Unfortunately he hadn't specified so ''fame'' had been redefined as a moment in the spotlight when he'd found a piece of toast that had Jesus's face on it.
But a year later he's forgotten besides second hand comedy shows and half wit references. So old and withered with the ridicule he's began to pray in poverty. He's found Jesus in hope (.. and toast).But there is no prayer that could keep her at bay.
But for all intent and purposes she's another repenting civilian. A passerbyer woman who's pretty enough that her sudden appearance is overlooked. But exotic enough she's not forgotten entirely. With long back hair and prominent cheek-bones she looks a lot more Egyptian then she ever could American.
The fact she's got her heels up tight on the edge of a pew and she's leaning back with her elbows at the backboard and fingers intertwined doesn't exactly come across as ''praise the lord'' anymore then it does ''I'm here to convert. I've accepted Jesus Christ the savior into my heart and soul.'' So needless to say she isnt completely overlooked by the devout Christians. Nor the Pastor who's eyes are running up the curve of her thigh lustfully.
But besides that and a couple of other sinners nobody seems to take notice. It's those people she sticks away from, and it's those people the reasons she's waiting patiently instead of cashing in and getting on her merry way back to mid Europe and it's never ending entertainment.
But ten minutes into his unheard prayers he see's the eyes on him, and after hesitating and fidgeting decides it's best to go to her. And that he does. Hiking up his big boy shorts and approaching the woman whose face he just cant place..
"Who are you?" He says, too creeped out to beat around the bush. "What do you want? An autograph? A newspaper article? What?" There is a bitterness about the way his hard eyes lands on her. But she's still got a tilt to her chin and a crooked smile at her lips. He's further disturbed by the fact his confrontational mood has her unabashed and smiling. In his mind's eye he see's a pattern of crudely shaped teeth just behind the skin of her full lips.
Not that that arrow is too far from it's mark.
"You're godawful rude for a man of the church." She says easily. Leans her chin back to observe him through eyelash and half lidded eyes, ungodly graceful enough to make him shift and the Pastor far off makes a sound of appreciation.
He doesnt say anything for a while. Trying to make her squirm of fidget with a heated unwelcome stare. But when she makes no move to change expression, he realizes a mexican standoff isnt going anywhere and cuts the silence with what he thinks is sharp words. "I dont have time for your silly little games you harpy woman, what do you want?" And his voice is a octave lower with the promise of menace and Cassus wants to say - ah - there is the man that beat his son into the far end of the world.
"Oh -" She laughs. "It's smart to be patient , but it's stupid to loose your temper. Proverbs 14 :29. Incase you werent paying attention to the sermon."
He's fuming now, but unwilling to make a scene with so many saintly around. So instead he sinks into the seat beside her, he bows his head as the Pastor goes on speaking. He quiets for a moment of prayer and there is understanding when he says ''Amen.''
"You're here for me." He says suddenly. Looking horrified with the realization of the things he'd said, of the little time he'd have left. But Cassus is still smiling at him when she says quietly. "Yes, well, you're the main reason I'm here but I'm bored and you're predictable. You like fame dont you? You lust for recognition -" And there is nothing good about the way she leans in and says casually. ''You caught me in a good mood. I havent been to the state's since the mid forties, so I'm feeling adventurous. I'm feeling generous, and I'm going to help you."
"How?"
But forty five minutes later he cant remember what she'd said after that, he cant remember killing thirty three people, twelve children, five babies -- he cant remember hands that smell like death and he doesnt know why he feels too cold.
Doesnt notice when the fire catches to his foot and flails up eating him like a phoenix and he doesnt scream until it reaches eyes and hair and burns the eyelashes and eyebrows to crisp chars of smoke that arent really there.
Doesnt notice the woman leaning at the podium leaning over the slumped form of the Pastor speaking into the microphone, "For the kingdom, the power, and the glory are yours now and forever. Amen."
But for eternity, he might remember her laughing. He might remember the glint of satisfaction in her eye before he's gone.
But she always remains.
There is a small town nestled in the boondocks of Connecticut. It's further west then the voidic entity will likely ever go. She holds much more of a preference for Europe and it's zest - it's history - then she does for this side of the world. Far before the conception of America there had been wars and conspiracies and flat ends of the earth where people throttled off.
But here, in the states, it is new territory and although pale in comparison; like a plum to a apple. It's ripe and succulent.
The only supernaturals here are lurking in the south. They drink on bourbon street and blend into bars and whore-houses. She has kept her ear to the grape-vine and oh the things the arm's have reached out to touch her with. If she does not like it (she takes pleasure in working for her energy as much as a nagged husband does a late friday evening at work) she knows certainly her bonded would. A vampire of only five hundred might startle visibly at the sights and decadence where she was more inclined to see through a glass eye and stick to shadow.
But this is not Louisiana and it's recovering city. This is not Chicago and it's busy body businessman and this is not New york and it's delicate hierarchy. This is a small forgotten town in Connecticut where a man years ago had flown to Europe and made a deal with her for fame. Unfortunately he hadn't specified so ''fame'' had been redefined as a moment in the spotlight when he'd found a piece of toast that had Jesus's face on it.
But a year later he's forgotten besides second hand comedy shows and half wit references. So old and withered with the ridicule he's began to pray in poverty. He's found Jesus in hope (.. and toast).But there is no prayer that could keep her at bay.
But for all intent and purposes she's another repenting civilian. A passerbyer woman who's pretty enough that her sudden appearance is overlooked. But exotic enough she's not forgotten entirely. With long back hair and prominent cheek-bones she looks a lot more Egyptian then she ever could American.
The fact she's got her heels up tight on the edge of a pew and she's leaning back with her elbows at the backboard and fingers intertwined doesn't exactly come across as ''praise the lord'' anymore then it does ''I'm here to convert. I've accepted Jesus Christ the savior into my heart and soul.'' So needless to say she isnt completely overlooked by the devout Christians. Nor the Pastor who's eyes are running up the curve of her thigh lustfully.
But besides that and a couple of other sinners nobody seems to take notice. It's those people she sticks away from, and it's those people the reasons she's waiting patiently instead of cashing in and getting on her merry way back to mid Europe and it's never ending entertainment.
But ten minutes into his unheard prayers he see's the eyes on him, and after hesitating and fidgeting decides it's best to go to her. And that he does. Hiking up his big boy shorts and approaching the woman whose face he just cant place..
"Who are you?" He says, too creeped out to beat around the bush. "What do you want? An autograph? A newspaper article? What?" There is a bitterness about the way his hard eyes lands on her. But she's still got a tilt to her chin and a crooked smile at her lips. He's further disturbed by the fact his confrontational mood has her unabashed and smiling. In his mind's eye he see's a pattern of crudely shaped teeth just behind the skin of her full lips.
Not that that arrow is too far from it's mark.
"You're godawful rude for a man of the church." She says easily. Leans her chin back to observe him through eyelash and half lidded eyes, ungodly graceful enough to make him shift and the Pastor far off makes a sound of appreciation.
He doesnt say anything for a while. Trying to make her squirm of fidget with a heated unwelcome stare. But when she makes no move to change expression, he realizes a mexican standoff isnt going anywhere and cuts the silence with what he thinks is sharp words. "I dont have time for your silly little games you harpy woman, what do you want?" And his voice is a octave lower with the promise of menace and Cassus wants to say - ah - there is the man that beat his son into the far end of the world.
"Oh -" She laughs. "It's smart to be patient , but it's stupid to loose your temper. Proverbs 14 :29. Incase you werent paying attention to the sermon."
He's fuming now, but unwilling to make a scene with so many saintly around. So instead he sinks into the seat beside her, he bows his head as the Pastor goes on speaking. He quiets for a moment of prayer and there is understanding when he says ''Amen.''
"You're here for me." He says suddenly. Looking horrified with the realization of the things he'd said, of the little time he'd have left. But Cassus is still smiling at him when she says quietly. "Yes, well, you're the main reason I'm here but I'm bored and you're predictable. You like fame dont you? You lust for recognition -" And there is nothing good about the way she leans in and says casually. ''You caught me in a good mood. I havent been to the state's since the mid forties, so I'm feeling adventurous. I'm feeling generous, and I'm going to help you."
"How?"
But forty five minutes later he cant remember what she'd said after that, he cant remember killing thirty three people, twelve children, five babies -- he cant remember hands that smell like death and he doesnt know why he feels too cold.
Doesnt notice when the fire catches to his foot and flails up eating him like a phoenix and he doesnt scream until it reaches eyes and hair and burns the eyelashes and eyebrows to crisp chars of smoke that arent really there.
Doesnt notice the woman leaning at the podium leaning over the slumped form of the Pastor speaking into the microphone, "For the kingdom, the power, and the glory are yours now and forever. Amen."
But for eternity, he might remember her laughing. He might remember the glint of satisfaction in her eye before he's gone.
But she always remains.