Re: MORITURI TE SALUTANT!! [S!4]
03-20-2012, 03:31 PM
Originally posted on MSPA by Agent1022.
The mists cradled the lake with a mother’s embrace, its waters mingling with their waters, one entity but for when the bitter wind blew. Then the roiling whites and greys parted across the water’s rippling glass, playing about the remains of piers and collapsed bricks and rusting ironwork. Decay of things man-made and natural permeated the pungent air, and it was beneath a corroding bench that an incongruous huddle of clothing unfolded, unceremoniously, into Sam Wün.
Slowly, he stood, and gazed out at the mirror of the lake, felt the miasma about him, and listened to the sounds of a million wild woodland creatures going very loudly insane. His brain attempted to process the transpiring events, mostly with half-completed fragments of “-the fuck-“ and “what”, while instincts took over with his body, brushing off dirt and rust from his coat as best as could be done without actively disintegrating its threads.
Gathering his thoughts
was as difficult as ever
Then the world lurched back into sync with time’s proper vector, and he began with “Oh fuck, I’m in trouble.”
It was as good a place to begin as any.
=-=-=-=-=-=-=
The air cleared as he approached the darkened mansion, lit in what moonlight could filter through the angry clouds above. Wind whipped balustrades and rotting balconies, slowing to trickle through gaps in columns and play with pieces of light debris scattered on pathways and porches amid the hulk that was Shrewdish Manor. Still barely visible was the name on the smashed crockery that Sam picked his way through, littering the back garden that he was now invading. Lord Shrewdish had apparently been a man of excess, for there was an inordinate number of ceramic shards scattered about the porch, and even the hallway Sam found himself in as he staggered through the back door – the servant’s entrance – carried a few choice porcelain pieces in jagged oblivion on the stone-tiled ground. One of these he picked up, and wiped the dust from its glaze. He gave himself a little smile in the stained reflection. It reminded him of
It had been a cold day when small Sam had found and donned the lead researcher’s scarf, and had thoughts that were foreign, tasted like bitter wine, the knife in the kitchens and the blood welling from cuts cuts who could have known that Dr. Hadrea had lost a custody battle with her husband, and was suicidal? There had been mixed feelings all around about the whole incident
No no no no no no no no – he shoved the memories bodily from his consciousness, dashing the shard to the ground, where it shattered into twinkling dust for a moment as it caught the moonlight, and choking back a sob he ran through a door-
-and into the palatial interior…
The mists cradled the lake with a mother’s embrace, its waters mingling with their waters, one entity but for when the bitter wind blew. Then the roiling whites and greys parted across the water’s rippling glass, playing about the remains of piers and collapsed bricks and rusting ironwork. Decay of things man-made and natural permeated the pungent air, and it was beneath a corroding bench that an incongruous huddle of clothing unfolded, unceremoniously, into Sam Wün.
Slowly, he stood, and gazed out at the mirror of the lake, felt the miasma about him, and listened to the sounds of a million wild woodland creatures going very loudly insane. His brain attempted to process the transpiring events, mostly with half-completed fragments of “-the fuck-“ and “what”, while instincts took over with his body, brushing off dirt and rust from his coat as best as could be done without actively disintegrating its threads.
Gathering his thoughts
was as difficult as ever
Then the world lurched back into sync with time’s proper vector, and he began with “Oh fuck, I’m in trouble.”
It was as good a place to begin as any.
=-=-=-=-=-=-=
The air cleared as he approached the darkened mansion, lit in what moonlight could filter through the angry clouds above. Wind whipped balustrades and rotting balconies, slowing to trickle through gaps in columns and play with pieces of light debris scattered on pathways and porches amid the hulk that was Shrewdish Manor. Still barely visible was the name on the smashed crockery that Sam picked his way through, littering the back garden that he was now invading. Lord Shrewdish had apparently been a man of excess, for there was an inordinate number of ceramic shards scattered about the porch, and even the hallway Sam found himself in as he staggered through the back door – the servant’s entrance – carried a few choice porcelain pieces in jagged oblivion on the stone-tiled ground. One of these he picked up, and wiped the dust from its glaze. He gave himself a little smile in the stained reflection. It reminded him of
It had been a cold day when small Sam had found and donned the lead researcher’s scarf, and had thoughts that were foreign, tasted like bitter wine, the knife in the kitchens and the blood welling from cuts cuts who could have known that Dr. Hadrea had lost a custody battle with her husband, and was suicidal? There had been mixed feelings all around about the whole incident
No no no no no no no no – he shoved the memories bodily from his consciousness, dashing the shard to the ground, where it shattered into twinkling dust for a moment as it caught the moonlight, and choking back a sob he ran through a door-
-and into the palatial interior…
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So very British / But then again | People are machines Machines are people | Oh hai there | There's no time
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Superhero 1920s noir | Multigenre Half-Life | Changing the future | Command line interface
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