RE: Journal of Sociology [S!6] - [Round Two: Ryburg Ritz]
01-05-2014, 07:02 PM
A bustle of clothing floated down to the ground. It seemed that Jean had exploded, again, following the round transition. Dimensional physics were no laughing matter! Fortunately, this had little effect on her, as she rounded up her clothing items, and once again formed a cohesive blob. This time, it was actually pretty reminiscent of a human, even having legs. She was in a pretty good mood, as she had finally found proof that she wasn't the only one in the world. Although, she was also dimly aware that neither this world nor the last one was familiar to her, so technically she was always alone in her own world? Oh, whatever! Metaphysics were not what interested her at the moment. No, what interested her was in the window she had landed in front of. She had caught a glimpse of a rather haggard old figure, and she became excited at the prospect of meeting someone else.
---
"Hmm... Perhaps a pinch of nutmeg? Or... no, no. It would definitely have to be tarragon."
The hunched-over figure was busily laboring over a rather large cauldron. It was bubbling over with a sickly orange-looking fluid, and she didn't like the look of the color. She was pretty sure it had to be more yellowish. She continued muttering to herself and grabbing ingredients, pattering around the enormous cauldron. It was so huge, it could fit a person inside of it. In fact, that seemed to be the entire point, judging from the corpse on the next table over. The corpse was that of an old man, who was this woman's husband, before he succumbed to the Plague.
She threw in some star anise and tipped a small vial of some shimmering blue stuff into the bubbling potion, which began to smoothen and become a more attractive yellowish.
"Ah! Yes, that must have worked. Mmm. My dear Adrian, are you ready? We won't have to be apart much longer... This potion should bring you right back-"
She froze. She was certain she heard a thud, coming from the direction of her front door. Who could it be? She had thought she was the only one left behind on this street. She picked up a knife, and cautiously made her way forth.
"Heeellllloooooooo!"
She nearly had a heart attack right there and then, when a pile of clothing, oddly shaped like a person, greeted her in a very high, very loud voice. It went on.
"Ooh, who are you? Your clothes look absolutely dreadful. You absolutely must get out of those rag-"
"Shh! Be quiet."
The woman cut the golem off, and beckoned for her to come closer. She went over to the door, and closed it.
"What? I was just trying to-"
"Shh! You're speaking too loudly."
"...oh. I'm so sorry. As I was saying, I think you would look much more lovely in this dress."
The petite frame that Jean had made suddenly spat out a rather ugly red dress, along with a few pages that must have been caught in there. It fell to the ground with an audible clumph. Of course, the woman was rather flabbergasted by this whole thing.
"What are you?"
"Oh! Um. I don't know, actually. I think I read somewhere about ghosts, and I think I may be one of them? And who are you?"
The woman was somewhat put off by the fact that she was a ghost, but she seemed nice enough. She wasn't screaming or trying to kill her or anything. If anything, the woman was curious. This obviously had to be a piece of some very dark magic she was unaware of yet.
"I'm Agnes. I apologize for my rudeness earlier. I think I may have people watching me, so whatever I do here must be kept secret at all costs. Do you understand?"
"Like... a secret project? Sure, I can keep it under wraps."
"Good. Please be quiet, and don't interrupt me."
Agnes then proceeded to ignore the ghost for the most part, as there was something much more important that needed attending to. She went over to the table with her formerly alive husband, and slowly pushed it over to the cauldron, which was still glowing, from the yellow-orange liquid. With a surprising amount of strength, she lifted her husband up and hoisted him over one shoulder. She was just about to drop her husband into the cauldron, when she saw a jacket sleeve surripitiously peeking over the edge of the cauldron.
"No! Don't touch tha-!"
The potion suddenly became a shade of very dark blue, and expanded rapidly, pouring over the edge. Agnes got caught in it, and her feet started burning up in the corrosive acid.
"Wah! I'm so sorry!"
But Jean's apologies were lost in Agnes' screams of agony. The screams didn't long, as her body was instantly dissolved in the now-purple liquid. Jean, unfortunately, didn't think to move away from the cauldron. The liquid consumed her body and turned black.
---
"We're going to have to mark this 40% off. It's been lingering for a few months now, and nobody will take it."
"Sure thing, Mrs. Jean."
A gorgeous young assistant was busily changing out price tags for everything in the store. A middle-aged woman with a kindly face was behind the counter, checking the inventory. She looked up at the picture on her counter. It was her when she was younger. She used to be beautiful, and she would win countless beauty pageants, one after the other. Guys wanted her, and women wanted to be her. Written on the top was this: To the love of my life, the sun of my clouds - Jean. She had meant to give this to her lover, but her lover had already left her without her knowing. Now she was stuck in this dead-end job, peddling clothes that nobody wanted.
---
"Agnes, I still think you're beautiful."
"Don't lie to me, please. I may have been beautiful once, but now I'm a sagging bag of bones."
"But I'm still interested in you."
"You've been with me for, what, 30 years? Of course you'd say that. But how can I live with myself being like this? Old age is a curse."
"...Not to me, honey."
---
Jean fluttered about, shaking dust off her clothes. Dust, dust everywhere! Her clothes were already filthy and unacceptable in modern society. She tried hard to keep them clean, she really did. A picture frame flew out as she shook a jacket violently. It fell to the ground and cracked. To Jean's horror, she saw it was that one picture that started her journey. It was now hopelessly cracked, and she couldn't see her face anymore. Frustrated, she threw it even harder against the ground, battering it with all her might. It was no use. She felt the picture of herself, as well as her identity, slip away.
---
"Oh, Adrian... Why did you have to leave me? I needed you! You were my root. You made me feel alive."
Agnes stood, hunched over a corpse, now ridden with blotches that were barely visible. The Vague Plague had ravaged this man's body, and left her all alone. Suddenly, she rose up. The world didn't have to be like this...
---
"AAGHGAAGHHGHGH!"
A bundle of clothing rose in the air and started twitching and convulsing. The liquid now lay inert at the ground, its smooth black surface reflecting the chaotic movements of poor Jean. As suddenly as the convulsions started, they stopped, and the bundle of clothes gathered together, and made a humanoid form, partially submerged in the puddle. Her frayed consciousness tried to make sense of what happened. She clearly saw that portrait that she had held so dear, and she also felt her own bitter regret at her younger self. She also saw her husband succumbing to the Plague, and she felt her own love. Who was she? Who was she?!
Swiftly, she left the room, wishing to get away from the puddle that had caused her such intense pain. Her memories were still unclear, and she struggled to form an accurate picture of who she was. She felt so alone. She needed help. She needed someone to hold tight. She needed someone like Miss Blacklight, who knew everything. Yes. Miss Blacklight, with her mysterious wisdom, could help her.
Then, as if by fate, she saw Miss Blacklight's name printed on a neat white page. She remembered that the pages had spilled out of her body a while back. She read the page.
Miss Blacklight, formerly Maria-Johanna Lord Cassadin Black. A practicioner of a form of dark magic she calls desiry. Somewhat sociopathic, sees people as nothing but clockworks of desires.
The page continued on for some more, but she stopped right there. She thought that reading too deep in Blacklight's personal life felt... impolite for some reason. But that didn't stop her from sneaking that page, and all others, back into her body, deep in where her fashion magazines were. She would question Miss Blacklight about her apparent views on people when she found her, but for now, she just couldn't be alone. She left this house, looking for someone, anyone. Being alone was like a plague, eating at her very soul. It felt like... dark magic.
---
"Hmm... Perhaps a pinch of nutmeg? Or... no, no. It would definitely have to be tarragon."
The hunched-over figure was busily laboring over a rather large cauldron. It was bubbling over with a sickly orange-looking fluid, and she didn't like the look of the color. She was pretty sure it had to be more yellowish. She continued muttering to herself and grabbing ingredients, pattering around the enormous cauldron. It was so huge, it could fit a person inside of it. In fact, that seemed to be the entire point, judging from the corpse on the next table over. The corpse was that of an old man, who was this woman's husband, before he succumbed to the Plague.
She threw in some star anise and tipped a small vial of some shimmering blue stuff into the bubbling potion, which began to smoothen and become a more attractive yellowish.
"Ah! Yes, that must have worked. Mmm. My dear Adrian, are you ready? We won't have to be apart much longer... This potion should bring you right back-"
She froze. She was certain she heard a thud, coming from the direction of her front door. Who could it be? She had thought she was the only one left behind on this street. She picked up a knife, and cautiously made her way forth.
"Heeellllloooooooo!"
She nearly had a heart attack right there and then, when a pile of clothing, oddly shaped like a person, greeted her in a very high, very loud voice. It went on.
"Ooh, who are you? Your clothes look absolutely dreadful. You absolutely must get out of those rag-"
"Shh! Be quiet."
The woman cut the golem off, and beckoned for her to come closer. She went over to the door, and closed it.
"What? I was just trying to-"
"Shh! You're speaking too loudly."
"...oh. I'm so sorry. As I was saying, I think you would look much more lovely in this dress."
The petite frame that Jean had made suddenly spat out a rather ugly red dress, along with a few pages that must have been caught in there. It fell to the ground with an audible clumph. Of course, the woman was rather flabbergasted by this whole thing.
"What are you?"
"Oh! Um. I don't know, actually. I think I read somewhere about ghosts, and I think I may be one of them? And who are you?"
The woman was somewhat put off by the fact that she was a ghost, but she seemed nice enough. She wasn't screaming or trying to kill her or anything. If anything, the woman was curious. This obviously had to be a piece of some very dark magic she was unaware of yet.
"I'm Agnes. I apologize for my rudeness earlier. I think I may have people watching me, so whatever I do here must be kept secret at all costs. Do you understand?"
"Like... a secret project? Sure, I can keep it under wraps."
"Good. Please be quiet, and don't interrupt me."
Agnes then proceeded to ignore the ghost for the most part, as there was something much more important that needed attending to. She went over to the table with her formerly alive husband, and slowly pushed it over to the cauldron, which was still glowing, from the yellow-orange liquid. With a surprising amount of strength, she lifted her husband up and hoisted him over one shoulder. She was just about to drop her husband into the cauldron, when she saw a jacket sleeve surripitiously peeking over the edge of the cauldron.
"No! Don't touch tha-!"
The potion suddenly became a shade of very dark blue, and expanded rapidly, pouring over the edge. Agnes got caught in it, and her feet started burning up in the corrosive acid.
"Wah! I'm so sorry!"
But Jean's apologies were lost in Agnes' screams of agony. The screams didn't long, as her body was instantly dissolved in the now-purple liquid. Jean, unfortunately, didn't think to move away from the cauldron. The liquid consumed her body and turned black.
---
"We're going to have to mark this 40% off. It's been lingering for a few months now, and nobody will take it."
"Sure thing, Mrs. Jean."
A gorgeous young assistant was busily changing out price tags for everything in the store. A middle-aged woman with a kindly face was behind the counter, checking the inventory. She looked up at the picture on her counter. It was her when she was younger. She used to be beautiful, and she would win countless beauty pageants, one after the other. Guys wanted her, and women wanted to be her. Written on the top was this: To the love of my life, the sun of my clouds - Jean. She had meant to give this to her lover, but her lover had already left her without her knowing. Now she was stuck in this dead-end job, peddling clothes that nobody wanted.
---
"Agnes, I still think you're beautiful."
"Don't lie to me, please. I may have been beautiful once, but now I'm a sagging bag of bones."
"But I'm still interested in you."
"You've been with me for, what, 30 years? Of course you'd say that. But how can I live with myself being like this? Old age is a curse."
"...Not to me, honey."
---
Jean fluttered about, shaking dust off her clothes. Dust, dust everywhere! Her clothes were already filthy and unacceptable in modern society. She tried hard to keep them clean, she really did. A picture frame flew out as she shook a jacket violently. It fell to the ground and cracked. To Jean's horror, she saw it was that one picture that started her journey. It was now hopelessly cracked, and she couldn't see her face anymore. Frustrated, she threw it even harder against the ground, battering it with all her might. It was no use. She felt the picture of herself, as well as her identity, slip away.
---
"Oh, Adrian... Why did you have to leave me? I needed you! You were my root. You made me feel alive."
Agnes stood, hunched over a corpse, now ridden with blotches that were barely visible. The Vague Plague had ravaged this man's body, and left her all alone. Suddenly, she rose up. The world didn't have to be like this...
---
"AAGHGAAGHHGHGH!"
A bundle of clothing rose in the air and started twitching and convulsing. The liquid now lay inert at the ground, its smooth black surface reflecting the chaotic movements of poor Jean. As suddenly as the convulsions started, they stopped, and the bundle of clothes gathered together, and made a humanoid form, partially submerged in the puddle. Her frayed consciousness tried to make sense of what happened. She clearly saw that portrait that she had held so dear, and she also felt her own bitter regret at her younger self. She also saw her husband succumbing to the Plague, and she felt her own love. Who was she? Who was she?!
Swiftly, she left the room, wishing to get away from the puddle that had caused her such intense pain. Her memories were still unclear, and she struggled to form an accurate picture of who she was. She felt so alone. She needed help. She needed someone to hold tight. She needed someone like Miss Blacklight, who knew everything. Yes. Miss Blacklight, with her mysterious wisdom, could help her.
Then, as if by fate, she saw Miss Blacklight's name printed on a neat white page. She remembered that the pages had spilled out of her body a while back. She read the page.
Miss Blacklight, formerly Maria-Johanna Lord Cassadin Black. A practicioner of a form of dark magic she calls desiry. Somewhat sociopathic, sees people as nothing but clockworks of desires.
The page continued on for some more, but she stopped right there. She thought that reading too deep in Blacklight's personal life felt... impolite for some reason. But that didn't stop her from sneaking that page, and all others, back into her body, deep in where her fashion magazines were. She would question Miss Blacklight about her apparent views on people when she found her, but for now, she just couldn't be alone. She left this house, looking for someone, anyone. Being alone was like a plague, eating at her very soul. It felt like... dark magic.
Spoiler
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