caustic
𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐞 𝐚𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐞
hey pals. so, after a brief hiatus, I am again searching for 2-4- perhaps a few more- partners to challenge me as a writer. Now, that needn't mean you be godly, as i'm just searching for styles that light my artistic fire if you will.
as for me, i would place myself as a detailed writer, ranging from "literate," as it's called, to advanced. of course, that's subjective, so do with that as you will. i ain't perfect.
of course, my casual typing here doesn't reflect my IC writing.
samples are desired but not a necessity but don't worry, i'll leave you with samples as well, budderinos.
i will roleplay both first and third person.
now, to the boring stuff, shall we?
❯ I'm 24.
❯ I prefer Discord & Skype for OOC, but I am content remaining on RPN if it suits your fancy.
❯ I am okay with mature themes and have no triggers worthy of note.
❯ I come with plots, w o a h.
❯ I'm not a stickler for how you type OOC. I like to joke and meme about, honestly.
❯ Grammatical and spelling mistakes happen, I am not going to ream you for them. I am lenient. I'm merely looking for a partner I will mesh well with and who wants to work on improving their writing alongside me.
❯ I'm laid-back and do not have a response quota. Take your time. Rome was not built in a day. RP is a hobby, not an obligation.
❯ I'm a huge plotter, world and character builder. You'll 100 percent have collaboration with me.
❯ I'm an artist. I draw inspiration from music a lot. I also draw a lot.
❯ I like darker plots as opposed to fluff but I do like fluffier stuff here and there.
❯ I prefer non-hetero pairings for romance, but you might be able to talk me into something otherwise, but mxm is my main shindig.
❯ I put a lot of effort into what I write. However, I'm not particular about WC. Quality over quantity, match if it is your thing or if you feel it appropriate. I tend to write quite a bit by nature, so it's unlikely you'll ever see a very, very short post from me. I don't equate literacy with the ability to post with great length. However, I dislike one-liners, lest they are amazing.
❯ I'm slow at writing because I'm meticulous. Please don't rush me for responses, and I will offer you that same courtesy.
❯ I'm an artist. I also enjoy video gaming. I'll ramble your ear off about games if you let me. I enjoy reading when I get the chance, and naturally, I'm a hobbyist writer (because I'll never finish a novel, bless). I like talking about music as well. Show me them sick beats.
❯ I'm patient and understanding. I'm not a nag. I won't pester you. I'm a certified vent sponge, so vent your woes to me if you need to. As a RP-partner, I'm overall laid-back.
❯ I've some shit going down in my life right now, so I'm more slow and casual regarding replies, however, I'm active with OOC unless I am overwhelmed.
❯ I prefer Discord & Skype for OOC, but I am content remaining on RPN if it suits your fancy.
❯ I am okay with mature themes and have no triggers worthy of note.
❯ I come with plots, w o a h.
❯ I'm not a stickler for how you type OOC. I like to joke and meme about, honestly.
❯ Grammatical and spelling mistakes happen, I am not going to ream you for them. I am lenient. I'm merely looking for a partner I will mesh well with and who wants to work on improving their writing alongside me.
❯ I'm laid-back and do not have a response quota. Take your time. Rome was not built in a day. RP is a hobby, not an obligation.
❯ I'm a huge plotter, world and character builder. You'll 100 percent have collaboration with me.
❯ I'm an artist. I draw inspiration from music a lot. I also draw a lot.
❯ I like darker plots as opposed to fluff but I do like fluffier stuff here and there.
❯ I prefer non-hetero pairings for romance, but you might be able to talk me into something otherwise, but mxm is my main shindig.
❯ I put a lot of effort into what I write. However, I'm not particular about WC. Quality over quantity, match if it is your thing or if you feel it appropriate. I tend to write quite a bit by nature, so it's unlikely you'll ever see a very, very short post from me. I don't equate literacy with the ability to post with great length. However, I dislike one-liners, lest they are amazing.
❯ I'm slow at writing because I'm meticulous. Please don't rush me for responses, and I will offer you that same courtesy.
❯ I'm an artist. I also enjoy video gaming. I'll ramble your ear off about games if you let me. I enjoy reading when I get the chance, and naturally, I'm a hobbyist writer (because I'll never finish a novel, bless). I like talking about music as well. Show me them sick beats.
❯ I'm patient and understanding. I'm not a nag. I won't pester you. I'm a certified vent sponge, so vent your woes to me if you need to. As a RP-partner, I'm overall laid-back.
❯ I've some shit going down in my life right now, so I'm more slow and casual regarding replies, however, I'm active with OOC unless I am overwhelmed.
Modern
Historical (ask me about this one, there are some time-periods I'm not well versed in.)
Fantasy
Futuristic
Utopic/Dystopic
Fantasy
Sci-Fi
Post-Apocalyptic
Any mixture of the above, to be honest.
Open to suggestions.
themes; angst ; slow burn; psychological ; gritty & dark; macabre; slight fluff; survival; thriller ; mystery ; the human psyche ; beasts ; revenge ; moralistic complexities ; phobias ; toxicity ; musically inspired ; death ; romance ; platonic ; mental illness (but only if played accurately) ; addiction ; death ; noire ; mafia & crime ;
Historical (ask me about this one, there are some time-periods I'm not well versed in.)
Fantasy
Futuristic
Utopic/Dystopic
Fantasy
Sci-Fi
Post-Apocalyptic
Any mixture of the above, to be honest.
Open to suggestions.
themes; angst ; slow burn; psychological ; gritty & dark; macabre; slight fluff; survival; thriller ; mystery ; the human psyche ; beasts ; revenge ; moralistic complexities ; phobias ; toxicity ; musically inspired ; death ; romance ; platonic ; mental illness (but only if played accurately) ; addiction ; death ; noire ; mafia & crime ;
A vague list, I'm sure there's more I have forgotten.
Wolf's Rain
Hero Academia
Parasyte
Tolkien, though I could be better versed.
Probably wouldn't mind doing setting in some of Stephen King's novels.
Fallout
The Elder Scrolls
The Last of Us
Lovecraft
Dragon Age, another I could be better versed in, tbh.
Mass Effect
FNAF
Gravity Falls
Rick and Morty
Anything by Junji Ito. I suppose that's a bit niche.
Silent Hill
Law and Order: SVU, CSI
Amnesia and its counterparts.
Dark Souls.
Homestuck.
The Purge
Bioshock
Red Dead Redemption
GTA
Animal Farm, 1984
Flatland
F.E.A.R
Condemned: Criminal Origins
Haunting Ground
The Cat Lady, Downfall
Dead Space
Okami
Amnesia
The Hannibal Lector Series
Wolf's Rain
Hero Academia
Parasyte
Tolkien, though I could be better versed.
Probably wouldn't mind doing setting in some of Stephen King's novels.
Fallout
The Elder Scrolls
The Last of Us
Lovecraft
Dragon Age, another I could be better versed in, tbh.
Mass Effect
FNAF
Gravity Falls
Rick and Morty
Anything by Junji Ito. I suppose that's a bit niche.
Silent Hill
Law and Order: SVU, CSI
Amnesia and its counterparts.
Dark Souls.
Homestuck.
The Purge
Bioshock
Red Dead Redemption
GTA
Animal Farm, 1984
Flatland
F.E.A.R
Condemned: Criminal Origins
Haunting Ground
The Cat Lady, Downfall
Dead Space
Okami
Amnesia
The Hannibal Lector Series
I can pretty much come up with a plot for any of these but ones with "*" already have seedlings planted.
It's like Subway up in here bros, pick and match and mix.
*Detective|Serial Killer
*Killer with Amnesia|Dectective
*Killer|Spirit
*Serial Killer| Serial Killer's object of fancy
*Addict|Addict, Addict|Former Addict, Addict|Sober
*Darker twists on the Red String of Fate.
*Darker twists on fairy tales of all sorts.
*Cultist|Demon
*Cultist|God
*Ghost|Living, Ghost|Ghost, Ghost|Other Supernatural Being
Gods, maybe? Or entities such as Death.
*Criminal {thief, prostitute, etc.}|Officer {corrupt or not}
*Someone struggling with their sexuality|Someone open, or perhaps, two characters struggling with their sexuality. Addable to any plot.
Exploration of life after death, perhaps?
Something based off of the song Hotel California, or really, based off any song. Gotta love basing plots on songs.
*Shifters! Be they weres or something of the sort.
Toxic relationships or forbidden love, or both.
Survivor|Survivor in a post-apocalyptic or war-torn setting.
Soulmate AUs, but dark, maybe?
Rivalry to Romance.
Ex|Ex
Cthuloid shenanigans
Time Traveler|Normal Human, Time Traveler|Time Traveler
Sadist|Masochist
Alien|Human
Dragon Shifter| Dragon Hunter
*Kidnapper|Kidnapped
Angel|Demon
Monster|Human
Immortal|Immortal
Immortal|Human
*Shifter|Human
Experiment|Scientist
Experiment|Experiment
Disordered|"Neurotypical" (must be construed well)
*Competent Survivor| Incompetent Survivor
* Werewolf|Human
Werewolf|Werewolf
Kitsune|Human
*Psychologist|Killer
Psychologist|Mentally troubled
Criminal|Upstanding Citizen
Alternate Personality|Alternate Personality
Your ideas! pls, gimme them.
It's like Subway up in here bros, pick and match and mix.
*Detective|Serial Killer
*Killer with Amnesia|Dectective
*Killer|Spirit
*Serial Killer| Serial Killer's object of fancy
*Addict|Addict, Addict|Former Addict, Addict|Sober
*Darker twists on the Red String of Fate.
*Darker twists on fairy tales of all sorts.
*Cultist|Demon
*Cultist|God
*Ghost|Living, Ghost|Ghost, Ghost|Other Supernatural Being
Gods, maybe? Or entities such as Death.
*Criminal {thief, prostitute, etc.}|Officer {corrupt or not}
*Someone struggling with their sexuality|Someone open, or perhaps, two characters struggling with their sexuality. Addable to any plot.
Exploration of life after death, perhaps?
Something based off of the song Hotel California, or really, based off any song. Gotta love basing plots on songs.
*Shifters! Be they weres or something of the sort.
Toxic relationships or forbidden love, or both.
Survivor|Survivor in a post-apocalyptic or war-torn setting.
Soulmate AUs, but dark, maybe?
Rivalry to Romance.
Ex|Ex
Cthuloid shenanigans
Time Traveler|Normal Human, Time Traveler|Time Traveler
Sadist|Masochist
Alien|Human
Dragon Shifter| Dragon Hunter
*Kidnapper|Kidnapped
Angel|Demon
Monster|Human
Immortal|Immortal
Immortal|Human
*Shifter|Human
Experiment|Scientist
Experiment|Experiment
Disordered|"Neurotypical" (must be construed well)
*Competent Survivor| Incompetent Survivor
* Werewolf|Human
Werewolf|Werewolf
Kitsune|Human
*Psychologist|Killer
Psychologist|Mentally troubled
Criminal|Upstanding Citizen
Alternate Personality|Alternate Personality
Your ideas! pls, gimme them.
(* Indicates I have more details for this particular seedling, but I am keeping it short for the sake of this post. I'm continually adding to this.)
------------------------------------------------
*Society is led to believe they live within a Utopia and Muse A falls under this umbrella, while Muse B, a wanted individual, knows the true nature of their world, and, in desperation, reveals this truth unto Muse A.
------------------------------------------------
*Muse A is a detective that can see ghosts while Muse B is studious in criminal psychology (potentially a serial killer, think Hannibal Lector, here) and agrees to assist Muse A in capturing a killer who has proved to be an utter enigma.
---------------------------------------------------
*Muse A travels to a town where suicides are rumored to be exceptionally high, only to find that Muse B is the definite cause of this, unbeknownst to those around them.
----------------------------------------------------------
Muse A is a recovering drug addict while Muse B is a very convincing dealer.
Or Muse A and Muse B are two addicts struggling to get sober.
--------------------------------------------------------------
*Muse A is an undercover cop, undercover, that is, to the most dangerous gang/mob within the city.
Muse B is the crime/mob boss.
-------------------------------------------------------------
*Muse A is a shifter, a dying and hunted race, who comes to Muse B's doorsteps, injured and defensive. Muse B decides to take pity on Muse A.
------------------------------------------------------------------
*Something similar to Wolf's Rain. This isn't a seedling, but I've five million ideas for this, okay?
-----------------------------------------------------------------------
Muse A and Muse B are participants, willingly or not, of the purge.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------
Muse A is an immortal being who is utterly sick of Muse B's time-traveling bullshit.
Or
{Tumblr plot}
Muse A is a time traveler, and Muse B is an immortal, they spend their lives together meeting throughout time
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Muse A is a human who, oddly, cannot die meanwhile Muse B is a frustrated Reaper, assigned to reap the soul of Muse A.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
{Tumblr plot}
Muse A is a beautiful, brilliant student who has, unfortunately for them, caught the attention of Muse B, a transfer student who only recently just started at the university. Not much is known about Muse B other than the fact they’re new and relatively quiet. Muse A takes it upon them-self to show Muse B around, a gesture misconstrued as romantic affection. Muse B begins to obsess, and eventually kidnaps Muse A.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
{Tumblr Plot}
Muse A lives in a small town just a stone’s throw away from a dense forest, called the Whispering Woods. Every afternoon, especially in the fall, when the leaves are changing color, and the air is crisp, Muse A likes to walk through the woods on their way home. Muse A sits on the kissing rock at the mouth of the woods, straps up their boots and inhales the fresh pine before embarking on the winding path to the log bridge. As Muse A crosses the log bridge, one foot over the over, they enjoy the soft ‘whispers’ (for which the woods are named after) of the meandering creek below. The whispers always seem louder in October for some reason, almost comprehensible. Townspeople like to say it’s because the woods are haunted by spirits, but Muse A’s never been the superstitious type. They’ve been frequenting the woods since they were a kid and nothing spooky has ever happened to them before.
One afternoon, Muse A encounters Muse B in the thick of the towering pines. Muse B looks lost and disheveled as if they haven’t had a shower or a proper meal in a few days. Concerned for the unfamiliar wanderer, Muse A offers to guide Muse B out of the woods, back to civilization. Muse B instead asks Muse A to stay with them a while; they want to visit the log bridge, their favorite place. Muse A can see that Muse B is the lonely sort, so they agree to walk to the bridge with Muse B; they were headed there anyway. When the pair arrives at the bridge, Muse B struggles to recall why they found this spot so special, or anything about who they are at all to make conversation with Muse A, but they can’t remember. Muse A insists on helping Muse B leave the woods, worried that Muse B might be suffering from amnesia or something worse, but when Muse A gets to the edge of the woods, Muse B, who they thought was right behind them, is nowhere to be found.
Muse A calls out for Muse B for several minutes and gets no response. The sun is going down, and the chill in the air is biting through Muse A’s coat, so they go home. They barely sleep that night, thinking about Muse B and hoping they’re alright, wherever they are. Bright and early the next morning, Muse A returns to the woods, hoping to find Muse B again. Muse B is there at the foot of the log bridge, waiting for Muse A, unsure of how they got there or what’s keeping them bound to these woods. Muse B is a ghost but doesn’t know it.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
A darker plot that revolves around the red string of fate myth.
I have many alternate plottings for this given that this is just a taste of one of the ideas.
Serial Killer (Or serial criminal)|Detective
Or
YC (to be determined)|MC(to be determined) **see notes & alternative ideas**
YC and MC are connected through their dreams as well as the scatterings of their thoughts and memories. More or less tied to each other akin to a twisted red string of fate.
Our characters may own memories that belong to the other.
Incoherent thoughts that aren't theirs. The two also share a life force. One cannot survive without the other.
MC will often experience lucid dreams revolving around YC’s murders (or actions), be they past or current.
MC has no control over his actions in these dreams; he can only follow in YC’s footsteps through every sequence of events. A thick fog, vast and obscuring, shrouds the dreams, disallowing MC from seeing YC’s appearance or even hearing YC’s voice with complete clarity. YC has managed to chip away at some of this fog, allowing YC to discover the identity of MC. Lots of paths can form from here. Perhaps YC becomes keen on the life link the two share? MC is not as enlightened as yours in these matters, still in a state of discovery.
I'd love to develop the reasoning behind their connection. Be it from human experimentation the two are unaware of, a demonic aspect, or even a Lovecraft type twist. This is a very moldable plot. I want to explore a darker side of the red string of fate. I have a lot of smaller ideas on this.
Notes: YC does not have to be a serial killer. I would just love this twist on a serial killer x detective plot. We can explore other avenues as well. Moral confliction would be excellent to have here. I can see this set in a lot of different time frames.
!Alternate Ideas!: YC is a demon with an unfortunate attachment like the above to a human, oh boy.
Or anything revolving around a more darker version of the red string of fate. It doesn't have to follow the above plot line to a T.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
IN LIMBO
After a rattling near-death experience, Muse A walks the lines between the living and the dead, capable of seeing those who have passed, however, up until this point his "sight" has been minor, blurred. Barely a scratch upon his life.
However, this ability is beginning to manifest to its fullest, becoming stronger as the days pass, like dreams transferring to reality.
Unfortunately for Muse A, this quirk brings about a certain allure to spirits, some with nefarious intentions which, unbeknownst to him, leaves him in a vulnerable state.
Muse A cannot communicate with the dead, his attempts proving fruitless, and he carries the knowledge that eyes pry at all times.
Muse B is a spirit caught within the "restless" realm of the afterlife, where there is no sanctuary- no heaven, nor is there a hell, only an endless limbo.
Those who remain in limbo for too long lose their sanity and eventually their humanity, becoming nothing more than hungering wraiths clinging to the remnants of their memories and seeking to devour the ones of others.
For reasons beyond his understanding, Muse B lives in a cyclic loop, reliving the moments of his death just as he experienced it when he was alive.
Things change once the seedlings of Sight begin to form within Muse A. From then on, Muse B lives free from the nightmare of his death, but to his chagrin is chained to Muse A and cannot explore far beyond him.
Not able to understand the linkage, Muse B is resigned to being bound to Muse A, whose psychological state is steadily declining as he struggles to cope with living amongst apparitions and the unnerving, haunting feeling of being hunted.
When Muse A begins to see Muse B and connect further to the afterlife, both their worlds are turned upside down.
For, as stated, to walk among ghosts while blood pulses through your veins is a dangerous path to tread.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Parasitical
{also a song plot~}
Within a dystopic world, parasites prey, their existence hidden to man.
Muse A's shadow is sentient, a dying race of parasitic mimics that hide within the shadow of an individual. Muse A becomes aware of this curse, and, left aghast, struggles to come to terms as Muse B has little plans of going soon. Will Muse A must come to an understanding of Muse B's mysterious and forever elusive race, or, will they attempt to dislodge themselves from Muse B's hold?
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
------------------------------------------------
*Society is led to believe they live within a Utopia and Muse A falls under this umbrella, while Muse B, a wanted individual, knows the true nature of their world, and, in desperation, reveals this truth unto Muse A.
------------------------------------------------
*Muse A is a detective that can see ghosts while Muse B is studious in criminal psychology (potentially a serial killer, think Hannibal Lector, here) and agrees to assist Muse A in capturing a killer who has proved to be an utter enigma.
---------------------------------------------------
*Muse A travels to a town where suicides are rumored to be exceptionally high, only to find that Muse B is the definite cause of this, unbeknownst to those around them.
----------------------------------------------------------
Muse A is a recovering drug addict while Muse B is a very convincing dealer.
Or Muse A and Muse B are two addicts struggling to get sober.
--------------------------------------------------------------
*Muse A is an undercover cop, undercover, that is, to the most dangerous gang/mob within the city.
Muse B is the crime/mob boss.
-------------------------------------------------------------
*Muse A is a shifter, a dying and hunted race, who comes to Muse B's doorsteps, injured and defensive. Muse B decides to take pity on Muse A.
------------------------------------------------------------------
*Something similar to Wolf's Rain. This isn't a seedling, but I've five million ideas for this, okay?
-----------------------------------------------------------------------
Muse A and Muse B are participants, willingly or not, of the purge.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------
Muse A is an immortal being who is utterly sick of Muse B's time-traveling bullshit.
Or
{Tumblr plot}
Muse A is a time traveler, and Muse B is an immortal, they spend their lives together meeting throughout time
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Muse A is a human who, oddly, cannot die meanwhile Muse B is a frustrated Reaper, assigned to reap the soul of Muse A.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
{Tumblr plot}
Muse A is a beautiful, brilliant student who has, unfortunately for them, caught the attention of Muse B, a transfer student who only recently just started at the university. Not much is known about Muse B other than the fact they’re new and relatively quiet. Muse A takes it upon them-self to show Muse B around, a gesture misconstrued as romantic affection. Muse B begins to obsess, and eventually kidnaps Muse A.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
{Tumblr Plot}
Muse A lives in a small town just a stone’s throw away from a dense forest, called the Whispering Woods. Every afternoon, especially in the fall, when the leaves are changing color, and the air is crisp, Muse A likes to walk through the woods on their way home. Muse A sits on the kissing rock at the mouth of the woods, straps up their boots and inhales the fresh pine before embarking on the winding path to the log bridge. As Muse A crosses the log bridge, one foot over the over, they enjoy the soft ‘whispers’ (for which the woods are named after) of the meandering creek below. The whispers always seem louder in October for some reason, almost comprehensible. Townspeople like to say it’s because the woods are haunted by spirits, but Muse A’s never been the superstitious type. They’ve been frequenting the woods since they were a kid and nothing spooky has ever happened to them before.
One afternoon, Muse A encounters Muse B in the thick of the towering pines. Muse B looks lost and disheveled as if they haven’t had a shower or a proper meal in a few days. Concerned for the unfamiliar wanderer, Muse A offers to guide Muse B out of the woods, back to civilization. Muse B instead asks Muse A to stay with them a while; they want to visit the log bridge, their favorite place. Muse A can see that Muse B is the lonely sort, so they agree to walk to the bridge with Muse B; they were headed there anyway. When the pair arrives at the bridge, Muse B struggles to recall why they found this spot so special, or anything about who they are at all to make conversation with Muse A, but they can’t remember. Muse A insists on helping Muse B leave the woods, worried that Muse B might be suffering from amnesia or something worse, but when Muse A gets to the edge of the woods, Muse B, who they thought was right behind them, is nowhere to be found.
Muse A calls out for Muse B for several minutes and gets no response. The sun is going down, and the chill in the air is biting through Muse A’s coat, so they go home. They barely sleep that night, thinking about Muse B and hoping they’re alright, wherever they are. Bright and early the next morning, Muse A returns to the woods, hoping to find Muse B again. Muse B is there at the foot of the log bridge, waiting for Muse A, unsure of how they got there or what’s keeping them bound to these woods. Muse B is a ghost but doesn’t know it.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
A darker plot that revolves around the red string of fate myth.
I have many alternate plottings for this given that this is just a taste of one of the ideas.
Serial Killer (Or serial criminal)|Detective
Or
YC (to be determined)|MC(to be determined) **see notes & alternative ideas**
YC and MC are connected through their dreams as well as the scatterings of their thoughts and memories. More or less tied to each other akin to a twisted red string of fate.
Our characters may own memories that belong to the other.
Incoherent thoughts that aren't theirs. The two also share a life force. One cannot survive without the other.
MC will often experience lucid dreams revolving around YC’s murders (or actions), be they past or current.
MC has no control over his actions in these dreams; he can only follow in YC’s footsteps through every sequence of events. A thick fog, vast and obscuring, shrouds the dreams, disallowing MC from seeing YC’s appearance or even hearing YC’s voice with complete clarity. YC has managed to chip away at some of this fog, allowing YC to discover the identity of MC. Lots of paths can form from here. Perhaps YC becomes keen on the life link the two share? MC is not as enlightened as yours in these matters, still in a state of discovery.
I'd love to develop the reasoning behind their connection. Be it from human experimentation the two are unaware of, a demonic aspect, or even a Lovecraft type twist. This is a very moldable plot. I want to explore a darker side of the red string of fate. I have a lot of smaller ideas on this.
Notes: YC does not have to be a serial killer. I would just love this twist on a serial killer x detective plot. We can explore other avenues as well. Moral confliction would be excellent to have here. I can see this set in a lot of different time frames.
!Alternate Ideas!: YC is a demon with an unfortunate attachment like the above to a human, oh boy.
Or anything revolving around a more darker version of the red string of fate. It doesn't have to follow the above plot line to a T.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
IN LIMBO
After a rattling near-death experience, Muse A walks the lines between the living and the dead, capable of seeing those who have passed, however, up until this point his "sight" has been minor, blurred. Barely a scratch upon his life.
However, this ability is beginning to manifest to its fullest, becoming stronger as the days pass, like dreams transferring to reality.
Unfortunately for Muse A, this quirk brings about a certain allure to spirits, some with nefarious intentions which, unbeknownst to him, leaves him in a vulnerable state.
Muse A cannot communicate with the dead, his attempts proving fruitless, and he carries the knowledge that eyes pry at all times.
Muse B is a spirit caught within the "restless" realm of the afterlife, where there is no sanctuary- no heaven, nor is there a hell, only an endless limbo.
Those who remain in limbo for too long lose their sanity and eventually their humanity, becoming nothing more than hungering wraiths clinging to the remnants of their memories and seeking to devour the ones of others.
For reasons beyond his understanding, Muse B lives in a cyclic loop, reliving the moments of his death just as he experienced it when he was alive.
Things change once the seedlings of Sight begin to form within Muse A. From then on, Muse B lives free from the nightmare of his death, but to his chagrin is chained to Muse A and cannot explore far beyond him.
Not able to understand the linkage, Muse B is resigned to being bound to Muse A, whose psychological state is steadily declining as he struggles to cope with living amongst apparitions and the unnerving, haunting feeling of being hunted.
When Muse A begins to see Muse B and connect further to the afterlife, both their worlds are turned upside down.
For, as stated, to walk among ghosts while blood pulses through your veins is a dangerous path to tread.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Parasitical
{also a song plot~}
Within a dystopic world, parasites prey, their existence hidden to man.
Muse A's shadow is sentient, a dying race of parasitic mimics that hide within the shadow of an individual. Muse A becomes aware of this curse, and, left aghast, struggles to come to terms as Muse B has little plans of going soon. Will Muse A must come to an understanding of Muse B's mysterious and forever elusive race, or, will they attempt to dislodge themselves from Muse B's hold?
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
More to be added~
Other Side Of Paradise - Glass Animals
“When I was young and stupid
My love left to be a rocking roll star.
He told, “Please don’t worry.”
Wise little smile that spoke so safely.”
Muse A and Muse B were lovers, briefly, but intensely so. Muse A, chasing fame, booked a one-way ticket to the west. Good ole Cali’.
Muse B, while dismayed, did not attempt to halt Muse A’s dreams, so, patiently, Muse B waits for correspondence from Muse A, awaiting the day they can be together again. However, as time crawls by, Muse A grows in popularity and begins to speak with Muse B less and less until, abruptly, communication is ceased altogether. Muse B is left with their heart shattered.
Years pass, Muse B, with humor, moves to California, the state their former love pined over so much. Muse B is doing reasonably well for themselves. Muse A, on the other hand, is a flickered out flame, his fame dissipating. In short, Muse A is a wreck, barely scraping by, try as he may.
In a chance meeting, Muse B bumps into, literally so, Muse A, who is utterly drunk.
How will Muse B confront Muse A and how far down the gutter has Muse A fallen?
--------------------------------------------------------------------------
【BENDY AND THE INK MACHINE CHAPTER 3 SONG 】 ALL EYES ON ME by OR3O★
"You don't know what it's like to drown away
In a puddle of shame,
You, yes you,
Made me insane.
But not anymore,
I'm in control.
I have the stage; you can't turn the page, now do as your told."
Muse A is a meticulous and calculative director, often considered cut-throat. Muse B, for the longest time, held the stage in Muse A’s productions, holding an allure that captured the audience. Alas, perfect bliss can only last for so long. A promising star arises and, intrigued, Muse A hires this the rookie who proceeds to enrapture the crowd with their talent.
After a while, as their fame diminishes, Muse B is put to the side, or, to put it bluntly, fired.
Enraged, Muse B constructs, overtime, a plot, one that blossoms to lead to the killing of the star that dared replace them. A trickling of time afterward, caught up in anger, Muse B kidnaps Muse A, forcing Muse A to confront the seeds they’ve sown.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------
If I Believe You by The 1975
“I thought I'd met you once or twice,
But that was just because the dabs were nice,
And opening up my mind.
Showing me consciousness is primary in the universe
And I had a revelation.
I'll be your child if you insist
I mean, if it was you that made my body
You probably shouldn't have made me atheist”
tw; suicide attempt
If I’m Lost, Then How Can I Find Myself?
Muse A has grown up within a cult, his life built around religion. Being the son of a high ranking priest, he is, of course, expected to follow suit. However, Muse A has a complicated relationship with religion, having, in time, growing to ultimately become something of an atheist, if barely bordering on agnostic.
However, feeling as if the weight upon his shoulders is too much to bear, Muse A makes a suicide attempt. Albeit only to experience a near death experience where he meets Muse B ( a God, demon, angel, or something of the sort), who tears his ideologies of fate apart, as once Muse B interfered with Muse A's attempt, ending it, they now have an unspoken connection. Muse B has his own struggles within his domain and Muse A must face a bewildering reality that beings beyond humans exists.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Christmas Kids- Roar
You'll change your name, or change your mind and leave this fucked up place behind.
But I'll know, I'll know.
Within a dystopic world, parasites prey, their existence hidden to man.
Muse A's shadow is sentient, a dying race of parasitic mimics that hide within the shadow of an individual. Muse A becomes aware of this curse, and, left aghast, struggles to come to terms as Muse B has little plans of relinquishing Muse A soon. Will Muse A must come to an understanding of Muse B's mysterious and forever elusive race, or, will they attempt to dislodge themselves from Muse B's hold?
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Aishite- Vocaloid Miku Hatsune
Muse A finds a beautiful necklace within an old pawn show oft ignored. Unbenknowst to Muse A, it is cursed and blighted jewelry by Muse B themselves- a lost and ancient soul of a dead god, being trapped within the pendant. When Muse A puts on the locket, instantly he is tied to Muse B, locked within their curse, and the two become ensnared together.
Other Side Of Paradise - Glass Animals
“When I was young and stupid
My love left to be a rocking roll star.
He told, “Please don’t worry.”
Wise little smile that spoke so safely.”
Muse A and Muse B were lovers, briefly, but intensely so. Muse A, chasing fame, booked a one-way ticket to the west. Good ole Cali’.
Muse B, while dismayed, did not attempt to halt Muse A’s dreams, so, patiently, Muse B waits for correspondence from Muse A, awaiting the day they can be together again. However, as time crawls by, Muse A grows in popularity and begins to speak with Muse B less and less until, abruptly, communication is ceased altogether. Muse B is left with their heart shattered.
Years pass, Muse B, with humor, moves to California, the state their former love pined over so much. Muse B is doing reasonably well for themselves. Muse A, on the other hand, is a flickered out flame, his fame dissipating. In short, Muse A is a wreck, barely scraping by, try as he may.
In a chance meeting, Muse B bumps into, literally so, Muse A, who is utterly drunk.
How will Muse B confront Muse A and how far down the gutter has Muse A fallen?
--------------------------------------------------------------------------
【BENDY AND THE INK MACHINE CHAPTER 3 SONG 】 ALL EYES ON ME by OR3O★
"You don't know what it's like to drown away
In a puddle of shame,
You, yes you,
Made me insane.
But not anymore,
I'm in control.
I have the stage; you can't turn the page, now do as your told."
Muse A is a meticulous and calculative director, often considered cut-throat. Muse B, for the longest time, held the stage in Muse A’s productions, holding an allure that captured the audience. Alas, perfect bliss can only last for so long. A promising star arises and, intrigued, Muse A hires this the rookie who proceeds to enrapture the crowd with their talent.
After a while, as their fame diminishes, Muse B is put to the side, or, to put it bluntly, fired.
Enraged, Muse B constructs, overtime, a plot, one that blossoms to lead to the killing of the star that dared replace them. A trickling of time afterward, caught up in anger, Muse B kidnaps Muse A, forcing Muse A to confront the seeds they’ve sown.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------
If I Believe You by The 1975
“I thought I'd met you once or twice,
But that was just because the dabs were nice,
And opening up my mind.
Showing me consciousness is primary in the universe
And I had a revelation.
I'll be your child if you insist
I mean, if it was you that made my body
You probably shouldn't have made me atheist”
tw; suicide attempt
If I’m Lost, Then How Can I Find Myself?
Muse A has grown up within a cult, his life built around religion. Being the son of a high ranking priest, he is, of course, expected to follow suit. However, Muse A has a complicated relationship with religion, having, in time, growing to ultimately become something of an atheist, if barely bordering on agnostic.
However, feeling as if the weight upon his shoulders is too much to bear, Muse A makes a suicide attempt. Albeit only to experience a near death experience where he meets Muse B ( a God, demon, angel, or something of the sort), who tears his ideologies of fate apart, as once Muse B interfered with Muse A's attempt, ending it, they now have an unspoken connection. Muse B has his own struggles within his domain and Muse A must face a bewildering reality that beings beyond humans exists.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Christmas Kids- Roar
You'll change your name, or change your mind and leave this fucked up place behind.
But I'll know, I'll know.
Within a dystopic world, parasites prey, their existence hidden to man.
Muse A's shadow is sentient, a dying race of parasitic mimics that hide within the shadow of an individual. Muse A becomes aware of this curse, and, left aghast, struggles to come to terms as Muse B has little plans of relinquishing Muse A soon. Will Muse A must come to an understanding of Muse B's mysterious and forever elusive race, or, will they attempt to dislodge themselves from Muse B's hold?
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Aishite- Vocaloid Miku Hatsune
Muse A finds a beautiful necklace within an old pawn show oft ignored. Unbenknowst to Muse A, it is cursed and blighted jewelry by Muse B themselves- a lost and ancient soul of a dead god, being trapped within the pendant. When Muse A puts on the locket, instantly he is tied to Muse B, locked within their curse, and the two become ensnared together.
Writing Samples.
Oh, how new quarries oft led to unfurling opportunities, tantalizing as they were endless, entwined with the high of the pursuit and yet, Alexander found himself lacking any semblance of wonder nor traces of elation. Despite his sizeable distance from Boston, he had been the agent above all chosen for this case. Particularly one of profound renown- this, of course, should have incited an exhilaration of sorts. Perhaps it would have if he knew he could work with more autonomy, however, being sent to another district to take the reigns always pinched nerves and carried the tendency to make everything arduous for all those involved.
An inclination towards a particular shade of mania, if you will, for the job had its benefits, however, and he owed his position to this. Since, overall, Alexander had amassed a reputation of maintaining an unshakeable devotion that might border boundaries befitting the title of "unhealthy,"- although, that was something of which he would dispute with fervency. Regardless, he did not lack in proficiency, and the tenacity landed him a well-known case alongside a free ticket and stay in Boston miles from good, ole New Orleans.
Humoring the satirical, Alexander reflected upon receiving the call, specifically on how he was in a shoddy motel relishing the endings of a high induced by ecstasy mixed with shots of vodka. Remembrances of being curled around his latest indulgence, their bodies tangled with bare flesh more than brushing struck him. Settled adjacent to them on a bedside table his phone began to vibrate, and he had stifled a groan as his partner sniggered, blue eyes piqued with interest.
Dallying fingers trailed his chest.
"Important?"
Sobered in expression, he eyed the girl, her cascading tresses golden in hue and wild from their heated tumble, an appreciable curvature noticeable beneath the almost sheer sheet that veiled her body, her plump lips curved in a coquettish simper. Not the norm in regards to his type, but molly tended to blur the lines for him, and indeed blurred they were.
Damning himself for lack of foresight, Alexander finally fumbled for his phone, outreached fingers trembling- remnants from the high- and recognized the number at once- his boss, of course, rather timely, at that.
"Nothing you need to worry yourself about, it's work. Fortuitous for me, I’m sure."
A sardonic utterance, however, Alexander entertained little in the way of appeal in divulging his life with a lay that would trickle from recollection in a week's worth.
With a sharp inhale and a prayer to no god in particular for a collected composure, Alex endeavored to steady his pulsating heart- which seemed to reverberate in his ears in pounding thumps- and overall, not sound utterly wasted as he was.
"Hey, chief."
While a simple greeting, the words came slurred, thick like honey.
"Bad time, Alexander?"
Curt, surely not the response Alex hoped for in regards to the circumstances.
"Nothing terrible with your timing, Lucas, I've had a bit to drink, that's all."
Although, a bit to drink was, well, certainly an understatement.
"A bit?"
There was no excusing that especially probing tone, yet Alexander refused to budge.
"Yes, a bit. Now, it's rather late Lucas, and you only call like this when something needs doing."
With a suppressed giggle, the girl untangled herself from beneath his embrace, swaying her hips to entice as she sauntered to a nearby window, flicking the switch of a lighter and kissing a cigarette to the flame it bore.
"I've got a job for you; however, it is... far from our district."
Calculating, he gave no reply as he hoisted himself off the bed, meeting his affair o' the night to share in the vice of smoking, returning a sliver of a grin as she lit the cigarette he plucked with practiced fingers from the pack between them.
"How far?"
How far, indeed, and who would cover the subject of fees for such a trek?
Matters of a family were a non-issue, there was little he would pine over should he opt to leave. So, why not pursue an opportunity that lay ripe?
"Boston, that far, Alex, expenses paid."
Amusement laced Lucas' voice.
"You had me at expenses paid, alright, I'll take the case."
Not long after the call that eve, he jilted his fling early, floundered home, intoxicated, lavishing in a high, and went to his flat to collect what belongings would prove necessities and scheduled the flight, from there by the morn, he was Boston-bound.
All in all, an uneventful trip spent in the extravagant indulgence of first-class with expensive wines aplenty, yet, once he arrived, his demeanor grew solemn lacking the exuberance held during the evening he received the call. Thoughts of the macabre were gnawing at his core as he prepared to delve into the depths of these murders that afflicted the city like a sickness, permeating airs of dread.
Traversing the city, he noted the bolded print on the newspapers served to arouse further a sense of foreboding among the civilians with woven re-tellings written on The Terror case, queries formulating about when the killer would strike once again, and, in the midst of it all, Alexander found himself centralized within.
Finally arriving, stepping out of a taxi, he heaved an exasperated sigh, glancing towards the building where he would be conducting operations, although, not particularly on his own; not this time around.
Unwilling to dally, he trudged onwards, feeling as though he were trekking through thickened mud and slop.
Incognizant to the reception he would receive, the unknown left him nothing beyond a vast realm of pessimism.
Ambling through the doors, nonchalant, Alexander promptly met with a detective with a gruff visage, stoicism keeping his expression leveled.
"Who are you?"
A simple query, although one with tracings of vexation that Alex could scarcely grasp onto, endeavor or not.
"Alexander Thomas, I'm from the FBI, I'm here to assist in the workings of The Terror case, I believe I am to meet with a detective."
Blinking, as if processing the utterance, the officer crossed his arms, and, beyond that stoicism, Alex reckoned there lay buried intrigue.
When eyes trailed to his badge, Alexander flashed it, causing the man to nod, brusque.
"Right, come along, Myers is right this way."
Undeterred by the officer's mannerisms, Alex, quietened by way of rumination of this detective he would be working alongside with, trailed behind, feeling like a lost duckling in a vague sense. An unfamiliarity enveloped him like a gale, threatening to topple his composure, yet, he endured, expression leveled.
"Detective Myers, agent Alexander Thomas is here to see you, I imagine, of course, over the case."
Hints of a tautness Alexander did not quite understand laced his tone.
"Indeed, The Terror case."
Piping in, Alexander put his hands in his pockets, awaiting this detective with a creeping, sprawling interest.
An inclination towards a particular shade of mania, if you will, for the job had its benefits, however, and he owed his position to this. Since, overall, Alexander had amassed a reputation of maintaining an unshakeable devotion that might border boundaries befitting the title of "unhealthy,"- although, that was something of which he would dispute with fervency. Regardless, he did not lack in proficiency, and the tenacity landed him a well-known case alongside a free ticket and stay in Boston miles from good, ole New Orleans.
Humoring the satirical, Alexander reflected upon receiving the call, specifically on how he was in a shoddy motel relishing the endings of a high induced by ecstasy mixed with shots of vodka. Remembrances of being curled around his latest indulgence, their bodies tangled with bare flesh more than brushing struck him. Settled adjacent to them on a bedside table his phone began to vibrate, and he had stifled a groan as his partner sniggered, blue eyes piqued with interest.
Dallying fingers trailed his chest.
"Important?"
Sobered in expression, he eyed the girl, her cascading tresses golden in hue and wild from their heated tumble, an appreciable curvature noticeable beneath the almost sheer sheet that veiled her body, her plump lips curved in a coquettish simper. Not the norm in regards to his type, but molly tended to blur the lines for him, and indeed blurred they were.
Damning himself for lack of foresight, Alexander finally fumbled for his phone, outreached fingers trembling- remnants from the high- and recognized the number at once- his boss, of course, rather timely, at that.
"Nothing you need to worry yourself about, it's work. Fortuitous for me, I’m sure."
A sardonic utterance, however, Alexander entertained little in the way of appeal in divulging his life with a lay that would trickle from recollection in a week's worth.
With a sharp inhale and a prayer to no god in particular for a collected composure, Alex endeavored to steady his pulsating heart- which seemed to reverberate in his ears in pounding thumps- and overall, not sound utterly wasted as he was.
"Hey, chief."
While a simple greeting, the words came slurred, thick like honey.
"Bad time, Alexander?"
Curt, surely not the response Alex hoped for in regards to the circumstances.
"Nothing terrible with your timing, Lucas, I've had a bit to drink, that's all."
Although, a bit to drink was, well, certainly an understatement.
"A bit?"
There was no excusing that especially probing tone, yet Alexander refused to budge.
"Yes, a bit. Now, it's rather late Lucas, and you only call like this when something needs doing."
With a suppressed giggle, the girl untangled herself from beneath his embrace, swaying her hips to entice as she sauntered to a nearby window, flicking the switch of a lighter and kissing a cigarette to the flame it bore.
"I've got a job for you; however, it is... far from our district."
Calculating, he gave no reply as he hoisted himself off the bed, meeting his affair o' the night to share in the vice of smoking, returning a sliver of a grin as she lit the cigarette he plucked with practiced fingers from the pack between them.
"How far?"
How far, indeed, and who would cover the subject of fees for such a trek?
Matters of a family were a non-issue, there was little he would pine over should he opt to leave. So, why not pursue an opportunity that lay ripe?
"Boston, that far, Alex, expenses paid."
Amusement laced Lucas' voice.
"You had me at expenses paid, alright, I'll take the case."
Not long after the call that eve, he jilted his fling early, floundered home, intoxicated, lavishing in a high, and went to his flat to collect what belongings would prove necessities and scheduled the flight, from there by the morn, he was Boston-bound.
All in all, an uneventful trip spent in the extravagant indulgence of first-class with expensive wines aplenty, yet, once he arrived, his demeanor grew solemn lacking the exuberance held during the evening he received the call. Thoughts of the macabre were gnawing at his core as he prepared to delve into the depths of these murders that afflicted the city like a sickness, permeating airs of dread.
Traversing the city, he noted the bolded print on the newspapers served to arouse further a sense of foreboding among the civilians with woven re-tellings written on The Terror case, queries formulating about when the killer would strike once again, and, in the midst of it all, Alexander found himself centralized within.
Finally arriving, stepping out of a taxi, he heaved an exasperated sigh, glancing towards the building where he would be conducting operations, although, not particularly on his own; not this time around.
Unwilling to dally, he trudged onwards, feeling as though he were trekking through thickened mud and slop.
Incognizant to the reception he would receive, the unknown left him nothing beyond a vast realm of pessimism.
Ambling through the doors, nonchalant, Alexander promptly met with a detective with a gruff visage, stoicism keeping his expression leveled.
"Who are you?"
A simple query, although one with tracings of vexation that Alex could scarcely grasp onto, endeavor or not.
"Alexander Thomas, I'm from the FBI, I'm here to assist in the workings of The Terror case, I believe I am to meet with a detective."
Blinking, as if processing the utterance, the officer crossed his arms, and, beyond that stoicism, Alex reckoned there lay buried intrigue.
When eyes trailed to his badge, Alexander flashed it, causing the man to nod, brusque.
"Right, come along, Myers is right this way."
Undeterred by the officer's mannerisms, Alex, quietened by way of rumination of this detective he would be working alongside with, trailed behind, feeling like a lost duckling in a vague sense. An unfamiliarity enveloped him like a gale, threatening to topple his composure, yet, he endured, expression leveled.
"Detective Myers, agent Alexander Thomas is here to see you, I imagine, of course, over the case."
Hints of a tautness Alexander did not quite understand laced his tone.
"Indeed, The Terror case."
Piping in, Alexander put his hands in his pockets, awaiting this detective with a creeping, sprawling interest.
To leave the confines is to sleep with death, to stay in the confines is to wish for death.
Born abnormal, as they said. Perhaps presumptions stemming from stigmas attributed to being an orphan, or rather- Thom's favored theory- set framework structured by an overbearing adoptive "mother" whose compassion echoed hollow, bound by vanity entwined with pity that sickened him, doting only for appearances, not from tender seeds of love.
In regards to his parental relations, if that was all he knew, what would render desire to stay?
'There shall be nothing here to miss, and no one shall miss me.'
A thought- one dripping with vitriol, so saturated with a cynical venomosity acute enough that it wavered Thom's focus. All those about him appeared to align with the belief that he lived in a senseless reverie, sundered from reality, yet, if he were to have a say, they lived within an illusion molded by foreboding and mythos, and he grasped conceptions they condemned out of ignorance.
Since youth, Thom felt allured, magnetized, to the world that lay beyond the banal visage of the town, where no strict rules and regulations governed his life nor his dreams; where foliage grew dense, and a provocative sense of mystery flowered and enveloped like ivy. However, forever did the ability to elope eluded him until finally, chance revealed itself and two eves prior he slunk away when all fell into the embrace of sleep, set to venture, brimming with exhilaration in a stark almost humorous opposition to the present tense. Where, for now, Thom floundered with a sliver of regret, utterly lost, pining for the quench of fresh, unsullied water, perhaps accompanied by the warmth of liquor and a hearty meal. To at last curl into bed with promises of comfort a simplistic sleeping bag placed upon frigid earth could not provide.
Regardless of a situation not particularly fortuitous, Thom concluded ambling without aim within the woodlands proved ever more titillating than the mundanity he grew accustomed to. Often had he heard rumorous whispers that spoke of remote villages, landscapes distinct and foreign, beasts that devoured, their hunger perpetual, yet, all Thom unveiled thus far from within the forest were trees and their littered leaves- green growth as far as the eye could see.
Albeit, traces of life subtly presented themselves as if the undergrowth tucked away secrets of its own. However inconspicuous, Thom noted trodden paths- a sign of humanity, perhaps,- and marks upon the trees he could not decipher.
Coming to a fork amidst a clearing, wearied, Thom settled against a grand oak, whose limbs sprawled skyward.
Well, this is a lovely predicament.
With little in the way of forethought, Thom found himself calling out, his voice reverberating, fragmenting the ghostly silence that seemed to haunt him throughout his trek.
"Hello?"
Chiding himself at once for such a foolish action, Thom shuddered, a peculiar sensation of trepidation beginning to gnaw away at him. What amongst him could he have awoken; fluttering the eyelids of creatures with snarling maws, perhaps?
Moreover, Thom began to reflect if he had made a grave mistake, one of which would lead him to starve in depths where none of those he left behind would find, yet another statistic to be fodder for the local fairytales.
Born abnormal, as they said. Perhaps presumptions stemming from stigmas attributed to being an orphan, or rather- Thom's favored theory- set framework structured by an overbearing adoptive "mother" whose compassion echoed hollow, bound by vanity entwined with pity that sickened him, doting only for appearances, not from tender seeds of love.
In regards to his parental relations, if that was all he knew, what would render desire to stay?
'There shall be nothing here to miss, and no one shall miss me.'
A thought- one dripping with vitriol, so saturated with a cynical venomosity acute enough that it wavered Thom's focus. All those about him appeared to align with the belief that he lived in a senseless reverie, sundered from reality, yet, if he were to have a say, they lived within an illusion molded by foreboding and mythos, and he grasped conceptions they condemned out of ignorance.
Since youth, Thom felt allured, magnetized, to the world that lay beyond the banal visage of the town, where no strict rules and regulations governed his life nor his dreams; where foliage grew dense, and a provocative sense of mystery flowered and enveloped like ivy. However, forever did the ability to elope eluded him until finally, chance revealed itself and two eves prior he slunk away when all fell into the embrace of sleep, set to venture, brimming with exhilaration in a stark almost humorous opposition to the present tense. Where, for now, Thom floundered with a sliver of regret, utterly lost, pining for the quench of fresh, unsullied water, perhaps accompanied by the warmth of liquor and a hearty meal. To at last curl into bed with promises of comfort a simplistic sleeping bag placed upon frigid earth could not provide.
Regardless of a situation not particularly fortuitous, Thom concluded ambling without aim within the woodlands proved ever more titillating than the mundanity he grew accustomed to. Often had he heard rumorous whispers that spoke of remote villages, landscapes distinct and foreign, beasts that devoured, their hunger perpetual, yet, all Thom unveiled thus far from within the forest were trees and their littered leaves- green growth as far as the eye could see.
Albeit, traces of life subtly presented themselves as if the undergrowth tucked away secrets of its own. However inconspicuous, Thom noted trodden paths- a sign of humanity, perhaps,- and marks upon the trees he could not decipher.
Coming to a fork amidst a clearing, wearied, Thom settled against a grand oak, whose limbs sprawled skyward.
Well, this is a lovely predicament.
With little in the way of forethought, Thom found himself calling out, his voice reverberating, fragmenting the ghostly silence that seemed to haunt him throughout his trek.
"Hello?"
Chiding himself at once for such a foolish action, Thom shuddered, a peculiar sensation of trepidation beginning to gnaw away at him. What amongst him could he have awoken; fluttering the eyelids of creatures with snarling maws, perhaps?
Moreover, Thom began to reflect if he had made a grave mistake, one of which would lead him to starve in depths where none of those he left behind would find, yet another statistic to be fodder for the local fairytales.
Ah, how fame is fickle, trickling like rare ambrosia; a fragment of which all craved in their innermost desires.
Fickle, indeed, fleeting. Let it be.
Of course, Ethan Allaire had garnered recognition; a man brimming with acclaim, although beyond that, its importance dwindled, for his life-span spiraled in an endless loop, cyclic, perpetual. Immortality, as they so named it. However, immortality remained a myth, while he stayed a reality and it was, indeed, that immortality that kept him hidden away from the public, although, he continued to keep an eye on people as they yearned to do so in vice verse. Regardless of his disdain towards the public eye, when word came of a showing, one of the arts, Ethan could not contain his intrigue.
Beyond his dealings in the macabre, he held a distinct fascination with art within his mind, a hobby, per se. Following other artists became obsessional, addictive like a line or a needle, yet, not particularly detrimental, no, the detriment came in his other works, ones seen by all but rarely appreciated. Murders, animalistic but not without a shred of artistry, bodies stylized in a fashion with unspoken meaning, that was his art, and as such, the police, even the FBI, pursued him.
Ethan's intellect, however, and like a game of cat and mouse, he avoided the police, falling one step ever ahead; a game of chess he quite enjoyed.
When he was not playing metaphorical chess with the police, he crafted dark, twisted pieces of work with paint, not blood, their birthed ideologies convoluted. Not to everyone's taste, yet, it attracted the attention of other artists, and from that his wealth in popularity grew, furthermore, he found himself planted on a throne of fame he did not ask for, as life tumbled by in its unpredictable nature.
To the present, Ethan, in preparation for the elegance of the gallery he intended to visit, had decked himself in a three-piece suit that emanated an abundance of wealth. Feeling ostentatious and frivolous as if on the waves of mania, he reserved a limo to drive him to the gallery and although it was an irregularity that he made such grandiose appearances, sometimes one must indulge.
Extravagant wine and appetizers came along with the limousine, offered in heaps; however, it was something more sanguine he sought. Fortuitously, before he could dwell on such a craving, he lived close to the gallery, and the ride was short, yet his presentation was grand.
A small amount of media, with an insatiable hunger for a personal detailing of his life, began to crowd him and, exasperated, he shoved through, declining comments with a curt nod, moreover, vexed the sharks came so early to hunt their prey. An hour early and the media had begun to swarm like a plague of rats. Typical.
The building in which he approached spoke of prestige, marbled and adorned; Verdi Hall, a source of brilliant minds and artists alike.
Indeed, exhilarated, seeking inspiration for his next victim in the works he would observe, Ethan made his way into the building, noting rather than bursting with the piercing gaze of the media, it remained serene, in a sense, where artists prepped and began setting up.
Seeking familiarity, Ethan, again, as was common, began searching for the director, Williams Bay, a search not prolonged at all, for he was the sort with the air to stand out amidst a crowd.
The two went way back before Ethan became known for his works, of course, regarding painting, not the strokes of murder, for that, he came under a different perspective, given a nickname granted by the papers, unlike his real name which stuck like a pin in his works of art.
Shaking off the thought, Ethan spotted Williams's visage, noticing he was next to an individual he did not recognize, and, although that should ward no extra attention when many artists came searching for renown, Ethan found himself allured. Perhaps due to the glasses of wine, he indulged in during the trip here, Ethan presumed, suppressing the idea of discovering how his blood tasted.
Noticing Williams's wide-eyed stare, as if dismayed and disillusioned, in silence, he came to look at the artist's piece, and at once, became slack-jawed, almost bewildered by the beauty he saw.
Ghastly creatures with eyes that bore into one's eyes disrupted the flow of the painting, however, not in a way that took even a sliver of its instinctual attraction to him away, and as he turned to speak to the artist, he noted he took a seat next to the painting with nary a word.
How could one man concoct such wonder?
Then, Williams began, voice quivering like an arrow aligned on a bow and ready to shoot.
"This painting..."
"It's astonishing."
Whispering in return, Ethan put a hand on William's shoulder.
"I must speak with the artist."
Pivoting ever slightly, he sauntered towards the man, aiming to collect a semblance of composure.
"I've not seen your face nor your art, or the beauty it contains. I'm Ethan Allaire, although, I imagine you have heard the name."
The last of his utterance came with no pompousness to it, spoken as if a likely fact.
Fickle, indeed, fleeting. Let it be.
Of course, Ethan Allaire had garnered recognition; a man brimming with acclaim, although beyond that, its importance dwindled, for his life-span spiraled in an endless loop, cyclic, perpetual. Immortality, as they so named it. However, immortality remained a myth, while he stayed a reality and it was, indeed, that immortality that kept him hidden away from the public, although, he continued to keep an eye on people as they yearned to do so in vice verse. Regardless of his disdain towards the public eye, when word came of a showing, one of the arts, Ethan could not contain his intrigue.
Beyond his dealings in the macabre, he held a distinct fascination with art within his mind, a hobby, per se. Following other artists became obsessional, addictive like a line or a needle, yet, not particularly detrimental, no, the detriment came in his other works, ones seen by all but rarely appreciated. Murders, animalistic but not without a shred of artistry, bodies stylized in a fashion with unspoken meaning, that was his art, and as such, the police, even the FBI, pursued him.
Ethan's intellect, however, and like a game of cat and mouse, he avoided the police, falling one step ever ahead; a game of chess he quite enjoyed.
When he was not playing metaphorical chess with the police, he crafted dark, twisted pieces of work with paint, not blood, their birthed ideologies convoluted. Not to everyone's taste, yet, it attracted the attention of other artists, and from that his wealth in popularity grew, furthermore, he found himself planted on a throne of fame he did not ask for, as life tumbled by in its unpredictable nature.
To the present, Ethan, in preparation for the elegance of the gallery he intended to visit, had decked himself in a three-piece suit that emanated an abundance of wealth. Feeling ostentatious and frivolous as if on the waves of mania, he reserved a limo to drive him to the gallery and although it was an irregularity that he made such grandiose appearances, sometimes one must indulge.
Extravagant wine and appetizers came along with the limousine, offered in heaps; however, it was something more sanguine he sought. Fortuitously, before he could dwell on such a craving, he lived close to the gallery, and the ride was short, yet his presentation was grand.
A small amount of media, with an insatiable hunger for a personal detailing of his life, began to crowd him and, exasperated, he shoved through, declining comments with a curt nod, moreover, vexed the sharks came so early to hunt their prey. An hour early and the media had begun to swarm like a plague of rats. Typical.
The building in which he approached spoke of prestige, marbled and adorned; Verdi Hall, a source of brilliant minds and artists alike.
Indeed, exhilarated, seeking inspiration for his next victim in the works he would observe, Ethan made his way into the building, noting rather than bursting with the piercing gaze of the media, it remained serene, in a sense, where artists prepped and began setting up.
Seeking familiarity, Ethan, again, as was common, began searching for the director, Williams Bay, a search not prolonged at all, for he was the sort with the air to stand out amidst a crowd.
The two went way back before Ethan became known for his works, of course, regarding painting, not the strokes of murder, for that, he came under a different perspective, given a nickname granted by the papers, unlike his real name which stuck like a pin in his works of art.
Shaking off the thought, Ethan spotted Williams's visage, noticing he was next to an individual he did not recognize, and, although that should ward no extra attention when many artists came searching for renown, Ethan found himself allured. Perhaps due to the glasses of wine, he indulged in during the trip here, Ethan presumed, suppressing the idea of discovering how his blood tasted.
Noticing Williams's wide-eyed stare, as if dismayed and disillusioned, in silence, he came to look at the artist's piece, and at once, became slack-jawed, almost bewildered by the beauty he saw.
Ghastly creatures with eyes that bore into one's eyes disrupted the flow of the painting, however, not in a way that took even a sliver of its instinctual attraction to him away, and as he turned to speak to the artist, he noted he took a seat next to the painting with nary a word.
How could one man concoct such wonder?
Then, Williams began, voice quivering like an arrow aligned on a bow and ready to shoot.
"This painting..."
"It's astonishing."
Whispering in return, Ethan put a hand on William's shoulder.
"I must speak with the artist."
Pivoting ever slightly, he sauntered towards the man, aiming to collect a semblance of composure.
"I've not seen your face nor your art, or the beauty it contains. I'm Ethan Allaire, although, I imagine you have heard the name."
The last of his utterance came with no pompousness to it, spoken as if a likely fact.
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So, if I've caught your curiosity, comment or PM.
If I've not gotten back to you and you've PM'd me in the past, please bump it if you're still interested.
