The Sound of Settling: Homage

[Bohemia]

(solo)

"I'm sick of working all for people I cannot stand, I'm sick of holding it in, the actions in the palm of my hand."
-Lostprophets

[Bohemia]

No flames licked the evening sky.

No buildings were crumbling to dust.

No terrible roar of the Judging Beast pealed through the air.

Still, for the people of the city, a heavy sense of foreboding filled their stomachs easier than any evening meal. While the end of days was not sweeping down from the heavens to crash down upon their heads, there was still that pesky sense of finality. In truth, the only thing to upset the metropolis’ day to day ways were several long smears of blood drawn starkly across the white marble of which the building was hewn, as well as several darkly suited bodies of male and female gender crammed into the janitor’s closet. They crowded their home’s windows, staring out with frightened eyes onto their streets for the change. Duras was surely coming down around the ears of The White Society.

He embodied the deviation, the deviant.

He was the one they had all refused. Something about his stare. The man known as Jonathon King was at first a disruption, an irresponsible, crass blackguard. But her presence brought him down to the earth, settled him in a way none other had.

Rachael. The angel in his eyes.

But she was gone now and so was the effect of Derferratium from his body. His boots scraped the stones of the road as he trudged forward, hair in his eyes, yari in hand and a job to finish. One more for the Society. If it weren't for March and Chris, as well as the suspicion of Rachael's passing, maybe he'd just lay down in the street and wait for a horse to trample him to death. He sucked in another belligerent breath, her eyes flashing in his mind, and pushed on, scowling. So it would be that some foul mouthed, purple haired, smoky eyed no show would break the city and be everything the people feared; the different.

In his opposite hand, parallel of the red sullied spear, was a book, ragged, spine cracked and worn, the glue holding it's pages there long since gone. It was bound in leather, bleached and dyed a cheery cyan color. As he stumbled on, the book slipped from his grasp and struck the street, the pages spilling out, littered with small scribbled scrawlings of ink, a scattering of dates and thoughts and hopes and heartaches.

It's these words that form our story...

[Bohemia]

3/15/798

Well, we’re finally fuckin moved in. Do you know how much of a pain in the ass it is to lug one of those heavy oak old craftsmanship china cabinets up a flight of stairs? Rachael’s knocked up and all those assholes neighbors just gawked as yanked the fucker up the stairs. I’ll stand by that I put out a goddamn disk in my spine! I’m gonna sue that bastard landlord for putting us three flights up. That stupid ice box was heavy as shit, but the worst was lugging up my titty magazine collection without lettin Rachael realize what they were. I told her they were her cook books and sent her off to get me another beer. I'm lucky that she's a woman, therefore too dumb to figure out what kind of barely legal treasures are in those boxes. I marked it on the side reading "NOT PORN", so I guess that'll throw her off the trail and back into the kitchen.

3/17/798

Rachael wanted to name the baby "Lucien" or some other new age hippy baby bullshit, but I managed on convincing her to name him March. We lost the calendar and managed to find it today too while we were unpacking a box I'd stuffed full of gelatin and socks. It'd slipped the mind, but the baby's due in a couple of months here. I set aside some of the ol' skin mags for him (Not the whole thing, little fucker doesn't need that much fap material). Barely Legal Elves, Dirty Debutante Drows, Fallien Foxes, it's all there in another little box cocooned in silver duct tape marked "NOT PORN". I'll give it to him for his third birthday; he should be able to handle it.

I've got half a mind to go downstairs the the landlord's apartment and kick in his teeth. The railing on the stairs were loose and they broke when Rach leaned on them for a rest, and I had to come barreling out pants less and haul her up from the edge. You'd think building codes would keep that shit from happening, eh? She could have broken something, had a miscarriage, and then I would have really had to go Jack the fuckin Ripper on that maintenance motherfucker, though that would only piss her off. She's making me pawn all my weapons off to some vendor dick that waddles down the sidewalk, but I stashed my knives away under that behemoth of a china cabinet.

Duras is nice, yeah, but it's taking a lot of getting used to. I almost got banned from the post office for cussin. There's something weird about this city, but it's hard to put my finger on...Rachael says it's just taking some adjustment from my normal life as a prick.