View Full Version : Lucien's Inferno
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"Midway upon the journey of our life
I found myself within a forest dark,
For the straightforward pathway had been lost." - Dante, The Divine Comedy-Inferno
Icy rain pelted the dull groove, clouds veiled the thicket from the delicate radiance above. Water ran from every tree and every leaf, pouring down into the earth and making a wet slop that clung to a traveler's boot. The wind was all but still and left the symphony of water to play its course. No animal clung to the sullen gray branches, leaving the copse with an eerie feeling of loneliness, lifeless and empty at dusk. Yet one creature stirred in the evening, one thing walked the grime covered pathways obscured by the downpour. His clothes were foreign, his eyes were rapt, and his forced steps took him further into the unknown reaches of the growth.
"This world sucks..." He muttered under his breath. "In fact, this place manages to defy the very laws of physics by being able to both suck and blow at the same time." He paused for a moment as he evaluated it all. Lucien had lived on Althanas for over two years, and his experiences in that time had not boosted his delight for the world. Modern conveniences he had taken for granted were sorely missed in the realm. The divide between rich and poor was not a measure of success, but an entire caste system onto itself. It had been a week or two since the boy had left his adopted family, and he had found living without them was just as difficult as it had been when he had first arrived on Althanas. "Jehoel screaming at me to sweep out the stables seems like a better fate then this." The teen began to moan, shifting his feet uncomfortably in the mud. The memories of his "father" were far from warm, but they were a kind of comfort he sought in the dismal forest he found himself in.
"'Straight up the road,' he says. You can't miss it!' he says. That fucking farmer tells me I can find work at a tavern up the road and I end up near Bambi's mother's fucking grave. That dick just wanted to get rid of me. You read all about the famous hospitality these medieval jerks were suppose to have, but the experience is a whole 'nother ball game." Growled the youth. It was as if he spoke to the very trees themselves, his eyes fiercely focused into the brush. His nostrils flared reluctantly. "This forest smells like fish. I don't know how that's fucking possible, but it manages to smell like tangy twat." Lucien bitterly raised his hands towards the sky. "You cruel fucking bastard! Why have you for-fuckin'-saken me! Why, even now you drop me into this depressing backwoods. You are a spiteful god and I hope the devil kicks you hard in the crotch!" Giving the gloomy sky the finger, he felt just a little more satisfied.
The aroma of sweet flowers whirled in the air suddenly. Lucien grew more civil, his burning eyes becoming a bit more placid. "Ah, bullshit. No use back tracking all the way to that fucker's house. There might be something worth while up ahead after all." The boy's soaked sweatshirt clung tightly to his body, chilling him to the bone. Deciding the best way to warm up was more walking, he continued on ahead. The same forced steps, the same focused eyes, and the same foreign clothes.
"Why can you not do something new with your bewitchment? The crowds grow weary of the same routines night after night. Using a breeze to flip a lass' skirt gets stale fast, Lucien." Jehoel paced furiously, the night's income had not been what he had expected. The man avoided eye contact with Lucien, instead seeking comfort with the dirt floor. The tent around the father and son played tricks with the moonlight, producing a queer yellow glow that coated the make-shift room like paint. "Less then twenty customers is not a good night for us boy. Bread is not just thrown into the streets for any beggar who walks by, this isn't your world." The boy shifted uncomfortably in his chair, the sound of faux oak squealed harshly under his seat. The boy cleared his throat, intent on shutting up his adopted father with his own brand of wit.
"It sure as hell isn't. My world doesn't have a bunch of screaming loons pelting performers with fucking shit." He blurted out in a callous tone. "Another thing. Why the fuck do you need to keep traveling around? Can't you just pick a damn place and stay there?" The twerp jumped up, the chair hurtling to the ground.
"I give you a roof to live under!" Retorted the older man, who approached Lucien in an aggressive manner.
"Your roof's nothing more than a sheet! I sleep on a hammock for Christ's sake!" Cried out the boy.
"And that sheet is more than you had when you first arrived here. Do you forget who found you whimpering in the streets like a beaten dog? I gave you a home, I fed you, and the thanks I get is your venom tipped tongue lashing at me for my good nature. You may hate me, but so help me as long as you are in my charge you will respect me!" Insisted Jehoel, who wheezed from all the commotion. The man needed no more words. Lucien's silence stare was all the compliance he needed. The man groaned as he sat behind a large wooden desk covered in grotesque knick-knacks from his journeys. "Go make yourself useful and help Idris clean the horse. And I want you to stop insulting Althanas, not while you live with me."
***
"Well I don't live with you anymore, douche." The boy muttered sleepily behind closed eyes. The rain had lulled to a trickle as the sun set behind the mountains to the south. Cold and wet, Lucien had managed to find a decrepit bench to lay upon. It smelt of must and burnt wood, paints of many colors chipped and peeled as if rotting with the very timber. "Hey, it may look like McDonald himself busted a load here. But fuck if it isn't dry." Gnarled branches above created a make-shift shelter. Though raw from the frigid rain, the boy took solace in the thought of a good night's rest.
The fragrance of flowers that had driven him forward earlier had faded when he entered the small glade. As best he could tell, the clearing had once been a garden of sorts. Through luck alone he had been able to find the only surviving bench. Even in rest however, Lucien continued to brood over Althanas and speculate what things on Earth were like. "I just want to go back to my home, my life." The youth was near sleep, in those precious moments when the troubles of the world seem to melt away in ignorance.
"Why?" Inquired an alluring voice. Lucien's awe struck eyes were met with a vision astonishing to behold. It held the form of a woman with hair as golden as the trees in autumn and eyes as clear and blue as the sea. The figure itself did not seem to move, but her clothes and hair rippled as if underwater. A pale blue glow emanated outwards, illuminating the groove like a cool spring morning. The tranquility she brought ended abruptly when the bench the youth lay on tumbled, crashing to the soft wet earth in near silence.
Lucien was speechless, his mouth ajar in sheer awe. No words he could think mustered in his throat, no movements he tried came to him limbs. "Be not afraid, I merely request why you want to go back to your world." The spirit saw her words were to no avail, not as long as she held her transcendental form. With no more than a nod, all the theatrics ceased. The pale light vanished, quickly replaced by the shadows of the trees. "I ask again. Why?" She urged.
With the show over, the boy took control of his body again. Those cold limbs felt as they had before she had arrived, nearly numb. Questions flew fast in his mind, all sorts of things he wanted to know at the moment. He caught himself however, before he asked who she was. "It's best not to let the thing grow anxious, waiting for my answer."
"Because I miss it. I miss the life I had before Althanas, my friends, my comforts. My bed, my cat, my computer. I miss all these things and more." Replied Lucien. He was completely honest with his answer. The twerp did not even stammer, having rehearsed all the reasons in his head a million times over. "But who are you?"
"I have no name." She declared. "But who, what, and how I am are not important. What if there is a way for you to return to your world? What if I know of this - " She did not even get to finish. Lucien had jumped up, eyes wide in sheer revelry.
"Do you mean it!? Do you actually know how I can get back to Earth?"
"Follow me." She stated calmly. Her footsteps were odd, deliberate and flawless. The spirit walked through an archway of mangled trees, ushering Lucien to follow. Any fear in the boy's mind dissolved. The idea of returning to Earth trumped his normal cowardice towards the unknown. He followed suit, the cold and rain left behind.
"Where the hell did this place come from?" Thought Lucien. "This entrance wasn't here before." Through the agrarian archway the boy had found a chamber crafted entirely from the nearby trees and brush. Above him, tree branches and vines wrapped together to create a thatched roof. The ground was carpeted by a thick green grass, with violet flowers sporadically placed around. It had an abnormally cheery hue to it, unlike the brooding dusk's forest he had entered earlier. The spirit turned to the twerp carefully, trying her best not to frighten him again.
"If you indeed want to arrive back on your world, many challenges await you. Your destination may often change paths or more then one will be open for your choosing. Can you bare such things?" Her soft hand found its way to his shoulder, the warmth from her flesh exciting Lucien's own. The boy was notably excited, rapture covering his face in a bulky grin.
"I'll bare anything to get back to Earth. I'd walk barefoot through hell itself!" Boasted Lucien with beaming eyes. The delicate smile that played on the spirit's lips faded suddenly.
"That may not be entirely far from the truth." The spirit muttered. Her eyes sought desperately for some easy way to tell the boy. "The forest is an inquest, an inquest into you. You will not be able to return to your home until you first know who you really are and over come things that may hold you back. Lucien, you will have to face your own ordeal in order to get what you wish." The youth was not surprised she knew his name, not after the other things that happened. He contemplated for a moment, trying to think out how best to answer.
"But I get to keep my shoes on?" Snickered Lucien slyly.
"Of course." The spirit chuckled. Her fragile happiness appeared once more. "You truly wish to continue?" An active nod from Lucien was all she needed. "For this journey you will need guidance and council. This forest has wisps that will aid you once I leave. Heed their advice, take their help, for it may bring you to the light of day." With that she was gone before the boy could ask another question. Not in a puff of smoke, nor in a brilliant light, merely vanished into the air itself. The twerp held out his hand as if reaching for her and feeling nothing. He looked at for a moment, wondering if it had been all a dream. And then the echo sounded.
"Guidance you seek. Guidance I give." The youth spun on his heels to see a large gray bird perched upon a gnarled tree. Its sharp orange eyes told of a wisdom hidden deep within. "I am the before and the after. From this forest I've seen things grow and seen them die, and through it all I helped those in need of help and saved those in need of saving. I am Orifiel." His voice was powerful and needed no help to strengthen his words.
"A talking pigeon?" Said Lucien. It had not been the strangest thing he had seen, but he was confused and his voice showed it.
"No, you twit. I'm a wisp in pigeon form." Retorted the bird snidely.
"Why are you a pigeon?"
Some how the pigeon managed to sigh. "People have used birds for centuries as guidance and communications. I merely thought this form would be familiar to an earthling like yourself."
"Look, if you're going to guide me, can you be something else?" He asked in faux politeness. The boy was eager to start but thought flying vermin would be of no use. Lucien thought he heard the wisp mutter, 'Always the stupid ones.'
"Fine. What form pleases you?" Mumbled the pigeon. The youth opened his mouth eagerly. "NO, I will not take the form of Jack Sparrow, whoever that is. All I know is he's too damn pretty. I don't need your manhood salivating every five steps. This is a journey of self-discovery for the mind, not for the body." Insisted the wisp. Lucien thought long and hard, stroking his chin to mock the bird as he eyed it hatefully. A crisp breeze blew into the groove, and when it stopped the pigeon was no more. Instead, right near the tree where it sat stood a tall dark figure with animated black hair. His faces was clean shaven and sharp, housing only a deep frown. The most surprising part was his lengthy body, covered by a black leather corset and fishnet tights for the arms and legs. His long black books dug deep into the moist ground with a six inch heel. "Oh, this is just cute..." Scowled the guide.
"Hey, no one can protect me better then a six foot tall tranny." The twerp giggled.
"I don't care anymore, let's just get going." Brushing his hand aside, the specter seemed to open up a new pathway from the natural chamber. The two went down a set of crudely built stairs, made from wooden planks dug deep into the wood. The forest surrounded them from both sides, making the road more narrow and uncomfortable. At last the pair stopped, right in front of an ornately carved door. "Abandon all hope, ye who enter here." Said the guide in an eerie tone. "I really must stop doing favors for my mistress." The doors rapidly swung open, creaking in the night. A chill went up Lucien's spine as he spotted the long downward stairway.
Orifiel lead the way down into the shaft. The burrow was dimly lit with an unearthly red glow from its ceiling. The pungent stench of mold and age seemed to leak from the walls like the dripping water that ran down its sides. Lucien tried to grab a hand rail, only to have his hand covered in a warm sticky liquid that made him recoil. Each step the pair took reverberated down the tunnel, adding to the blood-chilling ambiance. "Why is this taking so long?" The boy muttered.
"Only a few more steps." Whispered Orifiel. "And it's your own fault anyways, this is your kingdom of dreams."
"Kingdom of dreams?" He asked.
"Yes, well Hell really is what you make of it. So in that sense, this is the kingdom of dreams. Plus it adds an air of theatrics to it and all." The guide had the voice of a snobbish intellectual and chose to play the part well.
"Why is it always theatrics and insults from you?" Whined the teen.
"I'm your spirit guide. I'm obviously going to reflect your personality some how. Now stop whining. You want something to complain about? Try walking these stairs in heels." Barked the transvestite, who walked the chamber a little faster. Humid air rushed up the stairwell, catching Lucien off guard. "We're close." The two saw the golden light at the end of the tunnel, and at once quickened their pace.
It was daylight outside, but an unnatural daylight like one Lucien had never felt before. He felt no warmth from the sun's rays, only the humidity that had hit him earlier. The sky above was blue with a hint of green, the ground a dry red clay. It all seemed so artificial, so peculiar. A great river surrounded the small piece of land the two stood on, trapping them on their own little island.
"So what now?" Asked the teen as he pulled at his sweater in boredom.
"We wait." Lucien did not inquire further. Impatient as he was, a new phenomenon captured his attention. He had not noticed it before and finally figured out why the light seemed so unnatural.
"Are those lights!" Shrieked the teen as he pointed above. Indeed there were stage lights set above the duo, floating in midair in some odd form of magic. The sky itself was no more real, just a worn backdrop that had seen too many days.
"How many times must I explain this? Theatrics child. Did you notice the weird fog down the river." Remarked Orifiel. As Lucien looked further down the river, he could see a stage mist forming. It was not a natural fog that moved in with the wind, but seemed produced by some sort of machine, spraying every so often as to blanket water. The vapor parted like a door as a small ferry appeared. Though the lad could not make out the ferryman, the black figure struck fear into the boy. The long pole he used gentle guided the boat forward at a steady pace, making no sound. "Oh good. He's here." Clapped the spirit happily. The vessel pulled in front of Lucien and the boy was greeted by a sight that made his skin crawl. The ferryman of the craft was a walking corpse, skin brown from rotting in a hole. His lips were non-existent, showing green teeth and empty spaces in his jaw. Pale yellow eyes looked the more once over before turning to the guide.
"Jeez Orif, ya' look terrible ya' do." Belted the ferryman. His breath smelt like rotting fish and a tooth fell out even as he spoke. "Who's this then?"
"Another wanderer in my charge Charon. Let us cross so he can begin." Replied Orifiel.
"No no. I can't keep brining these brats back an' forth, not without pay I can't." Said Charon in a feeble voice. Reaching into his sweatshirt, Lucien produced the few gold coins he had. "An' what's that gunna' buy me down 'ere? We ain't got pretty little things down 'ere gold trinkets can buy. Say I know. Why not do a lil' dance, aye? Take a few things off?" The teen grew wide eyed and blushed at the thought and Orifiel only sighed. The guide had heard the same line used by the ferryman many times before.
"Let us on the ship or I will drive my shoe into that empty cavern you call a skull!" Threatened the wisp calmly.
"Can't blame a fella' for tryin', aye?" Charon helped the pair onto the baroque, which seemed old and unstable. "Now boy, I'll 'ave to warn ya', this is one 'ell of a ride. Some men are'ven driven mad from the crossing. I tell ya', this will be something to remember." Though fearful, the twerp could not contain his excitement. Trying to be a smartass he stood up tall on the boat, just as the ferryman started moving it.
"Damn straight I'll handle it. I don't fear noth-" A loud metallic clang rang through the air as Lucien's body fell into the boat. A large hovering light had smacked right into his forehead.
"Do you think Gollum sucked dick?" Chimed Sarah as battle noises raged from the glowing television. "I mean, just look at him. Not to mention that 'raw and wriggling' crap."
"I always just assumed all the hobbits sucked each other off. You can't tell me Frodo doesn't look like some cheap whore you'd meet down at the tracks." Sarah chuckled, a sound that usually filled the boy with more confidence. He continued, " Maybe the other hobbits just kicked him out because as the ring transformed him, his teeth got all crooked. Crooked teeth blow jobs are no laughing matter."
"Probably." Lucien's friend had never liked the trilogy, preferring action films like 'Underworld' and 'Resident Evil', movies the twerp called a 'bowel movement for the eyes.' Still, Sarah always enjoyed hearing his jokes about such mundane things, especially one in particular. "Here's the part!" Across the screen rolled ship after ship filled with Orcs, their faces a sick caricature of humanity. The girl's eyes darted quickly to her friend, awaiting the words she knew would come.
"See, I knew they were fucking Haitians. They're crossing the river on goddamn boats!" Shouted Lucien, who only wanted to see Sarah's reaction. Like always she burst into laughter, followed quickly by his own. He knew later he would think about why he said it, regret it, and think if he had really meant it at all. For now, there was only his laughter and her laughter, the cheerfulness of friends kept in confidence.
***
"Get up!" Algid waters ripped Lucien from his dream, pulling him back into reality. The boy rose with a start, arms wrapped tightly around his moist torso. Above him was the contempt filled eye of Orifiel. "I grow bored with your antics and it hasn't even been an hour yet."
"Why the hell did you throw water on me?" Growled the twerp as he wiped his damp face off using his wrist. But as he felt his bare arm he realized something was different. "Hey! Where's my sweatshirt?" Standing up was difficult and Lucien almost lost his balance. His sight was still a little blurry from the stage light.
"I was hoping that light knocked some sense into you, or at least made you forget some things." The wisp's tone was rather apathetic. "This form has fragile nails." He thought as he looked over his rather large hands. Turning attention back to his charge. "You think Charon gives rides for free? By the time we arrived at the other side he wanted his dues."
The teen's face was addled for a moment before his guide's words sunk in. "So you gave him my sweatshirt?" Stammered Lucien.
"Hey, he wanted your shoes. I thought you would need them a lot more then a simple shirt." Orifiel remarked. "It's not like you're not already wearing a shirt."
The boy's knuckle drug need into his own temple, trying to massage away the tension and confusion that clung to it. "I liked my sweatshirt..." He soon stopped kneading his head. "At least I'm wearing something." Lucien was always fond of the pink T-shirt he wore. He had it since the day he arrived in Althanas. "Alright, whatever." Conceded the twerp.
"Excellent. Now lets get going please before you have another accident." The two gaited up the slope near the river's bank. The grass was scarce and dead, the color of autumn leaves decaying on the ground. It cracked underfoot and had a consistency similar to dust. Still dizzy from his earlier misfortune, Lucien almost tumbled back down. A strong hand from Orifiel caught him quickly, pulling the boy back up.
When the two finally reached the top, the teen could not believe his eyes. The grass grew in smaller patches now and seemed darker then before. Worn pathways of orange dirt seemed well used, with rocks of different sizes thrown about. The field seemed to stretch off into the horizon with no end in sight. But what truly amazed Lucien was what lay just ahead. Bent chain metal fences, broken bottles, asphalt; a top all that, a Walmart.
The smell of diesel fuel forced its way down Lucien's throat. The boy's face contracted in horror as the retched stench stole the air from his lungs. Suppressing the urge to vomit, he could only think of one thing. "I'm home..."
But the sky was that same fake color. When the humid air moistened his skin, the twerp knew better. The pair continued forward. "I'm not home, am I?"
"Observant." Orifiel's voice was deadpan. The guide led Lucien ever forward to the megastore. The taste of the fuel was still in the boy's mouth. Before long they were amidst a scattered group of modern humans, dressed in theft store style. It was a diverse clique, people of all colors were gathered outside the chain store. "There really is one of these everywhere..." The guide trailed off. The people ignored the strangers for the most part, although passing glances of interest were shot at the six foot, leather clad spirit. Lucien grew impatient as the two stood aimlessly in the parking lot, feeling the hot pavement underfoot.
"What now?" Asked the boy.
"Well," replied the wisp sleepily, "I'm going to sit down there." A warn lawn chair seemed to appear out of the twerp's blindspot. With a deep sigh, the guide plopped down onto the warn seat, the aluminum creaking under the massive weight. "You, you're going to ask someone around here what to do next." With no more words, Orifiel laid back and closed his heavy lids.
Although he hated to admit it, Lucien was dreadfully shy around new people, especially in groups. Determined to return to Earth however, he clenched his fists as trotted over the the nearest man. He wore a white collared shirt whose sleeves were rolled up for comfort in the humid weather, which contrasted greatly with his dark complexion. The smell of cologne seemed to drift around him. Summoning the courage by sheer will, Lucien finally managed to belt the words out.
"Excuse me, sir?" Too quiet. The man's back was turned to him and looking to the glass doors of Walmart. There was a feeling of unease around him. "Sir?" Again, too quiet. Lucien bit his own tongue, damning himself for meekness. He tried once more, forcing his voice to become louder. "Sir." It wasn't as loud as he expected, but it did the job.
The man in front of him turned, surprised to see the twerp behind him. Lucien noticed the heavy sweat stains on the man's shirt, although the boy couldn't blame him. "Yes?" He voice was soft but deep. It was hard for the boy to figure out what question to ask next.
"What the hell do I say? Yeah, excuse me, can you tell me how to get out of this swirling vortex of torment? Yeah, thanks." Lucien was shocked when he heard an answer.
"Just go down there, to the store." Said the man. But the twerps eyes grew distant when he heard those words. The man had a thick creole accent, the influence of French forcing its way in. The boy could not grasp the words, and this angered him a little. He grew resentful, annoyed that the man did not talk like him. But before Lucien had time to vent, the man had tapped him on the shoulders. With a smile and kind look, he pointed towards the doors of Walmart. "Go there." This time he tried his best to speak slowly.
The youth felt guilty, guilty at how he felt when he had first heard those words. Before he could plead forgiveness with his eyes, the man shrugged it off with a smile. "Serves me right." The was a moment when the twerp could only stand there full of mixed emotions.
"Go, quickly." Said the man again, being as helpful as possible. Lucien turned to find Orifiel, but found his guide no where in sight. The lawn chair that had been occupied moments ago was empty, although it seemed more bent then before. "He's up ahead, go." With a pat on the back, the boy ran towards the store with unsure feet. All around him the people smiled slightly, warmly. When he finally reached those glass doors he turned around for one more look. The people were gone but his guilt was still there.
He opened the glass doors quickly.
"Coffee."
The thick smell of caffeinated beans was everywhere. It was a heavy scent, and even unconscious Lucien could feel the flavor cramming its way down his throat. A nauseating feeling took control of the boy's innards, forcing his gentle eyes open. He stared down into a polished wood reflection. "I hate coffee."
The twerp had no idea what had befallen as hunched over on his hands and knees. The room around him reaked of coffee, but a smoky tobacco air managed to penetrate it. He stood up slowly, a tad uncertain of his surroundings. Above him were exposed lightbulbs and pipes that led to a rather shaky sprinkler system. Tired wooden furniture was scattered every which way, so fire prevention was desperately needed. Spread out amongst the tables were people facing a stage were a rather gloomy figure sat quietly, pondering as he jotted down notes on a stray piece of paper. The awkward silence was broken by the occasional rattling of metallic jewelry. A powerful grip jerked Lucien back into a chain, scaring him a little.
"You take to long." Whispered a familiar voice. Orifiel sat solemnly, a cup of tea clenched tightly in his free hand. He, like the rest of the patrons, stared towards the stage as if enthralled by the writing.
"Where am I?" Asked the youth through his T-shirt. The smell was getting so bad only the pink material could block it.
"Just our next stop. Come, watch the stage." The guide pointed a heavy finger forward. "He's almost finished."
Minutes passed like hours for the jaded punk, his eyes seemed to wander to each patron twice as the pen scribbled onward. The lights were too dim to make out any features, although flickering candles discerned steel bolted collars and shackles. The crowd was eccentric if anything. "Done!" Chimed the man on stage, his metal piercings smacking together with his lips. The audience gave a sullen clap as the performer left his post and took a seat in the sea of tables.
Lucien squinted for a moment, his mouth parted in shock. "What the hell was that?" He squeaked. The boy's teenaged voice betrayed him as it came out louder than it should have. Head turned and chairs shuffled as all eyes fell upon the punk who dared speak. A whisper of "Conformist!" spewed through the crowd, among other names dared not repeated.
"Who dares speak in the presence of Lord Darkhatred Ravenfeather Esq.?" The performer stood up again, a look of rage on his face. "Did you not get the art I weaved on stage for you? Its beauty, its dark simplicity? Are you that thick headed?" The lights grew in intensity as all the crowd stood at attention. Their faces were like painted Grecian whores, smeared in black and white make-up.
"Oh come- ." Lucien stopped when his guide was no where in sight, but the familiar click of leather heals exposed the hiding figure. Orifiel leaned against the wall, trying his best to act natural. "..Come on. This can't be possible!" He whined.
For a second the wisp pretended not to know the boy, though a glare from his charge quickly changed that.
"Hey, I'm not getting involved here." Commanded Orifiel defensively . "Not my fault your sick, twisted fantasies involve rejects from the Hot Topic bargain bin." Soon however, the goths stepped forward in only the most theatrical fashion with two targets in mind. The spirit quickly leapt safely behind Lucien as the angst crowded around them, a table all that stood between the pair and oblivion by Amy Lee fans.
"Interuptions during an act is an offense punishable by death, here at Cafe Muerte." Cried the lead goth, who bared a remarkable resemblance to Peter Murphy. "I believe its time to-" He never finished as his body was soon consumed in raging flames. The punk had taken a candle from the table and thrown it with all his might. Little did the boy know however, that the candle was actually lit by scented oil. The natural greasy skin of the goth was all the catalyst needed.
The crowd looked on in horror as their ring leader screamed beneath the flaming tempest. "I just wanted to shut him up..." Muttered a remorseful Lucien. But the boy had started a chain reaction. The fire licked the pipes above and soon water spewed from the ceiling like a summers rain. It quickly drowned out the rancid smells, washing away the face paint of any caught in its downpour.
"Our make-up!" The cries of the audience were horrid, sharp, shrieking. Lucien fell to his knees clutching his ears tenderly as the horrid banshee cry continued.
"It's like the fucking Nazgul!" The twerp could barely hear his own thoughts over the howls and hisses. White hot flames began to spark from the bodies that writhed on the floor.
It ended suddenly. As the boy rose the smell of burnt leather rose with him. Ashen piles lay atop charred clothing and smoldering bone. Lucien had no words for what had happened, and didn't want to think of any. Near the stage he saw a bewildered Orifiel, blood dripping noticeably out of his ears. The punk crossed the floor quickly, weary of any survivors that might have popped out.
"Um..."
"Yeah..."
The pair exchanged an awkward glance before the guide opened a hidden door. "Lets not talk about this." Shuddered the wisp.
"Ever." The boy replied in monotone. Trying his best to escape the myriad of smells brewing, Lucien hopped into the doorway. He quickly wanted to hop back, because he now stood inside a small boat, rocking in a thick stream.
"Ya' know, maybe I will be taken those shoes after all"
"Fuck you Charon!" Lucien cried out at the top of his lungs as the ferryman vanished in the mist ahead. The stream they had crossed was no more then four yards, with a clear bottom shinning from a foot or so below. Never the less the boy had taken the fools fool's route again and now stood barefoot on the opposite bank. The doorway he had left the cafe with had vanished, leaving only the faux sky and humid air as company. For miles around there were vast plains of endless green grass and patches of red clay that felt rigid underfoot. Anxiety grew in the pit of the punk's stomach as he swiveled his head left to right, looking for an escape. At last he spotted something in the distance. It was another doorway with a set of concrete stairs leading up to it, rusted metal handles on the side distorted like tree branches.
The boy ran for it, afraid that at any moment it could vanish. As he jogged his foot collided with a downed stage light in front of him, obscured by the overgrown grass. Lucien had no time for obscenities, for once in his life. Even limping he eventually made it, happily opening the pale metal door in front of him.
He was met with a ball to the face, the loud smack echoing in his ears like a tunnel. As he hit the lacquered wooden floor, he couldn't help but notice the many rubber scuff marks on it or the strange tape markings that made up familiar patterns. With an ear to the ground, the lad heard the terrible thumping of more balls and worn sneakers being screeched across the surface of the floor. A groan escaped him as he turned over to lay on his back. Above him he saw a horrifying sight, one that made the situation became awfully clear. "A basketball hoop? Oh fuck..."
Lucien was in a gymnasium, a school gymnasium. He tottered forward as a feverish feeling came over him. It had been years since the boy had last set foot in a school gym, and he was glad to put years in between him and school fitness. "Still can't catch a ball, huh?" taunted a squeaky, contentious voice. As the lad finally stood up, he came face to face with another boy. He had that look of familiarity about him, as if Lucien had seen him some where before. It was the kind of face you'd expect to blend into a crowd, with plain brown hair and flawless features. But that smug smile pissed Lucien off most of all.
"I can catch and throw any ball as good-" Another ball was sent screaming into his face, this time only phasing him for a moment. "God damn it, stop that!" cracked Lucien as his voice gave way from the scream of agitation. The dodge ball rolled to his aggressor, re-arming the boy for another volley. The enemy just played with the ball, pretending to throw it at Lucien again, who flinched at the thought of another smack.
"You wanna' test that theory?" said the aggressor, his eyebrow cocked in enticement. "'Cause we could play a little game of dodgeball. You don't even have to catch half the time."
Though Lucien found the whole situation eerie, his hubris wouldn't allow thought on the matter. The gym was empty except for he and his foe. Pale sunlight passed through opaque windows high above the rafters, stained from years of sweat and dust. The walls were covered in marks and scratches while exposed piping jutted through every so often. "So they've fixed the place up..."
"I'll kick your ass at it," the twerp chimed confidently. "We should even make it interesting!" Adrenaline rushed through his veins at those words, sweat forming at his palms.
"Oh? You want to get humiliated more?" His opponent was no actor, making his joke attempts all the more unpleasant. "Fine, I've got terms. The loser gives everything he's got on him to the winner." he said coyly. Lucien could hardly believe his ears. The punk knew he was outmatched, but the opportunity for reward was too great. After all, bets were only made for the embarrassment to the opponent.
"Alright. Ya' goin' downtown," the lad barked in a whiteboy's best imitation of Ebonics. As Lucien and his foe crossed the floor to opposite sides of the gym, thought plagued his mind. Deep down he knew he had made a mistake by accepting the challenge. The only thing he had on him were the clothes on his back and his pride, the two things he'd lose when the final ball struck. "Well, at least no one's around to see it. It may be a little ho-" He stopped his mind quickly, hoping to focus on the upcoming battle.
Cheers erupted from the vacant bleachers as strange figures began to materialize. A crowd emerged from where there was nothing, their transparent forms contrasting the pasty white walls. When they finally took full form, signs of competition held high in their hands, Lucien felt a lump in the back of his throat. The crowd surrounded him on either side, their eyes staring exuberantly at the boy. He was so distracted by the pageantry of it all that he didn't even notice the call of 'ready' from his opponent or the sound of rubbing zipping through air.
A cold breeze wrapped the boy's body in a chill as he lay face down in a frosted field. The plants he lay on were dried, ironically dying from thirst despite the ice that clung to their sullen stems. Wind howled in the air, creating a symphony of ghastly moans that chilled the bravest heart. Muffled sobs were cast into the ground as tears rolled down Lucien's face and collected into rime on his cheeks. He tried his best to hide his face, covering it with bare arms. It was hard to tell what made the lad more red, the frozen wind or the shame he felt from earlier.
"Please, stop crying," hushed Orifiel, a tone that felt foreign to the guide. The lengthy spirit knelt beside the humbled figure, a simple pat on the back used in a vein attempt at comfort. "They didn't take anything from you. You got away."
Melt snow clung to his stomach as Lucien rolled over, a sober look on his face. "No, I welshed on a stupid bet." He tried his best to sit up, but the gnawing pain in his bones was worsened by the cold. "I only got out of their because of you. He was already on top of me. They were all around me, hitting me, mocking me." The boy let out a deep sigh, trying his best to drain the poison of humiliation. "I should've never made such a stupid mistake." The lad tried his best to warm up, balling his hands into fist and lifting his bare feet from the snow.
"I'm hear to guide you, you know. That extends to keeping you alive for this journey." Orifiel rose with all the poise of a drunken camel, his groans of pain reminiscent of an aged fool. A large hand encased in kink was offered to Lucien. "Come on. We have one more to see." The boy was a reluctant at first, dizzy still from the commotion earlier. He stood up none the less, trying his best to imitate the show his guide put on.
The pair set off into the snow, a mutual silence between them. Clumsy seemed like a cold they had both caught as the duo tripped and trotted through frozen embankments like guests at a New Year's party. Heels and bare flesh were a burden to them both in the bleak landscape surrounding them. Though Lucien had doubts earlier, he finally felt like opening up to the spirit. "I miss so many things about Earth," giggled Lucien is a low voice. "I can't wait to get back." Orifiel's only response was a nod of acknowledgment, their pace remaining the same. Warm beds, clean clothes, deodorant. God, no one on Althanas smells fresh." The boy stopped in mid step, smiling widely. "And I'll be home so soon."
The guide finally halted, his face statuesque in it's quality to remain firm. "We need to keep moving Lucien. There is still more to see. Come." welcomed the wisp in a warmer tone. He tried his best to crack a smile, but it seemed forced and unappealing.
"But we have time. I'm almost home! I just need to think about it, need to picture it." Exclaimed a celebratory Lucien, a vast contrast to his early self. Even as the spiteful wind turned his nipples into ice picks, even as the chill turned his nostrils into a fountain, the lad couldn't help but be elated. He hadn't been so jovial since he had first seen the woman's vision in the forest. But something began to dwell on the boy; Orifiel's face, his silence, his lack of emotion. "What's wrong?" There was no answer, only empty eyes. "Orifiel?" The wind picked up around the pair, showering sprinkles of dull white crystal.
"I didn't want to tell you yet. Please, don't ask." For the first time, Orifiel seemed to swell with emotion. The guide that had so dwarfed Lucien by height could no longer look him in the eye.
"What is it?" The punk tried to sound nice, but choked up words added to a distasteful tone.
Time passed slowly for them both as Orfiel labored over what he would say. The words just wouldn't come to the spirit, hidden beneath a need to protect Lucien from harm. Finally he spit them out. "You're not going home," shuddered the spirit. Like a deer in the headlights of an oncoming car, Lucien could do nothing but stare. "Not just yet..." He seemed to trail off. Before the boy could even reply, Orifiel felt the need to retort. "You're not ready. Not after just one trial."
"Did you know?" Lucien's voice was softer than the wind itself, limping through each word like a hurt beast.
"Know what?"
"From the very beginning..." His tone began to rise like thunder. "From the very beginning of this journey, did you know I wouldn't go home after it?" Another simple nod. "Then why did that she promise me!" Echoing throughout the land was the shrillness of his voice, tainted by immaturity and anger. Stomping through the snow, Lucien went right up to his guide with eyes lit with passion. "Why did that bitch promise me!" His balled fists were so close to Orifiel's chest, the lad thought it would be so easy just to hit him.
"Don't talk about -" The twerp was not done.
"I'll talk about her like I want you stupid fuck. Arg!" He turned in anger, facing the sky. His knuckles were almost as white as the snow. Through pure catharsis he let rip the loudest scream he could. "Fuck you, you stupid fucking bitch!" Before he knew what had happened, he was on the ground again. Swelling pain shot into his cheek, stinging worse than the cold. The intense eyes of Orifiel were over him, some how the spirit had grown even taller.
"Shut up!" The snideness in the wisp's voice was gone, places by a sinister tone dipped in venom. "Shut your fool mouth. I was tired of your whining. I was tired of your boasting. But most of all, I was tired of this. You can't even except help when it's needed. This journey's about self discovery, not some easy trip home. You were never promised a speedy return to Earth, I'm not going to give one to you. This...!" Orifiel's hand's shot up, stretched to everything around them. "All of this is for you to see, for you to improve on. You're faults, you stupidities, your blind ignorance, your insecurities, all here presented on a platter for you." The spirit shrunk down once more, a face of intensity fading into exhaustion. "I'm done with you."
Astonished by it, Lucien watched helplessly as his guide left him alone on the frozen plain. All that was left were a few droplets of his blood soaking into the snow.
The door was ahead of him. Like a lighthouse to a ship, Lucien felt some strange comfort seeing its red outline against the desolate landscape. Some how the weather seemed to have gotten more bitter, the wind a just bit more malicious. It wrapped itself around the boy like clothing, numbing ever inch of skin he had. Through sheer will he had gotten up to find Orifiel, but his guide was lost in the white blanket. Heated bursts of adrenaline were the lad's only comfort and the only thing keeping him going. As Lucien approached the entrance, a figure began to materialize. It was lanky creature covered in black leather and fishnets. Even from far away, the twerp knew he was being watched.
"What are you doing here?" asked Orifiel. The wind almost deafened his words. The boy tried his best to save face, but the frozen streams on his cheeks were obvious. It seemed to quiet down around them, the howling wind no longer as bitter or loud. Dwarfing himself even more, Lucien bowed slightly with his head towards the ground.
"I don't know how to do this," the punk thought. New tears began to form at his eyes, falling into the snow below. The words inside him were stuck in his throat, swallowing only seemed to worsen it. The boy tried to collect himself, tried to breathe, but he was obviously distressed. He raised his head but still avoided eye contact with Orifiel. "I'm sorry." It was quiet, soft, even hurried. Lucien bit his lip through both words. But even that couldn't stop them from being heard. An eerie calm now surrounded them. "I'm sorry for what I said earlier." Warm sobs escaped the lad. "And I know you know I'm not good at these things, you have to. But I really am sorry."
"I know you are," replied the spirit. "Come, we have one last stop to visit." He extended his long arm in peace, a simple handshake was shared between the two. Lucien panted slightly when his guide released, the strong hand a bit too much for him.
"Can you just tell me one thing?" whispered the still upset boy. "Did you know that was going to happen? That I was going to get angry?"
"I'm no prophet Lucien. But it doesn't take one to know that you'll throw a tantrum," retorted the guide with a smile on his lips. The large red door creaked in a desperate need for oil. The boy yelped as they entered. All the cold from his body was gone in a flash, taken by the numb fire one receives coming in from the cold all at once. Though his arms were crossed, he no longer felt comfortable with their warmth.
The two were transported to some place calmer. It was a small waiting room with pastel walls and sparse furniture. A simple couch and table were against opposite walls, leaving the rest of the space for potted plants and calenders. The carpet was a faded azure and felt rough under Lucien's feet. Only one door occupied the room, and it wasn't the one they entered. Orifiel strode over to the table, pouring himself a cup of coffee from a boiling pot.
"Where are we?" the boy wondered out loud.
"This is the waiting room to your final challenge. Do you want some..." The guide nodded towards the steaming pot.
"I'm good," he replied. "What is the final challenge?"
"That is something you will have to see for yourself." A disappointed look from Lucien caused the spirit to break down a little. "But I will give you a hint. It will be a struggle with yourself, along with something you're unfamiliar with and a little afraid of." Orifiel sat down on the bland couch, the ragged springs beneath him giving way. Lucien looked worried as he glanced around the room once more. The guide smiled softly. "You'll do fine, I have faith in you." The boy grinned back at him. "Whenever you are ready, go through that door." The spirit picked up a magazine lying on the couch next to him.
"Any advice?" said the boy meekly.
Flipping through the worn pages, Orifiel stopped for a moment. "Any advantage you get in there, use it. Not just your wind ability can win you this." The guide's face lit up as he turned another page.
Suppressing the need to vomit, Lucien took one last deep breath before walking to the door. As the twerp pulled at it, he found it was heavier then expected. Proudly pulling it ajar, the boy entered a room of of pitch black. The door slammed behind him and clumsily he tried to re-open it. His breathes were shorter and more worried. He felt around the nearby wall for a light switch, oil lamp, something to end the ignorance that plagued him. A strange moist and warm object clung the wall, causing Lucien to recoil quickly.
The lights came on suddenly, blinding Lucien momentarily.
When Lucien's vision returned, he wished it would go away again. The sight around him was too horrible and macabre to bare. The boy stood in a large room with walls that stretched to eternity towards the ceiling. A stone bridge was the only floor, almost flawless in its beauty. But what made the twerp sicken were floating objects that hovered all around; giant pulsating vagina. The female genitalia seemed to take on a life of their own, dripping fluids gave way to air being sucked in and out. Lucien could only wonder about the ghastly sense of humor that had lead him there.
"Welcome Lucien," mocked a sinister figure from the opposite end of the bridge. Heavy footfalls echoed off of the walls as he came closer, this mystery man that was too fuzzy to make out. The vagina seemed to respond to him, hovering just above or below, humming with each of his steps. A quiet gasp escaped the punk's lips when he finally saw his antagonist. It was himself, dressed in a football jersey and khakis.
"You're me," said Lucien in disbelief. The boy's hurried breathes sounded like a dog panting. "You can't be me." The bizarro figure threw a small object at the lad; the purple container grinding to a halt at his feet. As Lucien picked it up, he could see familiar words typed on it. "Lube?" The chamber was silent, the carved stone no longer amplified voice.
"I am not you, don't even insult me like that," replied the clone snidely. Like a master showing his dog its faults, he pointed towards the lube in the boy's hands. "You fags like that, don't you? I know you don't secrete the real thing."
It all made sense. The football jersey, the floating vajayjays, even the bulldyke haircut the copy seemed to wear. "I hope you sound like that because you're straight. I never thought my voice was so scratchy." Lucien snorted, proving sexual orientation had little determination in their voices. The bizarro ushered his hand inwards, as if gesturing for the boy to approach him. In almost an instant, Lucien fell to his knees wheezing for air and clutching at his sides. His breathe had been stolen from his lungs, the wind was knocked right out of him.
"Laugh all you want butt pirate, I have the upper hand here." The copy pushed his hand forward and wind around him began to kick up. Another moment passed as the punk was sent rolling against the door he had entered. Curled up in a ball, Lucien began to sob in pain. "I have all the cards, and with them, I can fuck you." The boy's eyes opened in curiosity, the clone's opened in embarrassment. "Up that is. Fuck you up. No homo." A howling wind began to swirl around the lad in increased strength, lifting the struggling boy off the ground. Kicking legs were his best attempt to escape the whirlwind, but it was to no avail. Lucien was harshly thrown back at the smug copy, a wingtip shoe violently meeting the boy's face. Some how the lad still managed to keep hold of the lube. With a simple snap of his fingers, the clone summoned one of the vaginas to his side. The vibrating organ sent loose a powerful flurry of confetti, covering the twerp from head to toe in the multicolored paper.
Weakly, Lucien lifted the words from his throat. "What the fuck was that?" The boy rocked slightly, dizzy from the beating he took.
"I suppose you'd prefer a pride flag shooting penis! Well too damn bad." The clone marched over to the fallen boy. Callously he placed his heel heavily on the crotch of Lucien's pants. The twerp sat up in screaming pain, only to fall back down clutching at his better's shoe. The copy's voice grew grim, almost as if it came from some dark place deep within the caverns of the earth. "You have no idea what it's like for me. A shadow like Jacob Marley, present only to teach lessons for a deaf student body. And whose form do I take but some wimp bitch who'll submit at the first sign of defeat. I only enjoy the fact that I am your antithesis, the complete opposite of such a sniveling worm." There was no mocking smile, only lifelessness behind the clone's dark eyes. He removed his heel, but not before applying a little more pressure. "You'd do anything to save your skin." He turned his head in disgust from the lad. "Touch yourself," the bizarro muttered.
Through the droplets of blood forming at his lips, Lucien found his voice again. "In front of you?" questioned the boy meekly.
"Are you trying to imply something?" The clone grew defensive. "I like, no, LOVE the vagina sir! I was merely trying to..." Lucien's weary eyes caught the copy off guard. "Look, whatever. Jerk or I'll finish beating the shit out of you." Clenching his fist tightly, the clone scowled.
The punk sat up, biting his lips in pain as he did. Limply he lifted the closed seal on the bottle. His down trodden eyes were a delight to the grinning clone, who promptly turned when Lucien looked at him. The bizarro expected to hear a zipper go down, the lad had other plans. "Hey...um...better me?"
"What is i-" The copy turned only to have his eyes filled with lube. Lucien squeezed with all his might, trying to get every last drop of it out. When it was spent, he crawled back in fear of the clone's wrath.
"Fuck you," chimed the boy in triumph. The copy furiously clawed at his face, trying to rid himself of the awful scented substance.
"I'll kill you!" he growled. His right fist balled until the knuckles grew white, his left hand still rubbed at his face. Yet all of a sudden, the clone stopped moving. His mouth was ajar in bewilderment. It took a moment, but Lucien looked at the now empty bottle in his hand. A wide smirk shot across his face from ear to ear.
"Warm to the touch, that's gotta' suck." The clone couldn't contain his horrible screams, his eyes felt like two pits of fire. The more he blinked, the more it hurt. He tried his best to grasp his face, but each time the copy touched it, the burning became worse. The punk knew this was his chance. Rolling to the copy's side, he sprang up in hidden pain. Slowly the whiny youth began to focus, shutting out everything but his anger towards the bizarro him. The belching vagina seemed to shriek with their master, but even this did not phase Lucien. The boy felt it, the tiny ripples all around his body. He hated the feeling, like being in front of a water jet in a pool. But it served it's purpose as the twerp called on all his strength to be let forth in one brutal show of force. Wind erupted all around him as his clothes bellowed in the breeze. With one final push, he sent it all towards the writhing clone, pushing him off the edge of the wide bridge and straight into the mouth of one of his nearby minions. Things settled down quickly with that. Lucien felt drained, tired to almost the brink of passing out.
But it wasn't over. Each of the thrashing twats wailed where the floated, sending bursts of air from their openings. The chamber began to feel more like a wind tunnel, forces kicking up all around the weary boy. Yet one vagina couldn't release, the one blocked by the antithesis' body. His legs wriggled wildly as the organ he was held inside of began to inflate like a balloon. Seams that were not visible before began to appear, tearing open like a ripe melon. Lucien knew this could not be good. Lumbering towards the door as best as the beaten boy could, he began to pull on it. He yanked and struggled until he felt his arms would give out. The ballogina behind him kept getting bigger. Howling winds grew more powerful by the second as the other organs let loose their on barrage of queefs.
Finally, the punk began to pound on the door. "Orifiel, open up!" he screamed at the top of his lungs. "Orifiel!"
***
"Huh, inflation may cause the Coronian gold piece to go down." The guide continued to read his magazine in relative silence. Only the hum of the florescent lights above sounded in the quiet waiting room. A sudden explosion broke all that. The door burst open and behind it came a gust of wind so powerful that even the mammoth spirit was blown away. He embraced the couch like a long lost relative, digging his heels deep within the material. As the wind died down, the wisp noticed a shivering form clinging to the splintered door.
"Should've just jerked..." coughed Lucien.
"You've done it, the first steps to overcoming yourself," whispered Orifiel. The two sat on the now disheveled couch, looking over the chaos the wind had caused. The table had been tipped over and it's contents shattered over the walls. The potted plants were now more carpet then anything else. Still, the guide had saved some coffee, healing Lucien's frazzled nerves. "I knew you could." The tranny stood up, an impressive sight to behold. "Ready to go back the real world, at least for now?"
"Alright," said the placid boy. As they stood, Lucien wondered where their exist was. The chamber he had just come from had collapsed in on itself. Abruptly, the ceiling above let drop it's ladder staircase, as if leading to an attic. "Orifiel, can I ask you something?"
"Yes?" responded the puzzled spirit.
"I get that each trial was to overcome a certain part of me. Hell, even that final challenge was to face the more ignorant, and style challenged, me. But what were the goths for?" Lucien was stumped on that subject, and had been since they'd left the coffee house.
"Oh, they just suck," the wisp chuckled. "Come on, I bet you're eager to go." Orifiel took Lucien's hand firmly and lead him up the stairs. To what lay in the future, neither could tell. But for now the boy could say he faced himself and came out the better.
"We mounted up, he first and I the second,
Till I beheld through a round aperture
Some of the beauteous things that Heaven doth bear;
Thence we came forth to rebehold the stars." - Dante, The Divine Comedy-Inferno
(((Spoils:
-Lucien loses his hoodie and shoes.
-Lucien gains the guidance of Orifiel. But unknown to the boy, in the real world, the spirit can only speak to him in sleep. )))
Well, this is my first judging since whenever I last judged something (mid September I’m assuming) and my first judging on the new rubric. We'll see if everyone is so happy to see me back now that a judging is up!
And the total is 68.5
Storyline
Continuity: 8. This thing flowed very well up to the conclusion, and I liked the fact that you kept upping the excitement here until the end. Things just kept getting weirder and weirder, and while normally that might be a criticism, given what you were trying to do, that’s exactly what I wanted to see happen.
Setting: 8. I’m kind of confused about just how “real” this adventure was, but that is more of a side point. At first it seemed like this was all some kind of parallel dimension, then it seemed like you were trying to tease me with some kind of “this is all my own fucked up mind” type of deal. I think the parallel dimension interpretation is more accurate, but because of this confusion, I dinged you a little bit on what was otherwise a very well done setting.
Pacing: 6. At times, you have this almost lyrical quality to the way you pace your stories. I think you should roll with this a bit more. I’ll get at this a bit more in techniques, but there are things you can do such as alliteration, that will really make your threads pop. However, you do need to develop a better sense of appropriateness. I’ll give you an example, this isn’t the only one in the thread, but it is illustrative. From your first post:
He paused for a moment as he evaluated it all. Lucien had lived on Althanas for over two years, and his experiences in that time had not boosted his delight for the world. Modern conveniences he had taken for granted were sorely missed in the realm. The divide between rich and poor was not a measure of success, but an entire caste system onto itself. It had been a week or two since the boy had left his adopted family, and he had found living without them was just as difficult as it had been when he had first arrived on Althanas.
I don’t see why that italicized sentence was remotely necessary. It may have been true, but this was Lucien’s Inferno, not Lucien’s Motorcycle Diaries. Nothing else in the story talked about income equality and while it may be something that matters to Lucien, it didn’t matter for the story. I’m not sure what you were trying to accomplish with that line, so I’m not going to speculate, but you most likely didn’t accomplish it.
Character
Dialogue: 5.5. The spoken dialogue here was quite inconsistent with its quality. Some of it felt natural and warm, particularly during the flashbacks. However, the dialogue between Orifiel and Lucien was at best mediocre and functional, but at times it just seemed like a pair of kids at the playground sniping at each other over who got what part of the sandbox. In other aspects of dialogue, you were mostly functional. I didn’t really notice any hidden gems in the way you had your characters carry themselves. Given the sexual overtone of this thread, I really feel this is an area where you could have built some stuff up, for example, perhaps having Lucien fall to his knees right near his better self.
Action: 7. I feel the action of a thread generally hinges on a few particular decisions, the ones that coincide with the thread’s most dramatic and meaningful events. In that regard, I don’t really think that you did a great job. The scene with the lube had some of the thread’s better bits of dialogue, one of the few times where the whole “sandbox” thing I talked about in dialogue really worked out to your advantage. To an extent, judging this characteristic is more difficult than most, because practically everything was a reflection of Lucien. Overall, I would judge this as not particularly inspired or creative, but still quite good.
Persona: 9. This thread really revolved around persona, and in general, I felt as though you showed me a character who was simultaneously bratty and vulnerable. That was no small task. Well done, it is clear you really understand this character well.
Writing Style
Mechanics: 7. I really don’t like the way you used twerp here, especially because in some scenarios (particularly with the clone) multiple people could have been labeled as twerps. It wasn’t too hard to figure out you meant our protagonist, but the fact is, I had to think about it. Any time your word choice causes someone confusion like that, you need to reconsider. In general, I would recommend that you are a bit more careful with your word choices, but otherwise I don’t really have much criticism here.
Techniques: 5. I feel you really dropped the ball here compared to what could have been. As I alluded to in pacing, your writing has a natural rhythm to it that can give it a wonderfully lyrical bent. However, you don’t really take advantage of this, which is something you could easily do with alliteration, consonance, or other similar literary devices that play with sound.
Clarity: 6. I’m tempted to take off more points in this category because while I feel the clarity was generally okay, in the beginning it was terrible. If I hadn’t been judging this, I would have never read past the third post because the first two were so completely over the place. Your first flashback in particular just seemed to be thrown in there without any sense of transition.
Thing is though, you really picked this up as the thread went on, and overall, this story was a fun little experience. That makes it all much more of a shame that you submarined yourself so early on.
Wild Card: 7. All in all, I would be proud of this piece if I were you. It isn’t the best thing I’ve ever read, but it showed a good deal of creativity and heart.
Spoils
Lucien gains his spoils, but I’m not exactly sure what Orifiel can do. You are entitled to use your best judgment up until your level up profile where the approvals mod will have final say on Orifiel’s skills. Keep in mind that any benefits Orifiel gives you should be in line with a level 0 character.
Lucien gains 775 EXP
Cyrus the virus
01-01-07, 02:22 PM
EXP added!
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