July 30, 2002
does it bother you? [sickboy]

[wyrmpit]

the youth sprawls in the recliner (a slit wrist seeping) watching the notes seep from the speakers laid flat against the wall, mismatched eyes fallen to half mast (lazy) beneath the barage of sound as it coils across his senses - an invisable smoke - the tapestry unweaves before him, bassline thumps a grind against the treble, the sultry voice washing across bared flesh (belly crisscrossed with fine scars) revealed in the open drape of unbuttoned shirt

From somewhere close by, comes the occasional giggle. SickBoy has gone into his task fully, and his "pet" have begun to grow in numbers. plague carrying vermin and dogs, tainted by the wyrm, now carrying a part of SickBoy with them. Anyone foolish enough to try and make their way down, will face unspeakable horrors, even if they do make it back out alive. Another giggle, and a yip as he sends another mishapen dog out on its patrol. Before long, shuffling steps announce him coming, even if they are mostly drowned by the music filling the surrounding chambers.

there is little reaction to the approaching giggle (madness gripped in its coils, disease freely consuming the heart that drives it) perhaps only the barest lift of lashes to reveal the unnerving (uneven) eyes to the rain of notes dropping before him, only when the stench washes his olfaction does the blond move.... and then it is only a breath

"Hello Sickboy."

HeeHeeHee... Hello Asher....

He moves forward, to sit on the floor next to the couch, looking up at Asher with a smile. (adorationofdiseasedbeauty)

What you HeeHee up to?


those eyes regard the diseased packmate quietly (studying) the filth and putrifaction that drips from his very form, the telltale squelch as body connects to floor, his voice only a sighed murmur

"Listening to Nina."

chin lifts towards the speakers "I put a spell on you" belting its way from the walls

"HeeHee... Who the hell is Nina?"

He turns his head to look at the speakers, before lookin back to Asher, absently picking out a maggot from the cross shaped wound in his belly, playing with it between dirty, green purple finger nails, half rotted away already.

"you seem down..."


the silvered tongue smooths silken, beneath his words

"Nina Simone.... she is the one singing."

said the Galliard to the Ragabash, and with that thought perhaps there is a reason for the lack of recognition, just as there is reason for the lack of riddles in his speach

"Do I?"


He tilts his head, and shrugs his shoulders, popping the maggot between his lips, and eats with with the same enjoyment many reserve for spaghetti.

"Yeps... all quiet like..."

It doesnt really enter his mind that he could be disturbing his packmate, absently chewing on the filthy "snack"


nor has it entered his mind there is something wrong (reclusive) with him, associating the (sickening) crunch of Sickboy's jaws with the beats of the blues-riddled music

"That is because I was listening....... does it bother you?"

he remembers a time (long, long ago) of the horrors that followed a Moon Dancer's silence, the memories stirring like dust as the wyvern wakens (sluggish, hazy)


He nods, pondering for a moment, then shrugs.

"In some sick way... yes, it does I think... HeeHee... wierd..."

Perhaps not a declaration of love, but the words seem to surprise SickBy as much as it must Asher. He shrugs again, and stands.

"Have more work HeeHeeHee.. they brought me 3 baby gators to raise.. HeeHee... they are lovely..."

With that, he moves out of the room, back to his "work"

Posted by asher at July 30, 2002 12:00 AM
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