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.:Makings of a Madman (Self-RP):.[Einsor]

Postby BaalsBaby » 09/19/2008 9:45 PM

Chapter I: Everyday Strangers

"Y'know, I've always wanted a pet. Always wanted one."

Lips smacking. The smell of artificial barbeque. The kind that actually never smelled like a real barbeque. All fake. As fake as all two hundred and fifty five extra pounds of Bobby Gorge was real.

"I wish I could get one,"mused stubby Bobby Gorge, clutching  his  books in his sausagey fingers as they walked together along the sidewalk. Bobby Gorge with his slick, greasy mess of chocolate hair. Bobby Gorge with his sweaty face that, despite having already been a decade past puberty, was still covered in that red-speckle curse that haunted so many of the younger generations. Bobby Gorge who didn't have a friend in the world besides his rent-partner. Or maybe he really didn't have a friend in the world.

Now don't get him wrong, no. Einsor  really didn't have anything against  this rather rotund character (besides the smell sometimes) it was just that he was never really good with people. Not ever. It was only by a stroke of some other force besides luck that he'd found another willing to help him pay the rent that was required for the moderate space just above the mirror shop. The shop with the glass door upon which there was a clear plastic sticker inside that said "Good Luck!"on it in bright blue. Bobby Gorge had been willing to pay half and that was alright. Alright indeed. The space above the mirror store was a cozy one with just enough room for the both of them to comfortably accept each other's company without that horrid claustrophobic paranoia that the other would catch you with your trousers down at the wrong moments. A saying, of course. But Zu'hai no. Not that it hadn't ever happened before, but on those rare occasions they'd just congenially went on with their separate business like nothing had happened at all.

Without commenting on such a repetitive track Bobby had chosen this day like many other days, Einsor pulled out a small set of keys as they set into the quiet alleyway-side of the shop. Bobby was quiet at least right now, the only noise being their synchronized stride and the jangling of the keys. Einsor particularly favored the rubber keyring decoration that boldly advertised "Do Something Amazing! Donate! We Take Blood, Hearts, Eyes!"It was morbid, yes, but made him smile inside every now and then. There was an audible click as the black, wrought-iron gate guarding the moldy stairwell to their loft swung open on ungreased hinges. Bobby Gorge huffed beside him with every step. One foot carefully, slowly on the step, then the other, looking like a humpback camel with his one-strap backpack. Left, right, left. You'll make it, Einsor silently told himself everyday, every time they repeated this simple ritual of getting up the same flight of stairs. Gorge was just a drama queen. So much so that he might just trick himself into a real stroke one day.

Once at the top (see, we made it), Bobby heaped into the main room. By spacious, it was really open. Or would have been if Bobby had not insisted on a couch, yes a full couch, and a TV set complete with the wood display. 'Really, who lives in a house without TV, man,' his roomie had said. Einsor could have answered Mother but had settled on a shrug and in that way had allowed Bobby to lose a few pounds while shopping for the right television screen.

[8]
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Postby BaalsBaby » 09/20/2008 5:10 AM

The walls were an unsettling white (dark blue-grey since it was towards a gloomy evening, slight chance of showers), a sign neither of them really cared for interior decoration. A full bookshelf, that was Einsor's influence of course, accompanied the TV in the main room and there was an open window overlooking a busy street on the right wall, behind the couch.  There was a glare on the screen, yes, if you didn't close the blinds properly. To the left was the hallway, giving you the choice of going to the cramped kitchen (first left), the single bathroom (next left), Bobby's room (an ungodly right), or Einsor's room at the far end. The kitchen had once meshed with the main room but the previous tenants seemed to have a thing for tight spaces and thus had set up the wall dividing the two rooms. It didn't bother him really, just Bobby, who hated getting around the kitchen, his throne room. There were a few framed pieces Einsor had set along the walls and hallways, archaic music sheets as well as a few anatomical sketches done by some famous inventor or another, of which Bobby found creepy and only a slight bit disturbing on some hidden level. Nevertheless, there hadn't been any complaint, since his corpulent friend thought chicks would find the place a little classy with some art on the walls. Not that they ever had female company over. Women, for the most part, never came into their private lives. For Ein, the matter just didn't appeal to his interests, for Bobby, it was his bad stroke of luck and self-neglect.

A roach skittered from it's shelter under a foam plate to the relative safety of a discarded bag of potato chip crumbs as the greasy-haired boy sank into the couch. Another sign, this one being that Bobby Gorge was a slob and a pig despite being moderate company. It had struck Ein oddly funny and a not a little coincidental about Bobby's name and his particular habits in terms of food and it's consumption. Dirty, messy, scattered, rotting. Not that he himself was a pure hygienist, no, just that he liked things presentable even if there was no one around to impress. Bobby caught Ein's eye and settled in his spot defiantly, groping for the remote.

"Yeah, yeah, I'll clean it up later,"Bobby answered in his almost kid-like, pudge-language.

"Sure."He didn't leave the disbelief out of his voice and in fact, Ein half expected his roommate to reply 'What're you, my mom?' But he didn't and that was good. Bobby only dropped his backpack on the floor and flicked the TV on at the same time Ein put his keys in a ceramic bowl with an art nouveau print around it's sides set on the TV display. No worries about them being stolen, Bobby had his own set to the gates and plus, neither had a car. Bobby had found this lack of an automobile a bother, Ein found it healthy for the both of them.

The one-strap knapsack clumped down on the dirty floor in a fashion just like it's owner as Ein made for his room. Not only had it been convenient when he'd met Bobby and found the other was willing to split rent, it had also been coincident that they shared the same route home at the same time. At 7 o' clock, Bobby hit the sidewalk with his college classes having ended just around the same time Ein left the bookstore from work. Instead of pursuing normal college life as Bobby did, Ein instead took to multiple online courses just for the preliminaries of his studies. Medical studies. After all, he still wasn't comfortable with the fact of so many people. Lectures and discussions and sessions and input and speeches and examples and, by gods, show-and-tell ladies and gentlemen! No, no. He couldn't do that just yet. He had yet to practice cultured speech, work on visual presentation.... And his eye! No, he wasn't ready yet. A job was one thing but going after your life's goals was another, especially with such...such an obstacle in the way. It'd be odd. They'd notice the eye. And when they didn't accept, there would be no leg to run behind and cling to and  know he'd be alright. That was way beyond reach, so far into the past it made your skull hurt.

"Maybe a puppy. Or a little kitty cat. Or even a chicken...no, no not a chicken,"Einsor could hear Bobby from his room, out in the parlor still carrying out loud his thoughts. He couldn't tell if Bobby's want was more for appeal purposes or whether he really was just that lonely. Instead of hearing whatever it was Bobby was going to say next, he slipped onto his bed amongst the pile of books scattered along the crisp folds.

[9]
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Postby BaalsBaby » 09/20/2008 10:51 PM

The room was small and identical in build to it's neighboring room. Once again, white (or dull blue-grey) walls shone through around larger framed sketches and art. Two twin bookshelves equally as full as their distant counterpart adorned the wall with the window, blinds drawn already. The books tended to be thick and haphazardly organized without regard to the books height or width; anatomical books, medical journal copies, Genetics, Biochemistry and Cell Biology, Hematology, Neurosurgery, even Physical Examination and the Approach to the Patient, and more. Enough to split a few atoms in even a med geek's brain should they try and cram a good look-through all in one night. In place of a TV, on a nightstand against the left wall was a rustic lamp and an old-fashioned phonograph, the kind with the flowering spout which funneled out the sound, elegantly trimmed in brass. It was this piece Bobby always found most interesting and not a little old-fashioned whenever he dared venture into Ein's room. It was silent at the moment, though a disc sat ready on the turntable should he desire the music to fill his room once more. Aside from this, the bed was a simple mattress covered in white (blue-grey) sheets, taking up most of the room and leaving only room enough for a person to walk singlely along the right wall, provided that there weren't more stacks of unshelved books. Which there were. Just to the right of the doorway was small closet space, the door decorated in a full mirror that gave a brief perspective synopsis of the room itself. This, too, had been here since the reign of the previous tenants.

All the muscles in his neck popped as the languid, raven-haired youth stretched out along the length of the bed, shoving Your Body and You onto the ground with a reverberating thump. He yawned, still surprised at how tired he got after just sitting around for most of the day behind a counter at a rundown bookstore. Instead of falling asleep though, he kicked over on his back and pulled out whatever book he'd managed to topple onto. Seeing the Future of Sight: Ophthalmology. He stuck it out over his head which leaned over the foot of the mattress, legs sprawled atop his pillow, leafing through various sections marked with colorful tab-notes. The book balanced in the prosthetic, silver right hand above his face, perched at a slant to the right since his left eye was no good. Soft, rounded tips of his fingers worked the pages easily enough, showing various diagrams of alien structures labeled in Latin alongside thick columns of text.

Both eyes moved in unison though only one could actually view the words on paper. At first, viewing the world from only one side had been a challenging trial but by now, several long years later, he'd gotten the hang of it and lived every day without even noticing it anymore. Things out of sight were only a head-swivel away. The useless eye was nestled in the left socket, the skin around the eye covered in a thick scar resembling a crude slashing cross that ran from his cheek all the way up to the scalp, the arms of the 'cross' splayed over his brow. This however had been done much later than the actual removal of the eye. Both had been a gift from mother, wonderful woman that she was. However, to keep up normal appearances here, if he wished to continue his studies relatively unnoticed, a glass look-alike took it's place in the hollow socket that was his left eye. The iris was the same rich brown (an unsettling crimson if you caught it in the light just right, true color) and it moved perfectly in tune with his right, a decent substitute. It was only in the extreme absence or presence of light that one could tell it was a fake, for it did not dilate whatsoever. In that, Einsor was wary of notice. Why? People, that's why. He flipped to the next page.

It was only shortly after he had settled on the bed, browsing the diagrams of the lacrimal apparatus, that hunger began to rake at his insides like a wild beast. Hunger did not visit him often because of half of his nature, half of what he was. He was half nightmares and dreams. He was a Chaos, and because of such, he didn't eat as often or as much (not nearly as much) as Bobby or anyone else for that matter. Energy metabolized slower yet more efficiently than the average person. But he still needed to eat every once in awhile despite the large fasting gaps he took that had worried Bobby at the beginning of their agreement together. Over time, his portly friend had learned to accept the fact that Einsor didn't eat much and probably never would change, believing that maybe his dark-haired roomie was one of those anorexic types. That was a good enough excuse for Ein anyway.

[10]
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Postby BaalsBaby » 10/11/2008 10:22 PM

And so, with the creature in his belly becoming restless, Einsor got up and out, leaning against the entranceway of the hall with the book still hanging from his hand. That prosthetic silver hand attached to a prosthetic silver am. In a way, you could thank mom for that one too (wonderful woman, cross my heart, hope she dies). Bobby was still where he was a few minutes ago, eyes glued to some obnoxious advertisement with blaring statements and trippy colors.

"Think you can take up food duty today?"Einsor asked in a smooth but tired voice. Asking Bobby to cook was like trying to get a geriatric turtle to flip itself over.

Bobby didn't move, not really, just blinking a few times at the screen. Call toll-free right NOW and you'll also get our free- "I guess. What should I fix up tonight, boss?"A wide grin that creased his cheeks.

"You mean, what's easiest to order."

"You know me too well, y'know that?"

Sometimes he wished he didn't. "Pizza."

"Right on it!"

Simple order, easy, maybe Bobby would get sick of it one day and refuse Ein's request. One day. And of course, that day wasn't today but he already knew that. Still, food was food and most of it seemed rather bland thanks to his lineage, although he knew that he enjoyed much more from human food than did those of purer blood. Full Chaos seemed to find all types of human food bland and without appeal no matter what it was. It was never fresh enough, or so his father had said.

Ein simply rapped on the doorframe once as answer and strode back to his room. The room having gotten dimmer even in that short amount of time, as the evening settled firmly into night, Ein clicked the lamp on and sent a warm glow splashing  across every surface of his small sanctuary. He had almost fallen atop the mattress again when he suddenly noticed something strange. One single, striped feather lay in the very center of his bed. It looked like that of grouse or ptarmigan, long and rectangular, almost glimmering in the cozy light. What's this? He plucked it up curiously, spinning it delicately between his thumb and forefinger. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary except for the fact that he had briefly (or maybe he was just tired) felt something odd in his room. A sense that someone had been watching, a sense of wrongness for the slightest moment. But it had passed so quickly, he could hardly tell if that was the right sensation he'd just experienced. It could have been nothing at all, but the fact remained that his window had been closed, locked, and that no one could have come here without him at least sensing it. Right?

As his curiosity could only go so far with one piece of evidence, Einsor placed the odd trinket on the nightstand and set back to reading. In the back of his mind, however, he wasn't reading the various processes of refractive surgery. Instead there was a tiny voice that was his own and yet not, chittering inside his skull like a little insect.

Get out while you still can. Leave. Run.

Run? I don't run.

Run, run, run. They'll come.

I don't run. I've taken everything life gives and I swallow it whole.

Maybe. Not. Maybe. Not. This is different. Maybe not this time.

I want to read. Leave me be. Worry is a cancer.

No good...


And like that it was gone. The itching in the grey matter of his brain subsided. Einsor didn't find that he'd dozed off until the next morning when the walls were once more white.

[11]
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Postby BaalsBaby » 10/19/2008 2:40 AM

Chapter II: Thicker Than Water


Einsor the Mad was not the Mad. At least not at the prime age of twenty one when life still had yet more to unfold before him. Go and see the world anew, his father had said simply. That was all he knew. His father had come to him only a few times in the past, the first being to bring Einsor from the wretched state he, as a boy, had already been subjected to since birth. By this time, mother was no longer a part of his life, at least not entirely anymore and that was good. Good indeed. In the brief time he'd spent with Lord Baal, the man who called himself father, Einsor came to know what those of his blood was and what they stood for. They were Chaos. They weren't human. Those who chose to or had to live upon this plane of existence had to don a human persona in order to pass under the blazing gaze of the gods who sought their termination. The disguises were simple yet convincing. And still it baffled him how most people simply accepted. For instance, his last name. He did not possess a true one and thus a false one would always change in the future depending on the circumstances. His family had no true name either (though he learned it was quite an expansive collection from the same genetic pool). Baal was simply Baal and that was solely for identification purpose just as much as Einsor was only Einsor. They were, in essence, living concepts and sometimes concept did not need a title, simply an understanding of it's existence. That was all the Chaos were. Thoughts and ideas in the flesh. Vaguely, Einsor wondered if their creation had been sparked by some collective mind here in the physical plane. Father seemed to have denied such a theory but it wasn't impossible, Einsor knew. At least not in the realm of Chaos.

Despite having met he who gave him life, Einsor was kept on this plane and was only updated by mouth on all these facts that had been missing in his early life. At the ripe age of sixteen, having fled that hellhole of a home back in Barakka, Lord Baal had offered him the chance of a lifetime to study what he wanted in exchange for his servitude. For what, Einsor had not known then and so he had agreed willingly, receiving passage to the rich continent of Lambastia and began his new life in one of Medicai's top high schools, living in the provided dormitories until eighteen when he could finally purchase a living space of his own. That's when Bobby came in. Bobby, who gave him the opportunity to live as such now. For that, Ein wasn't entirely ungrateful.

Morning light struck home. Einsor winced, drawing a hand up to shield his eyes from whatever blinded him so. Adjusting, he found he was leaning against the far wall, behind the door and faced towards the window whose slats had been drawn open sometime in the course of his unconsciousness. There was a goofy grin and the acrid smell of barbeque hit him like a wave.

"Goo'morning,"came his partner's chime as the other knelt down to his level. "Looks like you took a tumble or missed entirely. More pizza for me though."His hearty laughs reeked of the smell. "Anyway, you should get up or you'll miss work,"Bobby prodded Ein's shoulder with a meaty finger.

Waving him off and nodding, Ein groggily came to a stand and glanced around to see if anything odd had happened to cause the peculiar position he'd found himself in. With nothing to convince him that something abnormal had happened, he simply chalked it off as lack of proper sleep. He really did like to study himself to near-death and he supposed he just didn't realize how tired work had made him
yesterday. No big matter. And yet there was the feather, gleaming in the light on his nightstand. As soon as he lay his eyes (or eye) on it, that little itching voice came back and he knew yesterday had not been a dream.

It's coming. It already has. You're the cure. You're the cancer. The catalyst. You'll make it work you'll change it watch it change everything you'll- This time the noise masqueraded as his own voice and who's to say it wasn't his?

Ein shook his hazy head and fought to suppress this alien irritant just as Bobby pushed past and headed for the shower. Standing there a minute longer in his roommate's absence, Ein took a last glance at the unchanged room then made for the kitchen to fix something to eat. He'd missed out on the pizza already.

[12]
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Postby BaalsBaby » 11/12/2008 12:09 AM

The morning light kept up it's vicious assault from the window here as well and quickly Ein snapped the blinds closed absently, rubbing at his head. A dull ache had sprung up from nowhere it seemed. Popping two eggs sizzling in a pan, he stood and watched as the bubbling masses shivered in the heat. Strange as it seemed, he saw faces, things, alive and broiling in that yellow and white amalgam. Some of the grease splattered up and grazed his skin, speckles of burning oil luckily caught by the thin lenses of his glasses.  Without wincing, he backed up some and scrambled the eggs quickly with a neglected spatula, the prosthetic arm hovering over the pan in the searing steam without consequence. He couldn't feel a thing in that arm of his though at times like this, it wasn't a downside.  Looking over at a discarded plate on the counter with fairly fresh crumbs on it, knife and fork, he figured his friend had already helped himself to a hearty breakfast.

He scooped up the mess and clunked it into the sink, the razor-edge of the knife catching his thumb as it slid off quickly. Red, red, crimson, red. Not caution, stop. He watched with detached amusement as his own blood speckled the clear basin beneath, trailing red highlighter lines underneath an unwashed bowl. Something was happening to him, had already happened. The tiny cut was killing him. Maybe. Maybe not. Precious life squeezing from his thumb. A leak in the pipes, a flaw in the system, a breach in the hull. Infection tries to get in one way or another, but what kind of an infection? What kind indeed. That insectile voice came crawling back, slithering out from behind his skull, it's lair. Gift from mother, thank you so much, was it Giving day already in May?

It's already happening, can't you feel it? You're suppressing the wrong energies. Let's talk.

So talk.

They'll come no matter what.

Who are 'they'?
The other seemed to be set on an unsteady railroad track, taking leaps and bounds by the second. He tried another approach. Alright then, what energies?

The wrong ones. You haven't been consumed.

What is this Hunger? I've never heard of it before. How do I know about this now?

It is you and them and us and we. Things are playing in your favor. You won't see it yet.

What does anything have to do with me?

You're the creator and the created. Anything and everything is in your favor.

I don't understand.

They will be paper and clay cut-outs come to life. Beautiful. Simple. Design.

Like back then right? When I made shadows in front of the flashlight. Right under the tent. That was a safe place, I think.

Not so simple, but the same concept, yes.
At least they were making progress. Towards what end? He still didn't know and perhaps he really didn't want to. This was going to be a turning point, right? Could a normal life be achieved if he played his cards right? The voice skittered through the fleshy folds of his mind with it's many jagged limbs.

Your key will be your downfall.

Key? What key? I don't understand.

Let me in.

Why?

There is no room for worry or fear or anguish.

I don't understand. I don't understand and I'm crazy. I'm crazy and I'm already talking to myself.

You're not talking to yourself. You're burning eggs.


And indeed he was. His mind-thought thing retreated. The air was pitch with rampant smoke that choked him even as he waved a hand before his face and scooped the overdone eggs onto a ready plate. He'd eat it anyway though, food was food. Einsor backed out into the main room and took to the couch, what with no kitchen table, and saw the TV was on even if he could hear the hissing rain of the shower. A luxury cruise liner in all it's glory sailed past on the screen as he gulped down the foul stuff. No salt or ketchup, food was food. Though today, the taste seemed more bitter than usual.  From the hallway, he could hear the squeak of the shower turning off as Bobby spilled out of the stall like always, the crisp ruffling of a towel. Before him the ceramic plate stood empty, which Ein quickly got up and dumped into the sink for another time and he made his way to his own room to change, hoping not to catch Bobby on the way there. He was safe, back in his sanctuary.

[13]
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Re: .:Makings of a Madman (Self-RP):.[Einsor]

Postby BaalsBaby » 09/13/2009 11:44 PM

Easing the door shut with his foot, he undressed quickly (still in his clothes from yesterday) and decided on a white shirt (he really loved white, he did) upon which was printed a negative ribcage, black bones wrapping around his chest, and grey trousers for comfort. Nothing fancy, and definitely no mandatory ‘look’ he had to achieve in order to do his job. Just a rundown bookstore nothing more. Pay was sufficient and he had access to all the books he wanted while he waited for a customer to stride over.

Bobby stepped out, fully dressed, hair slicked this way and that, and began to rummage around for the knapsack which had moved since yesterday. After a few agonizing moments, his corpulent friend returned from the kitchen to find it there (why, Einsor would never know) and he finally shouldered it. By this time, Ein was already by the door and waiting, keys in hand.

Out on the pavement, back in the full glory of hazy morning light, they parted ways on the crosswalk with curt nods. His room mate was off to take the ‘long route’ this morning, which consisted of a few stops at the various gas stations full of snacks galore on the way to class. Already hints of the blazing day’s heat trickled little spots of sweat on the nape of Einsor’s neck as Bobby disappeared around the bend. This heat was strangely and terribly unbearable today. And it was only morning, so how could he go on later in the day when the sun was not so forgiving? He felt like the bubbling, sizzling splatter of egg in the pan. So much for that chance of showers. Something in the back of his mind told him that it wasn’t just the climate to blame though. The imp in his brain had left a subtle hum slicked over his mind.

Agante Corner was a lonely side street, branching off from the main roads and squeezing between tall-rising buildings that had choked all the smaller shops further down. The sides of glistening white towers met decaying concrete and dirty alleyways. It wasn’t a good place to travel through alone when the streetlamps went on, but so far Ein had been a lucky duck. It was just as always today, nothing different. First the grand walls of two imposing monopolists, taking advantage of the main-street side, then came the alleyways plugged between Maggie’s Nail Salon and a small pizza joint known as ‘Aint’s Life Pizz’ (with the bold red S and A having shorted out long ago) or Ain‘t Life Piss, the very same place Bobby had ordered from last night. Rotting garbage, broken glass, the soggy remains of long gone newspaper, the classic image of a conflicting economy in crisis. It had once been a prosperous part of the city, as far as all those vast empty lots down the way showed, filled with old steel bones of condemned buildings, that had fallen to ruin once more contemporary and more strategically-placed business strips opened up downtown.

Sometimes, he liked to picture what the abandoned buildings and disused lots once looked like in all their glory. Across the street and away from the sickening scent mix of nail polish remover and oily cheese stood a grand and elegant old timer of a movie theater. The glass cases once holding colorful posters of all kinds now stood empty or broken and the façade of the whole place must’ve been decorated with splendid bursts of blues and greens and reds. Of the glossy board across it’s face that had once displayed bold movie titles, there now only rested a lone, faded grey ’A’, it’s yellowed corners having curled in upon themselves long ago. It was a sad wreck of a theater now. However, in his mind he imagined the lights dancing and alternating, lancing the listless wet nights with their energy. Gossip would spread among the people, girls would giggle and point to the latest pretty faces immortalized in print for all to see, the man at the booth would wait for the next customers in line. Cars would pull up, splashing up puddles of city water and the distant sounds of the night would not be able to pierce the excitement here. The smell of warm, buttered treats and salt filtering out of mischievously propped-open doors would have been the last lure in the fisher’s line. The theater probably drew in crowds by the dozens back then, arms-in-arms and shining, eager faces dappled in rainbow colors; the magnetic center of it’s own solar system. Now it was a grand beast that had chosen to lie down and die a graceful death. In a way, he felt it commanded a good amount of respect, to which he would keep.

The tall streetlamps, sightless sentinels for now, cast their striped markings upon the patchwork ground in the morning light. Einsor passed beneath every one as he went along past the theatre, the shadows striking him with measured intervals as he returned to the present. His glasses grew foggy with the heat which he quickly snapped off and began to rub each lens between a fold in his shirt (damn pan grease). The sound of jangling metal framing drew his attention but it was just one of the alley frequenters, who paused long enough to blink his eyes at Ein then shamble off with his stolen shopping cart filled with all the jumbled necessities of ‘home’. Ein decided to pay him no mind, shoving his hands back into the pockets of his trousers as was a habit of his, shoes click, click, clicking. The hum of the busy streets reached even here but as far as he could see, this place didn’t ever get much attention any more. Which he liked, really, despite the issues of safety. Far from prying eyes, privileged faces. He couldn’t complain.

[14]
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Re: .:Makings of a Madman (Self-RP):.[Einsor]

Postby BaalsBaby » 08/04/2010 2:41 PM

The lone figure made his way down, took a right and found himself facing the shop. ‘Worn Pages’ was a used-books store tucked in the back of the street and had just enough visitation from the outside world for Ein to get in his own private reading time but still make a decent paycheck at the end of the week. Just enough to help him get by, since he himself didn’t splurge on anything unnecessary. All he wanted and needed was time and more time. Time to study. Time to bide. What did Father need of him? Time, his friend, was the only one who could say. And indeed, time was his best ally, drawing him ever farther from that which was hell, youth and stupidity.

But what did Father want of him? Why was he still waiting here and for what? Maybe… Maybe if he was lucky, he could go on and live a normal life like he’d always wanted to, what he yearned for. Despite his social anxieties, Ein really did want to get out there and meet people, have normal conversations, go out on a first date with that special someone (the position for whom was still pending). He wanted to watch movies in an old theater without feeling guilty for such a simple pleasure. He wanted to travel the world and see things for himself, the way he’d look at old photos of faraway places and dream as a child. Finally he would learn to laugh, to enjoy things, to experience more the world from which he‘d been severed. But that would have to wait for now.

A dusty bell clanked as he strode into the shop, heading first for the back office to let Deena know he was here. Coming up to the door, he could slightly hear her mumbling through the frosted glass window. Probably on the phone. He rapped lightly on the glass to let her know he was there and went back to the cash register, taking the normal lonely vigil behind the counter.

[15]
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Re: .:Makings of a Madman (Self-RP):.[Einsor]

Postby BaalsBaby » 08/05/2010 2:41 PM

Maybe one day, he’d try to lend a hand and clean the place; who knew how much he went through sweeping the front of the store and around the bookshelves just to keep up the barest appearance. But he meant to really clean the place one day if just for the old gal in the back office, what with the shop’s layers of dust settled on every window sill and cobwebs frequenting any spaces that hadn’t had contact with a broom in years. Many kids had already scratched or written their names, numbers, and more obscene things into the far wall. Deena didn’t seem to even notice that the shop was crumbling away. Speaking of which, he could still hear her chatting on the phone back in her office.

Today looked (but of course) like another slow day. A teenager with too many piercing perused the ‘Horror A-L’ aisle with no particular method to her search, an older woman disappeared out of view in the Home Décor section, and a rather unshaved man spent way too much time off towards the back where the less than G-Rated mags were kept. The guy sniffed, but there wasn’t much else going on right now, with only the occasional ruffles of pages disturbing the silence. Ein settled uncomfortably on the wooden stool that now practically had his name on it, hunched over with elbows on the counter, prosthetic fingers drumming with soft rhythm.

Oh but he wasn’t bored. He never got bored, no. His good eye tracked the man and the teenager, occasionally the woman when she popped up now and then, trying to read them. Pull them apart and figure them out, why and how they ticked. Which book would they pick up exactly? Did they pluck up books to pass the time or to escape the real world? Did their hearts race when they found they could not be a part of the small world inherit in those words and pictures, those paragraphs and clauses? Stupid little details he sought to ponder over, he admitted to himself, but it was information none the less that interested him.  People were too delightfully complicated for their own good, made up of millions of pieces he wanted to explore. What did they have that he was missing?

On occasion, he also thought to even question if they were really people. Father had looked perfectly human and yet he was not. He wanted to know how that was possible, if these three people here could be something entirely different. Were there really Seraphim? At the time, Lord Baal had thought also to enlighten him on the religion of the Triumvirate and so these ‘angels’ were just as real as the creature that made up half of what he himself was, despite the fact that he still had yet to lay eyes (pardon eye) on one. In opposition, the only Chaos he’d seen so far had been what his father was, though he was warned there were many others just on this ‘plane of existence’. Did he really have to be careful about who he talked to? It seemed so absurd and, had his father not shown him a glimpse of this alternate place of existence, he would have thought the man an insane fool with mentions of empty promises and an overactive imagination, strung up on drugs and alcohol all in one go.

[16]
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