Post by MARLOWE SALTFISHER on Sept 28, 2012 18:34:14 GMT -5
Scrrrrrrr-click-click-scrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr-click-scrrrrrrrrrr
Those walls. Those cold-mongering walls.
-click-scrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr
As he meandered down the sloping lengths of corridors, Marlowe ran a nail across them. It was a sorry looking example of it's kind, gnawed roughly down to the bare wick, criss-crossed with white, suspiciously incisor shaped marks, enough to host a world O's and X's championship and connected to pale, spidery hands that were spattered with ink and stained with spots of blood. From his gums. If things got too boring Marlowe was of the thought that small doses of pain would brighten things up.
But that's a story for another night;
He ran a finger parallel to his path, nail occasionally catching in groves with a click or skewing momentarily off but always returning to his side like a faithful old dog. It was a game that played much better with wallpaper, where you could catch stray tails of material and soon enough strip the wall in long floral printed tendons, but the staff at Candel Heart had clearly played this one before and knew better than to cash out on a hundred new reams of wallpaper each week and instead, broke the rules, and opted for paint.
Spoil sports.
Cheaters.
Liars.
Prostitutes.
There was a circle in hell dedicated just to those sticks in the mud that wouldn't play along and ruined it for everyone else involved! Paint wasn't a pleasant substitute, no matter how peely, even if it did come off in satisfying flakes, like household sunburn, there was always that one bit that went straight for the sensitive flesh just beneath your nail and jammed fierce enough to draw blood!
Scrrrrrrrrrrrr-click—
“Ah! Crap!” The lanky figure flinched away from the wall as though it were made of electric, not brick, pocketing his injured digit between his lips and sucking on it sulkily, dark brow kissing in the middle of his face. For a few moments he could do little more than glare the wall down. 'A Mexican stand off. Marlowe vs Mortar. Fourty paces at sunrise and all that jazz. Ding ding!' a cheeky voice quipped from somewhere in the back of his head.
It should have been amusing, hell, in this place a broken arm could be considered 'amusing', but behind the mindless jokes he could feel a dam of anxiety creaking and straining, just waiting to blow and send them all to hell. 'All' meaning himself and his voices.
A irksome sensation of impending doom, that something really bad was about to happen, was creeping under his skin. The Fear Lurgy. He'd caught it!
Marlowe shifted his weight from foot to foot, unsure whether this sensation required dissecting and figuring out or was all bark and no bite, something best left alone.
Emotions made him restless. Frequently he paced the corridors weighed down by unwarranted sensations of unease and disturbance. It wasn't uncommon to see him padding barefooted along the linoleum tracing his fingers across the walls, eyes glazed over, lost in their own mental labyrinth.
What if it really WAS something?
He inhaled sharply, breath catching in his throat, suddenly overwhelmed by the need to check back in on his room,maybe hide under the bed a little and take stock of his few possessions. Devils take the bastard who touches his lime green lip balm!!
That was when 'HE' appeared.
The 'he' in question started off as little more than an excuse to abandon that train of thought to it's inevitable fiery crash. 'He' was a slight, soft kind of boy. All milky skin wrapped around a pair of doe-like, rabbit-in-the-headlight eyes and a whole lot of cute. Marlowe paused, hearing 'him' before seeing 'him'. It was in the corridor ahead, where his trail intersected another line up of doors and metal beds in a T shaped joint, someone else was wandering like a lost soul...
There was the uneasy stammer of footsteps at first, the murmured rustle of clothes.
Marlowe flinched. Too late to move now! If it was a nurse he'd be herded back or worse...
Relief flooded him as the off blue of a patients gown rounded the corner and into view.
The figure was gentle, but obviously masculine in a charming boyish way. Something was wrong with this kid (wasn't it always?) his long slender legs, moved with panicked speed, like bambi's first steps. Marlowe cocked his head, observing curiosily, fixing 'him' with his full attention now, fingers finding a few loose strands of hair to twirl. The cogs in his head whirr and click away.
Was that... no, it couldn't be... was that a faint whiff of 'horror' he'd picked up in the boys wide eyed expression? Oh now this was delicious!
What had caused this level of upset?
Perhaps his first session of electro-therapy had been announced? Maybe night terrors had broken into his waking hours? Or had the staff starte--
OH.
'He' had already worked his way down the corridor and out of view.
No fair! It wasn't like the world stopped for him, but Marl found himself surprised to lose him so quickly and only because of a momentary bout of daydreaming. He felt almost cheated, without this new kid here he'd have nothing to entertain him, but himself. Now, that wouldn't do!
That wouldn't do one bit!
Marlowe grinned like a cat, gave his surroundings a quick glance and followed eagerly and silently. No need to startle the fair maiden further!
Although the fair maidens destination startled Marlowe.
In fact, it downright chilled him to the bones.
Bambi legs squeezed through the heavy metal doors at the end of the corridor. They were ominous monsters of construction, even worse was what they had come to meant to all patients at Candel Heart Assylum. Weren't they supposed to be locked?
For a moment his mind reeled, the world spun, his stomach seized up with the promise of a dry retch.
Surely someone had thought to have locked them on the way out?!
No... no one was stupid enough or ballsy enough to wander into THAT room, there was no need to lock it, anyone dumb enough to slink that-a-way deserved the tender loving care of the furnace.
Still out in the cold corridor, very much alone now, Marlowes inky eyes widened, his knees knocked together as he checked over his shoulder almost expecting someone to be there, the oncoming sensation of dread kicking off a wave of paranoia. Who was he looking for exactly? Doctors? The devil? Billy May with another DAZZLING, innovative sales opportunity?
Screw that!
What was he scared of!?
He closed his eyes for a moment, swallowed, rolled his shoulders in their joints and started towards the door with a brass plaque. On it, in big gothic lettering, read the word 'MORGUE'.
Those walls. Those cold-mongering walls.
-click-scrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr
As he meandered down the sloping lengths of corridors, Marlowe ran a nail across them. It was a sorry looking example of it's kind, gnawed roughly down to the bare wick, criss-crossed with white, suspiciously incisor shaped marks, enough to host a world O's and X's championship and connected to pale, spidery hands that were spattered with ink and stained with spots of blood. From his gums. If things got too boring Marlowe was of the thought that small doses of pain would brighten things up.
But that's a story for another night;
He ran a finger parallel to his path, nail occasionally catching in groves with a click or skewing momentarily off but always returning to his side like a faithful old dog. It was a game that played much better with wallpaper, where you could catch stray tails of material and soon enough strip the wall in long floral printed tendons, but the staff at Candel Heart had clearly played this one before and knew better than to cash out on a hundred new reams of wallpaper each week and instead, broke the rules, and opted for paint.
Spoil sports.
Cheaters.
Liars.
Prostitutes.
There was a circle in hell dedicated just to those sticks in the mud that wouldn't play along and ruined it for everyone else involved! Paint wasn't a pleasant substitute, no matter how peely, even if it did come off in satisfying flakes, like household sunburn, there was always that one bit that went straight for the sensitive flesh just beneath your nail and jammed fierce enough to draw blood!
Scrrrrrrrrrrrr-click—
“Ah! Crap!” The lanky figure flinched away from the wall as though it were made of electric, not brick, pocketing his injured digit between his lips and sucking on it sulkily, dark brow kissing in the middle of his face. For a few moments he could do little more than glare the wall down. 'A Mexican stand off. Marlowe vs Mortar. Fourty paces at sunrise and all that jazz. Ding ding!' a cheeky voice quipped from somewhere in the back of his head.
It should have been amusing, hell, in this place a broken arm could be considered 'amusing', but behind the mindless jokes he could feel a dam of anxiety creaking and straining, just waiting to blow and send them all to hell. 'All' meaning himself and his voices.
A irksome sensation of impending doom, that something really bad was about to happen, was creeping under his skin. The Fear Lurgy. He'd caught it!
Marlowe shifted his weight from foot to foot, unsure whether this sensation required dissecting and figuring out or was all bark and no bite, something best left alone.
Emotions made him restless. Frequently he paced the corridors weighed down by unwarranted sensations of unease and disturbance. It wasn't uncommon to see him padding barefooted along the linoleum tracing his fingers across the walls, eyes glazed over, lost in their own mental labyrinth.
What if it really WAS something?
He inhaled sharply, breath catching in his throat, suddenly overwhelmed by the need to check back in on his room,
That was when 'HE' appeared.
The 'he' in question started off as little more than an excuse to abandon that train of thought to it's inevitable fiery crash. 'He' was a slight, soft kind of boy. All milky skin wrapped around a pair of doe-like, rabbit-in-the-headlight eyes and a whole lot of cute. Marlowe paused, hearing 'him' before seeing 'him'. It was in the corridor ahead, where his trail intersected another line up of doors and metal beds in a T shaped joint, someone else was wandering like a lost soul...
There was the uneasy stammer of footsteps at first, the murmured rustle of clothes.
Marlowe flinched. Too late to move now! If it was a nurse he'd be herded back or worse...
Relief flooded him as the off blue of a patients gown rounded the corner and into view.
The figure was gentle, but obviously masculine in a charming boyish way. Something was wrong with this kid (wasn't it always?) his long slender legs, moved with panicked speed, like bambi's first steps. Marlowe cocked his head, observing curiosily, fixing 'him' with his full attention now, fingers finding a few loose strands of hair to twirl. The cogs in his head whirr and click away.
Was that... no, it couldn't be... was that a faint whiff of 'horror' he'd picked up in the boys wide eyed expression? Oh now this was delicious!
What had caused this level of upset?
Perhaps his first session of electro-therapy had been announced? Maybe night terrors had broken into his waking hours? Or had the staff starte--
OH.
'He' had already worked his way down the corridor and out of view.
No fair! It wasn't like the world stopped for him, but Marl found himself surprised to lose him so quickly and only because of a momentary bout of daydreaming. He felt almost cheated, without this new kid here he'd have nothing to entertain him, but himself. Now, that wouldn't do!
That wouldn't do one bit!
Marlowe grinned like a cat, gave his surroundings a quick glance and followed eagerly and silently. No need to startle the fair maiden further!
Although the fair maidens destination startled Marlowe.
In fact, it downright chilled him to the bones.
Bambi legs squeezed through the heavy metal doors at the end of the corridor. They were ominous monsters of construction, even worse was what they had come to meant to all patients at Candel Heart Assylum. Weren't they supposed to be locked?
For a moment his mind reeled, the world spun, his stomach seized up with the promise of a dry retch.
Surely someone had thought to have locked them on the way out?!
No... no one was stupid enough or ballsy enough to wander into THAT room, there was no need to lock it, anyone dumb enough to slink that-a-way deserved the tender loving care of the furnace.
Still out in the cold corridor, very much alone now, Marlowes inky eyes widened, his knees knocked together as he checked over his shoulder almost expecting someone to be there, the oncoming sensation of dread kicking off a wave of paranoia. Who was he looking for exactly? Doctors? The devil? Billy May with another DAZZLING, innovative sales opportunity?
Screw that!
What was he scared of!?
He closed his eyes for a moment, swallowed, rolled his shoulders in their joints and started towards the door with a brass plaque. On it, in big gothic lettering, read the word 'MORGUE'.