Post by Bryce De Jager on Aug 15, 2024 0:25:10 GMT
You don't deserve my development right now. Tune in next time.
"You must be careful in the forest, broken glass and rusty nails.”
Fade in on Bryce who sits in front of a wooden desk, form lit by pale moonlight as he sips whiskey from a glass.
“Adel Travant, a dark acolyte, a man who sits at the bottom of the stairs and whispers the dark to you, Full of the confidence his dark master gives him, he sees a future where I like in a pool gasping as the crowd jeers.”
He reaches up to turn on a desk light and reveals a typewriter as he puts in a sheet of paper.
“Problem is mate, you walked into my story, not yours and before the word..comes the writer, before the ink comes the page, this is the ritual I lead you on…”
He starts to type with a small grin which starts to become self satisfied and confident, even hungry in ‘s twisted mode.
“You know how this goes Travant you danced this dance the one you serve is going to have to sit up and pay attention when he feels the bite of something nastier on the wind. When I tattoo the name of a brand sponsor on your face with my boot as the thumbtacks come out…People are going to know the score, lovely.”
He starts to give a small laugh.
“You’ve been watching the feeds, you've seen what comes up against me…you seen win.. After win after win…feeding the text, piece by piece until it becomes sub text.. Until it becomes true, every name scratched on the page as I work up…and down… deeper down the spiral bit by bit, and all the while we’re laughing…"
He shakes his head and smiles leaning back as he looks at the page whatever he’d typed
“But Adel, dearest Adel… You might skitter about the dark, listening to the songs , looking to bite my heels sweep my legs out from under me, looking to put me down , but Like I said before, The nights gotta feed on one of us, The story takes it’s toll and every time I step from the ground to the stage, it’s mine…every piece..Paid for by silver in your pocket."
A sly wink to the camera
“But don’t worry …I like the struggle. The story you write for yourself before you realize there's a larger narrative at play, before you realize the Dark place you think you own? The dark presence you find so comfortable and so nice?”
He leans forwards with a chuckle.
“Doesn’t it sound like my voice? Cradling you to sleep…I know the words…I wrote ‘m..Come next week? The Blackstar comes for ya bucko.”
He seems to get serious as he pulls the sheet from the typewriter and puts it down.
Abraxes had never known fear until its human toys had gifted the anathema to it.
Adel Travant had given his permission to chase a demon, and now the stars turned black in applause.
“See you, precious.”
Fade out.
Fade in on Bryce who sits in front of a wooden desk, form lit by pale moonlight as he sips whiskey from a glass.
“Adel Travant, a dark acolyte, a man who sits at the bottom of the stairs and whispers the dark to you, Full of the confidence his dark master gives him, he sees a future where I like in a pool gasping as the crowd jeers.”
He reaches up to turn on a desk light and reveals a typewriter as he puts in a sheet of paper.
“Problem is mate, you walked into my story, not yours and before the word..comes the writer, before the ink comes the page, this is the ritual I lead you on…”
He starts to type with a small grin which starts to become self satisfied and confident, even hungry in ‘s twisted mode.
“You know how this goes Travant you danced this dance the one you serve is going to have to sit up and pay attention when he feels the bite of something nastier on the wind. When I tattoo the name of a brand sponsor on your face with my boot as the thumbtacks come out…People are going to know the score, lovely.”
He starts to give a small laugh.
“You’ve been watching the feeds, you've seen what comes up against me…you seen win.. After win after win…feeding the text, piece by piece until it becomes sub text.. Until it becomes true, every name scratched on the page as I work up…and down… deeper down the spiral bit by bit, and all the while we’re laughing…"
He shakes his head and smiles leaning back as he looks at the page whatever he’d typed
“But Adel, dearest Adel… You might skitter about the dark, listening to the songs , looking to bite my heels sweep my legs out from under me, looking to put me down , but Like I said before, The nights gotta feed on one of us, The story takes it’s toll and every time I step from the ground to the stage, it’s mine…every piece..Paid for by silver in your pocket."
A sly wink to the camera
“But don’t worry …I like the struggle. The story you write for yourself before you realize there's a larger narrative at play, before you realize the Dark place you think you own? The dark presence you find so comfortable and so nice?”
He leans forwards with a chuckle.
“Doesn’t it sound like my voice? Cradling you to sleep…I know the words…I wrote ‘m..Come next week? The Blackstar comes for ya bucko.”
He seems to get serious as he pulls the sheet from the typewriter and puts it down.
Abraxes had never known fear until its human toys had gifted the anathema to it.
Adel Travant had given his permission to chase a demon, and now the stars turned black in applause.
“See you, precious.”
Fade out.
Well howdy there pardner.