#actorstache

BODY. HORROR. MARK.

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Prompt: “I’ve missed you.” / “Do not tempt me.”

There was a snake in man’s clothing standing at the base of the stage of Wilford’s set; immaculately dressed in deep red, one perfectly polished shoe tapping slowly but not impatiently, white-gloved fingers curled like talons around the diamond tip of a cane he didn’t need, head tilted up to regard the giant game-show wheel dominating most of the pink-painted set.

Dark opened his mouth to say something– something like “get out” was most likely– but Mark was already in the business of turning his head one hundred-eighty degrees, so his wickedly delighted, death-pale face could grin at him from the wrong direction. 

“And here I thought I’d only be graced to see dear William, today.” Mark said. “How I’ve missed you, Damien.”

Now he really did snarl, a bared-teeth roar that reverberated around the set and briefly plunged their surroundings into monochrome. “Get out!”

Mark’s body swiveled, realigning his head. “What’re you going to do, behad me?” hHe sneered, and reached up to pluck his head off his spine with a sickening squelch, stretching decaying tissue and muscle until it ripped and spraying black blood down his pristine crimson suit. “You’ve already torn it off once.”

“Do not tempt me,” Dark warned, but before he could do anything Wilford poked his head out through a curtained door leading to backstage.

“Dear me,” he said. “Both my guest contestant and Darkie, what a pleasant surprise! Have you met?”

Mark plopped his head back down to his shoulders, his entire body turning in tandem to address Wilford. “We go way back.”

:D

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Prompt: “People who are okay don’t act like this.”

    One drink, downed. Then another. Then a third. He head barely buzzed; what kind of weak-ass drinks were these?

    Wilford signaled the bartender for another and settled back onto the stool, content to ogle the fine dogs and dames frequenting the joint tonight.

One gentleman in particular caught his eye; well-dressed, black hair slicked back with perfect, greasy shine, a silver-tipped cane dangling easily from his right hand. He looked like he could do many, many things with that cane.

They made eye contact; Wilford winked and made a gesture with his refilled drink, and just like that, that dashingly-handsome devil was making his way over, was sliding into the seat next to him and signaling the bartender for a round.

“Don’t often see gentlemen like you ‘round these types of places.” Wilford gulped down the rest of his drink, relishing the scorching burn of alcohol. Now his head was well and buzzed. He could hear it; like a tiny swarm of bees bzz-ing about in his ears. 

The gentleman flushed. God, Wilford thought. He had a nice smile. Reminded of someone he knew. “Am I really that obvious?”

Wilford grinned. “Like a ray of sunshine on a rainy day.” He said, and winked again, delighting in the delicate blush creeping across the gentleman’s cheeks. “Say, you have a name?”

The gentleman swirled his drink around in his glass, almost as if considering the question. “Mark,” he said finally, tilting the drink in his direction. “And you?”

“Wilford,” Wilford drawled.

Mark smiled, dark eyes glittering under the flickery lights of the dive bar. “How about we go for a walk, Wilford?”

Wilford stood, rummaging about in his pants pockets for a few bills. He slapped them down onto the bar. “Wouldn’t like anything better.”

    They left, exiting the rather raucous bar and emerging into the cool night. Stars winked half-heartedly from the black sky, mostly obscured by light pollution. 

    “Tell me about yourself.” His gait was a little uneven, but he thought he was doing pretty good for that time of night. He glanced at Mark, wondering perhaps if they would go dancing. “Handsome fellow like you, you gotta be here on business.”

    “Yes,” Mark said slowly. He paused, coming to a stop on the sidewalk and turning toward him. Suddenly, everything around them seemed to freeze; drunken men stopped in their shambling staggers, couples froze mid-stride. “Business . . . is why I have come.”

    Wilford looked around, uncertain and slightly confused at this turn of events. Still, his smile came easy. “What kinda business?”

    “Why don’t you tell me?” No longer were Mark’s eyes light and friendly. Now, they glared, as full of hate as anything Wilford had ever seen. “You like to have fun, don’t you, Wilford? Dancing, drinking, you’re always on the move. Like you’re running from something. People who are okay don’t act like this so tell me, what are you running from?”

    “Uh-” Don’t pick up strange, handsome men at dive bars. That was definitely a lesson he needed to learn. “I’m not running from anything, pal. I think you’ve got a couple screws loose.”

    “No, you do.” Mark grabbed him, shoving him up against the brick wall of the closest building-- a restaurant, its occupants frozen in place, in time-- “And you’ve got a lot to atone for, Willia-”

    He yelped, clutching at his gushing nose and releasing Wilford, who took the opportunity to break his kneecap with one well-aimed kick for good measure.

    “I don’t know who you are,” he said, as Mark clutched his knee and bled and rolled around on the ground. “But I think you’ve got the wrong chap.”

Okay so I hadn’t previously considered this interaction but I am 10576689405% down to fuck with it.

Also I am running on 4 hours sleep, work, and a six mile run, so have this monstrosity of a piece. (I officially qualify as badass now guys I have CLAIMED that title)

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Prompt: “You’ve gotten yourself into quite a mess.”

    This was not good. What the hell was even happening?

    Wilford paced the length of his talk-show set, custom-made shoes padding near-silent over thick carpeting- carpeting slowly soaking through with congealed blood. In one hand he held his gun- its muzzle still trailing a faint curl of smoke- and in the other he held his phone, nearly crushing its screen in his white-knuckled grip.

    “Come on, come on,” he muttered, eyes darting from his phone to the corpse on his floor and back again, as if sheer willpower could make either do what he wanted. But the dead body on the floor stayed dead and his phone stayed silent. No messages from Dark. No call back, despite Wilford having called a dozen times in the past hour.

    Of course, it would certainly help if someone decided to wake up from their ill-timed nap. Wilford paused in his pacing to shoot a dirty look and an obscene gesture at the body of his interviewee. It’d been hours, and this stunt was beginning to get a little old. 

    “My, my, my.” The lights above flickered suddenly as the words blew through the set, carried on a crooning breeze. “You’ve gotten yourself into quite a mess, haven’t you?”

    Wilford jumped when the man in red appeared behind him, peering over his shoulder, face twisted into a sneer.

    “Who the fuck-” Wilford dropped his phone. Spun. Raised his gun. “Whaddya think yer doin’, pal?”

    “Relax.” The man in red folded his hands in front of him, smiling a cheshire smile that didn’t reach his glittering eyes and revealed the empty, black gap of a missing tooth. “I just want to help.”

    Wilford huffed. Narrowed his eyes. “Don’t I know you?”

    Mark’s smile didn’t falter.  “I’m a friend of Dark’s,” he answered easily, tipping his head like one might tip a hat. 

    Wilford’s eyes popped open wide, and he grinned. “Marvelous! Have you seen ‘im around? He’s supposed to help me deal with this.” He waved his gun toward the corpse, which was still oozing blood into the carpet. Its eyes were wide, as if it could barely believe its own state. 

    Blood began to trickle from his nose. Mark pulled a pristine, white handkerchief from his pocket and dabbed at the flow. “I’m sure he’ll be along soon enough. But, for now . . .?”

    He gestured with the handkerchief toward the corpse,