Courtiers of Night

Between the foxtrot and a song of monkey, maybe it urges him to sit up. To think.

Because he did find the number [ 27 ] to have a funny smell.

He’s not a showman. That one isn’t a showster.

...

A body laid pale and thin and still is hard to imagine setting bare feet in green grass. Fingers frail as twigs are hard to imagine plucking up and carrying a chicken with ease, and eyes so dark and slit are hard to imagine looking wide and hopeful to an older figure, hoping to find her impressed. A carcass isn’t going to impress anybody.

Nevertheless, [MIDAS] once played outside with [???]. He followed her around, sat on the dock of their backyard pond and listened to her insight about how the fish would nest. He dipped his toes into the water after her and learned about how water became the clouds to feed the earth. He clutched her shirt and followed her lead down the path through the trees, and found an opening where butterflies played about. Once, he ran alongside his siblings and neighboring children, excited as the rest to explore the mansion that had just been moved out of. It’s not that big of a run. Catch your breath and keep going! The sunlight pouring through a window ten times bigger than him was worth the effort... The oddly shaped nooks and secret passageways were as well. A cellar... that had already gathered far more dust and mold than the other rooms... Perhaps it hadn’t been cleaned in some time. In the darkness of the underground, he wondered where his sister went.

Weakling.

One day, [???] came into his room, and commented, “You haven’t been in the sun in so long! I’m sure it doesn’t help!” It was the first time in a few weeks that she’d been in his room; he looked away.

Another baby was born, and he remembered the chickens; those same ones were no longer in the backyard, and these same ones wouldn’t be here by time the baby was old enough to pick them up. It didn’t matter; he knew the baby wouldn’t care to show him his patience, his strength. Can you look up to someone who has none?

His friends... Or rather, his sister’s friends, had forgotten something in the chaos of college. The few ones still in middle school decided to not to bother inviting him to sleepovers anymore; they knew he wouldn’t come anyway. Though, even if he did, who would want the trouble of that again? Something so frightening will throw off the entire mood.

It had been a year since his sister had checked in, now. It was almost a breath of fresh air. But... Do you remember running around outside? Her smile was as bright as the sun itself -- He asked the nurse to leave the curtains shut all through the next day.

...

Without words, someone with his own face spoke. Keep your eyes closed.

Wisps of boredom settle onto vexatious flower petals ;;

     ‘ one for each of us ‘ you say

     are we each blooming at our own pace?

Despite sprouting within the same garden, the weeds called ‘loneliness’ entangle only the purple to such extent. Surrounding her, drowning her in their ugly muck. Who will tend to the poor blossoms? How desperately she grasps any hand that tries, and yet, ‘ That isn’t enough ‘

How bothersome.

Continue to whine, and who will want to try anymore?

Ah, yes. Of course.

Feels like the more time that passes, the less he can remember..

Not that it was ever much in the first place..  But, it feels like something’s gone missing? Hm--

The clink of spoons within tin cans, scraping out the last of the cold beans. 

You sit on the concrete against a brick wall, happy as a clam, really.

Arsonists have delicate hands, so you wouldn’t think ‘em holding the match. It’s a fool’s twist! With blurry vision you can make out the faults in even the most careful smiles.

He feels the warmth of the sun’s fire daily, nightly. The angels that bask in heavenly glow -- he has to laugh at em. ‘Perfect’. Anything to strive for? Y’know, the universe itself is naturally dark.

The hat, crooked. The planter of seeds runs away after. The wrench obsesses over affairs, the stars have disgusting eyes, the youth is far too loud and greedy. What sort of ‘god’ picked them? And ha! Him? Him, who’s always ready to dive deeper? Present sins to the high court, but the truth is no one else cares.

The arsonists may have burnt his eyes, but that doesn’t free them from his judgement, at least. And that feeling, man, I hate them.  But guess he’s considered a ‘lucky one’, anyways.

After all, would he have it any other way? Really? Guess it’s for the jury to decide, but the sheep wouldn’t be happy here either. Doesn’t he like such dreams as ‘’family’’ too much?

What a stupid day spent... What was the point? Nothing was accomplished, except now lays a guilty feeling for emotions he didn’t even want to acknowledge in the first place.

And, that damned feeling around his neck again...

He’s as ingrained in you as that woman... But what does that mean?

He’d probably.. be pleased. Even with all the rules and difficulties, being.. autonomous, being able to move and make choices, having people he can actually talk to and have listen..

He already does feel it, that.. ‘happiness’ at how this life compares to the last, even if he can’t remember it. He still feels it, in his heavy and tired skin, that this world is somehow freeing. 

Hercules - Is your muse more physically strong, or emotionally strong?

Well? Is it strong to accept things as they come? Or is that a pushover?

Is it strong to hold yourself still against harsh wind in the branches, or is that lazy?

To care more about the flavor of your soup than the claws on the back of your head, is that brave or reckless?

To move quickly through trees and corners of the ceiling both, to easily lift both yourself and your victim into the maws, is that..?

 096. How do they move and carry themselves? What energy do they project?

Oh... Hm... Probably a sort of air of... serenity? Calm? ... Confident? He carries himself straight and tall, but not really with conscious effort -- It’s relaxed, his walk. And it’s one that always seems to know where it’s going, even if he has no aim in particular.

Really, he could be collapsed in a beanbag with a bag of junk food, and still somehow give off an energy of maturity and peace. Even of love. Somehow.

044. What disgusts them?

Disgust. That’s a funny thing~

Pinocchio - How honest is your muse? What is their moral stance on white lies?

Bambi - What is your muse’s relationship with their parents like?

... Poor. Not like he sees them all that often, anyway...

Mom is... annoying... Simultaneously oh so worried about his wellbeing, and the same completely uncaring about what kind of person she’s actually reaching for. Dad... almost the opposite? He seems to actually listen to him a bit more, but.. He finds himself unconfident in saying dad actually likes him much.. Especially after overhearing complaints about the bills. ... Still, he has stronger memories of him actually.. trying...

011. How would your character court the person of their dreams?

... ... ... .... Exist... near... Be quiet... ... Wait for opportunities to arise... to exist... very slightly... more near...