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 Posted: Sat Aug 02, 2014 5:16 pm
The meetings felt stilted, rudimentary, unnecessary. Five long years passed since his initial failure to maintain his loyalty, yet he continually suffered the dutiful and maddeningly efficient eye of general Schörl every Saturday, as mandatorily arranged. Luckily some concessions were made due to his preference for nightfall and the pressing need to hide his visage from those who served the Negaverse for its wholesome image.
Tonight, light filled the air like thick smog, clouding out what meager stars still hung in the sky. Only darkness reigned overhead, enveloping the world in a choking reminder of the Dark Kingdom's ubiquitous onslaught. The creature crested the lip of the building with no difficulty, and straightened the tattered remains of his coat before descending toward the officer's club before him. A smattering of torches afforded both ambience and lighting to a more exotic decorative theme, complete with imported tables of old world wood and brought iron. Screened and approved artistic decorations, from flags hung between a pair of large poles to small paintings emblazoned on the mugs, hinted toward some rotten old culture abandoned across the ocean. He found little interest in the gaudy drink coasters, the ornate chairs or the perpetually useless decorative designs tracing the bar and matching stools.
Despite all his reservations, Bischofite sat as he always did - by dragging one chair from the tables across the floor, utilizing not an ounce of his amplified power to lift the legs, and ultimately swapped it with a bar stool providing more height and room for his abominably heavy wings. And once he ensured that he was settled, that the coaster stayed perpetually on his right - face down - and that the long fingers of his wings never touched the ground, he settled in wait for Schörl.
Schörl: sometimes early, sometimes late, sometimes excruciatingly on time. She played the game for the fun of the game, played every game without qualm or question, unless the game's foundation lay in questioning. And without Quenton, without pining distraction or whims of the heart left to fester and rot his faculties, Bischofite harbored an interest in the formerly aggravating officer that left him sometimes- sometimes-not delighted in meeting here.
Tonight, he found, was a sometimes-not night.
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Posted: Sat Aug 02, 2014 6:47 pm
Schörl walked with poise born of some years now practice of using her dragon cane for utility instead of weapon alone. It was a practices sway-stutter, open daring any to question what had happened, but never leading to it. To her lessened delight. She didn't look to see if Bischofite was at their table. He knew which one they claimed at the officer's club when it was the chosen place. Her attention tracked instead to one of the lieutenants tasked with wait service for the evening. It was a concession made to avoid 'scaring the normals' with the other officers foreign flare. A lift of a gloved hand and the tea service was hastily retrieved to accompany her to the table. Little cups, little teapot, little tea cakes and cookies, ganached fruits and tiny sandwiches. All delicate and gilt with tarnishing silver. She didn't want it polished. It match him better as it was. "No need to feather you this week. Someday." A longstanding joke, or maybe threat. She took in every detail, like looking at a Bosch, of the hues in night illumination of the veins of the thin skin beneath his eyes, the carriage of muscles in his wings and neck. "How will you take your tea? Its Russian Caravan." But was it JUST tea. As the Lieutenant poured them each a cup, the aroma certainly smelled like tea. But was it a little off?
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Posted: Sun Aug 03, 2014 10:13 am
The creature sat unamused with his surroundings, gaze half-lidded with simmered irritation, while he ritually tapped clawed nails against the old wood surface. The solid thunk offered in response both pleased and irritated him - pleased as he could see his own prior damages, the worn dents in the table; irritated as he knew a sullen, mostly-buried impulse crept into the far recesses of his mind, urging for a more elaborate pattern and grace. He knew it well, knew every twitch and itch and start of his fingers toward indulging in such small and ineffectual expressions, but offered no heed to it. Even now, years later... He knew every tone, scale and clef as readily as he had long before the advent of the Negaverse.
Luckily Schörl arrived in timely fashion, offering a distraction from an otherwise unpleasant impulse. The creature regarded her with the same severity as issued when his gaze scraped across their surroundings - a measure of contempt, exasperation, some dash of confinement, yet for Schörl herself came a small spark of interest, for she never let him down in some of her unpredictable schemes.
If nothing else, that was something they both could appreciate.
"Get surgery already," he greeted. "You look like an invalid, walking around like zat." Making a case for enacting Anthem for us, no doubt. When will they dispose of you, Schörl? When do you lose your usefulness in your asinine nostalgia for these frivolous ambiences? I've been waiting for a long time, now. You'll be missed, I suspect, felt in some deadened manner, but chaos seeps into all holes in due time. Her greeting offered a margin of mirth, mostly dulled by low lighting, but he offered no response. Tarred already, for many years - yet never feathered, not anymore.
As the lieutenant placed the serving tray between the pair, Bischofite eyed all the carefully arranged appetizers and silverware in the same heavy fashion. "You know I hate your trite, outmoded culture stains, Schörl. You know I hate ze obligatory questions, ze stupid diction involved, ze cups zat I can't hold, ze silverware zat's useless, and zis damnably ugly club zat serves as nossing more zan a reminder of ze past." My past, sometimes. With a last drum of his fingers, the creature folded one arm atop the other as he rested his elbows on the table, leveling with her. "All zese tawdry gestures, zese little rehearsals... You must find quite a lot of fun in it, Schörl - in placing a Geiger painting among Thomas Kinkades."
The comparison alone illustrated the majority of what he know about fine art - even living with Quenton offered little knowledge of such trifles.
"You know how zis goes. Drown it in sugar, and I'll drink it when it's sweet to taste." All the names, the tastes blended together. Food and drink tasted of utility now, his interest in such long drowned in his years of service. His gaze sunk to the cups, mind drifting toward a time long passed when Captain Schörl delivered to him a picnic basket of the greatest flavors he'd ever known. In that time, he knew keenly the value of many stimuli to his senses. In that time, he detested his own existence as a half-youma. In that time, he missed Quenton.
Oh, Quenton, he thought to himself. When are you going to give up and die, you rotting pile of philosophies? Long ago we proved your points moot, yet you still insist on crawling about this insipid little planet.
"So is it time for ze rounds of questioning? Or do you prefer to watch me struggle wis' tiny sandwiches and fragile tea cups for a while longer?" As it was, tar already stained the rooftop on many an occasion. Most, now, used it as a sign to tell of where he'd been - what stomping grounds he frequented, what alleys he perused.
A hindrance as much as a boon.
For a moment, he allowed his gaze to stray to the general's eyes - vibrant olive as they were, a hint of rust looming toward her heavily lashed lids. Deep. They looked softer than her cousin's, far less austere, yet not meek. It's so strange to look at people beneath the chaos. Someone's there, enshrouded in Metallia's power yet not drowned by it.. I wonder if I could say the same for myself. How entertaining, but it seems I've forgotten how to laugh about it.
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Posted: Mon Aug 04, 2014 6:31 pm
"Talking about invalids and appearances seems a few ranks above your pay-grade, Scissorhands. The truth of a limp has its purposes- as Stroud it makes me pitiable and approachable. As Schörl, my subjects of study have something to latch onto. Something unique to crawl down their spine as I approach their cell. Being unique, and the advantages of the marring, should be something you need no explanation of. Guantanomite has had no complaints." "You should watch the surveillance sometime. Same beast as fidget-itch of people you've branded when they see streaks of tar dragged down the sidewalk." Her smile grew more creamy as his tirade of hate continued. "It's nice to see you fired up, " Obligingly she opened the sugar dish, leaning forward with her own spoon to portion five dollops of sugar in and stir it. With the heat of the tea, it managed to dissolve to a supersaturate. She didn't put any in her own, put the spoon aside on her plate. "Drink your haterade." She looked back at his regard, her gaze perfectly steady an unperturbed. Looking at the yellow pits that shifted volatile between boredom and fury from breath to breath on any day. "There's no new trophies on your tail. Slow week?" She knew the exact count of them and what each was. The devil was in the details. If he was bored too long in the field without playthings, then he brooded. When he brooded, he got himself into trouble. He was looking so much at her face, at her eyes, she had a feeling she knew just what sort of trouble he might be brewing around in his crystal-addled brain.
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Posted: Tue Aug 05, 2014 7:23 pm
"If nossing else, your knack for repurposing overt setbacks qualifies you for anozzer year of existence among our ranks." Though I won't be terribly surprised if you're finally busted for hoarding senshi propaganda and paraphernalia, given your misplaced obsession with the Arts. The creature drummed fingers on the table with his free hand wrapped about his jawline. "You need not explain ze ambience behind impending doom - not when I utilize it myself. A limp seems razzer underplayed compared to a few extra voices or ze constant drip of tar. But I suppose ze price paid for such... uniqueness lies beyond your barter." No doubt you can afford it - but you choose not to.
"You should show me videos of your work instead. I expect it should be interesting - watching how ze crippled Schörl addresses her... Audience." Gold eyes cast toward her with a slight smirk.
Ruffling feathers no longer in existence, Bischofite sent flecks of tar splattering across the already damaged floor. He never fully heeded it as he addressed the spread of tea and hors d'oeuvres before him. "You must find it terribly delightful to watch me deal wis' zis pas'etically fragile china." While he expended a great deal of concentration in raising the cup without shattering it between talons, he briefly entertained the notion of breaking the cup over Schörl's lap for a tea-stained eve. However, knowing her well after the handful of years, he knew she'd enjoy the gesture.
"Zere's no way to win wis' you." Taking a sip, he remained largely unmoved by the flavor. Due to his body's unique composition, he never fully tasted food and drink anymore. All but the most pungent flavors blended together in a murky aftertaste of tar - tea included. "I'f not caught a senshi in some time, despite my ability to entrap zem. It seems zey'f wizened up to calling backup when I am sighted - ze downside to uniqueness. I expect I'll haf' to shift tactics again if I want to complete my collection."
Another sip, the cup poised to obscure his mouth. "Work wis' me, Schörl."
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Posted: Wed Aug 06, 2014 3:03 am
"Blacking out the baby bunker is not, oh Prince of Pitch, a setback. As for the entertainment, I do find it A-plus. Superior to the mass entertainments of Osumilite or the propaganda machine- consumed in daily dose white bread ration, forgotten. This is a Warhol, a new silkscreen every week with inconsistencies and new shades. Maybe even some oxidation. Our Roman Holiday, on a small scale. " "No one else shares the morose delectation, my friend, like you do." She picked up a fruit, holding it in teeth a moment visible before swallowing it behind mirth. "Winning is playing, losing is boredom. You're playing for different stakes." There's nothing so boring as perfection. "...I like collections. They have a nostalgia for memories filtered through constructed perceptions. You know how I love a good adventure. What did you have in mind? "
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Posted: Sun Aug 10, 2014 10:02 am
Soon the handle of his cup broke beneath the stress, yet quick reflexes saved the falling cup from spilling the entirety of its contents on the creature. However, a sizable amount of tea splashed out from overcorrection, staining into the already hopelessly tattered uniform. Bischofite himself offered little recognition of it beyond a half-lidded seethe; he knew no actual pain from the hot tea itself.
Setting both fragments of teacup atop its saucer, Bischofite settled for the assortment of cookies and fruits that required no use of utensils beyond his long talons. He spoke while he speared a wedge of cantaloupe. "Eizer you're talking up ze occasion or none of zese so-valued contributions to art offer much joy to you, Schörl." Taking a bite, he eyed the impale point for any signs of black tar. Unsurprisingly, he found a sliver of it eking down his finger while intermixed with the juice of the fruit. "Ze only art of meaning to me is an arrangement of corpses left by our enemies. And even zen, it sounds a measure... Pretentious. I'll leaf' ze art studies to you, Schörl; I haf' more a propensity to cover all zis rot in tar."
Bischofite took the remainder of cantaloupe off his talon with his teeth, chewing thoughtfully. Winning is leaving this ugly setup sooner. I don't belong in society, and you just find that exciting. No - I win when you lose. So how might I bore you?
"You might be aware zat I used to practice taxidermy in my... More human days. Often zis involved excising ze guts of ze corpse and reforming ze skin around a polyures'ane mold. Afterward I was left wis' ze pile of rotting flesh, but I had found a use for ze bone left behind - one could carf'e or paint it to suit different demographics. More succinctly, I am no stranger to making use of deas'. So why don't we bos' set out to win somesing? You can explain to me ze facets and uses of art in our culture today, and in turn I can reshape somesing of an enemy to suit your interest in 'art'. We wreak a lot of deas', Schörl. Surely somesing left of it might fashion into a candlestick holder for your favorite hutch."
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Posted: Mon Aug 11, 2014 6:40 pm
"So bent on convincing me, or yourself? That you hold no appreciation for art." She leaned to take the broken pieces, saucer and their tar to her side. She started attaching bits of other tea service and food to the tar as it cooled. "It is the language without words, the media infinite as the subjects. As Chaos itself. Creativity and Chaos are the thousand possibilities and thousand mistakes. Art is knowing which ones to keep. " "You're very funny insisting that everything and anything involved in Chaos or this world must be 'useful'. Something that can be employed for a purpose, taken advantage of, applied or consumed. Art creates thought. The world exists independent of mind, but obtains of no meaning in itself- not without the mind imposing it. Art creates meaning by creating thought, comparison. It is the meaning and light our otherwise blind eyes can see. " She held up the amalgamation of objects stuck to the broken cup and saucer, "Even if its ugly."
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Posted: Fri Aug 15, 2014 10:51 am
"I'm tired of staring at paintings far older zan I wis' no interest or appreciation for zese... Purported communications zat wholly escape me. It sounds to me like you're trying to convince me zat I should like it." Chaotic it may be, but ineffectual as well. i wonder how many artists out there profess to hate art. As communication, it may spur action, but... So often it just hangs on a wall.
I hate French because I know so little of it. I wonder if art fares the same?
"Chaos lacks meaning to ze mind. We, as humans - or some measure zereof - are not built wis' ze faculties to ferret out any meaning from utter chaos. We may pick and choose some flecks zat remind us of somesing personal, somesing meaningful, but overall we are not privy to ze understandings wrought by chaos. Art is simply human engineered chaos - our shoddy facsimile of ze reality behind it. But if zat wretched scrap of chaos amounts to human understanding of our goals, zen so be it. Only in its whole can art amount to somesing of more chaotic origin."
The creature's bored gaze shifted toward a conglomeration of shattered cup steeped in tar, now hardening into a more definite shape. "It just looks like broken s**t stabbed into a remainder of tar. What are you trying to say here, Schörl?" The creature shot her an exasperated glance while he framed one eye between taloned hands.
Soon he stood, pushing against the table as he rose, and circled the meticulous display of tea tray to where Schörl's chair sat. A single finger brushed against the top of its back, lingering only at the end of its journey. Finally he braced both heels on either side as he leaned forward. "Haf' you considered orchestrating an art movement to draw out what few supporters of ze senshi remain? I suspect few still ascribe to such messods of self-expression in a state so disdainful of ze act. I wonder... Schörl, what will become of us when we lose all humanity?"
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Posted: Sat Aug 16, 2014 1:26 am
"So sure of human capacity. But it is regular life from which even the Queen takes her officers, takes her energy. It is humans that case the starseeds that everything depends on...so small of things. And derision unless something can be neatly pigeon holed- how anti chaos of you. And very Occidental. 'Whatever a man pursues with his thinking and pondering, that becomes the inclination of his awareness' spoke Gautama. You answer your own questions, really. You keep getting distracted from your studies of true Chaos to become more than fleeting, 'human engineered' glimpses. " "No patience for Enlightenment. We could dress you in orange robes and send you to Tibet." "Queen Metallia suffers no rivals of 'inhumanity', and her examples are youma." Schörl watched his approach, her expression gaining a playful half-grin. Who lose all humanity become slaves indeed, if you want to stick to bald proof. The difference being, for all of us, are we wearing a full collar or a leash. And how much we care about that. The civilians and youma are slaves to the officers, the officers to Metallia. Tidy and neat. "Whole movements are hardly necessary, with post-postmodernism so thoroughly ingrained. But my track record of finding out sympathizers has been very good as is. Unless just for fun sake. Less a movement as a theme. Like that CowParade that started in '99? I wonder how many would have Youma features out of Destiny City. " "Would you like to make some art, Bischofite? Having a street festival...free food, art installations and live painting on some walls, live bands. Those sorts of things always draw out the masses. A well mobilized crew could cross-reference medical records from the energy donation centers against Google Glass data sent back from booth workers and security personal. We'd be able to see who has new injuries that aren't well accounted for. Or who doesn't exist in the donation database at all....but shows up for food and hoping to get lost in the crowd."
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Posted: Wed Aug 20, 2014 7:35 pm
"You're quick to judge, as always." And one of the rare reminders of Quenton's merits - his debates never warranted tearing down the opposition. Playing with you now would be no different than treating a child for bad behavior. Everything is a joy to you, isn't it Schörl? How easy that life must be. You have no patience for teaching, for debate - possibly no want of it. State your case and move along; everyone else is just s**t on the road if they don't fall in line. The elongated digits settled against the shoulders of her uniform, pressing deeply to remind her of their hierarchy. "I could dress you in your finest and send you to a pine box, since you're so eager to tread zat pas'."
Her reference pulled no recognition from the creature but he listened nonetheless. "I never followed art." Post-postmodernism? Bischofite snorted. "Do as you please. It is your chance to teach me ze wonders of art - if you haf' ze patience for zat sort of endeavor.
"A street festival..." The youmafied soverign drummed his fingers atop her shoulders. "It sounds promising. If we advertise it widely, such a sorough scan should pick up several of our opposition. If you are willing to pursue it, I can assign you some subordinates to assist in ze organization - and a word to Buddingtonite should secure proper advertisement... Assuming I can keep him out of it. Ze grunt work can be left to captains and lieutenants, provided zey haf' a decent track record. And once ze festival is underway, we can sit back and enjoy ze spoils."
He paused, smiling faintly. Leaning inward, he spoke against the fine blonde hairs curled around Schörl's ear. "I wonder if your cousin will show up. He always fancied ze arts."
If not, there may be other chances. He may be dead. We can't know for certain - and that is a joy itself.
Straightening up, Bischofite circled around the table, an index finger pressed to its edge before he halted next to his chair. "I sink we're done here, Schörl. Don't you? Surely you'f enough to report for my continued servitude to ze Negaverse."
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Posted: Thu Aug 21, 2014 9:31 pm
"Why bother with a box? Unusually thoughtful of you, luv." Schörl didn't flinch as he dug into her shoulders, or the not-so-veiled intimations on her life. " Unless you just favor my corpse being treated to the full deprecations of worms and putrefaction. The city cremates its Jane Does." As the youma-king whispered to her very ear, she waited. As he backed, she followed the motion enough to lick his chin in response. Patience. I can have it when its necessary. To get what I want. Such as...that. My cousin. A direct reference. You ARE thinking of him so much again. I see. "I do. Thank you, General-King. Guantanomite will be glad for the check." "Be well."
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