Revelry - (Mamatashi and Desu)

[Desu Juice]

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PURGATORY

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Legit Mood Music:

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[media]

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=80P3wRY5h6g[/media]​

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"Hah."

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The only sound, a short gasp, wretched from his lips and quickly plucked from the air by stoic silence, delicately perched on cold air.

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The air- it was heavy, in short gasps he breathed it in, took it into his nose and lungs- it was unholy, heavy, thick, like lead soup.

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It was only a bludgeoned similie to the world that subsisted around his small frame.

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Thin shoulders trembled, the small frame struggling to consume the atmosphere around him, he felt very much like a drowning duck- like he could swim away, yet he couldn't- he was sinking. The ocean was drawing him in like a jewel then closing in around him.


Then, a quiet, stirring breeze traced over the terra; it eased the air back into his body, and his eyes fluttered open.


Believing he had gone blind, his hands groped upwards, to his face, only stilling when they hit the hard surface of his mask- the grinning cat, a mad cat. A cheshire grin, and a sigh of relief was born in his lungs. Slowly, Zachary tilted his body over, hands on terrain, pushing his body into a slightly splayed out sitting position.


Hands reached face again, adjusting the mask so that he could see out of the dark eye holes.


The world was concealed in a thick, creamy fog. There was no sign of a sun, only dry, grey, cracked ground that occasionally gave way to small, black brambles and tall, and gnarled trees with a bark resembling the hands of death. Grey, rough, cracked, and terrifying, caressing the landscape with both enthused malice and love.


The world looked sick, as if it had contracted some kind of disease, borne from the womb of madness.


His hands sifted through the dirt- oh, it was very real. This was no dream, the ground was firm and soft and very much real.

 

[Mamatashi]

The dead silence around him was disturbing. More so that he held his breath so it would not be interrupted. In ordinary consequences he would have needed to take in another breath, but this was no ordinary situation, and he knew it.


He waited for something else to anger the silence, it would not be his doing. He had not known how long he had been here. It was strange. It could have been just a few minutes or years. Time did not seem to exist in the darkness that he laid still in. It was simply... Irrelevant. He was still trying to grasp the concept as no second passed by.


The darkness, he also kept his eyes close so that he would not look into it. Somehow it seemed- alive. More so than him. This was a place that had never known light, not a trace of it. The damped humid think air held a pair of non existing eyes that he would keep his own close so that he would not look into it.


His mind grew blank, spirit calm and chest not beating. Despite all of this there was not a trace of fear in him. There was nothing to be afraid of.


The only motion he made was his ear perking and twitching as a sound was made. The silence had been interrupted. He heard an uneasy shifting not so far but far enough.


And he opened his mouth to utter his first words since the begging of this madness.


"Welcome to death."

 

[Desu Juice]

(( Zachary probably didn't hear that, so... ))


He sat there for who-knows-how-long, hands flat against monochrome soil, eyes wide and searching, legs tense and neck craned forward, as quick bursts of steam billowed out from under his mask- his lungs contracted quickly and expanded twice as fast.


The air was ice against his body, terror against his eyes and suddenly, suddenly in the silence he felt his mind slip, a CD skipping, an amatur disk jokey holding his breath as his hands missed the right effect.


It was then that he realized he had no heartbeat, the sound of blood roaring through his ears was utterly absent, and not a drop of fresh blood stirred in his veins. He was dead, and the memory of whatever had severed his life was gone, long forgotten. Where the end of his life should have been in his mind was nothing, a big blank canvas. At least he knew it was not splattered with red, scarlet, crimson- he had not been murdered, at least not intentionally.


He gave a loud, interrupting chuckle, "Ha ha ha," then was quickly smitten with silence all over again.


His mind found the concept to be unbelievably amusing, and in a grim and horrible way.


A birdcall nearly sent the man into an impossible cardiac arrest (what with no heart and all), and his legs unwinded like springs, quickly forcing him up. He was shaking violently at this point, so he hastily wrapped his arms around himself and listened, waited for the cry to return- and he didn't have to wait long.


Whatever kind of bird it was, it had the most intense call Zachary had ever witnessed. It was hollow, intense, and so throaty and sad it sent chills down Zachary's spine.


This was an evil place.


(( Think of the bird-call sound in the mood-music above. ))

 

[Mamatashi]

Realizing that he had been utterly ignore, he settled himself back down. The dim fluttering feeling of hope dying out with his hype. Or maybe it had just been his imagination, he chuckled at the thought.


Keeping his eyes closed he pushed himself up to stand and stretch out. The hard floor had not been so kind to his back. He tilted his head far back to the right and it snaped like a small twig, than the other.


Reaching by his side, he grabbed onto the thick fabric of his trench coat and tore a strip from the end and tied it back to his eyes to make sure he would not look into the nothingness.


This was not quite hell, it was perniciously horrid but at the same time too pure and un-corrupted. This was worst than hell, this was absolute heaven. He felt the slight tug on the corner of his mouth curl into a grim grin.


He than set out for his adventure. Walking and not caring if he were to walk into anything he kicked the dirt around with the soles of his shoes and clicked his tongue waiting for the silence to come with a ripping scream of anger at him. Nothing crossed his path and the air now blew coolly and silently. Slipping through his hair and rippling back his clothes. The ticking of his tongue was soft, but in a place like this it ringed his ears.


He stopped and took a deep breath of what was not oxygen but something heavier and led based and held it in. He kept walking into the unknown waiting for a greater force to stop him.


A crackle stabbed a ripped through air echoing through his ear and causing his eardrums to ring in pain before he realized the sound was coming from him. Just as easily as he was able to get up, he was brought right back down on the floor on his knees. His arms warped around himself, holding his sides and head thrown back at an extreme angle. All he could manage to speak thought his laughter were three chocked out ragged words.


"I'm Fucking dead!"

 

[Desu Juice]

Once the call slowly faded to a bare-boned echo, the world grew silent again, a kind of silent that only the dead hear, six feet under.


Alone in his own mind, Zachary took another breath and stood up, glancing at the sky to try and pinpoint the sun, something, anything that could help him. Oh please, anything.


Did he expect a God to be watching him? Did he expect astral, all-knowing eyes to swipe along his pitiful form, maybe?


Maybe he hoped to be plucked from the grey ground and set into heaven by a warm hand and an all-knowing smile.


But there was nothing, nothing but the smoky wind and fog, nothing but the throaty bellow of the bird rising into a warble yet again. He was alone, oh God, he was all alone.


Slowly, shakily, he released his body from its self-hug, and let his arms travel into his hair, ruffling it, running through the messy, black cowlicks until he felt himself become calm.


And only when he knew he had control over his mind, did he start off in a random direction, slowly, ever-so cautiously, slinking into the thick fog.


~~~


There, somewhere in the grey dunes was a forest of ashen, gnarled trees. Their branches twisted into the sky like angry hands, sheltering a small, semi-dense clearing of seven-foot tall, yellow grass. It was a wide expanse of grass too, sometimes broken by an occasional red poppy flower, a single reminder of the world the dead once lived in.


This grassy space broke off in its center, where a small, rare creek bubbled happily in the only, small ring of dirt that was not populated by the tall grass.


In fact, the utter length of the wild, yellow grass around it concealed the creek well, as well as its surroundings- poppies and brambles and thick, wet, grey soil that later birthed strange, small purple marsh-fruits with interesting tastes and smells.


Around the entire field and creek was an expanse of trees, a large ring, filled with the strange sounds of snarling, roaring, and growling. It is said that no soul has ever ventured there and lived.


One did.


He sat there now, cross-legged in the mud, torso leaning precariously forward, and hands afloat in the cold water. A black, leather shirt with silver shoulder-spikes clung to his small and skinny, yet well-defined torso, and black leather pants, complementing the shirt in design, sat equally as tight on his skin. Three silver chains hung from them, connecting his back pockets to his front pockets.


He was barefoot, and alarmingly skinny, and lanky.


His hands and feet were extremely pale, and of marble-like texture. His nails were blue, and quite obviously frostbitten, yet still could move and retained all sense and feeling.


Though, on his hands, his nails were short, but contained a fine layer of grime stuck on their undersides, most likely from digging through the ground in search of insects and fruit.


This man had been here a long, long, long time. He was almost as old as the grass and the trees and the creek, almost as old as the little red poppies swaying in the wind.


A mask was conjoined with the skin on his face in reverence of his madness, a long, tragic abnormality that had possessed every aspect of his life before purgatory.


It was hard, dirty, off-white and leathery- and encased his entire head but the top of it- revealing short, dark-brown patchy hair, scalp showing where the man had possessed the audacity to pull it out.


The eye holes were far away from his eyes, enough so that nothing but darkness could be seen in the sockets of the mask. The visor's left eye hole was smaller than the right, and a small ring was traced around it--the ring being the size of the other eye hole. The mask had a small, nose-shaped protrusion instead of a nose-hole, and the mouth of the mask was wide, open, and arranged into a shape resembling a mouth about to bite into a sandwich. Thanks to the wideness of the hole, one could see the man's lips, chapped, blue-ish, and sickly-looking.


The visage opened into a small hole for the man's ears on each side.


He sat there on the bank of the creek so still, he appeared to be nothing but a statue.


A facade of a man, he was defeated by time.

 

[Mamatashi]

After he was forced to stop laughing and take in a breath of thick air an awful realization hit him. Much worst than being in this place. So much worst. Now extreamly angry and face boiling over body temperature he gathered himself up and screamed at the darkness. Fury building up in his abb, traveling up this troat, and filling his mouth before leaving.


"Ok! This isn't funny anymore! You can let me go now! I have a very important lunch tonight at Le Boison." Or maybe it was already night and he's been here fore hours. Or maybe he's been here only a few minutes. the silence stayed silent, not replying back and he continued.


"Table for five, I requested a booth. You know, it's not easy to get a reservation there! If I miss it I'll have to wait a month before I get another one. If I miss it I swear to g-o-d I'll-" you'll what? The wind seemed to blow before he could Finnish shouting his sentence. And it was right. How do you punish the night?


Once again he fell to his knees in hard breath. He had tonight planned out he even bought a suit that was well worth the price, designed by Mark Fruiten himself. He taken the man out drive to make his suit for this special occasion. He tried to negotiate nicely with a decent sum of money before he was pushed to taking more... serious measures. He convinced the famous man to design his garments and after the satin clothes were handed to him he leaft. For a split second the smiled, imagine the face of the next person to fins his bloody body parts neatly and artistically -if he does think so himself- pinned up by nails against the seventy fifth building. That place was a filth corner for homeless negros so one of them would find him. It's funny how things turn out. How unfortunate that worthless eyes would see the art their small junkie minds would never beging to comprehend. He should have put it somewhere whereas tail people would see. But Mark was rather one of his best work. He should have kept it, he decided now.


"I'm gonna pissed off. I swear to -"


He was stopped again this time by the rush of cleansed relief. He didn't need to go to that dinner anyways. They were all idiots. He should be thanking the darkness for getting him out of conversations with said girlfriend who blabbed about who said what and who sucked up who and the constant yapping of said friend jittering for their next coke high. How so very unclassy. He thought about turning them into one of this pin up artworks before but decides they were not deemed to be put in such beautiful display while Mark has earned his place.It was a shame about le boison though. He would have to wait another month to get another reservation and see what all the buzz was about. That is if he is to ever leave this place.he would not wait a month, just pull a few strings from connection he had to get I the next day. Again, if he leaves and silence told him he wouldn't.


One more time he tried getting himself up before he decided to pass his none existing time takin a walk and exploring a little. You see so much more when you can't see at all.

 

[Desu Juice]

(( Fantastic post, mon amie. ))


He continued stalking the rank bowels of purgatory, each step taking the small figure further across the thick, grey soil until he couldn't take it anymore, he stopped.


Just stopped.


He just couldn't do it- couldn't keep going like this. His feet hurt, his head hurt, his eyes ached.


The quick intakes of breath he tried to take every so often wound up solidifying on the inside of his mask, leaving water beading under the heavy plastic, mingling with the dampness of his brow.


It was sticky, and uncomfortable. But he dared not take the thing off. It would only result in one thing, and that one thing was the single solid problem Zachary was not willing to face anytime soon.


His breathing soon wore into rushed gasps as his feet flew over the ground in a sharp, jerky manner. Zachary was now running, running from this merciless place. And it was only after a few minutes of this did he realize that that sound wasn't a bird--it was a scream.


A very human, very angry scream.


And it was close, so close, too close.


Zachary grew delighted, suddenly, in a very primal, very mad part of his mind. He quickened his steps, and no longer looking exactly where he was going, he barreled through the fog, past a few black, twisting trees, and tripping over a scrubby-looking cluster of brambles, landed face first in front of a man in formal attire.