Shamus was making plans for his trip. A trip above all others. A journey to find himself. He packed light only taking necessary clothing, a small journal he said he would write in, and a few knives. Just enough that would fit into a backpack. All was set now, he was ready to go. He slung the backpack over his shoulders and walked over to this motorcycle. As he was going to mount the bike, he noticed something shining on the ground not far away. Curiosity brought its grasp around him and so he moved forward to to take a look. Upon a closer inspection, he found that it was a pocket watch. Shamus immediately scooped the watch over in his hands, turning it this way and that as he listened to its ticking. A broad grin took to his features at the luck of finding a perfect pocket watch and stowed it away.
After a few calls of telling a select few of what he planned and where he was going, he remounted the bike. As he set to kickstart the engine, he smacked himself in the forehead and pulled out the journal to write.
Luck be with me on this special day of my departure. A pocket watch that I did fine which sings the tune of a long lost melody. Its rhythm fills my soul and yearning for more. I imagine it will be an exciting adventure with such a prize.
With that he put up the journal, started the motorcycle, and took off on his journey.
Ticking Clock
-
Shamus
- Registered User
- Posts: 934
- Joined: 17 Jul 2011, 16:38
Re: Ticking Clock
It was a long arduous ride that Shamus had before him. He didn't think that far ahead as he didn't even bring a map or look at one for that matter. All he knew was that he needed to travel south and that while on the motorcycle it felt like he was on the wings of a an eagle. But the ride was starting to take its toll. It was a couple of hours away from sunrise, he was hungry, tired, and had no clue where he was. Yet he still found some humor in the situation, some joy in his closing darkest hour; He still was alive listening to the ticking of his clock.
Seconds passed that seemed like hours as he flew down the interstate. By chance he manged to come across a little no name town. He was surprised he did not blink and miss it. The bike was in some desperate need of gas and he needed a place to crash so he was at least thankful. Like a beacon of light from the heavens a shabby run down motel loomed near by. The smallest silver lining on a dark cloud. He parked the bike out front, dusted himself off, and went to head inside. Whether on a conscious level or not he automatically shrouded himself with a bit of shadows, just enough to cross the threshold as he played a chance at fate.
There was a beautiful young woman working the front of the place that was slipping in and out of consciousness the moment Shamus walked in. The shadows released their hold on him the moment she noticed him. He was unsure just what all she had noticed, but she did not seem to be worried about anything at all. As he made his way to the counter, he took notice of the lighting and began to concentrate on making a shadow trail after him in position of the light, almost failing. He shook his head a bit, muttering to himself, "Soon..." Upon his words the girl perked up, "Good morning, my name is Natasha. Would you be interested in a room for one?"
Everything hit Shamus like a ton of bricks all at once: I am supposed to be dead, how will I make it out without bringing suspicion, and so much more. This would have to be played carefully if he was to manage this. He closed his eyes for a few moments, before leaning out on the desk and looking her in the eyes, "The truth of the matter is, Natasha... I need someone--- Wait, you are at least eighteen, aye?" Natasha gave a small nod and he quirked a bit of a grin, though it only went up on the right side, "Picture this, will you?" He turned and began making exaggerated hand gestures as he talked, "This little town having malls, movie theaters, restaurants, drive ins, salons, and bigger things than you could ever imagine!" He slammed his hand down on the counter at this point. He looked into her eyes seeing them glow brightly in wonder, "I will make this small town into a metropolis. All I need..." He took her hands in his, making sure to hold her gaze steady, "Is for someone who knows this place really well to tell me where I should put what where. To put it basically, a partner. What do ya say?" She could hardly speak from the excitement, but overcame it quite quickly. She was jumping up and down, squeezing his hands roughly, "Oh yes! I will!" He gave her a smile and a nod, "Good deal. Set us up a room for two and come by later when you get off work so we can talk business." She handed him a key and told him the number. As he began to walk off she asked him, "What is the name of my new partner?" He tilted his head to the side as he looked back at her, "Why Frank of course." He thought to himself as the ticking grew louder and louder on his way to the room, "Because I like to be frank."
He sat down on the bed and pulled out the journal, figuring he would try his best to write in it once a day on his journey to record his thoughts.
Today seemed to go better than expected. It must be because of the watch I found. I figured I would of had to end up placing her in the ice dispenser or somewhere similar and put an entry in for the room myself. I feel almost sorry for the girl, though. She will have no idea what is coming, but it will be worth it to get the look in her eyes. Dinner and a show, what luck. People are so easy sometimes...
With that, he put the journal away and laid down to rest, waiting on dinner to arrive.
Seconds passed that seemed like hours as he flew down the interstate. By chance he manged to come across a little no name town. He was surprised he did not blink and miss it. The bike was in some desperate need of gas and he needed a place to crash so he was at least thankful. Like a beacon of light from the heavens a shabby run down motel loomed near by. The smallest silver lining on a dark cloud. He parked the bike out front, dusted himself off, and went to head inside. Whether on a conscious level or not he automatically shrouded himself with a bit of shadows, just enough to cross the threshold as he played a chance at fate.
There was a beautiful young woman working the front of the place that was slipping in and out of consciousness the moment Shamus walked in. The shadows released their hold on him the moment she noticed him. He was unsure just what all she had noticed, but she did not seem to be worried about anything at all. As he made his way to the counter, he took notice of the lighting and began to concentrate on making a shadow trail after him in position of the light, almost failing. He shook his head a bit, muttering to himself, "Soon..." Upon his words the girl perked up, "Good morning, my name is Natasha. Would you be interested in a room for one?"
Everything hit Shamus like a ton of bricks all at once: I am supposed to be dead, how will I make it out without bringing suspicion, and so much more. This would have to be played carefully if he was to manage this. He closed his eyes for a few moments, before leaning out on the desk and looking her in the eyes, "The truth of the matter is, Natasha... I need someone--- Wait, you are at least eighteen, aye?" Natasha gave a small nod and he quirked a bit of a grin, though it only went up on the right side, "Picture this, will you?" He turned and began making exaggerated hand gestures as he talked, "This little town having malls, movie theaters, restaurants, drive ins, salons, and bigger things than you could ever imagine!" He slammed his hand down on the counter at this point. He looked into her eyes seeing them glow brightly in wonder, "I will make this small town into a metropolis. All I need..." He took her hands in his, making sure to hold her gaze steady, "Is for someone who knows this place really well to tell me where I should put what where. To put it basically, a partner. What do ya say?" She could hardly speak from the excitement, but overcame it quite quickly. She was jumping up and down, squeezing his hands roughly, "Oh yes! I will!" He gave her a smile and a nod, "Good deal. Set us up a room for two and come by later when you get off work so we can talk business." She handed him a key and told him the number. As he began to walk off she asked him, "What is the name of my new partner?" He tilted his head to the side as he looked back at her, "Why Frank of course." He thought to himself as the ticking grew louder and louder on his way to the room, "Because I like to be frank."
He sat down on the bed and pulled out the journal, figuring he would try his best to write in it once a day on his journey to record his thoughts.
Today seemed to go better than expected. It must be because of the watch I found. I figured I would of had to end up placing her in the ice dispenser or somewhere similar and put an entry in for the room myself. I feel almost sorry for the girl, though. She will have no idea what is coming, but it will be worth it to get the look in her eyes. Dinner and a show, what luck. People are so easy sometimes...
With that, he put the journal away and laid down to rest, waiting on dinner to arrive.
-
Shamus
- Registered User
- Posts: 934
- Joined: 17 Jul 2011, 16:38
Re: Ticking Clock
Shamus awoke to the light knocking on the door. He instantly grabbed for a knife as he heard the door slowly open. As his eyes scanned over the body of Natasha, he dropped the knife back in the bag and sat up quickly. He took a quick survey of the surroundings and soon realized it was later than he thought. She must have wanted to give him time to sleep. How thoughtful of her. She on the other hand was carrying a two glasses and a bottle of champagne. The dress she wore looked to be expensive or so he thought. A bright smile lit up her face as she moved to sit down next to him, "I thought we could celebrate." He gave a small nod as he thought to himself, "What exactly are we celebrating? What lie did I spin you to be able to destroy your world?" It was not long after that Shamus lost himself in thought.
He could hear a voice calling to him. It was a sweet a sinful voice, one that he curious to find out who owned it. Slowly he became to come to life and move as if it were the first time in years. His eyes slowly came to a focus on Natasha. She was holding on to two glasses filled with champagne. He shook his head slowly and muttered to himself, "How strange..." She did not hear him and leaned in closer, "What did you say, Frank?" With a start, he stood up quickly. The glasses brushed up against him spilling the champagne over both of them. Natasha scurried to go get a towel to go clean herself up as well as get him a towel. Through her embarrassment she still stammered numerous apologies repeatedly. Shamus tilted his head to the side and watched her as she dabbed at her dress with a towel. He could vaguely hear the ticking of his clock. The look on his face at this point frightened her some and so she approached him with caution. With each step she took Shamus could hear the clock louder and clearer, though. As she went to hand him the towel he reached straight for her neck and fed.
He left her body in the bathroom after he cleaned himself up but left the light on for her, "Do not worry, sweetheart. We always leave the lights on for ya." He threw back his head and laughed as he made his way towards the checkout. There was something he was hoping would be there. Just by chance, luck did not prevail for him. In fact, it did not go so well at all. He had a run in with the clerk at the counter. Some guy stopped him as he was about to leave, "Aren't you going to check out?" After a few seconds of thought and coming up with nothing good to say he flipped the guy off and yelled as he walked out, "If I wanted to, I would have."
As he sat on his motorcycle and started it up, he spotted a gas station a mile or so down the road. It was quick trip down there and even faster to get inside. He was about to walk up to the register and paused. He turned quickly and saw a rack of magazines and the like. Upon inspecting the rack he saw some maps. Luck was shining on him once again. He picked through a few of the maps until he found the correct one and scanned through it while ignoring the clerk who was telling him that it was not a library. It was then he blurted out, "I was going west and not south the entire time! How annoying... Still, I should make it before daybreak." He walked over to the clerk and paid to fill up his bike and left. While fueling the motorcycle he pulled out the journal and wrote in it.
Such good fun that has been had. I must tell Wolf, Styx, and Swift about this when I return to the hellhole of Harper Rock. My one regret if I had one is that I did not take the tip she left for me. The extra cash she carried would have been nice.
He put the journal away once again and made his final stretch of the road to New York.
He could hear a voice calling to him. It was a sweet a sinful voice, one that he curious to find out who owned it. Slowly he became to come to life and move as if it were the first time in years. His eyes slowly came to a focus on Natasha. She was holding on to two glasses filled with champagne. He shook his head slowly and muttered to himself, "How strange..." She did not hear him and leaned in closer, "What did you say, Frank?" With a start, he stood up quickly. The glasses brushed up against him spilling the champagne over both of them. Natasha scurried to go get a towel to go clean herself up as well as get him a towel. Through her embarrassment she still stammered numerous apologies repeatedly. Shamus tilted his head to the side and watched her as she dabbed at her dress with a towel. He could vaguely hear the ticking of his clock. The look on his face at this point frightened her some and so she approached him with caution. With each step she took Shamus could hear the clock louder and clearer, though. As she went to hand him the towel he reached straight for her neck and fed.
He left her body in the bathroom after he cleaned himself up but left the light on for her, "Do not worry, sweetheart. We always leave the lights on for ya." He threw back his head and laughed as he made his way towards the checkout. There was something he was hoping would be there. Just by chance, luck did not prevail for him. In fact, it did not go so well at all. He had a run in with the clerk at the counter. Some guy stopped him as he was about to leave, "Aren't you going to check out?" After a few seconds of thought and coming up with nothing good to say he flipped the guy off and yelled as he walked out, "If I wanted to, I would have."
As he sat on his motorcycle and started it up, he spotted a gas station a mile or so down the road. It was quick trip down there and even faster to get inside. He was about to walk up to the register and paused. He turned quickly and saw a rack of magazines and the like. Upon inspecting the rack he saw some maps. Luck was shining on him once again. He picked through a few of the maps until he found the correct one and scanned through it while ignoring the clerk who was telling him that it was not a library. It was then he blurted out, "I was going west and not south the entire time! How annoying... Still, I should make it before daybreak." He walked over to the clerk and paid to fill up his bike and left. While fueling the motorcycle he pulled out the journal and wrote in it.
Such good fun that has been had. I must tell Wolf, Styx, and Swift about this when I return to the hellhole of Harper Rock. My one regret if I had one is that I did not take the tip she left for me. The extra cash she carried would have been nice.
He put the journal away once again and made his final stretch of the road to New York.
-
Shamus
- Registered User
- Posts: 934
- Joined: 17 Jul 2011, 16:38
Re: Ticking Clock
It was a quick drive on the lonely road and soon Shamus found himself on the border. Just another stop on the road, the last he hoped, before he reached the final goal. As he slowed the motorcycle down the bounty patrol was already walking over towards him. Shamus began to shake his head, wondering how he was going to get out of this jam. The man pulled out a flashlight and shined it on him starting quickly, "Passport and liscense." The smallest of frowns crept over Shamus' face as he reached into his pocket and pulled out his wallet to retrieve his liscense. A situation like this again. He got off of the bike and began to smile as he handed over the liscense and reached inside his jacket. As soon as he grabbed hold of the knife's handle he said softly, "Ya just can't save 'em all." The border patrol man looked up from examining the liscense only to see a flash of steel.
It was over within minutes. his paint as he would sometimes refer to it as lay everywhere. A new piece of art. He stood there admiring it for several minutes and even took out his journal to jot down an idea: Draw what you create so it can last for eternity. He thought it was a good idea. His dreams of a world of chaos brought by his hand might never come so at least in some way, people may know of his art. He placed the journal up and left the body for the world to see. While he did hate to admit it, he could not waste time on art any longer, he had business to take care of. So he took off on his motorcycle and into New York.
Once inside of the States, he pulled out his phone and made a call. It only took a few tries before he was able to get through, "What the hell do you want at this hour?" Not quite what he expected, but he had been awol and assumed dead for quite some time. Shamus responded back after choosing his words carefully, "It's me. Remember Rochester where we used to hide our stash. I am not what people say I am." There was a long pause as before he recieved an answer, "Are you packing your heat?" He could not help but laugh loudly at this, "Ya can't make art when such a crude instrument." The tension seemed to break and the response came quickly, "Meet you there." The phone went dead.
It was just a hop and a skip to Rochester. An abandoned building he rolled on to the inside to wait. It wouldn't be long now. To be able to get back to his roots and find out what he has been missing and everything else. He smiled a bit and pulled out his journal to write down a thought as he waited: Make more time for art.
It was over within minutes. his paint as he would sometimes refer to it as lay everywhere. A new piece of art. He stood there admiring it for several minutes and even took out his journal to jot down an idea: Draw what you create so it can last for eternity. He thought it was a good idea. His dreams of a world of chaos brought by his hand might never come so at least in some way, people may know of his art. He placed the journal up and left the body for the world to see. While he did hate to admit it, he could not waste time on art any longer, he had business to take care of. So he took off on his motorcycle and into New York.
Once inside of the States, he pulled out his phone and made a call. It only took a few tries before he was able to get through, "What the hell do you want at this hour?" Not quite what he expected, but he had been awol and assumed dead for quite some time. Shamus responded back after choosing his words carefully, "It's me. Remember Rochester where we used to hide our stash. I am not what people say I am." There was a long pause as before he recieved an answer, "Are you packing your heat?" He could not help but laugh loudly at this, "Ya can't make art when such a crude instrument." The tension seemed to break and the response came quickly, "Meet you there." The phone went dead.
It was just a hop and a skip to Rochester. An abandoned building he rolled on to the inside to wait. It wouldn't be long now. To be able to get back to his roots and find out what he has been missing and everything else. He smiled a bit and pulled out his journal to write down a thought as he waited: Make more time for art.
-
Shamus
- Registered User
- Posts: 934
- Joined: 17 Jul 2011, 16:38
Re: Ticking Clock
Shamus stood there with waiting with the journal out, considering a few things. His old companions had not seen him in quite a long time. It must have been quite odd to receive such a phone call. He was drumming on the journal when he heard several vehicles approaching, all of them but one stopping quite a bit away. He smiled a bit and said a prayer for the first time since being turned, giving thanks for his heightened senses. He wrote another note in the journal as man opened the door to the abandoned building: Never trust anyone and know that the monster will never die.
"Shamus," the man called out to him, "Do you have no love for an old friend? To call me to a place like this, not even buying me a drink? What would Jimmy think?" Shamus shook his head as the ticking of the clock began to play a sweet soothing that he could not help but smile to, "Jace... Ya know it ain't like that." Jace roared over the words, cutting him off, "To hell it is! I know what you did to save your neck, we all know! You sold us out! That's why they let you off for all the murders isn't it? You turned in our little black market dealings, you piece of ****!" Shamus could hear the sounds of footsteps approaching closer and closer. A small frown took over his features as he looked over at Jace, "Well come and try if you feel needy. I will give you the honor of enjoying the last minutes you have left on Earth." Jace just stared for a few moments and then began to laugh. He raised his left hand into the air and let it drop, signaling them all to come, "It's a shame Shamus, I really liked you." It had begun.
An assortment of nine men and women walked in, circling their way around him. Impressive. When Shamus turned to look at Jace, there was already gun locked and loaded pointed straight at his forehead. The ticking began to pick up in a beat as he turned his head and looked down the barrel of the gun into death, "You never were much one for art or style." Darkness swarmed the building, making it near impossible to see and Shamus was already on the move. The journal lay where he once stood on the floor and shots were being fired all over now, two of the ten men having fallen to their comrades bullets. With a knife in his left, Shamus immediately took out the hand that Jace used to hold the gun and with a right grabbed the skull, "Let me see those pretty eyes." Shamus stared into Jace's eyes for what felt like an eternity as he whittled away at the man's life. Jace screamed and begged for help that would not make it in time. The minutes had ended and the ticking had stopped, it was time to move on to new art.
The other seven were nothing that Shamus felt were worthy of art or much appraise. He never thought much of those who used guns, but if there was one who was well capable of doing so, he would sometimes try to fool himself into thinking they were using an art form. These people on the other hand were just useless in the world art. As he danced around them silently slitting their throats, he did not even take the time to look into their eyes. He shook his head and sighed as the last one fell, looking around at all the chaos, "What a waste of time..." He walked over to the journal and sat down next to it, picking it up, and releasing the shadows. Once more he was drumming against the journal.
It was then he noticed something he was surprised he did not notice earlier. There was movement coming from the outside of the building. He stood up slowly and made his way towards the movement in a stalking manner. It wasn't long until he creeped up on a child. If Shamus had to take a guess, he'd say the boy was thirteen. How interesting. The boy reminded him of Styx in an odd way. The way the kid held the gun and himself. It was strange. Well maybe he could correct the poor boy before things got too serious. He moved up from behind and placed the knife to the kid's throat, "Come on there kiddo, put the gun down." He waited until the gun was on the ground and pulled the kid with him several feet away, "Guns are not a good thing ta play with, boyo. Ya see, a knife is where it is at." He began to toy with the kid at this moment. He drug the knife around the neck some, bringing forth a little blood, "Ya see, with a knife ya can feel what you work with, feel what you create, feel who you are, and who they are." He dropped the knife between them and looked at the boy with a serious, "Create what you will." He motioned to all that was around them, "You must live with this."
He turned to walk away but moved back and handed the kid the journal and a pen and the child wrote in it: Tonight the childhood of Patrick has been robbed by a monster with a devil's stare. Forever will I remember this night, his face, and his name. I will make his art my own and take him down with it. The boy then handed it back to Shamus with a smile. As he read it, he could not help but throw his head back and laugh. He gave the kid a nod, "Own it kid." He then walked over to his motorcycle and made some writing underneath it: And all because I like being Frank. He then put the journal upand made his way from the scene, leaving Patrick behind. It was time for a new adventure.
"Shamus," the man called out to him, "Do you have no love for an old friend? To call me to a place like this, not even buying me a drink? What would Jimmy think?" Shamus shook his head as the ticking of the clock began to play a sweet soothing that he could not help but smile to, "Jace... Ya know it ain't like that." Jace roared over the words, cutting him off, "To hell it is! I know what you did to save your neck, we all know! You sold us out! That's why they let you off for all the murders isn't it? You turned in our little black market dealings, you piece of ****!" Shamus could hear the sounds of footsteps approaching closer and closer. A small frown took over his features as he looked over at Jace, "Well come and try if you feel needy. I will give you the honor of enjoying the last minutes you have left on Earth." Jace just stared for a few moments and then began to laugh. He raised his left hand into the air and let it drop, signaling them all to come, "It's a shame Shamus, I really liked you." It had begun.
An assortment of nine men and women walked in, circling their way around him. Impressive. When Shamus turned to look at Jace, there was already gun locked and loaded pointed straight at his forehead. The ticking began to pick up in a beat as he turned his head and looked down the barrel of the gun into death, "You never were much one for art or style." Darkness swarmed the building, making it near impossible to see and Shamus was already on the move. The journal lay where he once stood on the floor and shots were being fired all over now, two of the ten men having fallen to their comrades bullets. With a knife in his left, Shamus immediately took out the hand that Jace used to hold the gun and with a right grabbed the skull, "Let me see those pretty eyes." Shamus stared into Jace's eyes for what felt like an eternity as he whittled away at the man's life. Jace screamed and begged for help that would not make it in time. The minutes had ended and the ticking had stopped, it was time to move on to new art.
The other seven were nothing that Shamus felt were worthy of art or much appraise. He never thought much of those who used guns, but if there was one who was well capable of doing so, he would sometimes try to fool himself into thinking they were using an art form. These people on the other hand were just useless in the world art. As he danced around them silently slitting their throats, he did not even take the time to look into their eyes. He shook his head and sighed as the last one fell, looking around at all the chaos, "What a waste of time..." He walked over to the journal and sat down next to it, picking it up, and releasing the shadows. Once more he was drumming against the journal.
It was then he noticed something he was surprised he did not notice earlier. There was movement coming from the outside of the building. He stood up slowly and made his way towards the movement in a stalking manner. It wasn't long until he creeped up on a child. If Shamus had to take a guess, he'd say the boy was thirteen. How interesting. The boy reminded him of Styx in an odd way. The way the kid held the gun and himself. It was strange. Well maybe he could correct the poor boy before things got too serious. He moved up from behind and placed the knife to the kid's throat, "Come on there kiddo, put the gun down." He waited until the gun was on the ground and pulled the kid with him several feet away, "Guns are not a good thing ta play with, boyo. Ya see, a knife is where it is at." He began to toy with the kid at this moment. He drug the knife around the neck some, bringing forth a little blood, "Ya see, with a knife ya can feel what you work with, feel what you create, feel who you are, and who they are." He dropped the knife between them and looked at the boy with a serious, "Create what you will." He motioned to all that was around them, "You must live with this."
He turned to walk away but moved back and handed the kid the journal and a pen and the child wrote in it: Tonight the childhood of Patrick has been robbed by a monster with a devil's stare. Forever will I remember this night, his face, and his name. I will make his art my own and take him down with it. The boy then handed it back to Shamus with a smile. As he read it, he could not help but throw his head back and laugh. He gave the kid a nod, "Own it kid." He then walked over to his motorcycle and made some writing underneath it: And all because I like being Frank. He then put the journal upand made his way from the scene, leaving Patrick behind. It was time for a new adventure.
-
Shamus
- Registered User
- Posts: 934
- Joined: 17 Jul 2011, 16:38
Re: Ticking Clock
Shamus was driving around on his motorcycle, looking for the next great adventure. He was driving down S. Main when he had to pull over because his shoulder was bothering him. He placed his hand up on his shoulder and discovered a bullet wound. Upon further investigation, the bullet didn't even go all the way through. He began to curse violently and even more so whenever he had to grab a knife and fish the bullet out. He had to admit it was a tad bit on the painful side. Though it was because of this that he was noticed by a woman. She came at him from the side with a smooth silky voice, "What's a man like you doing out in a place like this?" He had just managed to pull out the bullet and cast it aside, her distraction was welcome. He turned to look over at her, "Just looking for a place to change me clothes, ya know?" She giggled a bit and then gestured, "Why don't you join me in this club? I could use some company. By the way, my name's Heather." Shamus tilted his head to the side as he looked at her. After a few moments of thinking about it he nodded and got off the bike, "Sounds good and the name's Frank."
He took Heather by the arm and she led him to a club that was not far away. He was curious on why she picked him out to go, but the road goes on forever and the party never ends. He paid for both of them to enter the club and could literally feel the numerous eyes on them. This was not looking good, not at all. She led him out into the middle of the dance floor and began to dance with him. She was all over him, but he could not pay much attention to it all as he was looking around here and there for what might come. As the minutes passed and the dancing grew hotter, he eventually felt a tap on his shoulder. As he went to turn around, the last thing he heard was a gun firing. A bullet pierced Shamus' skull, but did not leave.
It was almost a week before he woke up. It was a strange place that he was in. It was strange really, he could not recall anything. All he knew was that his head was pounding and it felt like it was about to split in two. There on the desk next to him was a book, he was going to reach for the book when he heard a voice that sounded like an angel, "It's alright. That book is yours. Are you hungry?" He grabbed the book and jumped quickly, staring at the girl, "Who are you?" She smiled at him at him warmly, "My name is Heather and yours is Frank. I thought you were going to die." She went and grabbed him a bowl of soup and began to feed it to him, whispering small encouragements. He felt a warmness to this Heather and hoped that there would be more of this.
He was lying down and his stomach was churning like he was going to be sick. He stumbled around trying to get up, Heather ran over to help him. A warming sensation left his hands and went into her as he grabbed on to her. Heather began to look around as Shamus began to throw up all over the place, "Frank? What's that sound? I can't see!" She was losing her mind by being blinded. He then felt a burning sensation leaving him and she was began to throw up. He was already feeling better so he grabbed on to her, trying to keep her hair from falling in the vomit. He ended up scratching her neck as he fought to keep her from falling over. The smell of her blood was intoxicating. Before he knew it, he was biting at the scratch and drinking her blood as if it was second nature. When it was over and she was dead, he looked around the room in fright. Settling himself down in a corner he rocked himself back and forth while he wept.
He took Heather by the arm and she led him to a club that was not far away. He was curious on why she picked him out to go, but the road goes on forever and the party never ends. He paid for both of them to enter the club and could literally feel the numerous eyes on them. This was not looking good, not at all. She led him out into the middle of the dance floor and began to dance with him. She was all over him, but he could not pay much attention to it all as he was looking around here and there for what might come. As the minutes passed and the dancing grew hotter, he eventually felt a tap on his shoulder. As he went to turn around, the last thing he heard was a gun firing. A bullet pierced Shamus' skull, but did not leave.
It was almost a week before he woke up. It was a strange place that he was in. It was strange really, he could not recall anything. All he knew was that his head was pounding and it felt like it was about to split in two. There on the desk next to him was a book, he was going to reach for the book when he heard a voice that sounded like an angel, "It's alright. That book is yours. Are you hungry?" He grabbed the book and jumped quickly, staring at the girl, "Who are you?" She smiled at him at him warmly, "My name is Heather and yours is Frank. I thought you were going to die." She went and grabbed him a bowl of soup and began to feed it to him, whispering small encouragements. He felt a warmness to this Heather and hoped that there would be more of this.
He was lying down and his stomach was churning like he was going to be sick. He stumbled around trying to get up, Heather ran over to help him. A warming sensation left his hands and went into her as he grabbed on to her. Heather began to look around as Shamus began to throw up all over the place, "Frank? What's that sound? I can't see!" She was losing her mind by being blinded. He then felt a burning sensation leaving him and she was began to throw up. He was already feeling better so he grabbed on to her, trying to keep her hair from falling in the vomit. He ended up scratching her neck as he fought to keep her from falling over. The smell of her blood was intoxicating. Before he knew it, he was biting at the scratch and drinking her blood as if it was second nature. When it was over and she was dead, he looked around the room in fright. Settling himself down in a corner he rocked himself back and forth while he wept.
-
Shamus
- Registered User
- Posts: 934
- Joined: 17 Jul 2011, 16:38
Re: Ticking Clock
Several days later, Shamus finally got the nerves to try to leave the place. He felt weak, weaker than he thought he should've, but he figured it was due to the recent events. As he went to the door and opened it the sunlight burst it. It felt like he was being burned alive and was draining him of even more strength. With all the strength he could muster, he slammed the door shut and fell where he was. He lay there for the longest time not moving a muscle. It then occurred to him that he had not been breathing. He slapped himself repeatedly and pinched himself all over trying to wake himself from this nightmare. When he realized this was not a dream he placed his head on his knees in defeat only to see that he did not have a shadow. Not being able to cope with it all, he passed out.
When he came to he noticed he felt stronger and that the night had come. He looked up into the air and wailed, "God why are you doing this to me?!" It was then he heard a strange ticking sound. He began to look around and the ticking grew louder and louder and he felt a heat coming from his pocket. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a pocket watch. He was mesmerized by it at first until it spoke to his mind, "The book. Look to the book." He jumped up in fear, tossing the watch. The ticking grew louder and furiouser, which drew him in. He felt a strong pull to this pocket watch. Something was telling him that he needed it so he picked it up and stowed it away, before going and grabbing the book to peer at its contents.
As he read over what was written, he was mortified by what it told. All he could make of it was that a demon once owned this and possibly the watch, too. He understood now why he must hold on to the watch and the book, it would lead to answers. This demon did something to him, that had to be it, that was the only explanation. He would scour around this place and find what he needed. But he already knew some things and to make sure this knowledge would not be lost like everything else he wrote it down in the book: Light is your enemy. Food is bad for you unless it is blood. Those close to you that you touch will die.
When he came to he noticed he felt stronger and that the night had come. He looked up into the air and wailed, "God why are you doing this to me?!" It was then he heard a strange ticking sound. He began to look around and the ticking grew louder and louder and he felt a heat coming from his pocket. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a pocket watch. He was mesmerized by it at first until it spoke to his mind, "The book. Look to the book." He jumped up in fear, tossing the watch. The ticking grew louder and furiouser, which drew him in. He felt a strong pull to this pocket watch. Something was telling him that he needed it so he picked it up and stowed it away, before going and grabbing the book to peer at its contents.
As he read over what was written, he was mortified by what it told. All he could make of it was that a demon once owned this and possibly the watch, too. He understood now why he must hold on to the watch and the book, it would lead to answers. This demon did something to him, that had to be it, that was the only explanation. He would scour around this place and find what he needed. But he already knew some things and to make sure this knowledge would not be lost like everything else he wrote it down in the book: Light is your enemy. Food is bad for you unless it is blood. Those close to you that you touch will die.
-
Shamus
- Registered User
- Posts: 934
- Joined: 17 Jul 2011, 16:38
Re: Ticking Clock
It was time. Shamus needed to find his answers and he left the shack with the corpse. He felt like he would never be able to get over that experience, but he needed to find this demon. He was ready to search all the way to the depths of Hell if he had to. By chance he was not far from the club where he was shot at to begin with. As he was walking the streets down an alley he could hear a whisper and one word caught his ear, "Monster." He made a straight shot down the alley towards them. His face taut with rage and he was all business. A group of men stood down there talking amongst themselves. There was a fear on their faces when they noticed him. A fear that he did not quite understand. All was made clear when he got closer.
Grown men were trying to push each other to get away from him screaming at the top of their lungs, "Monster." For some reason this enraged Shamus. He was not a monster, he was looking for one, the demon that changed him. Once again he began to hear the ticking of the clock and something washed over him. It is like his body was taken over by someone else. As they all rushed to get into the nearest building to hide, shadows covered over him and he crashed through a nearby window. A chant of words that he never knew existed spilled out of him repeatedly, before he jumped through the broken window once more. Now he stared at the group of men that tried to enter the building and were failing to do so. At this point he was just afraid of himself as they were of him.
He had to be brave though, he needed answers. He cornered them where they all stood and spoke firmly, "I want answers! I am looking for a demon that took my memories and made me.... Something else..." The group of men parted to reveal just one man and another spoke up above their fear, "We saw you... He sh-sh-shot you... And yo-you're st-still alive!" Something was trying to connect inside his head, but he was refusing to let it. He was shaking his head madly like he was trying to get water out of his ears. Then all of something he snapped.
He jumped forward and started smashing into them widly with his fists, not caring if they shot or stabbed at him or where he hit them. All that mattered was he destroy everything. He took a few minor scratches, but none of it mattered. There was nothing but a fountain of blood. He bathed in it and drank it in until he was satisfied. He began to cackle loudly and took the book and took in everything that it said word for word, before writing in it: I am the monster. I am what goes bump in the night. I am the serpent. I am death.
As he put the book away he pulled out the pocket watch, laughing loudly. The ticking was loud as he stroked it with a great care, "Let us go to this Harper Rock, my friend. Surely it knows what we do not." He could not help but be tickled by the thought of it, laughing even louder. Without concious thought he teleported himself back to Harper Rock.
Grown men were trying to push each other to get away from him screaming at the top of their lungs, "Monster." For some reason this enraged Shamus. He was not a monster, he was looking for one, the demon that changed him. Once again he began to hear the ticking of the clock and something washed over him. It is like his body was taken over by someone else. As they all rushed to get into the nearest building to hide, shadows covered over him and he crashed through a nearby window. A chant of words that he never knew existed spilled out of him repeatedly, before he jumped through the broken window once more. Now he stared at the group of men that tried to enter the building and were failing to do so. At this point he was just afraid of himself as they were of him.
He had to be brave though, he needed answers. He cornered them where they all stood and spoke firmly, "I want answers! I am looking for a demon that took my memories and made me.... Something else..." The group of men parted to reveal just one man and another spoke up above their fear, "We saw you... He sh-sh-shot you... And yo-you're st-still alive!" Something was trying to connect inside his head, but he was refusing to let it. He was shaking his head madly like he was trying to get water out of his ears. Then all of something he snapped.
He jumped forward and started smashing into them widly with his fists, not caring if they shot or stabbed at him or where he hit them. All that mattered was he destroy everything. He took a few minor scratches, but none of it mattered. There was nothing but a fountain of blood. He bathed in it and drank it in until he was satisfied. He began to cackle loudly and took the book and took in everything that it said word for word, before writing in it: I am the monster. I am what goes bump in the night. I am the serpent. I am death.
As he put the book away he pulled out the pocket watch, laughing loudly. The ticking was loud as he stroked it with a great care, "Let us go to this Harper Rock, my friend. Surely it knows what we do not." He could not help but be tickled by the thought of it, laughing even louder. Without concious thought he teleported himself back to Harper Rock.
End of the first saga.