Cheshire House

Prompt: "precious illusions"

Mon, 01 Sep 2008 01:56:18 GMT

We're ... lazy, and quiet. We apologize.

all_unwritten's prompt for 8/23/08: "precious illusions"
With a guest appearance/inspiration from Everclear's "Santa Monica." We use too much music.

"I am still living with your ghost, lonely and dreaming of the west coast," Art Alexakis' voice blasted from Subbi's parted plastic jaws. The construct was perched neatly on the edge of the picnic table, her eyes glowing softly as she gazed across the lawn. "I don't want to be your downtime, I don't want to be your stupid game..."

Frika swayed on its feet lightly, humming under its breath as it paced back and forth on the grass, nervously puffing a camel. The collie paused to light a new cigarette off the remnants of its previous cancer stick, then flicked the butt to the ground and snuffed it out with a pare pawpad.

"With my big black boots and an old suitcase, I do believe I'll find myself a new place..."

Frika's soft voice, slightly off-key, joined in at the next lines. "I don't want to be bad guy... I don't wanna do your sleepwalk dance anymore..." It halted, raising its head as it became aware of a tall, thin figure approaching it, his long tail swishing behind him.

"I just want to see some palm trees, go and try and shake away this disease," Subbi continued, launching into the chorus as Cruentus neared Frika, and extended his elegant hands to the collie. "We can live beside the ocean, leave the world behind. Swim out past the breakers, watch the world die..."

"Let me help," Cruentus whispered roughly, flickers of fire licking off the tips of his whiskers, his lips quivering and tail lashing as he struggled to control his flames.

Frika withdrew slightly, its lips curling back to show its curved, slightly yellowed fangs. "No."

"I am still dreaming of your face, hungry and hollow for all the things you took away... I don't want to be your good time, I don't want to be your fall-back crutch anymore."

Cruentus looked dejected, but took a step closer, his hands still held out. "Please-"

"I'll walk right out into a brand new day! Insane and rising in my own, weird way... I don't wanna be the bad guy!"

"No!" Frika snapped, swatting angrily at the genet's hands. "I can do thi- I have to do this myself!"

"I don't want to do your sleepwalk dance anymore! I just wanna feel some su-u-u-unshine! I just wanna find some place to be alone!"

The collie's eyes flicked to Subbi briefly, as Cruentus withdrew. "You can't always do everything for me," Frika muttered under its breath, cigarette smoke drifting in a lazy halo around its face.

"We can live beside the ocean, leave the fire behind. Swim out past the breakers, watch the world die..."

"Gotta get used to being alone, after all," the dog concluded, snuffing out another cigarette, glaring at Cruentus' retreating back as flames raced down his spine. "ALL OF YOU!" It hollered, pointing at the house, then breaking into more off-key singing with Subbi.

"We can live beside the ocean, leave the fire behind. Swim out past the breakers, watch the world die... Yeah, watch the world die..."

Wed, 23 Jan 2008 04:24:28 GMT

One post through all of 2007?
Well that is quite unfairly skewed, we assure you.

Joined all_unwritten in an attempt to get some things to post here. It is a community which posts a simple writing prompt daily; when we type for all_unwritten we shall share it here as well.

Today's prompt: "broken promises"

"Are you really surprised?" Sundance sneered, pushing himself upright on the couch. His magazine slid off his lap to the floor, where it fluttered open to a centerfold advertisement for Absolut Vodka.

"Insight of hindsight?" Frika raised a brow, curling its lips slightly in distaste. "I wish I could honestly say 'yes.'" The canine sighed and scratched behind an ear absently.

Cruentus stood up from his cross-legged place on the floor, stretching his spine as he arose. "Insight of hindsight, always," he snarled. Patches of his fur burst into flame and snuffed back out in rhythmic patterns down his back. "Schwuler, Scheisskerl, ich kotzbrock'!"

You act like you're surprised you were fed false words, rumbled a low, papery voice from the shadow-stricken corner.

Frika shook its head slowly, reaching out a hand to pat Cruentus on the elbow, a part that was not currently combusting. "She's got a point, y'know. Again."

Me Myself and I, Times Five

Wed, 12 Sep 2007 02:53:37 GMT

Internal monologue, only not.

The kitchen table was set up for the evening; a platter of fresh cookies sat in the middle, along with three glasses, two bowls, a set of playing chips and a pack of cards. The five entered and prepared their own drinks; two of them taking a cup, two a bowl, and the fifth foregoing that, then gathered around the table.

The Collie began shuffling the cards somewhat clumsily; the cards were new and quite slippery. Chivalry chuckled quietly into its Guinness. The Collie ignored it, and paused with the deck in its right hand, left thumb upon the top card. "Hold 'em, Stud, Draw...?"

"Hold 'em," grunted the Griffin, and it glared round the table, as if daring the other four to challenge its claim to the game. No one else spoke up, and the Collie began dealing out pairs of cards to the other four.

For several moments, the only sounds were the shuffling of cards, the soft clinks and thuds of chips changing hands and dishes set upon the table after a sip. Eventually drinks ran low, and the Collie took a break in its dealing and got up to refill its glass. "Hey, grab me somethin', please?" The Dragon called, reaching three hands for cookies.

"Yeah, get me a refill," Pestilence waved to its nearly empty bowl, the last dregs of a viscous, dark red substance sticking to the bottom.

"Sure, yeah." The Collie replied, and gathered up all glasses and bowls to pass out refills. "Who had what, again?" It asked without looking over its shoulder at the table, opening the fridge to retrieve the Captain Morgan and pomegranate juice for itself.

"Chai n' Bailey's," the Dragon grunted around a mouthful of cookie, a few crumbs escaping its maw and finding refuge in its chest fur.

"Guinness," Chivalry waved at the empty bottle.

"Surprise me," smirked the Griffin.

Pestilence simply licked its fangs.

The Griffin began to meticulously arrange its poker chips; it had the largest pile after a few rounds. The Dragon sneered at the feathered one, snout wrinkled. "Oh, sure, show off. You cheat anyway."

"How so?" The Griffin tilted its head slightly.

"You got a bird face, you just... you just do!"

The Griffin giggled and clicked its beak in satisfaction as it aligned a stack of red chips.

Chivalry sighed softly, its blank eyes shifting in their sockets.

"Ahhh, relax!" Pestilence chided the hairless canine, slapping Chivalry roughly on the back. Chivalry grunted in surprise and turned its head to glare at Pestilence.

The King of Rot waggled the tip of its thick tongue at Pestilence suggestively, stroking its mutilated crotch, disturbing the colony of maggots nestled in the gangrenous flesh. Chivalry narrowed its eyes, and the Dragon growled in disgust, lowering a cookie it had been about to eat back to the platter.

"Fuckin' knock it off, you two," the Griffin snapped, waving dismissively. "How 'bout some music or something in here? Eh?" It turned its head to the Collie, still stationed at the counter.

The Collie paused, a syringe in hand, and gave a curt nod. It snapped brusquely, and slid the syringe into the crook of its elbow. A mere second later, a glossy-skinned pale felinoid stepped into the kitchen, hopped up to a perch on the counter near the sink, folded her hands in her lap neatly, opened her mouth... and the music began. "It's not easy having yourself a good time! Greasing up those bets and betters, watching out they don't four letter..."

The Collie passed out the re-filled drinks; a glass of off-white liquid to the Dragon, a dark bottle to Chivalry, a bowl half-filled with vodka with the syringe of blood balanced on the rims to Pestilence, a bowl of merlot to the Griffin and finally the canine sat down with its own glass of rum and pomegranate.

Pestilence squirted the blood in its bowl as the Collie began to shuffle the cards again, stirring the mix with the tip of the needle. "Ahh, I love this song!" It laughed and dipped the tip of its greasy tongue in its blood and vodka, then belted along with the chorus loudly, throat pulsing as its tongue remained submerged: "I can't decide if you should lie or die! Oh, you'll probably go to Heaven, please don't hang your head and cry! No wonder why, my heart feels dead inside, it's cold and hard and petrified! Lock the doors, close the blinds, we're goin' for a ride!"

"Aw, shut up, you can't sing for shit," The Griffin snorted, tapping its claws on the table as it examined its cards. It looked back up at the skull-headed Pestilence. "Besides, that's fuckin' creepy." It jerked a brown hand vaguely at the bowl in front of Pestilence, or more specifically, the undead's tongue still lapping up liquid while it sang raucously.

"Who cares? None of us can sing, anyway," Chivalry said, with a humorless short laugh.

"True," the Collie accorded, not without a tiny smirk. It set aside a card from the top of the deck, then lay three face down on the table.

The Griffin huffed softly and slid its two cards, still face-down, across the table towards the Collie. "This is much better than silence," it said, mostly to itself, as it reached for a cookie.

Pestilence flicked a chip into the middle of the table, humming along with the song, despite its notable lack of lips. Chivalry and the Dragon added matching chips to the pot. The Collie nodded, discarded one card, and laid down the turn card.

"Eh, so what's all this Shadow business, then?" the Dragon asked as it peered at its pair of cards.

Chivalry started and glared at the Dragon, though it was the Griffin that snapped, "What Shadow business?"

"Well, you know..." The Dragon shrugged and trailed off, though it maintained eye contact fiercely with Chivalry. There was a brief moment of silence as the song ended, and Subbi began another. Another upbeat tune; Rogue Traders this time.

"Must be the Doctor soundtrack?" The Griffin commented idly as its eyes followed Pestilence's hand adding another two chips to the pot. Chivalry broke the staredown to glance at its cards, then handed them back to the Collie silently.

"Ah, what's it matter, anyway?" The Dragon flicked two coins into the pot. "To us, I mean? Sure, we live with 'em... friends with 'em. Mebbe even love 'em. But it's not us, is it? Why are we fretting about that so much?"

The Collie discarded one; laid down the river card. "True," It said softly.

"It's awfully alien," Pestilence stated, tapping a finger on the table.

Chivalry wrinkled its nose and flipped another chip into the pot. "Maybe not so much. You know that whole Light and Dark thing we keep discussing? Well-"

"Sure, but some things are still so... off," The Griffin interrupted. "The humor, maybe. It's not something we'd understand."

Chivalry giggled suddenly. The Griffin tilted its head curiously, and the Dragon raised a brow. Pestilence simply tossed a chip in to meet Chivalry's ante. The Collie looked up expectantly. "Remember that down the rabbit hole thing? That day you're supposed to act all weird, opposite like, you know?"

"Like... on LiveJournal and shit?" The Griffin dipped its head to take a beakful of wine from its bowl.

"Yeah, I guess," Chivalry shrugged and gestured with its cards. "Just, I dunno. I thought of something."

The Dragon and Pestilence said simultaneously, "How far does the Rabbit Hole go?"

The Collie grinned wryly, licking its fangs. "It doesn't matter."

The Griffin cut in, "This is CheshireHouse-"

All five responded in one voice: "We are the Rabbit Hole!"

And Subbi sang: "Here come the drums here come the drums, baby, baby, baby! You are my voodoo child, my voodoo child!"

Music

Tue, 12 Dec 2006 16:20:11 GMT

... soothes the soul?
This is for me.

Frika paced the living room in circles, slowly increasing in speed with each revolution, until it was nearly running around the room, canine paw-pads slapping on dirty carpet. Its thin tongue lolled out of its jaws as it panted, a manic frenzy glazing its flat eyes, narrow chest heaving. Its fur was dirty, matted, and falling out in clumps, displaying patches of bare skin.

Sundance actively ignored Frika while he flipped through a magazine, sprawled in his usual spot on the couch; Frika in turn actively ignored Infudicia while the shadowbeast attempted to goad the collie each time it passed her.

Nikolaus stepped out of the kitchen, the smell of fresh biscuits wafting behind him. He frowned at Frika as the collie darted by in front of him, grabbing feebly for it. “Come on, eat something,” the centauroid whined, but Frika just shook its head as it passed by him again.

“Can’t eat can’t eat can’t eat it’s essential you see? So it’s weak I can’t eat, can’t eat,” The collie panted, flapping its hands in a dismissive gesture. Nikolaus frowned deeper and retreated back into his domain.

Infudicia laughed. Again? Again with this ‘I will not eat’ thing? How long do you really think you can last this time? Go ahead, starve yourself. Have great fun with that, you idiotic child.

Subbi padded down the staircase, surprisingly quiet for a creature whose flesh was made of plastic. She simply darted in front of Frika as the collie made yet another circuit and caught the canine in an enthusiastic hug. Frika was startled, but almost immediately wrapped its brown-skinned arms around Subbi in turn.

The sound of strings drifted lazily from Subbi’s muzzle as she held the quivering collie against her cool, synthetic body. Sundance rolled off the couch and got to his feet, tossing his magazine onto the coffee table. “Oh for chrissakes, I friggin’ give up,” he snapped at the embracing pair and stormed down the cellar steps.

Awww … isn’t that adorable, Infudicia hissed with a smirk.

Subbi merely raised her volume over Infudicia’s papery voice. “Will you see me in the same light again? Or will your new view be as-“

Frika twitched and pulled away slightly, pressing its left hand over Subbi’s mouth. The collie somehow looked more aged in that moment; it appeared to have even less fur, a far more angular face, the hints of black horns branching from its skull… It shook its head and mouthed “Not right now” to the construct.

Subbi’s compliance was as simple as the pausing of the song, then a nearly inaudible whirring, and then a steady beat line filtered from her speaker again. The music played for a moment and Frika visibly relaxed, losing its hints of Chivalry. Frika mouthed along with the construct as it sang.

“You know how things fade into other things? And you can’t find a point of separation? It’s the damndest thing I’ve ever seen. I could never be… a Fader. Just going around, and blending things in it, ‘til you can’t tell one from another… But you, you’re such a Fader.”

Subservient

Wed, 15 Nov 2006 14:12:54 GMT

The construct is finished; the musical member of the House is active.

Frika claims it made the construct, though no-one is quite sure. She doesn’t seem like something that Frika has the ability, knowledge or materials to create, really. But at any rate; there she was.

The body of a slightly overweight, short-side-of-average-height woman… though her skin was smooth, frosted-white plasticine, translucent enough to show the hints of mechanical organs under her skin. Fine details of her body were smoothed over and omitted – nails, navel, nipples, genitals. Her face was vaguely predatory, but yet soft and sweet; feline, though the rest of her was humanoid. Her eyes appeared to be made of glass and lighted; and often changed colours as she pleased.

She only spoke in lyrics.

Frika attached a white fox’s tail to her rump and called her Subbi, with a most loving expression. It was not her real name; but it fit well enough. Subbi, the name of Frika’s old computer; short for Subservient, and fitting enough. Her existence appeared to be intended as little more than personal attendant to Frika.

Frika would sit on the couch, a distant expression on its face, and stroke Subbi’s smooth head dotingly. The android would perch on the floor in front of Frika, her head raised obligingly as she softly trilled music.

Conversation with Subbi was often challenging. She could only speak with music, and only from music Frika had already taught her.

-

Sundance propositioned her for sex. He wasn’t entirely sure she had any sort of hole, really; but he would find a way to fuck anything, and besides, she did have a mouth.

Subbi replied with a loud rendition of Bolero’s “Conclusion.”

-

Infudicia smiled, the expression lost in the shadow and the darkness of her own body. Watch, watch the pitiful little exercises; watch as it gathers them close. Fool. They’ll turn, like they all do – give it time – you know, you know. I know your paranoia. Why do you try?

Subbi turned to Infudicia and sang, “Everyone will make mistakes – Without the sour, the sweet wouldn’t taste.”

-

bunny huddled in a wretched ball at the foot of the stairs, gangly limbs wrapped ‘round herself, wide eyes glossy with tears staring out at the world. Her incisors chattered as she quivered.

Subbi wrapped her arms around bunny and held the rodent against her warm synthetic body and crooned softly, “Don’t I know, the days are only what we make them. Don’t I know, the nights go only where we take them.”

-

Phetish sat outside on a plastic lawn chair, legs neatly folded under its shift as it stared out into the forest, eyes focused on the brilliant reds and oranges of the sky as the sun threatened to drop below the horizon. A long ear flicked backwards at the soft creak of hinges and shuffling of plastic on concrete as Subbi stepped outside and approached the Dreambeast from behind.

Subbi placed her hands on Phetish’s shoulders and leaned close to its ram’s horn, speakers humming softly with soft jazz. “It might not be the right time … I might not be the right one … But there’s something about us I want to say … ‘Cause there’s something between us anyway.”

-

The fire reflected on Subbi’s large, glossy eyes as she and Cruentus chanted together, “A million faces, a million lies…”

Recalcitrant Libido

Tue, 03 Oct 2006 17:10:01 GMT

Only furthering the ~~plot~~ ~~autobiography~~ story here... Mostly focusing on Sundance.
The first bit is slightly adult; avoid if the word 'erection' is offensive.

Sundance lay sprawled on his bed, tail and right foot dangling off the edge. He stared up at the low ceiling, noting another cobweb. Perhaps someday he’d knock them down.

The opossum’s personal ‘room’ was actually the maintenance closet in the cellar. As the only House member with any concept of how to use tools, he’d run electricity into the closet to install some light sockets, laid rugs on what little bit of open floor there was and finished the inside walls with sheet rock and plaster. There was just enough space for Sundance’s full-size bed, a small dresser and a nightstand around the pipes and a huge metal gun safe. The rest of Sundance’s possessions were safely tucked away in plastic tubs scattered throughout the plumbing and under the bed.

He yawned, baring healthy pink gums and yellowed teeth. He’d had a guest over earlier, but after several hours of sex that left both of them pleasantly exhausted, sticky and sore, the latter had gone home. The opossum scratched his chin with a dirty claw, then smiled as he noted his partner’s smell on his finger, under the clinging reek of tobacco smoke. He held his hand in front of his face, inhaling deeply of his fuckbuddy’s lingering scent, a rush of warm and pleasant feelings stirring in his body.

Sundance grinned to himself as he licked his claws, tasting a hint of sweat and fluid… his left hand seemed to drift towards his erection, stroking it gently.

“Good times,” Sundance murmured to himself as he wrapped his hand around his member, losing himself in scents and memories as he masturbated.

Cruentus paced the front yard, sparks flicking off his tail as it whipped back and forth irately. Fur on end, the genet ground his teeth. The only one daring to observe his fury that fine evening was Nikolaus, his lower body sprawled happily across the porch as he sipped at a liter bottle of pink lemonade clutched delicately in his paws. The centauroid Dreambeast was constantly distracted, however; by fall leaves drifting to the ground in a breeze, a box elder bug crawling across his foot… Though the glow of the genet’s conflagration in the dim dusk-time light would catch Nikolaus’ eye often enough.

“Going too far – he’s getting out of control,” Cruentus muttered as he paced by Nikolaus again, singed grass crackling as his pawpads burnt the ground where he stepped.

One of Nikolaus’ long ears perked up, and he looked from the black and red insect trundling over one of the Dreambeast’s white claws. “Who is?”

“Sundance.” Cruentus froze in his pacing, tilting his head to peer over his shoulder at Nikolaus. His hair slid to the side, briefly revealing his baleful yellow eye. “He’s going too far lately… have you seen how many partners he’s had over in the last week alone? He reeks of nothing but marijuana and opium and his own semen!” The genet said more, but it had escalated into unintelligible snarling.

Nikolaus’ nose wrinkled and his ear flopped downward limply. “I don’t let Sunny in the kitchen anymore. He smells bad all the time.” He sniffed to emphasize his point and dipped his long purple tongue into the lemonade bottle. The Dreambeast’s long tail flicked out of the way as the porch door swung open, two hooflike feet clicking softly on the worn boards as Phetish stepped outside.

In a fluid motion, Cruentus had spun around and leapt up the porch steps in a single bound, leaning over the reclining Nikolaus as he pointed at Phetish, fire flaring along the genet’s raised hackles. “YOU!” He bellowed. “This is your fault! You allow them in!”

Phetish jumped in shock, all four of its eyes wide as it stared blankly at Cruentus. “I beg your pardon…?”

“Sundance’s little whores!” The genet snapped, his teeth clicking together as his jaws shut. Nikolaus cringed, eyes wide and glittering.

Phetish frowned, its long ears twisting backwards in annoyance. “I do not; the Host does, and you-“

“YOU’RE THE ONE BEHIND IT! It wouldn’t allow them if it wasn’t for you!”

Nikolaus dropped his bottle to cover his ears with his hand-paws, wailing, “Stop yelling!”

“You know I do not create those feelings! I only emphasize what is already there!” Phetish retorted, a ribbon of uncharacteristic anger trickling into its normally soft voice.

“And yet, if it wasn’t for you, they still would not be here at all!” Cruentus gesticulated wildly, his lashing tail a banner of fire.

“STOP IT!” Nikolaus shrieked in his child’s voice, leaping to his feet between the two. He stared at Cruentus with wide, shimmering eyes in a screwed-up face that battled the oncoming angry tears. “Why can’t you ever be nice to anyone, you- you jerk!” He spun on all four paws and nearly fell over, but caught himself on a chair and tore open the door, bolting inside.

Phetish gave Cruentus an equally uncharacteristic dirty glare, then caught the door before it swung fully shut and hurried after Nikolaus. It did not even bother to pick up its skirts.

Cruentus froze in place; for once, his anger thwarted. Only his tail moved, swaying slowly behind him… now devoid of embers as the sun hovered at the horizon, as if reluctant to allow night its turn.

Midnight found Frika upon the roof on a whim. It had dragged its long, narrow dragon body through a window, and utilizing the many limbs and long claws, it managed to clamber rather ungracefully upon the worn and cracked shingles. It felt the urge to be alone – nearly an impossibility in the House – and seemed to have found the one empty place where it could be left to itself, at least for a while.

The furry dragon carefully slunk across the roof, clinging precariously with long talons as it pulled its body to the middle, then settled down, its long tail draped over an eave. Frika sighed softly, absently picking at an exposed crack where a shingle had long ago fallen out. “I should really fix this someday, reshingle it or somethin’,” it muttered to itself, then flopped its upper chest down on the roof, resting clawed elbows on the rough surface to prop its chin in its hands.

Its second set of hands tugged at its whiskers absently as it stared up at the sky. It was a beautiful night – cool but not cold. Despite dark clouds prowling around the horizons, the sky above the House was clear and glimmered with stars; far enough away from the city to avoid battling light pollution.

Frika smiled slightly to itself, a twitch of the corners of its mouth as it picked out the only three constellations it reliably knew; the Big Dipper, Orion and Cassiopeia.

Then it sighed; it was just chilly enough to turn the sigh into a brief, thin puff of mist.

“What is happening to me?” It murmured softly to the sky, knowing it would receive no answers from above… only below.

St. Fate

Thu, 28 Sep 2006 15:36:26 GMT

Fleeting

Flashes of memory

Trickling;
Times past.
A brief nostalgia-

I am that.

You think you see every face; every face which you have ~~think you have~~ known. Loved, hated, admired, feared, memorized-
You see every eye; in a face that cannot be fully understood, nor seen, nor recognized; fleeting
Every voice speaks to you, before it/they is/are gone

I am what I must be
I am what I am destined
I am what you are destined
I am destiny

I am
Saint Fate

And it is gone fleeting

Character Survey

Tue, 19 Sep 2006 00:18:33 GMT

List 12 of your original characters:

Technically Infudicia, Trosufaen, and Sydney are not characters - but they can still serve the purposes for this quiz
1. Cruentus - A fire elemental genet that embodies rage and drive for vengeance. He's a loose cannon with a hair-trigger switch for anger, and feels no remorse or guilt for the things he does; though however spontaneous he may seem, he often thinks his actions through. His affection and loyalty are tough to win, but he is protective, often to an obsessive point, of those he loves.
2. Apathy Metafore - A mindless, grey felinoid creature; an automaton or puppet, lacking his own thoughts, will or drive. He picks up the thoughts of those around him and gives them a voice and a body to act with; whether desired or not. It is possible for those with a strong will to control the puppet as they desire.
3. Sundance Oakley - A red-furred, transsexual opossum that houses desire - addiction, sex and gluttony in a wiry body. His fur is unkempt and filthy, and he often reeks of smoke and alcohol. Despite all this, he somehow manages to find a new fucktoy every other night; he's also the kind of guy that never calls back.
4. The Eighth - A gangly, thin shark-man that wears a muzzle designed to prick spikes into his flesh when he speaks, and chains that are attached through rings set in his flesh. He is very shy and cautious, and often moves in silence, despite the chains strung across his body. He is a representative of happiness and pain.
5. bunny - A quivering mass of delicate rodentine flesh, indeterminate in species. She is the sponge for all abuse, taking it all into her body; resulting in flesh laden with scars and wounds, and a mind shattered well beyond any repair. She seems to live more in her own head than in the 'real world,' staring blankly through space when she is not a shaking, sobbing ball. She is terrified of many things, but some of her largest fears are men, centipedes and vehicles.
6. Nikolaus - A centauroid Dreambeast with the innocent, logical mind of a child. His appearance is vicious and carnivorous, yet his voice could pass for a young boy's. He is content to always find the beautiful and pleasing things in life, always optimistic, and he loves to bake sweets.
7. Phetish - A goatlike, androgynous Dreambeast, whom specializes in dreams fulfilling desires. Though its dreams are almost always of a sexual nature, Phetish itself has no interest or need for sex. It is prim, proper and polite; enjoying fine wine, fancy clothes and Shakespeare.
8. Infudicia - A self-claimed fallen angel, this shadowbeast most often appears dragonlike. She is considered the antagonist, always negative; she feeds off unpleasant emotions, especially pain and sadness, and delights in causing the tasty treats. Her favorite target to pick on is Frika.
9. Trosufaen - The Guardian; an albino brown hyena. He is vampiric, and one-eyed, wearing a patch over the missing eye - though no one knows what happened to it. Very little is known of Trosufaen, in fact; he is secretive, though he commands the respect of the entire house; even Infudicia will bow her head in his presence.
10. Sydney - A former Shadowbeast that stumbled upon a different path. Sydney is not of the House, his origins from somewhere far away; he left in a moment of turmoil to protect Frika, and has stayed since. He is soft-spoken and skittish, as unsure of the rest of the House as they are of him.
11. A Perfect Murder - A creature of unknown appearance, that lusts for pain and homicide. She encourages fights that lead to bloodshed, or even better, death; with talons bared and grinning fangs.
12. Frika - The host, perhaps of the House; a harried gender-neutral individual. It often can only take so much of the House's bickering and drama, and sequesters itself alone to brood. It is a very moody creature, often unhappy or apathetic rather than in a pleasant mood.

1. Who would make a better college prof.? 6(Nikolaus) or 11(A Perfect Murder)?
Um, wow. Tough to say... Nikolaus would be considerably more friendly and helpful than Murder, but he's got the mentality of a child - would you put an 8-year-old in charge of a class? I suppose it depends on the subject; if it was something about death or masochism, Murder might be an okay teacher.

2. Do you think 2(Apathy) is hot? How hot?
No. Apathy's sort of creepy, really.

3. 12(Frika) sends 8(Infudicia) out on a mission. What is it? Does she succeed?
Oh, wow. Uhm... I think it would be pretty much impossible for Frika to command Infudicia to do anything; moreover, I have absolutely no idea what use or favor Frika could possibly ask of Infudicia. Whatever it may be, Infudicia would surely succeed, though.

4. What is or would be 9(Trosufaen)'s favorite book?
Hmm, good question... would Hamlet by Shakespeare count as a book?

5. Would it make more sense for 2(Apathy) to swear fealty to 6(Nikolaus), or the other way around?
Certainly for Apathy to swear fealty to Nikolaus; Nikolaus is not the type to swear fealty to anyone (or indeed, really understand what that means), and he wouldn't to a puppet. It's possible for Apathy to do it because someone else willed him to, as Nikolaus would never wish it - but if Apathy did, Nikolaus would just giggle, pat him on the head, and put him to work helping bake in the kitchen.

6. For some reason, 5(bunny) is looking for a roommate. Should she share a studio apartment with 9(Trosufaen) or with 10(Sydney)?
Trosufaen, as he is only one of two men she is not terrified of (the other being Cruentus). Though Sydney technically lacks genitals anyway, he - along with his overall appearance, and the fact he's a shadowbeast - would cause bunny no end of torment by his mere presence.

7. 2(Apathy), 7(Phetish), and 12(Frika) have dinner together. Where do they go, and what do they discuss?
Frika and Phetish would probably have many long, deep and involved conversations about dreams, metaphors, philosophy, art and psychology. Apathy would mostly sit and drool on his plate, occasionally interjecting as he voices one or the other's thoughts (mostly Frika's), and Frika would attend to him, rather embarassed about the whole thing.

8. 3(Sundance) challenges 10(Sydney) to a duel. What happens?
Sydney would stare blankly at Sundance for a very long moment, then snort and walk away, as his way of declining the challenge. If Sundance was belligerent (or intoxicated) enough to pursue it, he'd likely shoot Sydney in the back; which Sydney would ignore, being an immortal creature and all.

9. If 1(Cruentus) stole 8(Infudicia)'s most precious possession, how would she get it back?
Again, another, well, impossibility with Infudicia, as the cerdrakoni has no wish for possessions, thus she has effectively none. Realistically, though, if she did have something Cruentus could take, Infudicia would just shrug it off and go find another; she'd never get it back.

10. Suggest a title for a story in which 7(Phetish) and 12(Frika) both attain what they most desire.
Consciousness Dreaming

11. What kind of plot device would you use if you wanted 4(The Eighth) and 1(Cruentus) to work together?
Oh, wow. This is tough. Something for the obvious greater good of Frika... Hmm, perhaps they'd work together to banish something exceedingly harmful from the House, or find something Frika desperately needed.

12. If 7(Phetish) visited you for the weekend, how would you get along?
I'm sure we'd get along well enough. Phetish might be mildly offended by some of my actions and mannerisms, but it'd get over it soon enough. Phetish is a pleasant enough, and intelligent being, so we'd probably just spend all night sitting at Denny's discussing various subjects over tea.

13. If you could command 3(Sundance) to perform any one task or service for you, what would it be?
Be my beer-gofer for a day.

14. Does anyone on your friends list write or draw 11(A Perfect Murder)?
Haha, oh man ... nope.

15. If 2(Apathy) had to choose sides between 4(The Eighth) and 5(bunny), which would it be?
Whoever's will is most powerful, as Apathy could not take sides by himself ... this would really be a flip of a coin, too; as The Eighth has a fairly powerful presence, and bunny has overwhelming thoughts with her shattered mind, though neither of them would consciously try to affect Apathy's actions.

16. What might 10(Sydney) shout while charging into battle?
Sydney would not charge into battle; if he were to fight, he'd prefer to be hidden off in the sidelines somewhere wreaking havoc from afar somehow, subterfuge I suppose. I could see him in one-on-one battles, though. He may whisper "Matilda" to himself softly before he begins his attack.

17. If you chose a song to represent 8(Infudicia), which song would you choose?
"Genesis" by VNV Nation

18. 1(Cruentus), 6(Nikolaus), and 12(Frika) are having dim sum at a Chinese restaurant. There is only one scallion pancake left, and they all reach for it at the same time. Who gets to eat it?
Nikolaus would snatch it up with his giant paws before Cruentus or Frika would even twitch. Frika would shrug and have some more rice, because it doesn't really care for scallion pancakes anyhow; Cruentus would glare at Nikolaus for a while and huff, while Nikolaus would just happily devour it.

19. What might be a good pick-up line for 2(Apathy) to use on 10(Sydney)?
"Is that a centipede in your codpiece or are you just- hi what shadows wait? What."

20. What would 5(bunny) most likely be arrested for?
Indecent exposure, I suppose? She is naked most of the time. Most likely she'd be picked up in a gutter somewhere as a wet, crying or unconscious lump.

21. What is 6(Nikolaus)'s secret?
Beneath the childish personality, Nikolaus is really actually a GIANT BEAST OF DESTRUCTION AND MUTILATION GRR! ... No, not really. I don't think Niko' has any secrets, he's pretty up front about things, even if not intentionally.

22. If 11(A Perfect Murder) and 9(Trosufaen) were racing to a destination, who would get there first?
Probably Murder; she respects Trosufaen as much as the rest while in the House, but in an outside location, she'd cheat, fight and kill her way to her desired destination as much as she pleases. There are no consequences for Murder, so she wouldn't be worried about punishment later for cheating against Trosufaen.

23. If you had to walk home through a bad neighborhood late at night, would you feel safer in the company of 7(Phetish) or 8(Infudicia)?
Haha, Infudicia. If I was threatened by someone, Phetish would shriek like a little girl and poof out of the physical plane.

24. 1(Cruentus) and 9(Trosufaen) reluctantly team up to save the world from the threat posed by 4(The Eighth)'s sinister secret organization. 11(A Perfect Murder) volunteers to help them, but it is later discovered that he is actually a spy for 4(The Eighth). Meanwhile, 4(The Eighth) has kidnapped 12(Frika) in an attempt to force their surrender. Following the wise advice of 5(bunny), they seek out 3(Sundance), who gives them what they need to complete their quest. What title would you give this fic?
The Queerest Dream (on account of the fact that it would be pretty much impossible for someone like The Eighth to even want to make a sinister secret organization!)

Chat with a Shadow

Mon, 04 Sep 2006 15:31:31 GMT

This little storylet actually ~~occurred~~ was written just under a year ago - right at the time when Sydney first joined our humble House in October 2005. It just may, perhaps, explain a few things...

(Dialogue. Possibly obvious, but just in case - italicized is Sydney, normal text in quotes is Frika.)

I didn't run.

"Why did you leave?"

I was not chased off. He did not send me. Believe me, he may have wanted to send me off, but I left of my own accord.

"I ... yes, I believe you."

Is it only because you have labeled me as the lost soul returned?

"Yes ... yes, that has something to do with it. And you're one of those ... Infudicia, and Veil, you're like one of them, right? And as far as I've seen, they are not pleasant creatures, but ... they don't lie. At least, they say what they know as truth. But on that hand, maybe, you were sent off and you just think you ran?"

I left before this really happened. I was not going anywhere specific at first. If Indigo sent me to you, do you not think I would have gone here directly? I wandered for quite a time before I came here. I went to many other Houses, as you call them. I was looking for a refuge, a shelter. Then I suddenly remembered you. I gained the ability of will, and I came here.

"Yes, that's right, you didn't have will without her. But, then, how do you know-"

I know. Matilda was there when I left, I was fully cognitive. It was only a period between after which I fled to when I decided to seek your House that I was an automaton. I fled, and it was my decision. I am not proud I left, I never shall be, though I think I made the correct decision. Most especially as I have now seen the aftermath. I do not believe I would have stitched him for this, had I stayed.

"Er, why? Wasn't he, well ... yours?"

Yes. In a way, he was my womb ... him, and I'm sure Matilda had a large hand in it, too. I said I am like the Shadows, but I am still different, I have the ability to care. I do not understand the motives for turning his back on you in order to retrieve himself.

"He says it's because I wouldn't understand. And I still don't understand. I think, after what you ... you showed me, I do understand, or some part of it. I don't know why he didn't tell me at first, though, I mean maybe I would have understood..."

I could not tell you. I think that is part of what sparked my desire to flee. You are correct - in this: that conversation was meant for him as well as you. I sense his coldness as well, but there is a part that does still love you. He reeks of Veil.

"So It's still-"

No, I do not think Veil is controlling this. Not directly. I fear he has been handed over to Veil's servants, however.

"He wants to talk to me."

I know.

"I mean, in person. Face to face."

I know.

"Do you think I should? You were ... closer to him than I think I ever was."

Extended silence. I think ... I do not know. I will try to talk to him again before then. I regret I must advise you later.

"That's okay. You've, ah, you've opened up a lot since you arrived."

I apologize for my silence, I was still not sure-

"No, it's okay. I'm glad. I like talking to you. I'm not really pleased you, eh, took over on me, but ... you didn't do anything bad. It's okay. And you did tell me afterwards, I guess. I'm glad you did come to my House, I think in some ways it's made this easier to deal with."

And more difficult.

"Well ... yes. Of course. But, maybe it's good. It seems okay. I still want to know, what'd you come here to protect me from, though? I mean, no offense, but Trosufaen-"

I am not the same as Trosufaen. That is why I arrived here originally, yes. It is also a good part of why I am staying. My first free thought was ... was to seek your House, and to protect you.

Pause. "Yes, but ... from what?"

I didn't know at first. I thought perhaps Veil, or something like that. I was correct, I did sense Infudicia in your House, but that was not right.

"So, what is it?"

Him.

"So you are guarding me from Veil? ... No. Him. You mean ... ?"

Forgive me- Sydney grimaces, and raises his head to the ceiling, his eyes unfocused. No. You are not my master, I no longer need to beg your forgiveness. Yes, him. I realize that now. Perhaps that does indeed entail Veil, perhaps not.

"You ... you turned on him...?"

No. That is not correct. Sydney faces Frika, his eyes fixing the hairless canine. I have not turned on him. I am not sure I could, nor do I want to. I do not agree with what he has done and is doing. It is against every one of his morals, and what I had believed were his rules. It forsake the two people that had seemed as shining beacons for him. It would most please me to see him repent and rebuild, but I fear he may never do this. It has been long enough, and yet still he refuses. He has betrayed us, as well.

"Us?"

I and Matilda.

"How-"

He has betrayed himself, first and foremost. Or perhaps not. Do you see? He has either turned his back on his own soul, or he has lied to us. All of us, I, Matilda, you and your House, your lover. Which is worse?

Frika stared back into Sydney's face. "... I couldn't say."

I agree.

Another long moment of silence.

"Is Infudicia really your aunt?"

I do not have a mother or father, so thusly if Infudicia has sisters, none of them have birthed me. In that matter, no, she is not. As I'm sure you have inferred, however, creatures such as us often do not have parents or siblings in a manner like those in your world. In a way, however, yes, she is. And Veil, my uncle, or perhaps cousin.

"She said Veil wasn't very strong, less than her, but you said Veil had servents. That kinda tells me Veil's a lot more powerful than her-"

There is not quite a measure of power you can measure us by. It is unfair, to put it lightly. Veil does indeed have a plethora of his drones and lackies, but it does not mean he is more or less powerful than you. How many scars are on your flesh because of Infudicia?

A pause, as Frika almost shamefully looks at its hairless, scratched skin.

In a way, she is even more dangerous because she has a sex. I say I am male, I am called he, but as you know, I do not truly have a sex, only a gender. Infudicia calls herself female, and she is. She is confident, she knows herself in and out.

"Can she reproduce?"

Sydney looks away, his ears minutely canting back.

"Can she reproduce?" Frika insists.

I fear that yes, perhaps she can. Such a thing is a miracle among our kind. It would be like... Sydney pauses, struggling to find an analogy Frika might understand. Like, say, a man who could lift a - a heavy vehicle-

"Like a truck?"

Yes ... a truck, with his natural strength, and see things clearly for a mile, like a hawk - bird.

Dryly. "I think I'd be a bit more terrified of little Infudica spawn than a real Superman."

A tiny smirk. Of course. I needn't tell you that you ought to be.

Frika shudders. "Sydney...?"

The vulpinoid watches her, questioning. After a moment, his nose bobs down a fraction in a nod of consent, and he moves closer to the hairless canine, and embraces it.

Frika is surprised to find his fur cold, but surprisingly soft, as his chin comes to rest on its shoulder and his right cheek against its neck. The dog barely manages to suppress the reaction to shiver, and wraps its gangly arms around Sydney's equally thin body.

A whisper in Frika's ear. I would like to spend, as you say, quality time, with you soon.

Frika nodded slowly, closing its eyes.

As ye Samhain.

interlude

Tue, 22 Aug 2006 15:35:26 GMT

dancing on the razor edge
dragon twists and turns
red ribbon blood vein twisting turning flailing
round and round
reach, reach for the time, caught up in talons tangled

shadow flits and lurks, darting light to light
teeth in grinning maw

o dancer dance
make sure you dance alone

Violent Tendencies

Tue, 08 Aug 2006 17:13:09 GMT

You get to meet A Perfect Murder in this one. Neat, huh?

Frika was finding itself in the cellar with the radio more and more often these days. Music was so ... soothing. It smiled slightly, flicking through a pile of CDs as it licked its lips. It reached the bottom of the stack before it grabbed one off the top and poked it into the refitted retro radio. Whizzing and whirring as its mechanisms sucked in the CD and settled it into position before spinning it over the laser eye. And seconds later, the music played over the speakers. Frika hit the shuffle button, then skip, and settled back into the battered, musty couch.

Harsh, wailing beeps, then drums, then guitar. “You put yourself in stupid places, yes, I think you know it’s true, situations where it’s easy to look down on you...”

Frika’s small smile spread wider, baring its teeth as it closed its eyes, mouthing the words. “I think you like to be the victim, I think you like to be in pain, I think you make yourself a victim almost every single day.”

The collie’s head weaved slightly and it tapped a paw on the cold concrete floor in time. “You do what you do, you say what you say, you try to be everything to everyone... You know all the right people, you play all the right games, you always try be everything to everyone...” Frika sang along with the song, bringing an arm up to tap its brown claws on the couch’s armrest.

“... Spin around and fall down, do it again! You stumble and you fall, yeah why won’t you ever learn?” A shuffle, a flash of movement in the shadow, caught Frika’s attention but it didn’t skip a beat. “Spin around and fall down, do it again, yeah you stumble and you fall... i wonder if you will ever learn...” The collie turned its head slightly to face the eavesdropper, ears perked and eyes narrowed. “Why won’t you ever learn...”

It stood up, and beckoned for the eavesdropper to come out. “Come on now, do that stupid dance for me!”

She did emerge from the shadow; as usual, but white lights flicked on as eyes opened. At first there seemed to be many tiny white dots arranged in a cluster, but they brightened into a single pair of illuminated optics. “Hello,” A Perfect Murder said in a soft, silky tone.

Frika was taken aback; it was not like Perfect to venture from her own corner; the fly on the wall. The song played on without the collie as it slowly sat back down on the couch, its gaze caught within Perfect’s glowing eyes.

“I like it,” Perfect said when the song eventually ended, the abrupt bobbing of her eyes suggesting a nod of the head.

“... Yeah. I’ve had Everclear on my mind, I guess.” Frika said, finally averting its gaze when Perfect moved, as if a trance was broken.

“I should imagine,” Perfect said with a short laugh, her tone enough to convey the large grin on her face.

Frika raised a brow, but Perfect spoke again before the collie could retort. “I see all, I sit and watch, like so many of the others. You ignore me so easily, it’s not hard for me, you know. I see how they treat you. I know how you feel.”

The glowing lights of Perfect’s eyes faded into a hazy glow, like candle flames. “You try so hard. I see how you care for others, how you try to help them. You do really appreciate it when they do things for you, the smallest things.” Perfect’s eyes twisted in the darkness as she tilted her head to one side. “Though, often, it is pretty small things, isn’t it? Ah, yes. But you just can’t thank some people - or be nice, can you? It doesn’t matter. Because in the end you are no more than a speck of shit on their shoes to them, aren’t you? Yes, yes...”

Frika turned its face down to its lap, where its hands lay; staring at its palms blankly. Its mouth was held tightly shut down, jaw muscles standing out under its furred cheeks.

“Why, Frika?” A Perfect Murder circled the room, somehow staying in the dark the entire time. Prowling, stalking. “Why put up with their bull shit? Get back. Hurt them. They should know the pain they cause. The only way to learn is physical, you know that... you know the scars it leaves. We once fought together, Frika. Let me go again. Let me at them. I’ll teach them to respect you, me - Us! This House!”

“No,” Frika said softly. “You ... hurt too much. You’ll kill.”

“Is that not the point?” Perfect spun quickly, hissing through unseen fangs. “If they can not learn ... they are useless. If they are useless ... they ought to stop breathing our air. Should they not? Let me... let me talk to them. I can teach them.”

“No.” Frika repeated, drawing its knees up to its chest as it gritted its teeth, lips curling back.

“You want to. You want to see their blood ... feel it. Hear them scream, and beg, and cry. I see what you do to yourself.”

Frika jerked as something brushed against its leg, the scabbed wounds; but it saw no discernable part of Perfect.

She laughed. “You want to see blood, I know. You think you desire the wrong person’s blood, however. Not your own... theirs. It is they who ought to be punished. Let me show you, and them. They’ll respect us, Frika. Or die trying.” She laughed again.

“I shouldn’t ... I can’t do that. Go away.” Frika muttered, squeezing its eyes shut as it wrapped its arms around itself, clutching its thin shoulders.

“Can’t ... shouldn’t? Why not? Answer me that.” Perfect paused for a moment, scrutinizing. “You can’t answer me. Just because it’s morally wrong. Morals you do not even believe yourself, Frika. Because you fear consequences. There is no fear with me. One day, you’ll let me show you, again. One day you’ll listen to me instead of that shadowbitch upstairs.”

Frika felt a cool breeze trickle across its fur, disappearing as quickly as it’d appeared, and it cracked an eye open. Perfect was gone, likely outside to stalk things in the backyard. It slowly relaxed, placing its feet back on the floor and dropping its hands onto the couch. As the radio shifted into another song, Frika raised a hand to its face, then clenched it into a fist.

- cartilage cracking and shattering as knuckles smashed into nose, blood spurting, satisfying gurgle - a screech of surprise and pain, cut off as body hits floor, knee into solar plexus followed by elbow into throat - “Won’t say that to me again, WILL you, fucker?!” - teeth tear into flesh, nails scrape up skin - flailing, scream, thud and splat as the body hits the ground, watching so dispassionately, but behind there is glee -

Frika snarled and slammed its hand down into the flattened couch cushion alongside its thigh, standing up quickly. “I really hate her when she’s right,” the collie muttered, stomping up the cellar stairs. It needed something to hit, at any rate.

“Ah,” Frika breathed as it spotted Apathy, laying in his usual crumpled heap on the floor, “That’ll do.” The collie grabbed the grey felinoid roughly by the tail and alternatively yanked and dragged Apathy from the living room to the kitchen and outside, causing Nikolaus to flee his kitchen sanctuary with ears slicked back and eyes wide and shimmering.

“I don’t like this game!” Nikolaus wailed as he scampered upstairs, tail lashing with anxiety.

Not good enough, though; never was. Apathy never screamed or fought back, no matter what was done to him. Energy expelled, Frika flopped into the grass, rubbing the back of one hand gingerly. “Never good enough...” It heaved a great sigh, baring its fangs with distaste. “I really hate when she’s right.”

Slow Motion Daydream

Sun, 30 Jul 2006 12:34:12 GMT

Several short storylets. Just a touch of everyone; even Perfect makes a brief cameo, and there is a bonus guest star of the Corgat from mindburble. Last section/bit with Infudicia and Sundance has a touch of raunch.

Eyes closed, muzzle tilted downward, Frika’s large hairless feet shifted awkwardly on the bare cellar stone as it spun and shuffled in a slow dance. Skinless left arm was held in front of its chest, around the shoulders of a nonexistent partner, right arm held up to the side leading its imaginary partner by the hand. It circled slowly in the dark cellar, the retro radio refitted into a CD player dutifully pumping out music.

”... I’ll light the fire, while you place the flowers in the yard, that you bought today-ay-ay...”

There was a moment of silence as the song ended, and the CD player whirred softly. Frika froze, its eyes opening slowly as a finger gently tapped its shoulder. The hairless creature turned around to face Trosufaen; whom bowed and offered a hand to Frika.

The lanky beast smiled and accepted it, and Trosufaen led it in the next dance.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Sydney sat alone in the unkempt lawn. He was always alone. His fingers tugged out blades of grass, but his mind was not focused on the idle act. His eyes were glazed, staring up into the dark, cloudy sky. It had been many nights since he last saw the stars.

how many years since you found yourself, staring at an endless sky?

His ears twisted backwards at a soft clinking of metal behind him. He did not need to look; he could sense him. The Eighth.

The shark-man stepped around Sydney and lowered himself delicately next to the vulpinoid, the chains hanging from his body clattering softly. He twisted his head round to look at Sydney with his cloudy, swirling eyes. Sydney met his gaze, and froze.

unaware of yourself, who you are and where you’re going. Only living, only breathing...

Time stopped with them. Minutes passed, perhaps hours. The Eighth finally moved; to raise his webbed hand and gently caress the rough fur on Sydney’s cheek.

losing all sense of time

Sydney started at the unexpected touch - even more surprised by the gentleness. The Eighth smiled, the spikes of his muzzle pricking half-healed wounds on his muzzle, and pulled his hand back. He held it up in front of his face, examining the peppery hairs that stuck to his denticled hide, then scraped the fur off and into his palm.

the most fragile of things, captivates and embraces you

The Eighth clenched his hand in a fist; then spread his fingers wide and blew on his palm. The flattened wad of hair fluttered off his palm; delicate silvery-black wings of a moth flapping in the humid night air.

surrender and be witness to this rarest of moments

Sydney watched in silence. There was no need to speak, and no words should he find his voice. He watched the moth, desperately wanting to reach out and grab it, pull it back into himself; but something deeper in him told him to let it go. Set free.

you live within the sense of the order of things, what is truth? what is important? what defines you?

The Eighth reached towards Sydney again, gathering the vulpinoid’s gloved hand into the shark-man’s, and he clasped Sydney’s hand in his webbed palms. Sydney did not pull back this time, and he glanced briefly at the Eighth’s smiling face, a thin trickle of blood dripping down the shark’s snout. When the vulpinoid glanced back at the moth, it was gone; he could not spot it again.

no need to fear, no need to worry
about years that passed, about time you lost

The Eighth raised a hand, his other still clutching Sydney’s, and cupped his hand around the vulpinoid’s chin, gently encouraging the shadowfox’s gaze back to the shark-man. Sydney complied without resistance, and their eyes locked again.

live seconds as a lifetime
time, it does not matter

Another feeling washed over Sydney. He could not place it, describe it; he’d never felt it before. He pulled away from the Eighth suddenly with dread, shaking his head.

“Sydney Maelvor,” The Eighth whispered, holding his hands out for Sydney yet.

Sydney was breathless as the name hit him. He opened his jaws to deny, to say something, but nothing escaped. He scrambled to his feet, his spiderleg hair twitching wildly.

you live within the sense, of the stillness of time

The Eighth rose calmly and spread his arms wide to either side, as if asking for an embrace.

how many years ... since you found yourself?

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The kitchen looked like something that would shame Jackson Pollock. Streaks of every colour imaginable, and then some, flashed across every surface. Nikolaus and the Corgat, a small Corgi-like dreambeast with an extra set of arms and horns, sat in the middle of the floor, hands upraised as they wove. The Corgat’s muzzle was wrinkled, the tip of his tongue jutting past his teeth and large ears quivering as he concentrated. Nikolaus was grinning wider than ever, his eyes nearly glowing with glee as he emulated the Corgat. Psychedelic rainbow streaks shot out from the Corgat’s paws; and darker earthen tones of black and brown slithered from Nikolaus.

Phetish stuck his snout in briefly as he passed by the open doorway, curious by the colours. A genuine, rare smile creased his thin lips as he watched the childlike Dreambeasts weaving eagerly, creating a music only the Dreambeasts could hear; and it tinkled pleasantly in Phetish’s four ears.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Cruentus held bunny’s thin, quivering body against his, resting his chin atop her head. bunny sobbed softly, wiping ineffectually at her tear-soaked cheeks. “He never stops, he doesn’t stop, please,” she mumbled, then stuck her thumb in her mouth and gnawed on it nervously.

“Shhh,” the genet hushed softly, gently pulling her hand away from her mouth before she could damage herself further, curling his tail around her naked body. “He’s gone.”

“Not for good,” bunny whispered, squeezing her eyes shut as she felt a fresh wave of tears well up, clutching the fur of Cruentus’ chest in tiny balled fists.

“We’ll fix that someday,” he said softly, stroking her hair with a kindness uncommon.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------

In a shadow, a dark one laughed, holding her claws in front of her. It was a cheerful, pleased laugh, one that did suit the thick black blood dripping from her hands.

“Who needs Infudicia when you have me?”

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Keep pestering her like that, I like it, the original shadowbeast hissed to the opossum hunched over in the couch, grunting as he masturbated. The Vessel is really not fond of you. I’m obligated to thank you, I suppose. You do so help make her miserable.

“Oh, fuck sake, do you mind?” Sundance snapped as he looked over his shoulder, glaring daggers at the fallen angel squatting in its own shadows in the corner, looming over the limp pile of silver and black fur on the floor.

Infudicia laughed, a deep rumbling sound. You know ... no, I really don’t. I can share with my own household.

Sundance rolled his eyes and stood up, baring his teeth as he panted slightly. “Christ a guy can’t even jerk off in peace!” He threw his hands up in exasperation and stormed up the stairs to find a quieter place to finish.

They upset so easily, my little dear, Infudicia cooed as as a paw emerged from the shadows to stroke Apathy’s head. The felinoid did not move, his glazed eyes staring at the carpet underneath him. What do you think? she whispered as her form blurred slightly, her ram’s horns becoming smooth, slightly curved horns above catlike ears; her muzzle more mammalian and whiskered; long red-brown hair sprouting from atop her head and spilling over her ears and face. Will she love me now?

Apathy turned his head slowly to gaze up at Infudicia, and the tips of white teeth showed as he smiled. “Yesssssssssssss kidlovefrikapuppy,” he hissed, then hiccuped.

Infudicia chuckled softly, smiling kindly at the fleshpuppet as she cradled his head in her paws. I know, sweetie. I know.

Spite & Scorn

Wed, 01 Mar 2006 11:29:01 GMT

This installment ends rather abruptly, as I sort of lost my direction/muse after two and a half pages. My apologies, and enjoy anyway.

It also may be worth nothing that Sydney now has a journal at shadow_servant.

An ancient, dusty radio sat on a rickety plastic table in the cellar. The radio looked like something taken out of the 30’s, with enough dust to suggest perhaps it really was, but it had been fitted with a modern radio and a CD player. It was one of the few furnishings, along with a ratty love seat couch, battered folding chairs and assorted boxes, all covered in a gratuitous coat of dust and cobwebs.

Music currently poured from the retro radio, echoing softly off the barren stone walls as it shifted songs.

“I’ll light the fire... you put the flowers in the vase, that you bought today
Staring at the fire, for hours and hours while I listen to you play your love songs all night long for me, only for me...”

Frika perched on the worn couch. The collie was in a strange form, tall and rangy and hairless but for a patch atop its head; its horns stretched out for two feet beyond its skull, and its left arm was stripped skinless. The unhappy form it was sporting often these days was becoming more twisted and zombie like. It swayed slowly, humming softly to the music, clasping a filet knife gently in its hands.

“Come to me now, and rest your head for just five minutes, everything is good
Such a cozy room, the windows are illuminated by the sunshine through them, fiery gems for you, only for you...”

Frika raised the knife to eye level and eyed it closely, then spun it deftly in her right hand to grasp the knife by the handle, point-down. It placed the knife against a thin scar on its thigh and pressed down until the point drove into its flesh. It pulled the knife through its skin, reopening an old wound.

“One for you, horsey-horsey,” it muttered in a slurred tone, its tongue hanging from its jaws. It raised the knife, and touched it to another scar, and sliced that open as well. “Two. For you, so-called black heart...”

“Our house... is a very very fine house, with two cats in the yard, life used to be so hard...
Now everything is easy, ‘cause of you
And our la la la-la la, la-la la, la-la la, la-la-la-laaa...”

Frika systematically cut open three more wounds, counting each one off, ignorant as someone quietly descended the cellar stairs and stepped onto the cold concrete floor. The collie-creature froze, the knife poised over a sixth scar, as a gloved hand touched its shoulder.

Frika slowly turned to look over its shoulder at Sydney.

“Our house... is a very very fine house, with two cats in the yard, life used to be so hard...
Now everything is easy, ‘cause of you
And our...”

Sydney shook his head slowly, his spiderleg hair quivering nervously. He started to reach around Frika with his other hand to take the knife, but the collie snarled and jerked away, holding the knife out.

A white hand grabbed Frika’s wrist gently but firmly; Trosufaen had appeared as silent as ever. He eyed the collie dispassionately; it relinquished the knife to the hyena. He sat down next to Frika, setting the filet knife on the arm of the couch, and clasped its skinless hand in his.

Sydney slowly pulled his hand back and softly retreated back up the stairs, the music fading away behind him.

“I’ll light the fire, while you place the flowers in the vase, that you bought today-ay-ay...”

The vulpinoid trod cautiously into the living room, and breathed a mental sigh of relief upon finding it empty, for once. He was also pleased to discover the Christmas tree had finally been dismantled. He helped himself to a seat in the armchair and drew his knees to his chest.

Feeling useless, poppet? A voice interrupted his thoughts before they began. He thought the living room was empty.

Sydney’s lips curled, showing the tips of his crystalline teeth. “Don’t you ever just ... go away? Leave me alone.”

The shadow spilled across the corner of the room, and spread to surround Sydney’s chair and boiled over it, sickly yellow eyes staring out at him. You can talk to Auntie Infudicia, poppet. I’ll understand. A grin full of white fangs spread under the eyes.

Sydney stared resolutely forward, his ears pinned themselves back against his skull. A soft warbling growl was his only response.

Infudicia throw her head back and chuckled softly, the shadows pulling together in more of a dragonlike shape as she hunched in her corner.

Claws scraping the floor announced Nikolaus’ entrance from the kitchen. He paused as he passed by Sydney and Infudicia, and twisted his upper torso around to peer at the fox-creature. “Where’s Frika?”

Sydney did not stir for a brief moment. “... In the cellar. With Trosufaen.”

Nikolaus’ expressions somehow conveyed a frown despite his lipless mouth and blank eyes. “Is it hurting itself again?” The acute question was mildly unsettling in Nikolaus’ quiet child’s voice.

Sydney raised his head. “... Yes.”

Nikolaus shook his head. “I don’t like it when Frika plays that game. I don’t like seeing blood.” He looked down at his large hands, silent for a moment, then he suddenly perked up and looked back to Sydney. “I like you, Sydney. You’re nice. Cruentus says mean things about you, but I think he should just be nice.” His muzzle split in one of his trademarked toothy grins.

Sydney’s spider legs twitched, and he looked away, avoiding meeting Nikolaus’ eyes. “... You don’t know enough.” He stretched out and rose to his feet in a fluid motion, and quickly walked away to the patio door before the centaur-beast could discuss anything further.

Nikolaus huffed softly and sat down, absentmindedly stroking the fur of his forearm. “I wish he’d talk more, I like him.”

Infudicia’s yellow eyes fixed on Nikolaus. You really don’t know much, do you? Do you even know what he is, Nikolaus?

“Yes. Sydney.” Nikolaus replied defiantly, putting his massive hands on his hips.

He’s a shadowbeast, just like me. He just thinks he’s better because he found a master... you know, he abandoned his previous host. Do you know who that host was?

“I don’t care. You’re mean, anyway.” Nikolaus got back to his feet and flounced off down the cellar stairs, his tail whipping behind him.

Enter Nikolaus

Sat, 28 Jan 2006 07:43:37 GMT

Nikolaus' official introduction, along with some foreshadowing between other characters. The House is most certainly becoming crowded, but it does get bigger.

Inside the ramshackle building of Cheshirehouse, a Christmas tree sparkled merrily amongst the filth. Contrasting with the garbage and cigarette butts littering the floor of the living room, the tree was full, green and covered in glittering lights and trinkets. It reached to the ceiling, an impressive giant of a pine that filled its corner with holiday cheer. The tree could at least claim its healthiness to the fact it was artificial, but someone still had taken loving care to dress it in lights and ornaments.

Phetish sat in an armchair, facing the Christmas tree with a small smile. It was delighted to look at it, the tree was so happy; if only there was a fireplace, it could almost pretend this House wasn’t so ... deteriorated, perhaps. At the very least, the simple, small cheer of the tree seemed to have shooed Infudicia off into deeper recesses of shadow.

“Why the fuck?” Sundance’s harsh voice cut into the silence as he staggered into the room, nude and even more disheveled than usual. The opossum came to a halt a few feet within the tree, gesturing at it with a paw that clutched a slobbery cigar.

Phetish blinked, and reluctantly, looked over at Sundance. “Pardon?” The dreambeast grimaced when it noted the ‘possum was naked.

“It’s after that fuckin’ holiday, take it down.” Sundance growled, indiscriminately scratching his groin, then tucking his hand in his pouch.

Phetish frowned in distaste and looked away, back to the tree. “It hasn’t even been a week. Besides, it’s Nikolaus’ tree. I have no say over it, nor do you.”

Sundance grunted. “Yer only stickin’ up for ‘im because he’s another dreambeast.”

Phetish did not deign to answer.

Knowing he was ignored, Sundance snorted and shuffled off to the cellar, grumbling under his breath and letting the door slam mightily behind him.

As if summoned by the noise, Sydney was there. He did not so much enter the room as just appear in it, all three of his ears slicked back into his thin spider-leg hair. He turned his head to the kitchen’s door way as Frika entered seconds behind him, looking around warily. “What’s the problem now?”

Phetish sighed softly. “Sundance is already complaining about Nikolaus.”

Sydney stepped closer to Frika and placed a gloved hand on the collie’s shoulder. It frowned slightly, but whether in response to Sydney’s touch or Phetish’s comment was not entirely clear. “He complains about everything... I don’t even know Nikolaus very well myself. Just ... ignore him.”

Phetish nodded slowly.

Sydney leaned closer to Frika and whispered something in its ear, his lips barely moving. The collie froze for a split second, then nodded slowly. The two accompanied each other outside onto the lawn, which was curiously covered in calf-deep snow, but did not feel chilly at all. The Eighth and Nikolaus scampered about in the snow, making powdery snowballs and throwing them at each other.

Nikolaus was perhaps one of the strangest creatures of Cheshirehouse yet; he was built like a centaur, with a humanoid torso set at the shoulders of a quadrupedal body. He was oddly top-heavy, with oversized hands, gigantic front paws and narrow back legs, but seemed to have no trouble keeping himself upright. He had smooth, bright red skin accented with green fur in tufts on his forelimbs and a mane that ran down his spine. He had twisted golden horns that stuck out behind his long, pointed ears and a perpetual grin, perhaps due to the fact that his fang-studded mouth was just a bit too toothy to close fully. His whiplike tail lashed back and forth as he bounced over a snowdrift and threw one of his massive pawfuls of snow at the Eighth.

The shark-man ducked, though still received a good powdering. His jaws were split in a grin, pulling his muzzle’s spikes into his flesh; small rivulets of blood ran down his muzzle, unnoticed. He shook himself vigorously, then froze as he spotted Sydney and Frika.

Nikolaus, curious why the Eighth had stopped playing, bounded up alongside the shark-man. The red beast make a soft squeak and leapt forward, landing in front of Frika. “Hot cocoa?” He asked excitedly in a lilting, child’s voice.

Frika couldn’t help but smile at the happy creature. “Sure,” it said softly, and took one of Nikolaus’ oversized paws to steer him inside to the kitchen.

The Eighth and Sydney remained behind, staring at each other, unblinking.

The Eighth spoke first. “You are good to Vessel.”

Sydney shifted uncomfortably and broke eye contact, staring at the massive footprints of Nikolaus. He made a rasping sound in his throat in answer.

The Eighth nodded slowly, his chains clinking.

“I... I know you don’t like me-” Sydney said after another moment, raising his head to look at the Eighth, but the shark-man had disappeared silently. The vulpinoid slowly closed his jaws with a soft click, then wrapped his thin arms around his torso and shivered. With the absence of the Eighth, the air had suddenly turned frigid. He sighed softly, his breath not warm enough to create mist, and sat on the ground. He drew his knees up to his chest and clutched his head, his spider-leg hair twitching.

In the kitchen, Nikolaus sat on his haunches at a rickety, plastic card table while Frika perched on a worn chair at the other side. Frika clutched a large mug of apple cider in its hands, while Nikolaus carefully held a mixing bowl full of hot cocoa and marshmallows in the claws of one hand, while his other held a battered stuffed toy. Trosufaen leaned against the counter with practiced nonchalance, his arms crossed across his chest.

Nikolaus laid the stuffed animal on the table; a battered image of a long-haired cat that may once have been white, but now it was grey. With a gentleness that did not fit his appearance, he stroked the worn toy. Then again, many things about Nikolaus did not fit his appearance, Frika mused ... Like his voice, which could be mistaken for a five year old child.

“I like this kitty.” Nikolaus said, scooping it off the table to cuddle it against his chest.

“Me too.” Frika smiled. “She’s my favorite.”

Nikolaus dipped his muzzle in the bowl, slurping his hot cocoa happily. He raised his head, dripping, and licked a marshmallow off his fangs, taking care not to drip any on the stuffed cat and stain it. “This cocoa is really yummy, too.” He drank more, his thin whiplike tail wagging lazily behind him.

Sydney stirred as he felt warmer. The cold was dispersing. Had the Eighth returned? He opened his eyes slowly and stared through his fingers before him. He saw only snow, glittering as it was slowly beginning to melt. He raised his head, and saw no one. The heat, however, appeared to be concentrated around him; the snow a meter in front of him was powdery, but the snow at his feet was melting. He twisted around to look behind him.

Cruentus stood behind the vulpinoid, his lanky figure towering over Sydney. The genet’s hackles were raised, and each of the hairs seemed to have its own individual candlelight- creating a blazing mane and tail that flickered and fumed, causing the heat that was melting the snow. Sydney could not see Cruentus’ eyes, but he knew they were staring at him.

“Hello,” Sydney said softly. “I’ve been wanting to talk to you, too.”

Cruentus’ jaws split wide in a grin filled with sharp teeth, their points reflecting his fire.

Sat, 31 Dec 2005 11:51:49 GMT

It has been neglected for a while, it has; sorry about that, folks. There has been some writing between now and then, but I'm not quite sure if I want to post any of those (perhaps by popular demand; a few are songfics, I'm embarassed to admit I even wrote those). There ought to be more soon, and I suppose in the meantime, I'll introduce you to the newest member of the House.

Meet Nikolaus:

The House grows more crowded.

[Un]Welcome Houseguest

Fri, 21 Oct 2005 07:07:08 GMT

Enter yet another new player. This one, however, does not belong to the House - he is simply visiting (or perhaps moving in). A brief introduction, and discussion from the others about their guest.
Brace yourselves, this one is good and long (for my stories thus far) - about 6 pages.

"Why are you here." It was more of a statement than a question. The griffin tilted its head to one side, a round iris flashing in the dim light. It sat alone in the living room - no, not quite alone; there was someone else here, huddled in the shadow of the overstuffed sofa, among the trash Sundance left scattered about. It did not respond.

The griffin rose to its feet and slowly approached the visitor. It reached a distance of arm's length, then tentatively reached out a hand. The vulpinoid flinched, but raised his head to stare at Frika, his white pupils glowing. The griffin's hand touched his forehead and third ear briefly, then turned and moved down, claw-tips grazing his cheek. "You don't belong here," the griffin said softly.

"I know," he answered just as quietly, all three ears pinned back on his head. His spiderleg-hair rustled nervously and then laid flat against his skull.

Frika carefully lowered itself onto its haunches, and placed its palm against his cheek, as if to hold his head up so it could stare into his eyes. "Why-" it started, then thought better of it. "Did you run away?"

The guest tried to look down, but found that movement was impeded, conveniently, by Frika's hand. His eyes darted from side to side, as if looking for an escape route - anywhere but at the griffin's face. His jaws worked slightly, struggling to form a word; only a soft whisper came out.

"You left, obviously." The griffin concluded, moving its face closer to the vulpinoid's, until its beak was millimeters away from his nose. "You don't have to explain why, I ..." Frika faltered for a moment, glancing away briefly itself. When it turned its eyes back to this strange newcomer, he was staring right back. "I can only guess why you've left. But you will answer this ... why are you here? Why my House, Sydney?"

The vulpinoid twitched, as if the sound of his own name stung. Perhaps it did. He took a deep, rattling breath, his eyes closed; then slowly opened them and stared back into Frika's unblinking raptor eyes. "... I love you," he said in a rasping voice, so quiet it was barely a whisper. "I've come to protect you."

The griffin looked startled for a moment, but quickly wiped its face blank again. "Protect me from-"

Sydney raised his gloved hands, and placed then firmly on Frika's shoulders. He leaned the extra centimeter forward and touched his nose to the curve of the griffin's beak, and a few of his cranial spiderlegs stretched forward to stroke the griffin's facial feathers. "No more questions," he rasped softly.

Frika obliged.

"Why so many fuckin' freaks?" Sundance lamented as he sprawled lazily upon the wooden picnic table. Phetish appeared mortified, and delicately picked the tip of the opossum's tail out of the bowl of potato salad the dreambeast had been attempting to enjoy. The House was to go on an impromptu picnic, go out and enjoy the warm weather and autumn leaves - and surprisingly, they complied. For the most part. The Eighth and Infudicia had long since disappeared into the nearby forest; The Eighth to simply frolic in the foliage and Infudicia to hide in the multitude of shadows. Apathy had gone comatose underneath the picnic table. Frika and Trosufaen had not yet shown. Sydney - well, Sydney was still a guest, an unofficial guest at that - and he was nowhere to be seen.

"You're not exactly one to speak." Cruentus eyed Sundance through his thick hair as he pushed some cheese cubes around on his plate. The genet settled in a sandy patch on the ground, his legs folded in front of him. "Stop complaining." Since Sydney's arrival, Cruentus had suddenly developed vast new reserves of patience for the opossum.

"We are supposed to be enjoying a warm day outside. We ..." Phetish paused, and sniffed daintily. "Should not allow such petty opinions to disturb such a beautiful afternoon. Please, stop bickering."

"Eh? We're not bickering." Sundance yawned lazily, his spined tongue lolling out of his jaws. He indiscriminately picked a bit of food out from his teeth, examined it on his claw, then flicked it off on a mystery trajectory. "I was just commenting on-"

"Really, you don't need to bring that up." Phetish interrupted, its ears slicked back in annoyance.

"-Sydney." Sundance finished, then looked to Cruentus.

The antagonizing worked. The genet was picking at his plate of food as if nibbling, but the mohawk of raised hair down his spine and tail and the pinned-back ears clearly displayed he was angry. Cruentus' tail lashed twice, sweeping the sand smooth behind him.

"What do you think of him, anyway?" Sundance rolled over onto his side, his tail now in a bowl of corn chips. He eyed Phetish beadily. "You haven't said word one or two about that freak since he showed up!" The 'possum picked a chunk of celery out of Phetish's abandoned potato salad and crunched it between his front teeth.

Phetish frowned and leaned away from Sundance. "Sydney's not as bad as you think, you know," It said, glancing over the opossum at Cruentus. The genet explicitly ignored it and crushed a cracker in his fingers. "He's just lost. He cannot help it he's a shadow creature-" Cruentus snorted loudly- "He's here for Frika. He's only here to help, I do not see how he wishes any harm."

Sundance leered at Phetish, a glistening drop of saliva dangling from his lip threateningly over a plate of sliced cheese. "Are you really that stupid? That much more fucking stupid than me?!" He pushed himself up to a sit quickly, the droplet of drool falling to its doom amongst the cheddar. "You only like Sydney because he reminds you of that walking dickbag you made the Vessel fall for! You and your fucking romance novel shit, now we have some hobo that's even more than a freak than the rest of the House put together, claiming it loves the Vessel!" By this point, Sundance was now standing atop the table, legs spread akimbo; his left hand was balled in a fist and his right had one finger extended, a yellowed claw stabbing the air accusingly at Phetish. His tail had knocked the corn chips to the ground, which awoke Apathy. "And now the Vessel is so fucking weak and desperate it believes that spider-headed fuck!"

Phetish's jaws opened and closed silently a few times, momentarily shocked out of words. "I ... I didn't make Frika 'fall' for anyone, you know that it simply does not work like that!" It shrunk into itself slightly, its ears pressed flat against its scalp and neck. "I did not do anything, Sundance, you know that. I will admit that yes, I add fuel to a fire - but I am not the spark. I only reassured feelings Frika already had, nothing more..." Phetish suddenly sat up straight, its long ears shot straight up from its head and all four eyes narrowed. "You, Sundance, are also forgetting ... you had interest in him, yourself!"

Sundance snorted and wiped his nose on his forearm. "Pfah! I only wanted to fuck 'im. You know that, too! I'm only curious what I missed out on, but that's all. I don't care for this love and romance crap." He knew Phetish was right, at least about the dreambeast's responsibility in the matter, so he heaved a good, long sigh and sat down on the edge of the table, resigned. "I don't understand how you see any good in that creep."

Apathy crawled out from under the table and began picking corn chips out of the dirt, popping them in his mouth and crunching noisily, crumbs falling on his chin.

"He has a point." Cruentus finally spoke, rising to his feet. He placed his hands on the table and leaned forward, his claws scratching the paint off the wood planks. "I don't trust Sydney any farther than I could kick him."

"I really do think you're being irrational," Phetish said, its tone mildly irritated as it brushed some stray chips off its lap before the grease would stain the chiffon of its skirt too badly.

"Consider the source!" snapped Cruentus, his hackles rising further, if that was even possible. His tail waved behind him like a coniferous black-and-white banner. "Where did Sydney come from?" Without waiting for an answer, if he even expected one, he continued. "Yeah, and he was a great person, eh? Oh, I know ... he was a wonderful person, a brother, a best friend, a lover - serendipity, perfect! Great! And what of it, in the end? What of that?!" The genet screeched, the wood under his palms beginning to blacken and smoke. His lips curled back from his fangs and he raised his head upwards, his thick hair falling away from his face to expose his saffron eyes. "He leaves the Vessel - Frika - US - for what? What?" He lowered his head and glared round at them. "For a walking glory hole! Have you already forgotten this? How hurt the Vessel was, hell, is, because someone it had loved and trusted with its very own life and heart and soul ... then he shat all over that!" Cruentus slammed a fist on the table, knocking over a cup of juice. Flames erupted from the table where his hand impacted, but they burnt themselves out as quickly as they'd started.

Sundance froze in position, only his ears moving - twitching madly. Apathy was oblivious as ever, still eating sandy corn chips off the ground.

Phetish flinched away from the flames, staring wide-eyed at Cruentus, its ears splayed out to either side of its head. "I'm sure there was something else, I really do doubt that's the truth behind what he did - he'll return-"

"SHUT UP!" Cruentus screamed, his eyes flashing between clumps of hair as flames rippled down his hackles and tail like electric arcs up a Jacob's Ladder. "HE'S DEAD! Does that help your pea brain cope, then? He's dead, then, he's dead, dead dead DEAD DEAD!" The genet's fur burst into flames and he spun around, his tail more like a comet's. The flames roared briefly and subdued to flickers across his hackles and face, his fur uncharred, though the smell of smoke clung to him.

A ghostly form emerged from the tree line of the forest, into the picnic area; as silent as ever, despite the heavy chains hanging off his body and the dried leaves he trod on. "Maybe. Sydney left because of that." The Eighth said softly, haltingly approaching the group at the table. He watched Cruentus with a curious eye.

"That's one idea." Sundance grunted, plopping down in the middle of the table and further scattering foot. His butt barely avoided landing in some fruit salad, and his right foot wound up in the Jell-O mold. He scratched his chin thoughtfully. "I mean ... Sydney's own home has been destroyed, so where does he go? The house that's the most similar, maybe a house he's even heard of before. So therefore, we get the fucking freak."

The Eighth looked even more curious and tilted his head to one side like a confused puppy.

"What? Ain'tcha seen 'im?" Sundance snorted, eyeing the Eighth. The shark shook its head once, left-right-left. "'E's a fuckin' freak show. Even for us," the opossum added. "Like some kinda fox, but he's got spider's legs for hair or somethin' like that. Maybe he can crawl up walls with his head. Ha! Three ears, his eyes are all black 'cept for white pupils. His nails are like needles," He elaborated on that, "I mean like sewin' needles, y'know? They're even attached by string or somethin'." He leaned closer to Phetish, sneering. "I've heard his body is made of bugs, that's why he wears that suit all the time ... think he'd die if we just unbuckled him?"

"I came out to enjoy a meal in the warm weather. I did not come out to gossip and waste yet another day arguing!" Phetish clenched its hands into loose fists as it got up from the table and stormed away to the House, still managing to be graceful and effeminate.

The Eighth watched Phetish leave, then eyed Sundance for a moment. A tiny trickle of blood ran down the curve of his snout, from where his muzzle had pricked his flesh, and dripped onto his lower jaw. He turned slowly and then bounded after Phetish, still silent in his movements.

Sundance snorted and curled his tail around the pitcher of juice to lift it to his lips. After slaking his thirst, he fished a half-smoked cigar out of somewhere in his pockets and lit it from a crumpled matchbook. "And you," he pointed at Cruentus, "need some Valium. Or opium."

Cruentus growled, pacing restlessly around in the open patch of sand, leaving burning footprints.

The opossum turned around to hang a leg off the edge of the picnic table and kicked Apathy in the side of the face as the felinoid picked through fallen crumbs, knocking him over onto his side. Apathy went limp upon falling. "Hey!" Sundance grunted, poking the cat between the ribs roughly with a toe. "Go get Spaz here some nice tranqs outta my stash."

Apathy sat up, then got up to his feet and swayed drunkenly. "Oh-oh, oh-oh, oh no," He intoned in time with his swaying. "Oh-oh, oh-oh, oh no. Oh-oh, oh-oh, oh no..."

Sundance bared his fangs in annoyance and slid off the table onto the ground. Apathy raised a hand and pointed at Sundance, claw extended. "No. No, no, no. Talk, talk to, talk to Sydney. Talk to Syd," and he shuddered violently. "Ney. Find out for yourself, self, self, self. What is he? What is you? What is me? Talk! Talk talk!" And Apathy fell forward, landing on his hands and knees, and promptly resumed his search for crumbs.

"Forget it. It's like talking to a retard." Cruentus growled, his teeth clenched. He sat down at the table, curling his tail around his waist. “I don’t trust this- Sydney. He smells like Infudicia.”

Sundance nodded slowly in agreement, turning away from the puppet groveling in the dirt. “I dunno ‘bout the smell, but I’m not real keen on him m’self. Suspicious.”

“I’m keeping an eye on him,” Cruentus said with a firm finality - and to prove his point, he leapt up and bolted, presumably to find Sydney and begin stalking the vulpinoid.

The House is Loud

Tue, 13 Sep 2005 02:16:51 GMT

More discussion.

“Just forget about it.” Sundance fixed Phetish with a jaundiced eye, punctuating his statement with a hearty swig of his Corona.

Phetish sniffed delicately. “It’s not so easy as you say. Desire and love are powerful things.” It busied itself with smoothing a wrinkle out of its slacks, all four eyes fixed on the opossum. “Not that I would think you could understand.”

Sundance grinned, licking his nose. “Wham, bam, thank ya ma’am; what more is there to say?” He shrugged and sat up on the couch, hooking the coffee table with his tail and pulling it closer. “There’s not much more to discuss.” He extracted a pack of rolling papers and a bag of marijuana from his pocket and began rolling up a joint with the utmost care.

Phetish looked away, its long ears slicked back in annoyance.

“For a creature that’s all about sex, ya sure don’t care about it much.” Sundance remarked as he licked the paper and rolled it between his grimy claws.

Phetish turned its gaze back to the hick ‘possum. “I am a dreambeast. I merely allow the subconscious to enact fantasies of romance, lust and desire.” Its lips curled slightly, showing the gums at the base of its oversized fangs.

Sundance flapped his hands, rolling his eyes as he lit up his joint and took a heavy puff. Phetish frowned and opened its mouth to further retaliate, but was cut off as Cruentus stepped in from the yard, the door slamming loudly behind him and narrowly avoiding the genet’s tailtip. The acrid odors of burning plastic and wood wafted off his fur, mingling with the herbal weed smoke.

Cruentus eyed the two through his thick bangs, his tail lashing once. “Where’s Frika?”

Sundance waved a hand airily at the ceiling. “Last I saw it, it was upstairs slicin’ itself up again.” He snorted, a wreath of bluish smoke encircling his head.

Cruentus spared the opossum an angry snarl and scampered up the stairs, his tail waving like a striped banner behind him.

“... I really wish it would stop doing that.” Phetish said after a moment’s silence, its eyes cast skyward, as if it could stare through the ceiling and see what was going on upstairs. “I cannot understand its fixation with mutilating itself. Especially this new shape it has taken upon itself.”

“You wouldn’t.” Sundance grunted, scratching his crotch unabashedly.

“He’s right,” a dry voice hissed, interrupting Phetish. It emanated from the ever-dark corner. A narrow head with oversized red ram’s horns and brilliant yellow eyes rose from the shadow, the spikes of Infudicia’s horns threatening to scrape the plaster off the ceiling.

Phetish shot the demon-dragon a look of revulsion, then stood and left the sitting room in a huff.

Infudicia chuckled softly, and somewhere in her shadow depth, Apathy cackled. “So ... easily offended.”

Sundance shrugged lazily and helped himself to another toke, using his yellowed claws in place of a roach clip. “Eh. It’s just too stuck up. Fuck it, ya know?” He finished off the rest of his beer in a mighty gulp and stared at nothing in particular, his eyes glazing. “Really, who fuckin’ cares anymore? It’s a lost cause. Dicks always win out.” He grinned suddenly, his tail curling in something like glee. “Trust me, I know.”

Infudicia’s eyes narrowed, her tail sprouting from the shadows, quivering with poison spikes. “... You living creatures are too obsessed with sex.” She raised her head, the shadows growing larger as she stood up; Apathy tumbled from the clutches of her shadow body, falling in a limp silver-and-black pile on the dirty carpet. “You are also too wrapped up in the abstract notions! Those pitiful, flimsy things you call love and friendship! Hatred and heartbreak!” She bellowed out, rattling the double windows of the room as her eyes swirled in shades of yellow. “You pitiful mammals, pitiful living, so wrapped up in your emotions you deny your stupid animal instincts! You deny your common sense!”

Apathy lazily pushed itself upright, unfazed by Infudicia’s yelling. “Yes. We shouldn’t love. It’s stupid and painful.” He said as soon as Infudicia stopped speaking. He raised a bony hand and jabbed a sharp claw at Sundance. “You, quit thinking with your dick. It is getting us nowhere but pain. We are stuck with the Vessel. You are fucking it up!”

Sundance grinned in mock embarrassment and shrugged, raising empty hands. “I do what I want!”

Apathy drew itself to its feet, its eyes glowing in anger. It opened its jaws wide, baring milky-white teeth, and drew a deep breath, likely to begin screaming.

Soft footsteps descending the stairs shut up all three of them, however. Furless, purple-skinned paws trod the stairs, and the Vessel itself had entered the room.

Infudicia drew back into the shadows, her form melting back into the darkness until only a pair of yellow eyes remaining staring out at the room. Apathy froze in shock or desperation, a claw still pointed at Sundance.

The opossum glanced lazily over his shoulder to see what the cause of the sudden quiet was, and twitched involuntarily. He’d heard Frika had changed again, but he wasn’t quite sure what to make of this - the collie was half again as tall as it had been, now, but furless but for a patch of white atop its head. Its purple skin was stretched taut over bones, little flesh remaining on the emaciated body. Large, pronged black horns swept back from its skull; and its left arm was skinless, the muscle tissue exposed and glistening. Dried blood coated its stomach and chest, where a wound like an autopsy opening cut was roughly stitched shut again.

Frika stared blankly at them, then wrinkled its snout, showing the tips of its canines, and helped itself to a seat on the couch opposite Sundance.

Apathy seemed to snap out of its shock and snarled, apparently unaware of Frika’s presence. “You! You! It’s your fault we’re in this mess, you and your dick led the House into misery again!” It jabbed the air furiously with its claw, tail lashing angrily, voice high-pitched with histeria. “I loved him, you know! I loved him, but he shit all over me, just like everyone else! They all treat us like shit! We fuck up everything! We thought he was better, we thought he didn’t lie, we thought he wasn’t like all the rest!” The Puppet raised its hands, clenched in fists, and screeched to the heavens. “We were right! We warned you! We said he was lying, we said he hated you!” Apathy let out a final, incomprehensible shriek and went limp, hitting the floor with a soft thud.

Silence ensued. Sundance held the burnt remains of his joint in his claws, a brow quirked. Frika stared blankly at Apathy, wringing its hands.

The others had heard the screeching and come to investigate, as well - evidenced by Phetish’s face poking around a corner, warily peering into the room, and the presence of Cruentus and Trosufaen at the bottom of the stairs.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Cruentus spoke first, breaking the silence. He strode forward to where Apathy lay, roughly grabbed the Puppet by tail and neck-scruff, and unceremoniously kicked open the door and literally threw Apathy outside. After a moment’s thought, the genet caught the door before it slammed shut and stepped outside after Apathy.

“Don’t bother-!” Frika called, but the door slammed shut. It sighed and slumped back in its chair, covering its eyes with its hands. Sundance inwardly shuddered as he imaged what that skinless, fleshy hand would feel like. Then again, it might be nice - soft and slick...

“That’s enough.” Trosufaen said in his calm voice, his pale eye fixing on each of them in turn. “Leave. Frika needs some quiet.”

No one disobeyed the Guardian. Even Infudicia shrank back into her darkness, leaving a smudge of a shadow in the corner. Phetish had already disappeared from the doorway, and Sundance hauled himself to his feet, grumbling.

The door from the yard opened and slammed shut again. Without looking up, Trosufaen curled his lips in a grimace. “Leave.”

Disregarding the hyena, the newcomer walked forward. Sundance paused, looking back to see who was defying Trosufaen, figuring Apathy was just being stupid again - and was shocked to see someone completely different.

A tall, thin sharklike creature walked with measured, deliberate steps. An intricate, heavy muzzle was mounted onto his wedge-shaped head. Thick metal rings were pierced through his sternum, wrists, ankles and tails, and chains run through them, limiting his movement - he moved with such delicacy the chains did not even clink. He was obviously male, as he wore little other than this gear, but was clearly unashamed of his nudity.

“Well that’s new,” Sundance muttered under his breath, and hastily scuttled out of the room. He’d only seen Trosufaen angry once, and had no desire to see it again.

Far from it, however; Trosufaen merely watched with his usual calm apathy as the shark approached Frika and stopped in front of her. “The Eighth,” he said after a moment.

The shark inclined his head to Trosufaen, and turned his gaze on Frika. The collie stared at him blankly, noting that his pupils shone yellow-green even in the light.

The Eighth slowly extended a clawed hand to Frika, then spread his fingers wide, stretching the webbing and exposing a tiny white object in his palm. When Frika responded with nothing more than staring at his palm, the Eighth spoke in a soft voice, as deliberate as his actions - “Will you dance with me?”

Frika looked back up at him, noticing that his muzzle was created in a fashion that hurt him when he spoke - opening his jaws applied pressure to spring-loaded straps, affixed with inward-pointing spikes; so pressure would push them down into the soft flesh of his muzzle. Tiny beads of red sprung up in his skin after his sentence, but he did not seem to notice.

“... Yes.” Frika took the pill delicately with its skinned hand and threw it back in its muzzle, then placed its unpeeled hand in the Eighth’s and stood up. “I’ll dance with you.” Its long muzzle broke into a grin as the shark led Frika back out to the door.

Trosufaen watched impassively, crossing his arms over his chest. He did notice, however, just before they left the House - Frika’s fur had sprung back onto its skin, miraculously filled out in the literal blink of an eye; and looked shinier and fluffier than it ever had before.

The Guardian allowed himself a tiny smile.

Frika Laments

Tue, 09 Aug 2005 10:06:49 GMT

Frika is hurt. The House reacts. This is a longer story (about 2.5 pages).

Cruentus’ hands flew over the scrap pile, feverish, blurs of motion as he built. He tore strips of cardboard, snapped thin wood, and shredded paper, then assembled it quickly and roughly into a pyramid shape. His lips twitched as he worked, muttering lyrics.

“If I could change your mind, I wouldn’t save you from the path you wander ... In desperation dreams, any soul can set you free ... And I still hear you scream, in every breath, in every single motion ...”

Frika sat behind him, its mismatched eyes dull as it watched the genet furiously at work. The collie’s hands were draped limply across its thighs, and its head lolled to one side.

Cruentus took a step back to admire his handiwork. The paper and wood construction vaguely resembled a humanoid body. Baring his teeth in a grin of satisfaction, the genet raised his hands above his head, then brought them down quickly, held out at either side of the paper mannequin, as if to hug it. Where his palms passed over it, however, it burst into flame, finishing his incantation. “... Burning innocence, the fire to set you free.”

The genet took another step back, pushing his hair back to as to fully gaze upon his work. The orange light danced in the watery surfaces of his eyes. His tail fluffed with glee, he turned to Frika. “Is it not beautiful?” He cried with reverence.

The collie slowly lifted its head to stare blankly at him. It was sitting so close to the merry blaze, its fur was singed and its whiskers curled in the heat. Frika got to its feet slowly and shuffled away towards the porch, limp tail tucked between its legs.

Cruentus took a wary step after her, then shook his head to himself and returned to admiring the beautiful flames as they licked at the grass.

Frika stumbled over the wooden steps of the porch, ignorant of the bruise formed on its shin, and somehow managed to work the door and step inside the house. All eyes turned to the collie as it entered, and voices hushed just as quickly. Frika ignored them and stepped quietly through the room and left.

Several seconds went by, and Sundance dared to speak again, chewing thoughtfully on his cigar. “... This is really kickin’ ‘er, ain’t it?”

Trosufaen glared at him with his single eye. The opossum shrank slightly and averted his gaze, finding a stain on the floor quite intriguing.

“What had you thought that it would feel?” Phetish asked softly, smoothing a wrinkle in its skirt. “It loved him-”

“Loves,” Trosufaen corrected.

“... Loves. Yes.” Phetish’s eyes glazed momentarily as it raised a hand to its chest, its claws gently tracing its wound underneath its blouse.

Sundance shrugged, as if this conversation no longer involved or interested him, and carelessly ashed his cigar on the carpet, puffing smoke from his wet nostrils. “Eh, whatever.”

Phetish stared at him sidelong. “I really do wish you would show some more care in this matter, Sundance. It affects us all, whether you care about the issue or not.”

Sundance glared back, picking lint from its pouch with a grimy claw. “What th’ fuck would I care, eh? It’s only pills or fucks ta me, you know that. Lemme ‘lone.” He grunted and lay back on the sofa, staring malevolently at the ceiling.

Phetish opened its mouth to retaliate, but shut it again as Frika stepped back into the room, its eyes staring straight ahead as it clutched an empty bottle in its hands. It staggered to Trosufaen and leaned heavily against him; the hyena placed a stabilizing and comforting hand on the dog’s shoulder and hissed softly.

Phetish watched Frika with pity, frowning deeply; Sundance decided this was a prudent moment to exit, and did so quietly.

“Why?” The collie whispered, staring up at Trosufaen.

The hyena remained silent, looking down at Frika, his emotions unfathomable. Neither carnivore looked up as the door creaked open and slammed shut behind the genet, already grown bored with his fire.

Frika, undeterred, sighed shakily and threw its arms around Trosufaen, pressing its face against his side. “He didn’t really mean those things, right? Right?” It looked up at the hyena hopefully, childlike.

Trosufaen looked away, and shook his head slowly as he curled an arm around the collie. “I wish I knew.” Frika swallowed heavily and buried its face into his armpit.

Cruentus bared his fangs, a ridge of fur standing on end down his spine. “Repent!” he snarled, his fingers curling into talons. “Retaliate - You can’t let this go - Get-”

But he was cut off by a silky, cunning voice that cut from a dark shadow gathered in a corner of the room. “He meant it.” At a glare from the hyena, Infudicia continued quickly before she was interrupted: “Why else would he say that? He had trusted the Vessel. He had cared. He has turned against her.” Her lips curled back from her fangs, and her teeth seem to multiply in her jaws the wider her snarl got. “Quit deceiving her! I don’t lie, and you know that! Let her realize the truth, open her eyes! It’s over!” Her voice rose as she spoke, until she was shouting; the darkness boiled up from the corner, until the demon towered over them, blood dripping from the wound on her forehead.

“You’re only jealous.” Phetish said softly, looking away from Infudicia, its long ears slicked back into its hair.

Infudicia rounded on the dreambeast, her antennae lashing angrily as tendrils of shadow reached out from her body and snapped back again. Her maw yawned wide, as if to scream or bite; but it snapped shut again and she shrank back, squatting in her corner. “I feel full. There is much to eat. Much hurt.” Her yellow eyes stared out at the room, her tail lashed angrily, its poison quills dangerously long, and they smashed into the wall, breaking off chunks of plaster and wallpaper. “It is filling, but it does not taste good.” She swung her head toward Phetish, antennae quivering. “Perhaps you are right, I am merely jealous ... he got close. He hurt her deeply, and badly. And he continues, to insult her, degrade her. I could not achieve this...” She continued on, muttering to herself.

“That’s why there should be retaliation,” Cruentus said firmly, eyeing Trosufaen. “Why should we just stand and take that?” He bared his fangs, his tail arched over his back, fur rippling.

Trosufaen stared at him levelly. “Maybe. Maybe not.” He grasped Frika gently by the shoulders and steered it to the sofa vacated by Sundance, and pushed it down, then sat next to it and pulled the collie’s thin body against his own.

Frika gave a muffled sob and hid its face in the hyena’s fur. “It’s over ... I fear so much that’s it. He hates me. He hates me because I’m hurt, I’m ...” It hiccuped and wiped at its eyes with the back of a paw, sniffling. It sang softly under its breath, some favored lyrics it suddenly recalled- “I think I’ll disappear now, I’ll slip out sideways ... Just for a while, but until then, I’ll stay in and sleep late, excuse me... Aren’t you gonna miss me? Aren’t you gonna even say one thing to me, anymore?”

The collie fell silent again abruptly, its shoulders shaking as it pressed against the hyena. Phetish moved across the room and sat on the arm of the sofa, opposite Trosufaen, and laid a clawed hand on the collie’s shoulder. Cruentus lingered in the room, casting a wary eye on Infudicia; who still murmured in the corner.

Frika held its hands out in front of its nose, staring at them with bloodshot eyes. “Useless,” it whispered, and buried its face in its palms. “Where is the eighth?” it said, slightly muffled.

Phetish and Cruentus exchanged a glance, and Phetish turned back to Frika. “Eighth...? We have not seen hide nor hair of this other one, sweetie... it’s ... not anywhere.” It said in a soft, gentle voice, stroking the collie’s mane.

Frika shook its head slowly. “There is another one ... it’s gone. Where is it? Where is my Happy?”

Full House

Sat, 02 Apr 2005 10:25:37 GMT

Discussion, more characterization between the members of Cheshirehouse.

"You say there's another one?" The opossum snorted, firmly planting a crumpled cigarette in his mouth as he repeatedly sparked a drained lighter, desperate for a flame. "Why would there be another?"

"I didn't say there is, I said there might be," Frika glared at Sundance sharply, her beak snapping shut with finality. Sundance shrugged and made a noncommittal grunt as he succeeded in coaxing fire from the lighter.

"How many more do we need?" Cruentus raised his head, glaring at Sundance from behind his thick brown hair. The opossum responded by waving his extended middle finger at the genet and tossed the spent lighter on the floor.

"Believe me, I think there's plenty of you bastards already." Frika slumped to the ground, covering the top of her head with her hands, fingers worked into her long crest feathers.

"Surely not all of us are so terrible," a soft voice interjected, "Some of us are not so cruel nor... filthy." Phetish placed a hand on its chest, affronted.

"That's easy for you to say now, there's no dreameaters around for you to fight with," Cruentus sneered at the dreambeast, his ears folded back.

Phetish looked severely stung for a brief moment before recovering its dignity, and settled for simply ignoring the genet and carefully adjusting the ruffles lining its corset instead.

Sundance sniggered, which made the hair along the genet's back and tail promptly stand on end. Cruentus whirled to face the opossum, bristling. "Oh do shut up, I've had enough from you!"

"Knock it off!" Frika hissed at the same time.

Sundance opened his jaws to respond with something most likely smug, but he was interrupted by a deep voice in a no-nonsense tone.

"Quit. Fighting." Trosufaen glared at the genet and opossum in turn with a pale eye. They knew better than to argue with the guardian, so the opossum and genet settled for grumbling under their breath and mutually ignoring each other.

"Yes don't fight." Apathy echoed, his head lolling to one side to stare blankly at Sundance. The opossum looked away, his lip curled in disgust.

Yes, don't fight, another voice repeated, this one full of spite. Tendrils of sentient black shadow flickered around Apathy's feet, leading back to a massive dark form that loomed over the living puppet. A pair of yellow glowing dots stared out from the top of the shadow, dimmer light coalescing in the center of the dots to form pupils; just so Infudicia could give the impression of rolling her eyes.

Frika shuddered and unconsciously slid closer to Trosufaen, who simply ignored the fallen angel. He suppressed a sigh and set a warm cream-furred hand on the griffin's wing shoulder, remaining silent. Eventually satisfied the group was done fighting with each other, he spoke. "Are we all here?"

Infudicia just giggled, which was echoed by Apathy. Phetish nodded once, seeming to find greater interest in preening its tail-tufts. Sundance looked to think this was a very stupid question, but knew better than to smart mouth the hyena. "... Everyone I know of is."

Trosufaen simply nodded, as if that was the answer he was looking for. He murmured something under his breath the griffin, then turned neatly on one heel and walked out. Frika hesitated, quite reluctant herself, then followed after him.

Sundance watched them leave with great interest. He elbowed the nearest person, which happened to be Phetish, who looked disgusted at being touched by the 'possum. "So, what do you think that's all about?"

Phetish did not honour him with an answer, and instead rose to its feet and left silently, its snout wrinkled in plain distaste. Sundance giggled and sat back, stubbing out his cigarette on Apathy's shoulder.

Apathy giggled, unfazed by the pain nor the reek of burnt skin and fur. Infudicia eyed Sundance closely for a moment, then grinned widely, yellowed teeth flashing brightly against the shimmering black. sometimes, i like you.

Sundance raised a hand and beckoned with a finger. "Why not come closer, babe, and I'll show you something that'll make you like me even more."

Infudicia dipped her head and chuckled, a wet sound deep in her throat, but did not verbally reply.

"You're both filthy whores." Cruentus spat, his hackles still raised.

Apathy threw back his head loosely and guffawed loudly. Cruentus snarled and lashed out, kicking Apathy square in the jaw with enough force to throw the felinoid back into the shadow-dragon's chest. Apathy's head hit Infudicia's chest wound with a wet thud and he slid down limply onto his back, still laughing. Infudicia grinned wider, her jaw threatening to curl straight around the back of her head. Sundance began to laugh as loud as Apathy.

Cruentus barked curses at the three of them, hurled the lighter at Sundance's nose, and took his leave.

Dramatis Personae

Mon, 21 Feb 2005 11:52:44 GMT

I said I'd do it eventually, and here you go. A post with profiles for all the players\\characters in Cheshirehouse. Some have "in character journals," those are listed as such.
(If you would like more comprehensive explanation(s)/description(s), just ask and I shall do.)

Persona
Frika - Main character and the host of Cheshirehouse//parasites//the rest.
-Most often a griffin, sometimes a collie, ~~sometimes a cat~~. Often androgynous; sometimes male, sometimes female.

Father Archetype
Trosufaen - Guardian figure.
Vampiric albino Brown hyena with cyberdreds. Follows and watches over Frika.
trosufaen

Shadow
Infudicia - Fallen angel\\demon dragon.
Dark; protagonist. Hounds and antagonizes Frika.
infudicia

Mechanism
Apathy Metafore - Punching bag.
A symbolic felinoid\\99% brainless automaton.
pullthestrings

Hermaphrodite
Phetish - Androgynous (gendershifting?) dreambeast.
Beautiful purple creature, innocence & seduction.

Libido
Sundance - White trash opossum.
Slutty, dirty & filthy. Destructive.
pistol_trash

Vengeance
Cruentus - Battle-bitter genet.
An eye for an eye & a tooth for a tooth. Vitriol and violence, rage and cruelty.
_outremer_

Martyr
The Eighth - Bound shark-man.
Joy, bliss, fulfillment and enlightenment overshadow pain.
crazy_8th

Echo
Sydney - Starry night vulpinoid.
Risen demon, a shadow that exists in the light; servant gained autonomy, yet persists to please.
shadow_servant

Nostalgia
Nikolaus - Childlike centauroid Dreambeast.
Restraint and memories, a reflection of memories; not as simple as he seems, and not as complicated as he looks.
nikopup

Wounds
bunny - Fearful, frail rodent.
Pain and fear, hurt and sadness, fresh wounds of the present; sister to TakebacK/Repo.

Scars
TakebacK aka Repo - Aggressive, embittered predator.
Anger and violence, knee-jerk reaction to pain and betrayal, old scars from the past; brother to bunny.
pjerjen

Psychopath
A Perfect Murder - Natural-born killer.
Violent tendencies; homocide; no regrets; conscience.

Nostalgia
Saint Fate - Memory embodied//Fleeting muse.
Creation, creativity, destruction; beginning and end; death and birth; free will and destiny.

Construct
Subbi - Empath in stereo.
Music, insight; perceptive & observational; servant.
subbi

Restless Sleep

Fri, 21 Jan 2005 12:36:56 GMT

I added a "main page/info guide" to this journal. I'll add character bios someday, too, I suppose. Go read and enjoy.

Here is another vague and cryptic story, this time featuring lyrics. I'm not a big fan of lyric posts, but oddly enough I have a soft spot for a good song 'fic ~~this is not one of them~~.
More interaction between Trosufaen and Frika - aww, she's having nightmares.

A brown-skinned hand draped over the steely grey beak, the griffin slept fitfully, evidenced by the nervous twitching of her ears and wings. The yellow eyes of her tail were wide open and awake, staring blankly with glassy eyes as the hyena crouched near the sleeping beast.

“So afraid ... open your eyes,” he sang softly, reaching out a hand and smoothing the feathers of her face gently, lovingly, with the backs of his knuckles. “Know too well that fatuates you, something undefined...”

The griffin stirred but remained fast asleep, a faint noise slipping out her beak. A wail, of despair or sadness or perhaps surprise; Trosufaen strained to hear it.
\\Frika stumbled through the dark, her keen eyes fixed on the patch of light and the figure that stood in the ray. So familiar - there in the half-light, the demon without - but he was long dead, the blackness had devoured him - the demon inside, to play then torment you - but there he was. As plain as day, as Frika drew nearer. Her heart lifted in her chest feelings so sure, feelings so uncertain ... something is wrong and she cried out his name, but no sound left her throat.\\

“Everyone’s gone ... you have been left behind, everyone left the demon inside,” Trosufaen whispered in Frika’s ear, stroking the long feathers of her crest, his pink claws trailing through the wispy strands.
\\Frika froze in place, screaming his name over and over ... but still nothing was heard. She struggled to bolt to him - to catch him up and hold him close again - but she could not move, every muscle paralyzed. Her eyes stared involuntarily, her eyelids frozen open, staring in horror as he turned and walked away, disappearing into the shadows. Others followed, as she was forced to watch - others she’d lost do you still hear the laughter, so hard to describe ... and never forget, faces that haunt you she managed to gain control of her jaw muscles, enough to open her beak wide and scream a silent scream//

Trosufaen tilted his head slightly as he watched the sleeping griffin shift uncomfortably; her fingers tensed and relaxed and her beak worked soundlessly, as if trying to gnaw on some nonexistent bone. “Wake or sleep ... you know you can’t tell ...”

He sat back on his rump and stretched his legs out, and gently herded the griffin’s head into his lap, stroking her ears. “Unable to sleep ... unable to fight, unwilling to wake, to open your eyes ...” He broke his gaze from her, staring out at the shadows of her room. He caught a flash of motion in the shadows - a creature that disappeared. The hyena frowned, but didn’t let it halt his song. “Face your oppressor ... still you go on ... convinced it will end ...”

He looked back down at her; she had lazily fallen on her side, her head and a front leg stretched across his thighs. She seemed to have relaxed; there was no more twitching muscles visible under her skin, though her tightly shut eyelids quivered in REM sleep. “Can you remember? A day when it was not like this?”
\\Gaining control of her muscles just as suddenly and inexplicably as she’d become paralyzed, Frika collapsed in a heap and promptly tightened into a fetal ball, clutching her head and sobbing uncontrollably. She squeezed her eyes shut, but she still saw everyone behind her eyelids, images ingrained on her mind. unsure of yourself, unsure of your thoughts, unable to know ... of what you think is right or wrong Frika stood up shakily after catching her breath, casting a terrified glance forward - everyone was gone, only the light was left. Still shaky on her feet, she took a tiny, careful step forward ... then another still you go on, convinced it will end ... but someone pushes a blade through your mind and another, once again steadily advancing on the light.//

Trosufaen closed his eye slowly, gently touching the end of his muzzle to the griffin’s forehead in a soft kiss, a pause in the lyrics. “There on the edge, no one will find you ... so hearing them laugh, no light, it’s not the end for you ...”
\\Eyes fixed once again upon the watery patch of light, Frika marched resolutely forward, tears still dripping down her feathered cheeks. She paused just away from the illuminated area, squinting - it didn’t look so bright from far away - then closed her eyes and surged forward ... and opened her eyes to see - nothing. The light had disappeared why is everything wrong? here i am and left naught but darkness in its place. She was alone again; not even the light accompanied her.//

“Here I am, with these words, trying to say ... something I can’t, something I can’t tell you ...” Trosufaen sang quietly, his mouth still close to her head so his warm breath ruffled her feathers. “Nothing is wrong, the demons, they have left you ... you were not left behind, you were not left behind, so open your eyes ...”

He rolled onto his side, curling his body protectively around her neck and chest, resting his head on her shoulder. “Open your eyes ... unable to sleep, unable to fight ... unwilling to wake.” Trosufaen worked his fingers through her feathers, his claws scraping her warm skin. “Please open your eyes ... here I stand, unable to tell you ... I’m trying to say, nothing is wrong ... please open your eyes, nothing is wrong ... you were not left behind.”

with special thanks to Ronan Harris & Mark Jackson
lyrics plagiarized from VNV Nation’s “Left Behind”

Dirty Bastard

Tue, 18 Jan 2005 12:20:10 GMT

Interaction, with bonus dirty sexual innuendo crap.

Frika snorted softly through her nares, bright raptor eyes glancing - away, anywhere else. No ... enough-

"I saw that," a voice said softly behind her. The griffin froze, feathers quivering on end.

"I know what you were thinking," the voice moved closer to her ear; lower, huskier.

The griffin remained frozen, eyes fixed straight ahead ... she refused to look at the possum looming next to her; refused to acknowledge him.

"You would like him to be close to you ... I know. To feel his body pressed against yours. Warmth and taut muscles. Feel his heartbeart, hear his breath in your ear."

Frika was painfully aware of the possum brushing close to her side; of his warm breath ruffling the feathers lining her ear and the side of her face. She closed her eyes and pinned her ears back against her skull, her crest slicked flat.

"Pressed close - so close against you. His hands roaming over your body ... through your feathers and fur, brushing it backwards gently, affectionately. His voice breathing deep and heavy in your ear ..."

Frika gasped silently as the tip of her ear was bitten. Her skin tightened, setting her feathers to stand on end all over again. Her tails lashed lazily. Her knuckles went white as she dug her claws into the ground, eyes squeezed shut.

"Then you feel him rub against you - rock-hard-"

"Stop it," the griffin whispered.

"-you want him so badly, you want him to mount you-"

"Shut up," the griffin lowered her head and shivered bodily, her feathers puffing out in quivering waves as sharp possum teeth delicately scraped the skin on her neck and shoulder.

"-to feel him slide into you-"

"Fuck off!" the griffin growled and jerked away suddenly, leaping to her feet. She spread her wings instinctively, making herself look bigger and keeping the possum from resuming his position at her side. She suppressed another shudder as she turned around to glare at him angrily. She hissed angrily, beak agape.

The possum just grinned lecherously and stood up, licking his lips as he pushed himself back onto his feet. "We know what you want." He stuffed his hands in his pockets and fished out a crumpled Marlboro pack and a lighter. "You really ought to listen to me more often, you know." He extracted a cigarette and planted it twixt his pink lips, lighting it. "I've never made you anything but happy," he puffed on the cigarette as he replaced the pack and lighter, his eyes staring through the smoke at the griffin. "Have I?"

Frika wrenched her gaze away from him and turned around, then sat down to leave her back facing the possum. She clicked her beak angrily as she heard him chuckle softly. "Would you like a smoke?"

Guardian & Griffon

Thu, 13 Jan 2005 10:25:26 GMT

Discussion.

"I think it may be time to let go." The griffin rocked back on her haunches as she touched the cigarette to her beak and inhaled deeply.

The hyena tilted his head, judging her with his exposed eye. He opened his mouth slightly; and after a moment - "For how long?"

It was the griffin's turn to pause for thought. "I'm not sure." She exhaled slowly, squinting at the smoke that puffed from her nares. "I guess ... it depends on what happens when I get there."

Trosufaen nodded slowly, absently brushing a few loose strands of silver hair away from his face as he considered. "I know what you're expecting ... I can guess what you're hoping." He grimaced briefly. "I can only hope myself you get what you want out of it. But then ... why?"

Frika gave a guttural chuckle; dark and humorless. She twisted her neck around to fix the albino in a lopsided stare. "Why not?"

It Begins

Wed, 12 Jan 2005 21:40:36 GMT

The first. An introduction, if you will.

Shiver. Feathers fluffed out, struggling to retain some semblance of warmth to the griffin's body. It was a useless gesture; it wasn't cold, she was cold. The others in the house were fine; just her.

Her wings spread and curled around her body as she hunched. Sharp raptor eyes stared at the thin membrane of the webbed wings, flickering over old scars and nicks. The griffin that was terrified to fly; and her wings always healed back.

She imagined breath misting from her nares as she hid behind her own wings; as if to hide from the cold, from the dark. Full of so many futile gestures. The dark wouldn't be stopped by something as simple as a wing, and the cold was in her. To emphasize-

"That's useless, you know." His voice was always so smooth and deep, comforting; even when he was derisive as now; she hated him for it. Purplish smoke drifted from the hyena's mouth when he spoke, momentarily hazing his remaining crimson eye as he offered the pipe to the griffin.

"Get out of my home." She grunted, raising her head to glare at the albino, crest flared; though she accepted the pipe and took a deep drag on it, compensating for the lack of lips.

He just chuckled and sat down next to her. "You don't mean it."

Unnecessary. She just nodded, her crest slicking back as she slowly exhaled smoke. "All of you just need to shut up."

The possum snickered derisively. She hissed and fluidly moved to her feet, lunging forward and delivering a backhanded strike to the marsupial's face. He reeled and snickered again, stepping back from the griffin's range.

Hissing and puffing; feathers and crest standing on end; eyes flashing and glaring.

The griffin reared on her hind legs and spun around, eyes glinting as she searched wildly for a more satisfying victim; fingers clenching around the pipe as its smoldering contents spilled on the floor.

The hyena rose to his feet and reached around an extended wing to pat her shoulder. "Calm down."

The griffin twisted her head around and snapped angrily at his hand, the tip of her beak skimming through short, cream fur; then withdrew from his hand and resumed her protective fetal position, curling wings around her as she gripped her ears. The pipe lay forgotten in front of her feet. "Get out, go away ... Help me." She flashed a pleading look to the albino.

Trosufaen's ears folded back and his pupil narrowed as he gazed dispassionately at her for a moment. He always looked so blank. He turned his head to face the newest presence; the one that haunted the traumatized griffin so.

A shimmer across a shadow; a flash of fangs that indicated a smirk. Glowing, bottomless pits of gold and amber.

"You shouldn't be here right now." The tiniest of tremors flickered through the hyena's lips, flashing more than the tip of an oversized fang.

i shouldn't be here, period. the darkness responded. Delicate feelers extended from its skull and stretched toward the griffin, then froze as the sickly yellow eyes fixed on Trosufaen, and retreated as the fallen angel thought better of it.

The hyena took a step toward the dark mass, his fangs bared; challenging. Infudicia responded in kind by slithering backwards, giving the griffin her space; for the moment.

The griffin slowly relaxed and went limp on the floor, though her fingers were still buried in the feathers of her head, and her eyes glazed and blank. "The best is never good enough," she said with finality.

"If you love something, let it go." The opossum quipped, snatching the pipe from the floor and attempting to push the ashes and snuff back into it with the tip of a gnarled yellow claw.

"You're not one to talk." Trosufaen snorted; his gaze was fixed on the fallen angel.

Another voice joined the conversation; a quiet creature; a black-on-silver furred lump from the side. Apathy rarely spoke; his voice was pale and emotionless as a voice synth as was his expression. "If it doesn't come back, you never had it. If it comes back, love it forever." He finished the quote, then went limp again; slumped with his head dangling between his knees.

The opossum flashed a glare at the brainless feline and clenched the pipe in his front teeth, patting down his pockets for a source of fire.

"I'm afraid." The griffin pushed her upper body off the floor and folded her hind legs under her. "I don't think it will come back to me ..." She looked up at Trosufaen helplessly.

He shook his head slowly, once; left-center-right-center. "I wish I could tell you."

The griffin hung her head, staring at the ground. "Maybe ... I don't know. Maybe it's the other way around. I know I'd return instantly if I was released ... but I wouldn't be loved forever ... I'm hardly loved as it is most days." She clacked her beak to end the statement with a cold finality, raising her head to stare at the others present - though avoiding the dark shape.

Especially as it spoke. don't ... let it go. it shifted uncomfortably, its eyes dimming; almost disappearing into the ink.

"So it still loves." Trosufaen's countenance broke expression; an amused grin that showed too many sharp, brilliant-pearl teeth.

The opossum flashed a toothy grin as he struck a match with the tip of a dirty nail and lit the pipe, smoke soon curling from his pink nostrils.

Yellow eyes narrowed to slits and white tusks flashed as Infudicia swelled, raising her head to glare down at the albino. It thrust its chest forward, emphasizing a deep, gaping wound that dripped thick clots of dark blood. i have no heart. i am fallen. it is below such as me.

The griffin swung her head around to face the fallen angel; and stared. Infudicia glared back but stood down. There was a mutual understanding; they broke their gaze and looked away from each other, sheepish.

flashes (once held, bleeding, comforted by dark\\sad and upset comfort the prey) /flashes

The griffin suppressed a shudder and snatched the pipe from the opossum, planting it in her beak. Distraction, distraction. Trosufaen knew better; and they both knew that.