I completely forgot to send this ask earlier but Gideon has a tracker on dollface??? When did he do that????? Is it on dollface’s person like in his clothes or what?? Why is Gideon so evil and gay!?!?!?
I imagine it was between audios, so a recent development.
That is most certainly not a bug bite on the back of the listener's neck!
I imagine he's one of those paranormal enthusiast nerds. In high school he was probably a bully within the occult club that forced people terrified of breaking curfew into abandoned steel mills where very real, actual squatters likely congregated.
Is there any information about Cole and Gideon’s dynamic you can give us or is it all a spoiler? (I’m assuming they are brothers (twins?) or am I misremembering things?)
I can only say the revelation will be the most disappointing thing in the clutzverse
Helloo @clutzclown sorry for the spam I'll eventually stop- I just really enjoy your work and have finally finished this drawing-
Did it on two canvass so just combine the time lmao- I rushes some details and got rid of a few others, someone in the server pointed out to me that it might not be Oasis but resort- I'ma be honest no clue where he would've gotten the cop car, I tried to make Cameron look like a deer in head lights, the listeners designs are rushed because I didn't know what to do with em, so it's Richie closet to Cam, behind Vincent is Basil's listener and in the cop car is Vincent's listener, behind everyone is Basil. Everyone's supposed to have their own light source like Gideon has his phone and the cop lights, Cameron has the head lights, Vincent has some off screen lighting, Vincent is meant to be standing on idk like a visual whismy road that was the idea lmao
Excellent and very dynamic drawing! And I see how everyone has their own light source, that was done very well too. Slap on a title and you've got a movie poster lol
Cole considered the waitress’s question. The menu was so opulent, so blue-blooded, each item and its lack of a price drained his appetite. No wonder the rich were so peckish. Cole, who never dreamed of being in a restaurant without a clown mascot out front, was anything but hungry. Yet here he was on a date, with a woman from corporate no less, content to make that her personality. He didn’t want to be here any more than he wanted to be in the asylum. Would asking for a kid’s menu be enough to cut the date short? Surely that was unbecoming of a serial killer.
“Yes, we’re quite ready,” answered Willow. “I’ll have the ortolan in armagnac, braised in rouge, with vegetable moussaka and topped with oriental tomatoes and dried parsley. He’ll be having the prime rib, 16 oz. Bloody. Make it bloody. Baked potatoes. Red is fine, I am sure.” Cole didn’t have time to get a word in. But the waitress nodded, took their menus, and left him alone with his date.
The blunt-cut fringe of Willow Testerman’s black hair was so even an architect would be proud. In fact, Willow seemed to carry herself like a piece of cold, calculated architecture. This was the kind of person who spent her break looking over spreadsheets to kill time. Even the way she spoke seemed devoid of life or passion. Yet it was her who pulled the strings to marionette Cole into the seat before her.
“I know you like it bloody,” Willow said.
“I usually prefer fish,” Cole groaned. “I haven’t had steak since I graduated high school. Parents took me out to celebrate not being a failure.” A premature celebration. “No, wait. There was the time my next-door neighbor gave me leftovers from the restaurant she worked at. That one tasted better. Still prefer fish though.”
Willow stared at Cole. What an icy, piercing gaze that expressionless face wore! “I wasn’t talking about the steak.” No, of course she wasn’t. “The neighbor,” she huffed, “was she one of your victims?”
“No,” Cole said, “and I didn’t…” his voice trailed off into something softer, “I didn’t like it bloody then either.”
“I understand,” Willow swirled the red contents of her wine. Her lips were a close match to the deep, rich crimson. “Wouldn’t be smart to kidnap somebody you knew, now would it? That would bring the police knocking, I’m sure. That’s the perk of your new line work. In corporate, when people go missing, nobody asks where they went.”
Oh stuff your perks and marinate them in armagnac, whatever that is. Cole kidnapped people out of passion. It was an itch to scratch when the mood hit. Now that he was ‘under contract,’ all the fun was sucked out. Same reason Cole struggled in high school. He hated being told what to do. Yet as soon as he got a diploma, history and literature became fast friends to him. Amazing the delights one could reap without a stuffy teacher over your shoulder.
He took up his pink lemonade, the drink that’d made Willow cringe when he ordered it. “Here’s to corporate liquidation,” he said, dryly.
Willow clinked her glass off of his, the audible clink joining the orchestra of dining around them. He didn’t expect her to register that as a genuine toast. Cole sat his drink down and did all he could to not sigh. Classy restaurants were the worst. What did everyone else here do to afford this pretentious atmosphere? Cut other people’s hours to save their bonus? Campaign to get warning labels off drugs? Sell arms to insurgents and offer a discount to the regime they were fighting? The sigh slipped out; at least I was quick to the point with what I did.
“So,” Willow said, the corner of her lip getting as close a smile as it legally could, “enough of the suspense. What was it like the first time?”
“My first time at a nice restaurant like this? I think I was about ten years old. Dad really wanted to convince mom not to go through with a divorce after he trashed the kitchen. I ordered mac and cheese. It tasted funny.”
For a woman with such a stone-cold face, Cole was amazed to see disappointment manage across it. “You know that’s not what I meant.”
“Do we have to talk about work?” Cole asked. “Actually, my benefactors have provided me with a small home theater. I’ve been collecting old films lately. Recently, I’ve also been reading quite a bit of Goethe. Young Werther had a very fun structure to itself.”
“I didn’t spend a year's worth of favors to dig you out of your hole so we could talk about Goethe.”
The Sorrows of Young Harper. Or rather Young Willow. She would do well to take a page out of Werther’s book. Obsessions never end well. Cole leaned back in discomfort, “Ms. Testerman-”
“No. I’m footing the bill for this evening. As such, I get to choose the entertainment as well. I want to hear it from a killer’s own mouth. What exactly it was like to…extinguish another life. To end someone’s story.” She leaned forward, again flirting with the idea of smiling. “And please, do call me Willow.”
Cole worked up a desperate smile. Was it getting hot in here? “Willow. The night of the asylum riot, I actually provided a full recording of my crimes. The interviewer, well–I believe the audio at least might’ve survived.”
“Oh, yes,” Willow said with an eager nod, “it most certainly did, Cole. I mean, before that, you were a series of sensational stories in the newspaper. They painted you as a monster but they never really got your word, not properly. Then that recording surfaced. I listened to it, Cole, and something inside me awoke.
“The Dancer of Death, his work, in his own words. You spoke so eloquently about the gruesome acts you committed. Your voice too, so smooth and full of hate, like you held the whole world in contempt.” I hold whoever's playing the cello right now in contempt. “It felt like you were right behind my ear. That I was bound to your chair, like one of your victims. The way you described it too. How you played music, how you danced closer and closer, working up to a climax.” It was brief but Willow bit her lip and closed her eyes as she reminisced.
Cole recoiled, “Yes, well, I’m pretty sure I also explained I did all this because I wanted to dance. The bodies were sort of collateral damage, if I remember my wording correctly.”
“You did say that,” Willow nodded, piercing eyes again fixed on Cole. “Those were your exact words. Just the idea of it. Kidnapping people to have an audience.” Another near-smile. Cole noted it like a sports broadcaster. “You’re outright insane.”
Well, I don’t make it my personality. “Uh-huh. I mentioned it was pop music, right? When I listen to pop, all that energy gets me going. More than that. It’s like a spirit comes over me.” The spirit of the dance. How good it feels to join spirit and music into one. There was no stopping the dumb smile from creeping across Cole’s face. “You know, a lot of the songs were Sunny Rising. She’s great but have you checked out Ladybird? She doesn’t have a single miss in any of her albums. Mixed Bag is probably my favorite-”
“Yes, you talked about the genres,” interrupted Willow. “I think what really turns the recording into an experience is the ending. When the alarms are ringing and the shouting can be heard through the walls. You tell the interviewer you’re aware this was all set up. You can even hear the jingle of your loose cuffs. Then comes the delivery. There was so much passion in that moment.”
Because I was trying to get into the interviewer’s pants. Nobody else bothered to check up on my life or try to find out what I was thinking. A heavy sadness drooped over Cole. In all his life, he’d never been on a date before. Was it pitiful or impressive that he scored this one after being given a life sentence? Or perhaps the gloomy mood was on account of that damn cello. Music really did have a power over Cole.
“Since you know my story already, why bother hearing it all again?”
“Wasn’t I clear?” Willow snapped. Did she have to clutch her knife like that? Either way, she traded it for her wine and took a sip. “I want to hear it straight from the ghoul’s mouth?”
“Ghoul?” Ouch.
“That scar coming off your eyes does wonders to give you a violent gleam when you look at me.” That’s not something I can help, Cole wanted to say. “Truthfully. I’d thought you’d be a bit more…like the recording. I’ve yet to feel the passion I heard radiating from it. But don’t worry. From your own account, I understand you need to warm up, so to speak. Also, I’m proficient in coaxing what I need out of people. Comes with my job.”
Oh, right! Weren’t people supposed to ask about other people’s lives during dates? That was a recurring theme in the movies Cole had been watching as of late. The romcoms were sweet. However, most couples seemed to meet at the park or waiting in line at the DMV. Well, perhaps the latter was only in the movie Cole saw last week. He was certain, however–most dates probably don’t start with blackmail over your history as a serial killer.
“Your job,” Cole sputtered, “you didn’t–what is it you do, exactly? You said you were corporate but you didn’t say where in the city.” And this was a city where, depending where you worked, much could be said for your mental disorders.
Willow came dangerously close to a smile then, “Oh, Cole. I practically am the city.”
For a man with a dozen kills to his name, Cole Harper felt suddenly small and intimidated before the pale woman sat in front of him. He meant to ask if she worked in tax collection. But the words caught in his throat.
“We’re far more similar than you may realize,” Willow mused. “Between my line of work and your current performances, we’re both interrogators at the end of the day. You play with knives,” Willow ran a finger down the steel of her steak knife, “and I play with lives.” So much for wanting to know more about her. “As I told you. I’ll find a way to get that spirit out of you.”
Cole was about to ask if she meant his soul. That’d be a welcome respite if it got him out of this dinner. Unfortunately for Cole, dinner arrived. The plates were set onto the table. The cooked bird on Willow’s plate was suspiciously small. The steak on Cole’s plate was offensively pink and bloody. He went from no appetite to queasy in a heartbeat.
“Now there’s a fine cut of meat,” Willow said. “I imagine that steak will do well to get your blood pumping. Now go on. Take that knife and carve into it.”
Hesitantly, as if the handle of the knife was aglow and orange from being heated by the fires of hell, Cole’s trembling hand reached for it. What could he do but comply? As he cut into the gore on his plate, Willow hummed, and asked again about his first time.
It was around the time of Cole’s fifth victim that he’d truly gotten into his rhythm. At least so much as lure, bait, chloroform, and cleanup went. His rhythm in the basement was top notch! When he got dancing there was no stopping Cole from timing the blade to the final beat of the song. If only he could find his rhythm in entertaining a woman who wasn’t strapped to the chair she was sat in.
Willow seemed pleased enough. But Cole reached his limit four accounts ago. He ate what he could, though the steak was far too raw for his liking, and he suffered enough recounting those dances best left to the past.
“You haven’t talked about the rush,” Willow said. “From what I’ve heard, there’s always a rush in doing the deed.”
Doing the deed? The deed was the dance. Everything after that was getting rid of the witness. It was all to have someone to dance for. Yes, Cole knew he was mad. But so was asking out a serial killer.
“If you’ll excuse me,” Cole stood up, “I have to use the gentlemen’s parlor.”
“Good luck,” Willow joked. Cole appreciated the wish. He accepted all the luck he could get as he made his way through the kitchen for the back door.
It was cold out but wonderfully refreshing as well. Being away from Willow Testerman was enough to take some of the weight off his chest. Not that all the weight would ever leave it. How better would life be if Cole was abducted before he was able to abduct anyone else? Or, dare he dream it, he found someone to dance with rather than for. Cole knew he couldn’t fully wrap his head around his crimes. To bear the weight for what he ought to bear. But he knew how to count. There’d be a dozen more lives still on the streets. He appreciated what the difference would’ve been to his victims.
Cole Harper was an ex-serial killer, if such a thing existed. Perhaps he wasn’t deserving of that moniker. What he did couldn’t be undone. But it was still true he wasn’t out to live that kind of life anymore. Not willingly. And not that Willow was able to hear him out or understand that. He didn’t enjoy what he did, he wasn’t absolved of guilt, but he also certainly didn’t care to spend another minute with his date.
“Dates,” Cole scoffed to himself. If karmic justice existed, he supposed that might’ve meant putting a ring on Willow’s bony finger. The thought of it made his skin crawl. But no doubt she would’ve liked the sound of ‘Willow Harper.’
Cole headed down the alley. Toward the end he spotted a kid preparing to wrap a chain around what might’ve been a red bicycle before the years and rust caught up with it. The bike must’ve been older than his first dance. It almost seemed somehow pure for that.
“That bike’s looking worse for wear,” Cole said. The kid jumped to attention. Was his profile that startling? Then again, he was standing stiffly after coming out of the dark. Not to mention the eye.
It took a moment for the boy to find his words, “Yeah, was my brother’s and our older brother’s before him. At least I think so.”
When was the last time I rode a bike, Cole wondered. Ah, yes. It was shortly after high school. He’d ride his bike to his job. The fast food joint by the pier. Whole world seemed ahead of him back when he was flipping burgers and washing dishes. He remembered the bike was stolen too. How miserable that made him. That slump in his life seemed to last up to his first dance. That damn pier. His first job was on it. And so was his first victim.
Cole reached into his jacket. The kid appeared nervous, as if ready to hop back onto his bike and speed away. A good job the boy didn’t. Cole floated a few hundred dollar bills above him, “Would this be enough to get you a new bike?”
The bike was old and complete with a decent number of dents and chips off the side. But it was true what they say–you never forget how to ride a bike. It was better this way as well. Cole absolutely did not wish to get into the back of a cab. Or, worse yet, return to Willow and ask for a ride back home. He didn’t know where home was either. His benefactors kept him underground, in the tunnels. They kept him taken care of. Him and his special friend. The interviewer he adored so much that he simply couldn’t give up.
Cole felt free as a bird as he rode down the street. That Willow woman was a loon. So possessive! Obsessed to a fault. He’d get a licking from his benefactors for ditching her like that. But so be it. They could do that when they find him again and put him back to work. He didn’t wish to dally long. But for now, he was happy to ride his bike. So happy he could dance. Though tonight there would be no dancing. Cole Harper was off to get a cheeseburger.
HEY CLUTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTZZ *cough cough* sorry- I have two questions since i don't wanna fill up your ask box but does any of the cast have any phobias thay we should know about ANDDD when we'll we learn about Gideons prom night? Can we get an episode number?
These are good questions but they'll have to develop naturally, as all good trauma does. Though I feel like someone should be afraid of clowns. Gideon, perhaps?
Prom night will be addressed eventually.
I also genuinely don't see Vincent having any fears, what with being a psychopath.
Hello mr boss man boss of the bosses I have a question for you does checkers just send memes to Ed sometimes randomly and ed it just like "checkers it 3 am.." ":3"?
The relationship isn't there yet. But it's getting there.
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