(no one is escaping to) desolation row | faust + felix
and someone says, "you're in the wrong place,
my friend, you better leave."
and then the only sound that's left
after the ambulances go
is cinderella sweepin' up on desolation row . . .
+ he doesn’t need to look to know the boots that stomp clumsily along lumiose concrete belong to the familiar street thug --- a gang of city slickers faust rather not associate with. they scoff in the face of death, cheating him once or twice. yet they rev the engines of their motorcycles, and speed down the streets like the grim reaper follows them in hot pursuit. their time is coming, and it will pass so briefly --- the tick of a second hand, the cock of a gun. and although he rather not play petty games with sewer rats, revenge is faust’s forte.
his fingers wrap around the pistol pointing from his hip --- a cross to a follower deep in prayer --- hallelujah. their presence catalyzes the beating in his chest. the gang member slinks along the brick walls, his hand hovering closer to his holster, anxiously. lock and load --- he watches from the shadows as the delinquents turn sharply down the alleyway. move in.
the gun now in his hand, he feels his palms start to sweat with anticipation. his breath falters. against the walls, eyes shut, he attempts to steady himself and justify his proceeding actions.
faust emerges from the shadows, dashing with white knuckles from the grip he has on his handgun. full throttle, he accelerates, only to skid to a sharp halt behind an unexpected character. there stands a teen boy and a fox-like pokemon faust has only seen on rare occasions, and in this instance, vaguely remembers.
but he can’t be too careful ---
he follows with no words, but a swift snatch of the back of the male’s collar; and he uses the side of his forearm to give the teen a hard shove against the brick. my bad . . . faust presses the opening of his six-shooter to the stranger’s skull. . . . thought he wouldn’t survive this long.
what faust remembers most from their first encounter some odd months ago is the street thug’s charisma, his tone --- so nonchalant and cocky. arrogance never sits well with the gang member, but to humor himself, he intertwines felix’s ego into his monotone dialog.
And now here comes Romeo, moaning
“You belong to me, I believe.”
And someone says, “You’re in the wrong place, my friend.
You better leave”
And then the only sound that’s left
After the ambulances go
Is Cinderella sweepin’ up on Desolation Row
Now at midnight all the agents
And superhuman crew
Go out and round up everyone
That knows more than they do
+ mourning is always evident in the eyes, how grief carves the human features is surely one of a kind. he keeps a low profile --- slumping in his seat, a table for one in the center of a lumiose cafe. he slips the waitress a hushed thank you as she places a mug before him. his parents always taught him manners, and how lumiose turns bitter in the winter, along with its people.
and how could the only place that gave him so much hope stab him with such fatalism? death is predetermined and inevitable --- arceus, he knows that for a fact. but his father was an empire, a god of death and kilning the clouds over alleyways, the translucent infection they all breathe. what he built from a vacant storefront, now industrial --- an iron grip on the city. were slater’s dreams as full as his grave? faust hears the spade tink against the hard clay of the earth, and he tells himself he doesn’t really want to know the answer. but even for slater --- cheating the system? impossible. tampering with the circle of life? simply idiotic.
his target catches his attention, laughing with a group of bikers and suspicious men, blissfully unaware of potential threats like him.
citrine orbs dart side to side as he tunes into the conversation. so carelessly, the target spills all the details and gives faust everything he needs to know. to hide his smug smirk, faust takes a sip of decaf coffee.
by the clatter of mugs and dishes, the thugs prepare their departure. as faust’s next victim strides passed with her chin held high. “it’s human nature theory,” faust speaks in a whisper, but loud enough to keep the conversation between them. “people commit crimes because they think they can get away with it.” the gang member reacts. swiftly, he grabs hold of the biker’s wrist. his body stays forward, eyes on his coffee.
no one sees it coming --- how faust practically tosses the thug like waste, causing her to stumble over a nearby chair. from his hip, he extracts his weapon. the pistol burns in his palm, so eager to serve this . . . justice.
his finger caresses the trigger. the click of the gun like the last amen.
“here in lumiose, they’re wrong.”
i sense there’s something in the wind. tnbc!au holiday event | faust + ???
+ he stands tall, thin. like the naked willows, he keeps posture and does not falter in the gusts of wind that whistle in his ears and in the spaces between branches. a black suit compliments the monochrome, keeps him hidden, though he’s used to being seen. slender fingers trail against his brow, eye, and down his cheek. he studies his own features through touch, yet only just now finds a word for the familiarity; a description.
oh somewhere deep inside of these bones,
an emptiness began to grow
there’s something out there, far from my home
a longing that I’ve never known …
hollow — like holes in trees, waiting for no vacancy. it’s his chest that’s empty; when he holds his breath, he can hear the faint pumping of his heart echo through bone and fill his ears. he fights to stay alive, yet this town is marked for macabre. death; the word rattles in the darkest part of his chest. he’s not dead yet. less than a minority, he’s an individual — a lone wolf, howling underneath the golden glow of the moon. begging to the forest as if it’s a locked door.
let me out, let me out of here …
but a town without it’s leader will precede a fallen empire. the pumpkin king. honored, respected, overlooked. how could someone of such celebrity feel such heavy loneliness? and who would ever understand the royalty’s desire to escape his own kingdom?
and who goes there, through fallen leaves and fog? who catches sight of the man under nightfall, the moonlight illuminating and casting shadow where it’s due? does he look like the king of halloween?
“The Prism Tower rises above Lumiose City. Up until a few seconds ago, the fighters were brawling on top of that tower. No, really.” - Masahiro Sakurai
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