#431 words

[browniefox]

A Date With The Devil

Dark prepares for a mission. Wilford is excited to see him actually doing something. It’s the first moment of change.

In which the egos are mostly affected by videos an less by their own stories. Heavily influenced from this by @the-east-hunter

oOo

Wilford raised an eyebrow.

He could hardly believe what he was seeing.

And yet, as the cotton-candy killer watched on, Dark carefully tightened his tie, smoothing down the suit jacket.

“Now just what are you up to?”

Wilford’s eye crinkled just a bit more as Dark jumps ever-so-slightly. There’s a strange aura around him today that seems to mute the colors of the world around and give him himself an off-putting red-and-blue static. The suit was a nice change from the ego’s normal t-shirt and jeans or whatever edgy iteration from the fandom he was currently feeding off of.

“I have concocted a plan.” Dark slipped his hands behind his back, spine straight, looking wilford in the eyes. “I shall use the means of a theatre to infiltrate a romantic evening that Mark has put together for one he holds dearly. There I will be able to make my move and through this person of romantic interest get into Mark’s inner circle of trust, where I will then-”

“It’s a date.”

“No.” Wilford stared into Dark’s eyes, mustache wiggling. Eventually the other ego broke the staring contest, looking off to the side. “A bit.”

“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!” Wilford grabbed Dark’s shoulders and spun around a bit. “Oh, my little edgelord is going to actually have a future! You won’t die in some corner of the world alone!”

“There is no true heart behind this action.” Dark brushed off Wilford’s hands, turning back to the mirror. “And you say that as if you’ll ever find someone who can put up with you.”

“I don’t need somebody to put up with me.” Wilford flicked his head a bit, floof of hair somehow giving off glitter. “I’m Wilford Warfstache. Now, don’t you think perhaps a handkerchief would be a good addition?”

“Mark isn’t wearing a handkerchief.” Dark stated. Wilford winked at him.

“Oh c’mon Dark, it’ll be hard enough keeping one form throughout the night, may as well bring something to keep your goopy-goop eyes from getting on your suit.”

“That won’t be a problem.” Wilford raised an eyebrow. But he didn’t argue.

Later, Wilford picks up the dead corpse of Dark and brings him back to Ego Manor. He’s still in the gray form, and there’s no sign of any black substance running down from his eyes.

In a new record, the ego comes back alive after only a bit more than an hour, shell cracking more than it ever has, blue and red energy nearly destroying the clinic.

And Wilford can’t help but to grin.

Things were really starting to get interesting around here.

[asheewrites]

Lavaless Streets

His feet made tapping sounds on the floor. The soles connected to the plaster and every time there was a small knocking sound. It echoed when he walked between houses.

Of course heaven had these structures as well. As examples of human ingenuity. But it was bright. And no puddles on the floor. No streets that felt too tight to walk through. And that was what this was. Narrow, full of puddles and the roof rails dripped and added to it.

Groups of people laughed, standing around in street corners, leaning against the wall, generally were busy walking, paying him no mind and getting where they wanted as fast as possible if they did not loiter in groups.

“Huh. Hey there. So pleased to meet you, especially out here,” said a voice not far away. And Metatron looked, frowning.

There was a businessman. Appropriately well dressed. Suit. Tie. Shoes. (his feet already itched by their own confinement): “… excuse me?” He asked, after he ascertained the stranger could mean no one else.

Said stranger’s eyebrows rose. And he blinked at him twice: “Oh.” He said. “I… mistook you for someone else. I…” He took a hand out of his pants pockets and ran it through his hair. He looked… crestfallen. And looked back at him, searching the wall for something with an intense look on his face. “…apologise…”

Metatron looked at the person in front of him – he had gotten into view when he walked past a corner – frowned. And then said: “You seem to be… lost?”

The man looked back, stared for a moment and smiled: “… you remind me of him. Makes the day a little better. But yes. I… I look for a pub? It’s called ‘Volcano’?” He looked hopeful. Closing his eyes,

He checked for the location – only a small use of his internal knowledge – and: “There… is no Vulcano. There actually never was.” He stared at the man. “… could it be you feel more lost? Phone not connecting? Numbers not working on the phones you find?”

He recoiled a little bit, then said, with a mixed look of trust and surprise: “… uh… that… is very specific. And… actually… yes?” There was a phone in his hand now.

“Well, stranger. I believe I can help you,” Metatron held out a hand, a tentative smile on his face: “You aren’t the first one to be lost. Welcome, for now”

The beaming smile of the businessman was a thing to behold. “I… thank you! My name is Richard, by the way. To… not stay strangers any longer”

[asheewrites]

(1/2) Reverend Loew owns a cat. Or the cat owns him. Or it just came with the interior as he took over the rectory. It's not exactly a house cat. It comes and goes as it pleases and often hunts shrews in the garden. The previous reverend when asked about it just shrugged. So Henoch lovingly calls it Mr. Mewhisstopurrless, short Hissto. It looks a bit like the cat from Last Unicorn but all black and refusing the peg leg and eyepatch. It is very dominant about owning the house and garden.

(2/2) So at the like 20th of their 40 “not-dates” at Henoch’s house, the reverend is in the kitchen and Raphael, probably awkwardly waits on the sofa in the living room. When suddenly that cat (Raphael has never seen before) strolls into the living room, hops on the armchair next to the sofa, like it owns the place. It is about to lay down when it notices the intruder and jumps over to the sofa, beginning to scrutinize Raphael and possibly sit down on his lap.

A cat.

That was all his brain supplied when this littlemonstrosity came in.

Coping with Henoch’s continued presence andattention was difficult enough, but now… it turns out he owns acat.

A cat!

Raphael was not good with cats. Or cats were notgood with him. Either way: Meeting one was not usually a pleasantoccurrence.

And now there was that… cat. Half-blind from allhe could see… MASSIVE and most likely a tomcat, with that big headof his. The all-black fiend merely had white whiskers, which wereentirely too long and in seemingly eternal movement.

It seemed to have a BEARD as well!

It – he – generally looked like it had seenbetter days. Did not actually fit to Henoch, if he looked at how itturned itself on the armchair and half-clawed into the cushion witheach tread.

Kind of an magnificent beast: Too big for a‘normal’ cat. Somewhat feral? It had a dangerous feeling to it.

… and it seemed like it did not like to bewatched. Even in it’s half-blind state, it noticed the intruderstaring and aborted all movement.

The noise that was emitted from the creaturewas… interesting? Raphael was not sure how it was even able to makea noise like that. It was decidedly proactive and intimidating, butneither threatening nor pleased.

It felt a little bit like plucking a wrong cordand sticking with it.

Impressive, but unnerving.

It also LOOKED at him.

And then… jumped over from the armchair.

Not very fast. It simply jumped. And then walkedover with it’s treading claw-paws.

It was very good at ignoring Raphael’s hand at theside of it’s lap. The hand did nothing to prevent the cat fromgingerly stepping onto him and laying down.

Just like that.

Now a ball of… wirey cat laid on him.

There were muscles to be felt and scratchy hair.

When Raphael moved his hand over the fur, thewrong-cord-sound was back, but tipped over to a slightly off-soundingpurr.

Who would have guessed.

This cat had no sanguine temper towards him. Amiracle.

He had always imagined cat-fur to be softer,especially since there was so MUCH of it, but… no. It felt a lotlike straw.

Ah, as long as the cat enjoyed the contact, hewould not complain.

There weren’t even claws lodged in his leg, just acat body laying on it’s side… on top of his legs, making somewhatotherworldly noises and looking around with half-seeing, almostdemonic eyes.

Jepp. Sounds good.

Very good.

He called over to the next room: “Reverend? Iactually think your cat LIKES me”, which was a first. That was a good sign, right?!