TWELVE O’CLOCK, THE WITCHES SABBATH: the soft hum of a midnight showing begins to die down in hushed amazement and haunted intoxication. 𝙱𝙾𝙾𝚉𝚈 𝙱𝚁𝙴𝙰𝚃𝙷 𝙰𝙽𝙳 𝙱𝙻𝙾𝙾𝙳 𝚂𝙷𝙾𝚃 𝙴𝚈𝙴𝚂, and somewhere in this sea of bloated faces and nicotine clouds, a man shouts something obscene as if it were swelling in his chest and boiling over like STEAM in a teapot. “ 𝘭𝘢𝘥𝘪𝘦𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘨𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘭𝘦𝘮𝘦𝘯, 𝘪𝘵’𝘴 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘮𝘢𝘨𝘪𝘤 ! ” curtains are drawn and A SPOTLIGHT INVADES THE STAGE , struggling to find its target. 𝐌𝐘 𝐒𝐋𝐄𝐄𝐕𝐄 𝐈𝐒 𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐆𝐍𝐀𝐍𝐓 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐀 𝐁𝐎𝐔𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐓 𝐎𝐅 𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐑𝐘 - 𝐑𝐄𝐃 𝐑𝐎𝐒𝐄𝐒 , severed limbs and decapitated heads stuffed in topsy - turvy boxes return to their full-bodied GLORY. THE AUDIENCE’S ATTENTION IS MINE, i’m reading their amazed disbelief like daddy’s old arthurian text, tales of KNIGHTS IN SHINING ARMOR, demons of the night battling dragons and warlocks fighting for peace. i steady my hand and make myself into a living legend. MERLIN’S GOT NOTHING ON ME. cheers and roses rain down on me, the audience chants my name “ZATANNA! ZATANNA! ZATANNA!” as a hand riddled with callouses and swathed in a father’s warmth seizes my hand, a soft smile greeting my gaze. DADDY AND DAUGHTER, hand in hand. everything is as it should be —— 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐢 𝐰𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐮𝐩.
𝐉𝐀𝐌𝐄𝐒 𝐑𝐎𝐎𝐊: ZATANNA... ZATANNA... ZATANNA! ENOUGH. I’M CUTTING YOU OFF. JUST GO HOME, Z.
THE HANGOVER BLUES: wake up. feel like shit. drink the pain away. throw up last night’s dinner. repeat. repeat. repeat until i get the courage to blow my brains out: but i won’t. “it gets easier.” “you really should take better care of yourself.” “what would zatara say?” i’m numb to the pain, or just too wasted to even care. i hear the morning forecast and half-notice the ACCUMULATION OF DUST BUNNIES AND EARLY MORNING SHADOWS WALKING TOWARDS ME. i haven’t gone crazy yet. it’s the witch boy.
❝ oh, this is rich. even for you… years wasted on cheap parlor tricks and card games, indulging mortals fat with impropriety for witch and warlock folk alike… and now you retire to the bottle. what wickedness hath your father committed in denying you thine rightful power… indulge me , have you any pleasure in knowing your pitiful father burns in hell? hath you no joy? A LIFETIME OF FIGHTING AND NOW AN ETERNITY OF SUFFERING. a fitting end. ❞
𝐙𝐀𝐓𝐀𝐍𝐍𝐀: PISS OFF, KLARION. NOT IN THE MOOD. 𝐊𝐋𝐀𝐑𝐈𝐎𝐍: I’VE HEARD WHISPER OF A WITCH - MAN TO STUBBORN TO SUCCUMB TO THE DEVIL’S FLAME. WHAT SAY YOU ACCOMPANY ME -- 𝐙𝐀𝐓𝐀𝐍𝐍𝐀: STOP IT, KLARION. 𝐊𝐋𝐀𝐑𝐈𝐎𝐍: AND WHAT OF CONSTAN --
❝ NOIRALK EB ENOG! ❞
@hellmagi : WITH A JUDAS KISS.