#semory

[sebastiansteele]

Ready Aim Fire by Imagine Dragons 

Monsters by Ruelle

Until We Go Down by Ruelle

Heathens by Twenty One Pilots

Glory and Gore by Lorde

Warriors by Imagine Dragons

Everybody Wants To Rule The World by Lorde

In re:  emorylight asked“🎃”

[emorylight]

Text || Semory || The After

sebastiansteele:

Вы нашли себя не хватает ваших формальности снова, свет? Это становится привычкой твоего возобновить случайный, а не продолжать с ложным предлогом чужого превосходства только по названию, по вашему мнению, по крайней мере. I did indulge in your accelerant. You’re aware of my answer to its invitation.

emorylight:

Довольно впечатление на вашего отъезда, Себастьян. A bang, indeed.

Продуманный вас быть обеспокоены моим формальностей, но самонадеянно, тем не менее, чтобы предложить идею превосходства вообще. Название в этом обществе не означает ценность или значение, а не вы должны всех людей быть остро осознает самого субъекта?  I suspected as much.  Are you amenable to the target, or would you be interested in enhancing the proverbial stake by seeking out something new?

[sebastiansteele]

F2F: Semory || Oct. 6th Afternoon

Emory: Level 1 punishments are rather lackluster, are they not? Tell me, Mr. Steele, how does it feel to finally be able to exercise an unedited punishment?

Sebastian: Interested in levels again, Light? Shame you're acting like a participant again with such concern towards restrictions. [The crack of the whip is heard, casually striking against Cade's thighs from the slip in his punishment.] Has submissive Romo number one informed you of your faulty memory? He's always so interested in that regard, but to be accurate this time, you would provide him with such pride, I'm sure.

[emorylight]

Russian Roulette || Semory || May 25th Late PM

Time.  An abstract subject, a surreal concept to some, but its existence was always felt, slipping by through the cracks, leaving its reminders and cruelty of its presence in the form of age and decay.  

Eight years and almost eight months in counting, thousands of days, millons of hours, and close to three hundred millions of seconds.  

For a mind that never rest, thoughts, plans, ideas were always in motion.  Tumultuous, logical, contradicting, yet complementary in the most controversial manner.  The seed of vengeance was planted long ago, and with it the change that was irreversible.   .

Closure.  A sense of finality, an answer and conclusion that brought to pass an open issue.  Certain, and permanent, it denoted the ultimate authority in an outcome, a true testament in control when closure was sought and found in the manner it was intended, 

Nine hours, forty-three minutes, and twenty-eight seconds.

The news of Sigvast Antila’s demise was delivered to the person whose plan had included the dead man.  A dead man who was the first, the perpetrator, the mastermind that set into motion the series of events and ignited the fire that ironically helped turn a young man’s heart into stone and with it, awakening his true potential.

While one could argue that closure came in the form of death, such was not to be when revenge was meant as the tool to prolong the suffering, to create a twisted sense of immortality from the very fiber of torment itself.  A roadmap was elaborately planned out, and with it blueprint and detail, chess pieces placed and positioned with precision, as Emory Light waited for the exact moment to strike.

"Did he suffer?"  

"Yes, for the past week when he was deprived of pain medication.  Everything’s been done to your specification, Emory."  

The gleam of the metal made its presence known, even while the movement of the blades remained in the peripheral vision of the unblinking slate blue eyes.  The well-practice movements, fluid and varied in the way they glided over the unmarked skin, above, around, and under before the blades snapped shut with a resounding click.  The Trebuchet was repeated time and again, until the owner became bored of its simple movement and advanced to the most complex and practical knife moves for the balisong, faster, swifter, and deadlier.

Thirty-eight, thirty-nine, forty, forty-one, forty-two. Time.

The neverending cycle of forty-two.  Unaffected by the hardship of life, it was a steady rhythm that propelled the life’s blood through the arteries, carrying with it what was required for the sacred organ to continue its task, enabling the one who had long lost his humanity to proceed with the journey that had yet to be taken.

Wheels turning and gliding over the placemat with no resistance, the chair was pushed back, allowing its occupant to stand up.  Reclaiming its place in the pocket once more, the familiar weight of the butterfly knife made its presence known should the need ever arise for its usage.  Glass door slid open with little noise, the air of San Juan greeted Emory with its dampness and scent of the ocean.  The walk to Villa 502 was a short one.  Preliminary glance suggested no occupants were at the structure, but looks could be deceiving.

Standard protocol would dictate approach from the front entrance, utilizing the courtesy of knocking and doorbell.  However, there was no purpose in what was pointless protocol that would find no successful outcome should there be no answer.  Hand placed against the clear surface of the door, its owner keenly aware of the durability that came with investment being made for safety and quality.  

When enough brute force was used for the impact, something would most certainly give.  The rainstorm of clear shards was an odd mockery of nature itself, as the original state was transformed, shattering into a countless pieces with the most cacophonous melody that betrayed nothing of the incident that was to transpire in the next few hours.  

The one who curtailed its shelf life remained unaffected, orbs of blue unblinking as they eyed the interior of the living room.  Glass crunched under the sole of his shoes while Emory stepped through the threshold.  Life essence made their presence known from the freshly formed opening, running in rivulets along the hairline, staining the golden strands and matching with the lacerations illustrating his hands.  

Finding the villa unoccupied, the owner of Light Enterprise made himself home, sitting down on one of the pristinely white couches while he kept vigil in the newly restored silence, as the scarlet elixir left its mark behind, intending on painting the immediately colorless surrounding into that of its own.  

[emorylight]

PM @ Sebastian

sebastiansteele

PM: I took note of your demonstration. I assumed there was a reason for you to yank your own leash back. Without submissive Romo #1’s departure available as a consequence, there is something that is weighing your behavior down, one that you’ve managed to have fawning over you no less. To be patient would mean a personal investment, since I have none to acknowledge, I look forward to the conclusion with less enthusiasm upon each passing day. 

Cain is currently unstable. Quite self-destructive at the moment. It would be wasteful to merely subject him to a level 1 punishment, especially with the amount of effort I’ve already put into him. He should be put to better use. I believe making him into a game would be fitting of his childish behavior.

I believe I may have to give Mr. Romo some credit for his observation after all.  Your memory is truly failing you.  Have you conveniently forgotten how long it had taken for you to play out that performance involving Miss Sterling?  Make no mistake, Mr. Steele, our last wager was a tie for a good reason, and I need not even involve much blood work for the desired effect.  .

Level 1 would be far too easy, level 2 would be far too predictable, whereas level 3 would be in the hands of the guards.  Surely you must understand I meant none of the above.  A game is certainly the way to go.  In fact, I have an idea that if done properly, may prove to be entertaining for all those involved.

[emorylight]

[A weathered envelope has found itself pinned to the door that leads into Emory Light's villa. Instead of ink producing names of the sender and the receiver, addresses and stamps for the purposes of direction, they are replaced entirely by something much more distinguishing and identifiable. At the bottom left corner is a burn mark from a scorching flame instead of what would be the usual stain of a cigarette, serving as a compass.

Turned over, the seal is seen to be undone on the envelope, as the glue has been long replaced by something else. Its damp texture speaks of someone recently licking the paper and the frantic smudging gives hints that the messenger was in distress and haste. Once the flap is folded up, the faint yellow trail of the envelope's lock hits the air, drying to reveal the vaguest outline of an incomplete circle. The brim of the shape is interrupted by a narrow gap that could easily be explained by inconsistent chemical distribution, but everything should be taken as intentional, including the wet drips that have taken on their own paths below the seal. Noon. Waterfalls. 

Opened, the air becomes drenched in the acrid stench of sulfur with hints of tobacco to rival it. By now, the author is obvious, and the location he was in at the time his writing was created is narrowed down to a select few areas across the globe. If one should guess the Door to Hell in Derweze, Turkmenistan, he would be awarded with nothing in spite of his power of deduction.

The letter itself is handwritten in black ink. The script is neat, legible and austere, but there are quick, upward flicks at the end of each word, showing the writer's speed with the fountain pen in his hand. With no greeting, it states the following:]

It has come to my attention that you've given way to the wiles of charity. How pleasing to know that you've decided to follow in my footsteps as a philanthropist. However, I do expect an equal amount of generosity to be shown in Orenda as there is in Tobacco for the Youth, especially when you're insisting on remaining anonymous and your test cases are insisting on remaining ignorant. Otherwise, I will grow disappointed in your heart, Light, as it would be such a displeasure to hear it beat.

You have until the 22nd of March, 2014, to expand your acting career, as your newest role will be in the form of an ordained minister. As much as I am aware of how truly fitting religion is to you, do attempt to embrace the idea that you will not be worshipped, and if you should take the opposing end of the spectrum, you will be stepped on when you kneel.

Mrs. Steele sends her regards.

-Sebastian Steele

[After reading, there may be the occasion that Emory Light might involve himself in the latest edition of the news further on in the day. One story in particular is of interest, as it appears that a South African tourist was held under arrest once hurriedly reaching back to the airport he came to after traveling from Turkmenistan. Unable to explain properly as a tainted substance had paralyzed his mouth, it was found that he had possession of several chemical agents that could be used for a terroristic threat.]

[It is during the early evening on the twentieth day of March when Emory returns to the villa.  The first stage of his plan has been set into motion, and with time, things will unfold the way he has intended.  What has happened in the past cannot be undone, but the beauty of what lies in the future is in its vulnerability and susceptibility to be destroyed. 

The weathered envelope, with its sharp scent of sulfur and its surface defaced by fire and chemical, remains on Emory’s desk.  The object is found upon Emory’s return, kept haphazardly in place on the door by means of Nicorette gum, has had its content perused once and set aside after with its recipient proceeds with his evening rituals before returning his attention to the letter.

The sender has made no effort to disguise himself, while the clues given on the envelope and the message written more than sufficient to provide Emory Light with information that he finds of entertainment.  Lips twitches up in an amused half-smile at the ludicrous demand and the unspoken challenge, finding in the letter an opportunity for a new game. 

Hand reaches into the side drawer, pulling out a piece of paper, a fountain pen, and a small vial that contains distinctive viscous liquid in the shade of dark crimson.  With the vial now opened, the pen is dipped into the liquid before the next round of the game continues.]

Dear Mr. Steele

Should I gift you a dictionary for your impending wedding?  It would appear that you have misunderstood what charity encompasses.  Charity means doing something out of altruism for the well-being of others.  To imply that I would do such a wasteful and impractical thing to individuals who are better off destroyed for my own amusement is rather insulting.   It shall do you well to spend some time to find out for yourself before jumping to such dangerous and ignorant conclusion.

I see that you have reinforced your title of the firebird by surviving the Door to Hell, how aptly and ironically poetic.  It is not frequent that one can put impressed and disappointed into the same sentence.  However, it has always been to my knowledge that if anyone is to ever accomplish such a task, it would have been you.  Therefore, the fact that you have done so in the form of using conventional burden of marriage to justify a point has rendered you predictable, which is lackadaisically impressive in the most disappointing way, but amusing nonetheless. 

With all that being written, you may consider yourself having a minister at the wedding, in addition to guests of my choosing.

With Best Regards Emory Light P.S.  Do be aware of the water.  While news of a drowned bird would be far more interesting than that of the South African tourist, poison is a far more fitting end for one who has survived trial by fire.

[The note is folded impeccably and placed inside a thick envelope, sealed carefully and laid down on the wooden floor.  On cue, the canine bearing the name of the Italian writer runs forward, its still wet paw leaving a distinct signature over the white surface.   Deeming the letter ready to be sent, the sealed envelope is placed inside another, made specifically to cater for customized and expedited purposes.   The address of destination is written in the same penmanship, but with a different medium to ensure that element of nature will not interfere with its delivery.  The item in question shall be picked up by courier tonight, and by the same time tomorrow night, it shall arrive in the hands of one Sebastian Carlisle Steele.]

[sebastiansteele]

There's a humming in the restless summer air And we're slipping off the course that we prepared But in all chaos, there is calculation Dropping glasses just to hear them break You've been drinking like the world was gonna end (it didn't) Took a shiner from the fist of your best friend (go figure) It's clear that someone's gotta go We mean it but I promise we're not mean And the cry goes out They lose their minds for us And how it plays out  Now we're in the ring And we're coming for blood You could try and take us  But we're the gladiators  Everyone a rager  But secretly they're saviors Glory and gore go hand in hand That's why we're making headlines  You could try and take us  But victory's contagious Delicate in every way but one (the swordplay) God knows we like archaic kinds of fun (the old way) Chance is the only game I play with, baby We let our battles choose us No-one round here's good at keeping their eyes closed The sun's starting to light up when we're walking home Tired little laughs, gold-lie promises, we'll always win at this I don't ever think about death It's alright if you do, it's fine We gladiate but I guess we're really fighting ourselves Roughing up our minds so we're ready when the kill time comes Wide awake in bed, words in my brain,  "Secretly you love this do you even wanna go free?" Let me in the ring, I'll show you what that big word means

[emorylight]

PM: Usually when one says another has "potential," they find a personal benefit that extends beyond experimentation. Am I to remind you that humanity is not a quality, Light? You should already be well aware of that, which reminds me that that was quite the insult you delivered to King. Regardless, if you only wanted entertainment, perhaps you should look for a toy that hasn't already been bitten into. Although, I don't suspect he minds those marks when you consider the nickname.

PM:  Has spending time with your downgrade dulled your ability to comprehend, or has your acting skill regressed recently?   I suppose I shall offer you some reprieve by spelling it.  Mr. Cain’s emotions and humanity are his fatal flaws, and as such, the potential for his downfall.  Does that clarify?

Ah, Miss King.  I reckon you would appreciate that to some degree.  If she were claimable, she would make for an interesting source of amusement, would you say not?

Being bitten hardly counts as being damaged.  If only you have not been so preoccupied by that neutered bull in a china shop of yours, then perhaps you would have been able to see the impractical happiness that Mr. Cain carried with him nowadays.  And what better way to watch someone begin his spiraling descent than from the height of his most positive moment?