Unofficial HateMadeness (Because It's Too Late & I Know It): SilvrWolfSubmitted by DaBeast at 2010-06-13 05:23:57 EDT
Rating: 1.33 on 7 ratings (7 reviews) (Review this item) (V)
If only because I never could leave well enough alone. A failing of mine. By the way, before you go any further: this is likely longer than you like to read. I am cognizant of that fact and I don't give a fuck. If it's too much for you, then go read a comic book but, for the love of whatever you hold holy, stay away from Alan Moore. He's too much for you, too.
And now, picture it if you will: a small room lit only with firelight but the warmth of that brightness is somehow bitter and there is a chill draft wafting along at ankle height to trip the unwary. In the wash of orange and reds the threadbare carpeting aspires to bygone days and there is a large wing chair, upholstered in plush, yet ragged, leather that looks slightly chewed upon at the armrests and cushion. A small, round, slightly unsteady wooden table rests nearby but the cheap, cracked lamp upon it remains dark. A figure sits in the darkness of the chair, waiting...
The figure turns its head. "Bub! Hop to!"
"Yessss, masssster." Something unpleasant and serpentine unwinds itself from the darkness and slithers across the worn rugs and into the chilly orange glow. Upon its head, there balances a sheaf of papers. It tilts to the side and they slip onto the table. The table wobbles a moment and then settles.
The thing slinks back into the darkness at the edges of the room.
Papers rustle and add their song to the flicker of flamelight. The figure grunts. "This SilvrWolf's classification? That correct?"
"Yes." Fair and graceful and beautiful even to jaded eyes steps forth and sits in the figure's lap. Dark arms enfold her bright, brash loveliness but can not mar or diminish it and she blazes in glory in ways a fire can never match.
The figure snorts. "I've been challenged by," papers rustle again, "an 'Itinierate Hick'? What the fuck, guys?"
"Those hicks will get you reviled for eternity," a dark man with flashing eyes and a jingling coin purse strung around his oddly canted neck speaks from the edge of the firelight, "listen to me, I know what I'm talking about."
The figure chortles and throws papers at the dark man. "Lighten up, Jake. You're moody. This guy ain't like your guy. No 'messiah' being thrown around or anything. Lookit, it's a nobody from backwoods West Virginia."
Jake shudders and backs further into the darkness.
"Pussy." Briefly, there is a glittering eye visible from the seated figure. It sparkles darkling bright and cold. "This guy has no taste, no style, no class, no nothing. I gots no worries here so why are we even looking at this? This?" The figure pushes the rest of the papers to the floor. "This is beneath me."
"Snob." Lilith laughs and, for a moment, the room pulsates with warmth.
The figure runs a dark hand over her brightness. "Elitist snob, thank-yew-very-much, and proud of it." The figure chuckles then. "I read his stuff. Some good comedy there. I still can't believe he admitted to shitting himself, however, in front of a group of anonymous internet savages. There are a certain kind of balls in that act. I think I like the guy. Do I have to wipe my ass with him?"
"You could always," Lilith chuckles and that warmth cranks another couple degrees upward and she leans down and places her mouth very close to the dark figure, "let it think it won, let the little one go, let it run, let it think it got away. Let it feel," she reaches up and runs a cherry fingertip all along the dark figure's cheek while her voice settles into a smoky, throaty, whiskey-laced murmur, "safe."
She laughs, again, and it becomes uncomfortably warm and moisture appears on every surface, a dew-like wetness that was redolent of a cat in heat. "Then, when the mouse's back is turned, and it's muscles unclenched, and it's mind elsewhere..." she draws cherry nails down along the dark chest and then between the legs where she does something and the dark figure is, suddenly, at attention, "and then you strike."
"Cat and mouse is fun, true," the dark figure mutters and turns its head from Lilith's light, "but how can it be anything more than tedium with someone that garnered that classification in this place? The clod's likely bound for Upstairs and I doubt I'd want him, anyway. The only thing he'd be qualified to teach me would be how to shit myself in terror and how to date women that hate me." The dark figure shudders. "It'd be like work."
Lilith winds her brightness around the dark figure and leans down to plant a quick token of affection upon the chin. "How could it possibly be anything but fun if I'm around to appreciate your work? Hrmm?"
"Ok. You guys. Out. I'll call you." The dark figure gestures at those in the shadows and, slowly, they slip out the door. "Later. Much later."
When the door closes, there is a thump and a laugh as the chair fell over.
That's a cut. We wrap 'til next HateMadness. I'll bring the chips, you bring the dip. Let's party!