Post by MorningStar on Feb 15, 2007 20:48:15 GMT -5
Three in the morning isn’t what you usually call a social hour. The nine to fiver’s are tucked up soundly in their warm, soft beds dreaming their puny dreams of one day escaping their meaningless lives. Even those on shift work have turned in for the night, after saying their prayers to their meaningless gods that he will deliver unto them a better job… without much luck, I might add. But for a select few, their day has only just begun. Not the stereotypical ones; dressed in black velvet and fishnets, eyeliner applied thicker than a crayon and foundation slapped on with a trowel, but the true people of the underdark, the real Children Of The Night. These people, if people they can be called, aren’t the type to sit in dark corners, listening to HIM and drinking their boxed red wine, whining about their pathetic lives… no, these people are the core of the night, the soldiers who keep the world turning through endless night… and it is with these people our story begins…
St. Mary’s road in Cardiff’s High Street, one of Cardiff’s most well known attractions, is known throughout the world as “Chippy Lane”. Sad, really, that such a place of Welsh history and culture, of music and the arts, should be known for a dingy alleyway filled end to end with all night takeaways. Nevertheless, it’s there, and there to stay. But most people never notice the little sides treet, bent at such an angle you could walk right past and think it nothing but solid brickwork. But on this Thursday night, in the pouring rain, shadows flicker back and forth the entrance, with a blast of roaring sound every few moments. Inquisition, one of the greatest TRUE goth bars in the UK, is in full swing at this ungodly hour of the morning. It is here our intrepid camera crew, fronted by Eddie “The Lens” Sullivan traipses.
:: The Lens ::
Joe, Mate… I’ve gotta say these people weird me out!
:: The Mic ::
Eddie, they’re just people mate. Under that makeup, they’re normal people, just like you and me…
Eddie turns with a face like someone had lit a fire in his trousers, staring agog at Joe Richards.
:: The Lens ::
Don’t ya’ be sayin’ that boyo, they’re nothin’ like me! And no matter what you say, they’re not normal!
With a deep breath and a shake of his head, Eddie turns and walks into the alley, knocking on the large oak door hidden just around the corner. A blast of heavily distorted greets him as the door is opened by a bouncer approximately the same size as the door. Seriously, the guy is huge, especially as our tiny irish cameraman bustles past him. Past a red rope on tasteful silver stands, down a plushly carpeted staircase with walls adorned with dark oil paintings, and finally to the main room…
A wall of noise so loud it’s almost tangible greets the ears, the strains of Rob Zombie blaring at earwax melting volumes. A room of almost cavernous proportions, grey and black with the odd splash of silver – poles affixed to the floor with guard rails for both professional and clientele use. Three bars, each at least twenty feet along, serving whatever poison you please. Lights ranging from pure white and ice blue all the way to sooty red and burnt orange… yes, this is where the Children Of the Night call home. Contrary to the belief of both Joe and Eddie, not all are black and wearing makeup – indeed this is a place where one can be oneself, and acceptance is freely given; if you weren’t one of them, you wouldn’t be here… simple as. Traversing the milling, dancing and drinking crowd, the mountain of a bouncer makes his way to a No Entry door across the floor, beneath a huge paneled mirror, jutting out from the wall by a good two three feet. Shoving through the door, he points for Eddie and Joe to ascend the stairs…
<|?|> The MorningStar <|?|>
Ah, there you are. About time you arrived, gentlemen.
Looking through the mirror – which turns out to be a reflective window, with arms clasped behind his back, sand Johnny Mental himself. His mouth is set into a knowing smile, almost an expression of paternity as he watches the patrons below.
<|?|> The MorningStar <|?|>
The sun has set and night draws in,
Across the world of sick and sin,
A shadows pall to hide in gloom,
Those who dwell ‘neath mother moon,
Darkness Children frolick free,
Darkness Children howl in glee,
And dance together through endless night,
Until the Sun of Mornings Rise…
Behind him, Joe and Eddie exchange a worried glance… it’s been a long while since they heard Mental speak in such a way. Recently they’ve become used to his usual drawl and easy going manner… but this almost formal speech harkens back to another time, a time better forgotten... With a shakes of his shoulders, Mental turns to face them, flashing them an almost cheeky grin. Rather than his usual mesh and combats attire, he’s decked out now in a shimmering satin shirt of the deepest red, cut in the oriental style – the collar basent and circled tight around the neck. He finishes his ensemble with a black suit of the finest cut, and his hair drawn back into a neat pony tail. With a quick wink at the crew, his grin widening, he speaks again
<|?|> The MorningStar <|?|>
Thought that’d give you a bit of a fright, guys. Don’t worry, nothing dodgy’s going on. But He founded this place, and it’s denizens have certain expectations now which I guess I have to maintain…
He pulls up a seat in a deep leather sofa, eyes encasing the sparse but tasteful surroundings, a few burnished tables complete with modern artworks; brilliant yet disturbing in their twisted beauty; oddly designed paintings, each stroke seeming at random yet part of a greater whole… with a wave of his hand, Mental beckons the pair to sit down.
<|?|> The MorningStar <|?|>
Firstly, guys, I wan to apologise for last time you came out; I know I should’ve told you what I was doing, what I was planning… but then Steve would’ve found out and gone along with it anyway… and where would the genuine emotion be in that? Come on guys, you know this business, people say anything is a work. I hope you pair have no objections?
He arch an eyebrow, his face stern once more as The Mic and The Lens squirm beneath his gaze…
:: The Lens ::
Johnny Boy, I can’t say I agree with it, but I can see why…’tis all ok with Steve now?
Mental smiles faintly and shrugs at the question, reclining back into the soft leather.
<|?|> The MorningStar <|?|>
We’ve talked since, and he understands the reason. Thankfully, he’s not hurt too much. Like you, he didn’t agree with what I did, but friends forgive each other, and like I said he’s the best damned friend I’ve got, or have ever had. I’m thankful for that, but more thankful my message got across to everyone… everyone except one person, it seems.
He reaches into the breast pocket of his jacket, withdrawing a bulging envelope and flicking it across the six feet gap between sofas, where it flutters into The Lens’ lap. Cautiously, Eddie picks it up, handling it gingerly as if fearing at any moment that it’ll explode.
<|?|> The MorningStar <|?|>
If you’re assigned to shoot something of Convict’s, please deliver that to him.
:: The Lens ::
Uh… what is it? It’s not gonna make him mad and jump me, is it?
Mental throws back his head and chuckles at Eddie’s obvious worry.
<|?|> The MorningStar <|?|>
Lens, you’re asking the wrong person here. I have no idea how he’ll act to it. It’s restraining order against Convict, citing that if he comes within a radius of one thousand yards of Steven Frost, he will be arrested instantaneously. Do not pass Go, do not collect two hundred dollars. That means he misses his match, he misses his opportunity at the gold… and more importantly he misses his chance at impressing Little Miss Poison.
Eddie stares at him with eyes wide open, mouth agape in shock as he drops the envelope as if it had burned him.
:: The Lens ::
I cannae’ give him that, John! He’ll skin me alive, so he will!
<|?|> The MorningStar <|?|>
Don’t worry, Lens, it’s me he wants… not you.
Mental levers himself out of the sofa, aching backwards lightly to release the tension in his lower back, before standing cross armed before the pair, grin plastered across his face.
<|?|> The MorningStar <|?|>
Now then boys, it’s time to start earning your pay. Get set up, will you?
* * * * * * * * * * * *
Once again we see Johnny Mental stood before the giant window, staring down at the denizens of Inquisition revel in freedom on the floor below. The scantily clad dancers swing around their poles in a haze of smoke to the tune of Sonne by Rammestein as the sweat soaked, beer fuelled crowd cheer and exhort them to more perilous and technical routines.
<|?|> The MorningStar <|?|>
Look down there, Convict. Look at them all. THIS is what you’re competing against. Not one, not ten, but a Legion… The Children Of The Night revel and frolick, and through their joy comes my strength. They are indeed my children, Convict… and like the loving father I am I wage war for them. They are a part of me, and I in turn am one with them. Bare that fact in mind, good sir…
Mental turns slightly, his eyes catching the camera lens; a faint smile playing on his lips as he speaks again.
<|?|> The MorningStar <|?|>
You know, Convict… in some ways I respect you. You’ve overcome adversity, you’ve made a living unheard of for someone of your background. No family, no parents – albeit because of your own actions – no real life outside a cage… and yet here you are, fighting the fight of your life for a noble cause. For that, I respect you…
His grin fades, his lips forming the rictus of a snarl, bearing teeth as white polished ivory. Eyebrows furrow above gleaming slate grey eyes…
<|?|> The MorningStar <|?|>
And for that very same reason, I loathe you. To say you revel in such destruction is incorrect, for you seem to find no pleasure in your actions. Whether it be knifing your father in the back, drawing that serrated blade across your mothers throat, or beating up innocents for no other reason than it’s the latest idea your unbalanced mind has cooked up… you do it without remorse. Gods above, you even JUSTIFY yourself with logic and Reason!!!
Mental pulls away from the camera, head turned from view. He brings up a hand to cover his eyes, his shoulders beginning to tremble slightly.
<|?|> The MorningStar <|?|>
You’re right on one point… we’re not so different, you and I. We’re both killers. I too know what it’s like to stare down at a gaping wound, knife bearing arms covered to the elbow in blood… Hands of Blood…
His head snaps up, staring out over the crowd, staring into nothing. His eyes glisten now with moisture, his cheeks wet with salty tears. His entire body shakes as he fights back sobs of remembrance, lips pursed tight and face pallid and pale…
<|?|> The MorningStar <|?|>
Her name was Claire… Claire Horton. We’d been dating for over a year… the girl was my everything… my heart, my soul, my life. It was all so dreamlike… the great slab of obsidian, the ropes binding her in the sooty light of the bonfire, that accursed name being chanted over and over… the lightly flashing from steel, the resistance of flesh… the screams… oh, the screaming…
Mental’s head slumps forward again, his hand pressed hard against his scrunched eyes; almost as if trying to claw the memories engrained deep from his brain. A racking sob escapes his lips as more tears flow… He remains silent to compose himself, until finally he raises his head again…
<|?|> The MorningStar <|?|>
Then the snap back to reality, to find it wasn’t a dream… part of me died that day, maybe the part that had kept Him in check for so long. Maybe that was the point where the world changed for the worst. Hiding in grief, hiding in remorse… it makes me wonder if He was real, or whether he was just another side of me; a façade to hide the real me away from the world and it’s hurts… Either way, it’s irrelevant now, I guess. But there, right there Beast, that’s the difference between us. We may both be killers, we may both be insane, but I regret my actions… and will continue to do so for the rest of my life…
With a speed belying his size, Mental whips around to the camera, his tear streaked eyes flaring now with the heat of anger, the thrill of madness coursing through his veins.
<|?|> The MorningStar <|?|>
But that’s all changing, Beast. I look at you and I see what I was, what I had become. Finally, I see a chance to make amends for the innocents slaughtered and sacrificed, for the blood that stained the ground and for the hurt that spread throughout the world like so many ripples… For now I get to retaliate against another like me, to atone for my actions by removing from this world one who taints it just by their very presence. By removing you now, thousands of future victims will continue their lives in peace and prosperity… maybe then my conscience will be clean. Don’t say this isn’t personal, Beast. Every man fights his own inner demons, and right now all mine are embodied in the form of yourself. Those demons will be battered, bloodied and crushed under heel. They will be ripped asunder from this world, allowing it once more to grow and thrive. With the power of my children, the power of the Legion behind me, we shall bring about your demise, and herald an end to your ways. And believe me, Beast… this time there will be NO remorse. On my hope of Redemption and Rebirth, These are The Words of The MorningStar…
With that, Mental turns back to the window, hands pressed against the glass as he retains his watchful vigil over his children, the Children Of The Night. Gradually, the camera fades to darkness once more…
St. Mary’s road in Cardiff’s High Street, one of Cardiff’s most well known attractions, is known throughout the world as “Chippy Lane”. Sad, really, that such a place of Welsh history and culture, of music and the arts, should be known for a dingy alleyway filled end to end with all night takeaways. Nevertheless, it’s there, and there to stay. But most people never notice the little sides treet, bent at such an angle you could walk right past and think it nothing but solid brickwork. But on this Thursday night, in the pouring rain, shadows flicker back and forth the entrance, with a blast of roaring sound every few moments. Inquisition, one of the greatest TRUE goth bars in the UK, is in full swing at this ungodly hour of the morning. It is here our intrepid camera crew, fronted by Eddie “The Lens” Sullivan traipses.
:: The Lens ::
Joe, Mate… I’ve gotta say these people weird me out!
:: The Mic ::
Eddie, they’re just people mate. Under that makeup, they’re normal people, just like you and me…
Eddie turns with a face like someone had lit a fire in his trousers, staring agog at Joe Richards.
:: The Lens ::
Don’t ya’ be sayin’ that boyo, they’re nothin’ like me! And no matter what you say, they’re not normal!
With a deep breath and a shake of his head, Eddie turns and walks into the alley, knocking on the large oak door hidden just around the corner. A blast of heavily distorted greets him as the door is opened by a bouncer approximately the same size as the door. Seriously, the guy is huge, especially as our tiny irish cameraman bustles past him. Past a red rope on tasteful silver stands, down a plushly carpeted staircase with walls adorned with dark oil paintings, and finally to the main room…
A wall of noise so loud it’s almost tangible greets the ears, the strains of Rob Zombie blaring at earwax melting volumes. A room of almost cavernous proportions, grey and black with the odd splash of silver – poles affixed to the floor with guard rails for both professional and clientele use. Three bars, each at least twenty feet along, serving whatever poison you please. Lights ranging from pure white and ice blue all the way to sooty red and burnt orange… yes, this is where the Children Of the Night call home. Contrary to the belief of both Joe and Eddie, not all are black and wearing makeup – indeed this is a place where one can be oneself, and acceptance is freely given; if you weren’t one of them, you wouldn’t be here… simple as. Traversing the milling, dancing and drinking crowd, the mountain of a bouncer makes his way to a No Entry door across the floor, beneath a huge paneled mirror, jutting out from the wall by a good two three feet. Shoving through the door, he points for Eddie and Joe to ascend the stairs…
<|?|> The MorningStar <|?|>
Ah, there you are. About time you arrived, gentlemen.
Looking through the mirror – which turns out to be a reflective window, with arms clasped behind his back, sand Johnny Mental himself. His mouth is set into a knowing smile, almost an expression of paternity as he watches the patrons below.
<|?|> The MorningStar <|?|>
The sun has set and night draws in,
Across the world of sick and sin,
A shadows pall to hide in gloom,
Those who dwell ‘neath mother moon,
Darkness Children frolick free,
Darkness Children howl in glee,
And dance together through endless night,
Until the Sun of Mornings Rise…
Behind him, Joe and Eddie exchange a worried glance… it’s been a long while since they heard Mental speak in such a way. Recently they’ve become used to his usual drawl and easy going manner… but this almost formal speech harkens back to another time, a time better forgotten... With a shakes of his shoulders, Mental turns to face them, flashing them an almost cheeky grin. Rather than his usual mesh and combats attire, he’s decked out now in a shimmering satin shirt of the deepest red, cut in the oriental style – the collar basent and circled tight around the neck. He finishes his ensemble with a black suit of the finest cut, and his hair drawn back into a neat pony tail. With a quick wink at the crew, his grin widening, he speaks again
<|?|> The MorningStar <|?|>
Thought that’d give you a bit of a fright, guys. Don’t worry, nothing dodgy’s going on. But He founded this place, and it’s denizens have certain expectations now which I guess I have to maintain…
He pulls up a seat in a deep leather sofa, eyes encasing the sparse but tasteful surroundings, a few burnished tables complete with modern artworks; brilliant yet disturbing in their twisted beauty; oddly designed paintings, each stroke seeming at random yet part of a greater whole… with a wave of his hand, Mental beckons the pair to sit down.
<|?|> The MorningStar <|?|>
Firstly, guys, I wan to apologise for last time you came out; I know I should’ve told you what I was doing, what I was planning… but then Steve would’ve found out and gone along with it anyway… and where would the genuine emotion be in that? Come on guys, you know this business, people say anything is a work. I hope you pair have no objections?
He arch an eyebrow, his face stern once more as The Mic and The Lens squirm beneath his gaze…
:: The Lens ::
Johnny Boy, I can’t say I agree with it, but I can see why…’tis all ok with Steve now?
Mental smiles faintly and shrugs at the question, reclining back into the soft leather.
<|?|> The MorningStar <|?|>
We’ve talked since, and he understands the reason. Thankfully, he’s not hurt too much. Like you, he didn’t agree with what I did, but friends forgive each other, and like I said he’s the best damned friend I’ve got, or have ever had. I’m thankful for that, but more thankful my message got across to everyone… everyone except one person, it seems.
He reaches into the breast pocket of his jacket, withdrawing a bulging envelope and flicking it across the six feet gap between sofas, where it flutters into The Lens’ lap. Cautiously, Eddie picks it up, handling it gingerly as if fearing at any moment that it’ll explode.
<|?|> The MorningStar <|?|>
If you’re assigned to shoot something of Convict’s, please deliver that to him.
:: The Lens ::
Uh… what is it? It’s not gonna make him mad and jump me, is it?
Mental throws back his head and chuckles at Eddie’s obvious worry.
<|?|> The MorningStar <|?|>
Lens, you’re asking the wrong person here. I have no idea how he’ll act to it. It’s restraining order against Convict, citing that if he comes within a radius of one thousand yards of Steven Frost, he will be arrested instantaneously. Do not pass Go, do not collect two hundred dollars. That means he misses his match, he misses his opportunity at the gold… and more importantly he misses his chance at impressing Little Miss Poison.
Eddie stares at him with eyes wide open, mouth agape in shock as he drops the envelope as if it had burned him.
:: The Lens ::
I cannae’ give him that, John! He’ll skin me alive, so he will!
<|?|> The MorningStar <|?|>
Don’t worry, Lens, it’s me he wants… not you.
Mental levers himself out of the sofa, aching backwards lightly to release the tension in his lower back, before standing cross armed before the pair, grin plastered across his face.
<|?|> The MorningStar <|?|>
Now then boys, it’s time to start earning your pay. Get set up, will you?
* * * * * * * * * * * *
Once again we see Johnny Mental stood before the giant window, staring down at the denizens of Inquisition revel in freedom on the floor below. The scantily clad dancers swing around their poles in a haze of smoke to the tune of Sonne by Rammestein as the sweat soaked, beer fuelled crowd cheer and exhort them to more perilous and technical routines.
<|?|> The MorningStar <|?|>
Look down there, Convict. Look at them all. THIS is what you’re competing against. Not one, not ten, but a Legion… The Children Of The Night revel and frolick, and through their joy comes my strength. They are indeed my children, Convict… and like the loving father I am I wage war for them. They are a part of me, and I in turn am one with them. Bare that fact in mind, good sir…
Mental turns slightly, his eyes catching the camera lens; a faint smile playing on his lips as he speaks again.
<|?|> The MorningStar <|?|>
You know, Convict… in some ways I respect you. You’ve overcome adversity, you’ve made a living unheard of for someone of your background. No family, no parents – albeit because of your own actions – no real life outside a cage… and yet here you are, fighting the fight of your life for a noble cause. For that, I respect you…
His grin fades, his lips forming the rictus of a snarl, bearing teeth as white polished ivory. Eyebrows furrow above gleaming slate grey eyes…
<|?|> The MorningStar <|?|>
And for that very same reason, I loathe you. To say you revel in such destruction is incorrect, for you seem to find no pleasure in your actions. Whether it be knifing your father in the back, drawing that serrated blade across your mothers throat, or beating up innocents for no other reason than it’s the latest idea your unbalanced mind has cooked up… you do it without remorse. Gods above, you even JUSTIFY yourself with logic and Reason!!!
Mental pulls away from the camera, head turned from view. He brings up a hand to cover his eyes, his shoulders beginning to tremble slightly.
<|?|> The MorningStar <|?|>
You’re right on one point… we’re not so different, you and I. We’re both killers. I too know what it’s like to stare down at a gaping wound, knife bearing arms covered to the elbow in blood… Hands of Blood…
His head snaps up, staring out over the crowd, staring into nothing. His eyes glisten now with moisture, his cheeks wet with salty tears. His entire body shakes as he fights back sobs of remembrance, lips pursed tight and face pallid and pale…
<|?|> The MorningStar <|?|>
Her name was Claire… Claire Horton. We’d been dating for over a year… the girl was my everything… my heart, my soul, my life. It was all so dreamlike… the great slab of obsidian, the ropes binding her in the sooty light of the bonfire, that accursed name being chanted over and over… the lightly flashing from steel, the resistance of flesh… the screams… oh, the screaming…
Mental’s head slumps forward again, his hand pressed hard against his scrunched eyes; almost as if trying to claw the memories engrained deep from his brain. A racking sob escapes his lips as more tears flow… He remains silent to compose himself, until finally he raises his head again…
<|?|> The MorningStar <|?|>
Then the snap back to reality, to find it wasn’t a dream… part of me died that day, maybe the part that had kept Him in check for so long. Maybe that was the point where the world changed for the worst. Hiding in grief, hiding in remorse… it makes me wonder if He was real, or whether he was just another side of me; a façade to hide the real me away from the world and it’s hurts… Either way, it’s irrelevant now, I guess. But there, right there Beast, that’s the difference between us. We may both be killers, we may both be insane, but I regret my actions… and will continue to do so for the rest of my life…
With a speed belying his size, Mental whips around to the camera, his tear streaked eyes flaring now with the heat of anger, the thrill of madness coursing through his veins.
<|?|> The MorningStar <|?|>
But that’s all changing, Beast. I look at you and I see what I was, what I had become. Finally, I see a chance to make amends for the innocents slaughtered and sacrificed, for the blood that stained the ground and for the hurt that spread throughout the world like so many ripples… For now I get to retaliate against another like me, to atone for my actions by removing from this world one who taints it just by their very presence. By removing you now, thousands of future victims will continue their lives in peace and prosperity… maybe then my conscience will be clean. Don’t say this isn’t personal, Beast. Every man fights his own inner demons, and right now all mine are embodied in the form of yourself. Those demons will be battered, bloodied and crushed under heel. They will be ripped asunder from this world, allowing it once more to grow and thrive. With the power of my children, the power of the Legion behind me, we shall bring about your demise, and herald an end to your ways. And believe me, Beast… this time there will be NO remorse. On my hope of Redemption and Rebirth, These are The Words of The MorningStar…
With that, Mental turns back to the window, hands pressed against the glass as he retains his watchful vigil over his children, the Children Of The Night. Gradually, the camera fades to darkness once more…