Post by The Anarchist on Feb 8, 2017 10:24:28 GMT -5
Daylight had sunk it’s teeth into the atmosphere. Rays shined through the trees like mini spotlights, scaring darkness into retreat. With the children off discovering Absinthe, and Seromine busy with the followers elsewhere, Destiny needed something to do. Training was going to have to be a thing at some point. Not that her physical capabilities would be called into question, but when you haven’t been in the ring for many, many moons...
That would not be the agenda today. Biting her lower lip, Destiny turned her focus towards the bedroom closet. Her eyes shifted towards their respective corners, partially fixating on the lone window. Then back to the closet. Window. Then closet. Then a smile. She slides the wooden door open and reaches inside. The item retrieved was a colorful court dress. Just underneath the high white color was a dark blue bodice.
The short puffed sleeves were two colors, a far lighter shade of blue and red. The latter of which appeared like “slash” marks. The yellow skirt was of ankle length and had no shape to it. What it did have was the appearance of (fake) blood. Underneath the skirt was a white petticoat. Destiny’s eyes had a twinkle in them, having not worn the costume in what felt like forever. She slips out of her sleep attire and into the outfit, followed taking her make up bag into the bathroom.
The sink was of fireclay material and it’s edge would serve as a de facto stand. Destiny rummages through the contents, pulling out items of interest and placing them single file in front of her. Satisfied she has what’s needed, the bag is set down on the floor. She looks at her reflection in the mirror. There is no expression given. Just a cold, blank stare. She fiddles around with her auburn hair like a school girl, twisting it around her right index finger.
And without provocation, Destiny introduces the glass to her fist. Cracks develop and branch out like tree limbs reaching to the heavens. With her reflection fractured and for reasons only known to herself, she’s satisfied. Or appears to be. White paint is streaked over her cheeks, rubbed in with gentle motions. The process is worked on the rest of her face until almost ghostly in appearance. Grey is blended in places, presenting a decayed effect. Taking a dark pencil eyeliner, Destiny applies where needed while smudging the black around the lids. Next are white contacts gently put in. She flutters her eye lashes like a hummingbird does it’s wings.
To give her cheeks the illusion of being sucked in, she lightly blends in black powder. Almost done with the grotesque process, she applies cherry red lipstick and kisses the air.
“Mirror mirror on the wall.” Destiny asks with an elevated octave “Show me how the enemies will fall.”
Destiny gathers her belongings and before leaving the home, styles her hair for the appropriate look, with the final touch being a red bow. Destiny Willard had dressed herself up as the person the faithful saw last March prior to her husband returning weeks later: A creepy, horrific spin on Snow White.
It was a grim departure from the church clothing she would normally throw on when seen with the group. But playing dress up for a day never hurt anyone. Just ask her children. A particular sign that was shown on the previous Trauma may also have been inspiration.
Destiny skips down the dirt road, humming cheerfully to herself. She would take a detour into the orchard which guarded the back of their home. The apples may have grew in red, but through a supernatural process of indeterminate time (rumored to be three days, but no one kept track), ripened to a healthy black. The flesh underneath the skin was juicy like a regular apple would be, but also sweet and addictive. The best (and maybe unusual) fact about the fruit trees on the grounds, is they never stopped producing their gifts. Rain or shine, like the postal service, they deliver. Destiny slows her pace as she nears her favorite spot between the trees. They part and appear to be bowing to her presence as she approaches her guests.
A withered Oak table is fastened into the earth. A set of four matching chairs, one for each side, face a scattered collection of various tea cups, saucers and kettles. Time has not been kind to any of the décor, its once vibrant designs now lost to fading. Destiny pours everyone a cup of fresh cider, then sits down after.
“Hi ladies! Did you miss me? Because I sure missed you!” she squealed. “Ooh, I am so glad you all decided to join me today. I just knew it would be the perfect day to do this, and with everything going on, it was now or never. Heh. I have some news to share with everyone! I’m going to be wrestling my first match in god knows how long.” the words were punctuated with continued giddiness. “Me and my love, Jason, are teaming up.”
“I didn’t know you wrestled, Destiny.”
“Well, I don’t. I mean, I have, just not in forever.”
She looked at the guest on the left while she spoke.
“We’re going to win though! I know what they are probably thinking. They’ll tell themselves that because I’m usually at ringside, I’ll be a cinch to defeat. They’ll convince themselves I’m the weak link and incapable of holding my own in there...”
Destiny’s voice was slowly moving towards a vengeful tone as she trailed off. Her eyes narrowed while gazing at the drink in front of her.
“Richard likes to stick his neck on the line for causes he only ends up losing. Does that sound smart to any of you? Because it sounds downright STUPID to me. If he insists putting it in harm’s way, I think it fair to break it. He has a previous injury you know. We have it in his file. It wouldn’t take much to turn him into a vegetable.”
“Why would you want to do that for?”
Destiny lifts her head, shooting a death stare across the table. If she were telekinetic, the person would be taking a one way flight with their body exploding like a grenade exploded.
“Excuse me? We’re you not listening? I didn’t say I wanted to. At least...not yet. He just lost to Jason and must have liked it so much, that he wants more. Richard has a thing for people with the name Kelly it seems. But this one spells hers K-E-L-L-I.
Kelli, Kelli, Kelli...”
The name was spoke in a mocking fashion. Disgust making itself known with each syllable, punctuated with gratuitous eye rolling.
“Kelli Starr with her too bright-for-it’s-own-good pink hair. I remember going to the fair as a little girl and my favorite treat to get was cotton candy. Fluffy, sticky, warm, cotton candy. And the color was almost ALWAYS pink. But you know what else is sticky and warm?”
She pauses long enough to look around at her deceased guests, with imaginary flies being swatted out of her line of sight. “Oh come on now!” a smile quickly appears with manic energy. “Ladies, I didn’t get dressed like this for nothing. Look!”
Destiny stands and points to her skirt, with equal excitement given to showing it off.
“It’s blood.” she quipped. “You should have known this, it was yours!”
She lowers her head and sighs disapprovingly. “I go through all of this trouble, and that’s the gratitude I get. I can see now the three of you have no appreciation! You’re just like Richard and Kelli! They don’t appreciate the messages we deliver to our faithful. They don’t appreciate our offer to help them. They stand back and mock us from afar. And because of their blatant disrespect, I WANT THEIR BLOOD!”
“Destiny we’re sorry, we didn’t mean to upset you.”
“But you did, Keliska! You did, Richard! And at Trauma, you’ll pray for salvation.”
Destiny burns a hole through the guests as her body heaves in rage. “But receive nothing but damnation!”
The guests of honor shared one thing in common:
They were dead.
Each was burned at some point in time. The charred stakes they had been tied to were kept as mementos. And as if nothing had happened, Destiny's sweet, welcoming smile returned while finishing her cider.
“I’m sorry, my manners decided to take a vacation today. Would anyone like a second cup?”
That would not be the agenda today. Biting her lower lip, Destiny turned her focus towards the bedroom closet. Her eyes shifted towards their respective corners, partially fixating on the lone window. Then back to the closet. Window. Then closet. Then a smile. She slides the wooden door open and reaches inside. The item retrieved was a colorful court dress. Just underneath the high white color was a dark blue bodice.
The short puffed sleeves were two colors, a far lighter shade of blue and red. The latter of which appeared like “slash” marks. The yellow skirt was of ankle length and had no shape to it. What it did have was the appearance of (fake) blood. Underneath the skirt was a white petticoat. Destiny’s eyes had a twinkle in them, having not worn the costume in what felt like forever. She slips out of her sleep attire and into the outfit, followed taking her make up bag into the bathroom.
The sink was of fireclay material and it’s edge would serve as a de facto stand. Destiny rummages through the contents, pulling out items of interest and placing them single file in front of her. Satisfied she has what’s needed, the bag is set down on the floor. She looks at her reflection in the mirror. There is no expression given. Just a cold, blank stare. She fiddles around with her auburn hair like a school girl, twisting it around her right index finger.
And without provocation, Destiny introduces the glass to her fist. Cracks develop and branch out like tree limbs reaching to the heavens. With her reflection fractured and for reasons only known to herself, she’s satisfied. Or appears to be. White paint is streaked over her cheeks, rubbed in with gentle motions. The process is worked on the rest of her face until almost ghostly in appearance. Grey is blended in places, presenting a decayed effect. Taking a dark pencil eyeliner, Destiny applies where needed while smudging the black around the lids. Next are white contacts gently put in. She flutters her eye lashes like a hummingbird does it’s wings.
To give her cheeks the illusion of being sucked in, she lightly blends in black powder. Almost done with the grotesque process, she applies cherry red lipstick and kisses the air.
“Mirror mirror on the wall.” Destiny asks with an elevated octave “Show me how the enemies will fall.”
Destiny gathers her belongings and before leaving the home, styles her hair for the appropriate look, with the final touch being a red bow. Destiny Willard had dressed herself up as the person the faithful saw last March prior to her husband returning weeks later: A creepy, horrific spin on Snow White.
It was a grim departure from the church clothing she would normally throw on when seen with the group. But playing dress up for a day never hurt anyone. Just ask her children. A particular sign that was shown on the previous Trauma may also have been inspiration.
Destiny skips down the dirt road, humming cheerfully to herself. She would take a detour into the orchard which guarded the back of their home. The apples may have grew in red, but through a supernatural process of indeterminate time (rumored to be three days, but no one kept track), ripened to a healthy black. The flesh underneath the skin was juicy like a regular apple would be, but also sweet and addictive. The best (and maybe unusual) fact about the fruit trees on the grounds, is they never stopped producing their gifts. Rain or shine, like the postal service, they deliver. Destiny slows her pace as she nears her favorite spot between the trees. They part and appear to be bowing to her presence as she approaches her guests.
A withered Oak table is fastened into the earth. A set of four matching chairs, one for each side, face a scattered collection of various tea cups, saucers and kettles. Time has not been kind to any of the décor, its once vibrant designs now lost to fading. Destiny pours everyone a cup of fresh cider, then sits down after.
“Hi ladies! Did you miss me? Because I sure missed you!” she squealed. “Ooh, I am so glad you all decided to join me today. I just knew it would be the perfect day to do this, and with everything going on, it was now or never. Heh. I have some news to share with everyone! I’m going to be wrestling my first match in god knows how long.” the words were punctuated with continued giddiness. “Me and my love, Jason, are teaming up.”
“I didn’t know you wrestled, Destiny.”
“Well, I don’t. I mean, I have, just not in forever.”
She looked at the guest on the left while she spoke.
“We’re going to win though! I know what they are probably thinking. They’ll tell themselves that because I’m usually at ringside, I’ll be a cinch to defeat. They’ll convince themselves I’m the weak link and incapable of holding my own in there...”
Destiny’s voice was slowly moving towards a vengeful tone as she trailed off. Her eyes narrowed while gazing at the drink in front of her.
“Richard likes to stick his neck on the line for causes he only ends up losing. Does that sound smart to any of you? Because it sounds downright STUPID to me. If he insists putting it in harm’s way, I think it fair to break it. He has a previous injury you know. We have it in his file. It wouldn’t take much to turn him into a vegetable.”
“Why would you want to do that for?”
Destiny lifts her head, shooting a death stare across the table. If she were telekinetic, the person would be taking a one way flight with their body exploding like a grenade exploded.
“Excuse me? We’re you not listening? I didn’t say I wanted to. At least...not yet. He just lost to Jason and must have liked it so much, that he wants more. Richard has a thing for people with the name Kelly it seems. But this one spells hers K-E-L-L-I.
Kelli, Kelli, Kelli...”
The name was spoke in a mocking fashion. Disgust making itself known with each syllable, punctuated with gratuitous eye rolling.
“Kelli Starr with her too bright-for-it’s-own-good pink hair. I remember going to the fair as a little girl and my favorite treat to get was cotton candy. Fluffy, sticky, warm, cotton candy. And the color was almost ALWAYS pink. But you know what else is sticky and warm?”
She pauses long enough to look around at her deceased guests, with imaginary flies being swatted out of her line of sight. “Oh come on now!” a smile quickly appears with manic energy. “Ladies, I didn’t get dressed like this for nothing. Look!”
Destiny stands and points to her skirt, with equal excitement given to showing it off.
“It’s blood.” she quipped. “You should have known this, it was yours!”
She lowers her head and sighs disapprovingly. “I go through all of this trouble, and that’s the gratitude I get. I can see now the three of you have no appreciation! You’re just like Richard and Kelli! They don’t appreciate the messages we deliver to our faithful. They don’t appreciate our offer to help them. They stand back and mock us from afar. And because of their blatant disrespect, I WANT THEIR BLOOD!”
“Destiny we’re sorry, we didn’t mean to upset you.”
“But you did, Keliska! You did, Richard! And at Trauma, you’ll pray for salvation.”
Destiny burns a hole through the guests as her body heaves in rage. “But receive nothing but damnation!”
The guests of honor shared one thing in common:
They were dead.
Each was burned at some point in time. The charred stakes they had been tied to were kept as mementos. And as if nothing had happened, Destiny's sweet, welcoming smile returned while finishing her cider.
“I’m sorry, my manners decided to take a vacation today. Would anyone like a second cup?”