Post by Mr. Showtime on Jul 13, 2021 23:04:55 GMT -5
“Then I saw when the Lamb broke one of the seven seals, and I heard one of the four living creatures saying as with a voice of thunder, "Come." I looked, and behold, a white horse, and he who sat on it had a bow; and a crown was given to him, and he went out conquering and to conquer.”
The first seal to be broken unleashed the harkener of a new age. The anointed one to spread prophecy of conquest across the land wearing a crown of laurel. I am he, he proclaims. He shall carry a bow, with an empty quiver to rally those to his cause. Let them know he is prepared to strike, but intended to use no weapon but poisoned words. A legion of white horsemen will rally behind him and he will emerge again with many crowns, of precious metal, spoils of his conquest letting the laurel wilt and fall away. Be warned to pay no heed to false prophets as many will come before the messiah returns.
“And ye shall hear of wars and rumors of wars: see that ye be not troubled: for all these things must come to pass, but the end is not yet.
For nation shall rise against nation, and kingdom against kingdom: and there shall be famines, and pestilences, and earthquakes, in divers places.
All these are the beginning of sorrows.”
On the outskirts of Hangtown stood a horse. A great white beast foamed at the mouth from the summer heat. It was beautiful, nay majestic. From the surrounding grassy hills, it overlooked a town left to its own devices. It was restless, tension filled the air, as it generally did in Hangtown, but this was different. Something brewed in the air which had not been felt in decades. A war was approaching, and conquest would follow. Two opposing forces will meet. The hatred may have subsided, but old foes fall back into bad habits easily. Hate would easily be relearned if even the slightest bit of deception could be anticipated.
With a whinny the Ivory beast greeted the white rider. He wore a white panama straw hat with a brown hatband, a white linen jacket over a crisp white button up. The man took the horse by the brittle, and though he tugged slightly there was more excitement than resistance from him. As the man raised his head to meet his steed in the eye, it could be seen he was none other than “Mr. Showtime” Michael Wryght.
Showtime posted up, swinging his leg over and mounted the horse as a voice rang out, “They may still hang horse thieves in these parts from the old, gnarled tree.”
“I’d expect nothing less,” replied Showtime with a cocky half smile. He tossed the ranchman an expensive looking watch, “I just intend to borrow him for a few hours, and I’ll make sure he is returned to you safely. The trinket you hold in your hand could buy you ten fine replacements, though I doubt any so beautiful. I expect it’s return upon mine. What is his name?”
“The boy calls him Arkham.”
“Funny, I’d think he’d be red with that name.”
“What is your name?”
“I am he,” replied Showtime, digging his heels into the horse’s sides, galloping off. The ranchman left behind in a plumage of dust. Showtime had made some entrances into Hangtown in the past. Fancy cars, under the cover of night, a helicopter which he thought would get him burned at the stake as a witch. Most times he was just being himself or trying to conceal his approach. This time it was different. He wanted to make a spectacle. Any outsider was met with ressentiment and reproach. The citizens of Hangtown had once made Showtime feel very uneasy, but this time he was intent to turn the tables.
In in left breast pocket was the note. They are in Hangtown, was all it said, but it didn’t need to say any more. If they were in fact here, he wanted the town to know he was there for only one reason. He had enough history with their two most infamous sons, for enough to recognize him. If even one knew where his family was, they would tell him by the nights end.
Showtime was never one to shy away from the theatrics, people had associated the members of the Black Hand as the horsemen in the past and Showtime always thought the White Horseman was always the perfect fit for him to represent. Regardless if you interpret it as the second coming of the Lamb or the Anti-Christ, Showtime knew he was the one meant to spread the word and initiate conquest. It is what made him the easy choice to run for President under the guise of the Black hand.
“My arrows be words,” he muttered under his breath as he continued his equestrian marched down the main street of Hangtown. Most people leered at him in either fear or distain. Both were acceptable. He knew in this town there was only one person he could completely trust. He would start there and work his way through others, door by door if need be. The steed started becoming skittish as they reached their destination, and Showtime assumed this meant Granny was making some sort of blood sacrifice.
Showtime dismounted and tied the horse’s halter to the railing of the steps, Wryght gave the horse a pat on the nose as it lowered its head into a barrel of collected rainwater. Leave it to the Dillingers to still collect rainwater. Showtime refused to hide his approach as he went up the steps and prepared to make is arrival. He paused with his fist up, and when he finally gave the door a knock it screeched open. Hesitantly he stepped in, finding the place seemingly deserted.
He had flashbacks of good and bad days in this house. The best generally included William and the worst was inhaling a fungus powder blasted in his face by Granny Dillinger. He hoped the old hag was far from here as there was a younger Dillinger he sought. The floorboards creaked with each step, and just as he went to call out, he saw it. There was a small white and green Hess truck on the table. One which Showtime recognized in a second. He picked it up and said, “That son of a…”
BAM! The sound of a cast iron pan ringing against his skull was the last thing Showtime heard as he fell to the floor.
It was night when Showtime came to. His head hurt something fierce which ripped him back to his prone position as he tried to get back up.
“Hell of a set you have there, decided breaking in once wasn’t enough for you?” asked a voice harsh and sweet at the same time.
“I didn’t break in once, little lone twice, Ruth,” replied Showtime. “Was it you or the Hag who hit me, I know it wasn’t Grimm, he’d have done it to my face.”
“Not sure what the difference would be,” she said with indifference. “Now, don’t make me ask you again. Why did you come back?”
“I told you, I didn’t come back. I came here the first time to talk to you.”
“Why me?”
“Don’t be coy Ruth, you know why I’m here. That truck is all the evidence I need to know Grimm is still in bed with the Black Hand. I didn’t want to believe it, figured the messages I was getting were just intended to turn the two of use against each other. Clearly wishful thinking.”
“Which messages?”
“This is the last one,” Showtime withdrew the note about his family’s location and passed it to Ruth, finally being and to sit upright though the room still swam as his feet hit the ground.
“Phinehas isn’t working with them any longer. He is trying to take them down, and if I recall correctly, he saved you from them.”
“It only counts as saving me if he wasn’t one of the people holding me hostage, which is something I’m not so sure on any longer. If you say the ties with the Black Hand are severed, then explain to me the truck.”
“Well, the first time I saw it was when it fell out of your hand, so why don’t you explain the truck?”
“It’s my son’s,” replied Showtime without hesitation, his eye slightly glazed with the beginnings of tear he refused to shed. He picked it up from the ground and started to listlessly spin the wheel. He was in a trance as he continued, “We give him these trucks every year for Christmas, like my grandfather did for me growing up. This is one of the newer ones and the one more time than not he carried with him when we traveled. They are great when going out and he needs a little distraction. Now it is here, and he isn’t.”
“He’s not here, I swear.”
“I know, I knew the moment I entered town he was no longer here. I could feel it. But he was here, and not too long ago either. So, who knows something?”
“Phinehas doesn’t have anything to do with this.”
“Stop it!” Showtime growled. “That’s not what I asked. I asked you, who knows something. Does that witch outback see anything in a raven’s eye or some shit like that? Tell me what you know and who do you think broke in earlier if it wasn’t me.”
“If it wasn’t you, which I guess I believe it wasn’t, then I have no clue. They must have been the ones who left the truck for you to find. No one was here when I got back, and I was looking for those very answers. After I returned, I saw you standing by the table and I wasn’t keen on letting you go without some answers.”
“So, it was you who hit me?” said Showtime, which Ruth only shrugged in response.
“What next?”
“I’ll use what’s left in the night to ask around if anyone had seen anything, I suppose. Since I lost most of the day, I suspect that I won’t find anything of interest.”
“Don’t let anyone tell you Phinehas has anything to do with this.”
Showtime just shook his head and got to his feet. Ruth followed as he made it back to his horse, which was miraculously not sacrificed or something worse by Granny. He noticed sticking out of the saddle bag was an envelope which hadn’t been there before. Another clue perhaps.
He looked up at Ruth who stood at the top of the stairs and said, “I’m going to beat the ever-living piss out of Grimm. Win or lose, I am going to beat him so badly he’ll tell me everything he knows about my family and only then will I decide whether or not he has anything to do with this.”
As Showtime rode off into the night all Ruth could respond in a weak voice was, “All these are the beginning of sorrows.”
The first seal to be broken unleashed the harkener of a new age. The anointed one to spread prophecy of conquest across the land wearing a crown of laurel. I am he, he proclaims. He shall carry a bow, with an empty quiver to rally those to his cause. Let them know he is prepared to strike, but intended to use no weapon but poisoned words. A legion of white horsemen will rally behind him and he will emerge again with many crowns, of precious metal, spoils of his conquest letting the laurel wilt and fall away. Be warned to pay no heed to false prophets as many will come before the messiah returns.
“And ye shall hear of wars and rumors of wars: see that ye be not troubled: for all these things must come to pass, but the end is not yet.
For nation shall rise against nation, and kingdom against kingdom: and there shall be famines, and pestilences, and earthquakes, in divers places.
All these are the beginning of sorrows.”
On the outskirts of Hangtown stood a horse. A great white beast foamed at the mouth from the summer heat. It was beautiful, nay majestic. From the surrounding grassy hills, it overlooked a town left to its own devices. It was restless, tension filled the air, as it generally did in Hangtown, but this was different. Something brewed in the air which had not been felt in decades. A war was approaching, and conquest would follow. Two opposing forces will meet. The hatred may have subsided, but old foes fall back into bad habits easily. Hate would easily be relearned if even the slightest bit of deception could be anticipated.
With a whinny the Ivory beast greeted the white rider. He wore a white panama straw hat with a brown hatband, a white linen jacket over a crisp white button up. The man took the horse by the brittle, and though he tugged slightly there was more excitement than resistance from him. As the man raised his head to meet his steed in the eye, it could be seen he was none other than “Mr. Showtime” Michael Wryght.
Showtime posted up, swinging his leg over and mounted the horse as a voice rang out, “They may still hang horse thieves in these parts from the old, gnarled tree.”
“I’d expect nothing less,” replied Showtime with a cocky half smile. He tossed the ranchman an expensive looking watch, “I just intend to borrow him for a few hours, and I’ll make sure he is returned to you safely. The trinket you hold in your hand could buy you ten fine replacements, though I doubt any so beautiful. I expect it’s return upon mine. What is his name?”
“The boy calls him Arkham.”
“Funny, I’d think he’d be red with that name.”
“What is your name?”
“I am he,” replied Showtime, digging his heels into the horse’s sides, galloping off. The ranchman left behind in a plumage of dust. Showtime had made some entrances into Hangtown in the past. Fancy cars, under the cover of night, a helicopter which he thought would get him burned at the stake as a witch. Most times he was just being himself or trying to conceal his approach. This time it was different. He wanted to make a spectacle. Any outsider was met with ressentiment and reproach. The citizens of Hangtown had once made Showtime feel very uneasy, but this time he was intent to turn the tables.
In in left breast pocket was the note. They are in Hangtown, was all it said, but it didn’t need to say any more. If they were in fact here, he wanted the town to know he was there for only one reason. He had enough history with their two most infamous sons, for enough to recognize him. If even one knew where his family was, they would tell him by the nights end.
Showtime was never one to shy away from the theatrics, people had associated the members of the Black Hand as the horsemen in the past and Showtime always thought the White Horseman was always the perfect fit for him to represent. Regardless if you interpret it as the second coming of the Lamb or the Anti-Christ, Showtime knew he was the one meant to spread the word and initiate conquest. It is what made him the easy choice to run for President under the guise of the Black hand.
“My arrows be words,” he muttered under his breath as he continued his equestrian marched down the main street of Hangtown. Most people leered at him in either fear or distain. Both were acceptable. He knew in this town there was only one person he could completely trust. He would start there and work his way through others, door by door if need be. The steed started becoming skittish as they reached their destination, and Showtime assumed this meant Granny was making some sort of blood sacrifice.
Showtime dismounted and tied the horse’s halter to the railing of the steps, Wryght gave the horse a pat on the nose as it lowered its head into a barrel of collected rainwater. Leave it to the Dillingers to still collect rainwater. Showtime refused to hide his approach as he went up the steps and prepared to make is arrival. He paused with his fist up, and when he finally gave the door a knock it screeched open. Hesitantly he stepped in, finding the place seemingly deserted.
He had flashbacks of good and bad days in this house. The best generally included William and the worst was inhaling a fungus powder blasted in his face by Granny Dillinger. He hoped the old hag was far from here as there was a younger Dillinger he sought. The floorboards creaked with each step, and just as he went to call out, he saw it. There was a small white and green Hess truck on the table. One which Showtime recognized in a second. He picked it up and said, “That son of a…”
BAM! The sound of a cast iron pan ringing against his skull was the last thing Showtime heard as he fell to the floor.
It was night when Showtime came to. His head hurt something fierce which ripped him back to his prone position as he tried to get back up.
“Hell of a set you have there, decided breaking in once wasn’t enough for you?” asked a voice harsh and sweet at the same time.
“I didn’t break in once, little lone twice, Ruth,” replied Showtime. “Was it you or the Hag who hit me, I know it wasn’t Grimm, he’d have done it to my face.”
“Not sure what the difference would be,” she said with indifference. “Now, don’t make me ask you again. Why did you come back?”
“I told you, I didn’t come back. I came here the first time to talk to you.”
“Why me?”
“Don’t be coy Ruth, you know why I’m here. That truck is all the evidence I need to know Grimm is still in bed with the Black Hand. I didn’t want to believe it, figured the messages I was getting were just intended to turn the two of use against each other. Clearly wishful thinking.”
“Which messages?”
“This is the last one,” Showtime withdrew the note about his family’s location and passed it to Ruth, finally being and to sit upright though the room still swam as his feet hit the ground.
“Phinehas isn’t working with them any longer. He is trying to take them down, and if I recall correctly, he saved you from them.”
“It only counts as saving me if he wasn’t one of the people holding me hostage, which is something I’m not so sure on any longer. If you say the ties with the Black Hand are severed, then explain to me the truck.”
“Well, the first time I saw it was when it fell out of your hand, so why don’t you explain the truck?”
“It’s my son’s,” replied Showtime without hesitation, his eye slightly glazed with the beginnings of tear he refused to shed. He picked it up from the ground and started to listlessly spin the wheel. He was in a trance as he continued, “We give him these trucks every year for Christmas, like my grandfather did for me growing up. This is one of the newer ones and the one more time than not he carried with him when we traveled. They are great when going out and he needs a little distraction. Now it is here, and he isn’t.”
“He’s not here, I swear.”
“I know, I knew the moment I entered town he was no longer here. I could feel it. But he was here, and not too long ago either. So, who knows something?”
“Phinehas doesn’t have anything to do with this.”
“Stop it!” Showtime growled. “That’s not what I asked. I asked you, who knows something. Does that witch outback see anything in a raven’s eye or some shit like that? Tell me what you know and who do you think broke in earlier if it wasn’t me.”
“If it wasn’t you, which I guess I believe it wasn’t, then I have no clue. They must have been the ones who left the truck for you to find. No one was here when I got back, and I was looking for those very answers. After I returned, I saw you standing by the table and I wasn’t keen on letting you go without some answers.”
“So, it was you who hit me?” said Showtime, which Ruth only shrugged in response.
“What next?”
“I’ll use what’s left in the night to ask around if anyone had seen anything, I suppose. Since I lost most of the day, I suspect that I won’t find anything of interest.”
“Don’t let anyone tell you Phinehas has anything to do with this.”
Showtime just shook his head and got to his feet. Ruth followed as he made it back to his horse, which was miraculously not sacrificed or something worse by Granny. He noticed sticking out of the saddle bag was an envelope which hadn’t been there before. Another clue perhaps.
He looked up at Ruth who stood at the top of the stairs and said, “I’m going to beat the ever-living piss out of Grimm. Win or lose, I am going to beat him so badly he’ll tell me everything he knows about my family and only then will I decide whether or not he has anything to do with this.”
As Showtime rode off into the night all Ruth could respond in a weak voice was, “All these are the beginning of sorrows.”
