Post by Non Compos Mentis on Apr 4, 2014 18:31:00 GMT -5
“There’s not much left to say really, is there?” Four of them stood waiting for the inevitable, only one felt that he could topple over backwards if the wind changed direction too swiftly. Non Compos Mentis spoke with the resigned tones of a murderer whose arm was poised ready for the cocktail of barbiturate, paralytic and potassium chloride, admitting culpability yet defending his slaughter as only for the greater good.
The lethal injection in question here would not bring about a swift death however, merely the dissolving of a union. A matter of meters away the citizens of Hoboville, New York State (that Mr Mentis had founded himself many moons ago, no less) went about their daily business unaware the foundation of their society was being fundamentally altered. In a matter of minutes, their King would be nursing a broken crown.
“I’m afraid not, nothing that matters at least.” Smug triumph was the only thing that laced the voice of Tal. Once the barbarian, now a ruler-in-waiting. Mentis had underestimated him, this he knew now, and the irony did not escape him that the underling he valued least had been the one to dethrone him.
Only a couple of days prior, Non Compos Mentis had been cowering in the underbelly of the Pure Class Arena, running from things he had little comprehension of. There, crouched behind a battered Buick, Tal had found him and given his ultimatum. Though not in as many words, the choice had been made clear; follow us and relinquish your crown, or follow your diseased mind and be gone forever.
His cancerous psyche craved its kingship dearly and would have followed Tal and his company of hobos, if only to plot the downfall of yet another of his followers, but then he had seen Rebekah. As defiled as his brain was, something deep in the static told him to follow her. That entity living in the background radiation recognized the love radiating from her and was drawn to it. Left unwillingly alone, Mentis tried to get closer to her, to touch her just once to prove to himself she was real, but then her form was lost in a crowd and he was forced to turn and run, to turn and desperately follow his wayward flock.
Yet the damage was already done. He had not followed them immediately. His loyalty was elsewhere. The phantom hiding inside Non Compos Mentis had clung on long enough for the worst possible outcome. Now he looked desperate, neither strong in his loyalty or his insane convictions. The end would come swiftly once he returned home to Hoboville.
“I have given you good times, have I not?” He risked a smile toward Frank that showed a hint of shyness that betrayed the sickness behind his teeth. To Mentis’ surprise, his aged companion managed one back. It had been months since he had winched his face into one, fake or not, and Mentis found himself wondering if this was a dreadful omen in itself.
“Aye, Sir, good times have been had. With them though…” The sorrowful sailor of old let his eyes drop to the floor where they finally let go of their tears. He shuffles uneasily as if wishing to flee, embarrassed at the actions he had once been manipulated into. A wall had been lifted and now Frank Buttershaw III could allow his emotions to run free, fearless of scolding from his master; a dreadful omen indeed. Extending a hand, Mentis tried to rest it on his once-servant’s shoulder in comfort only for this at-best dubious motion to be halted with harshness again.
“A great darkness follows you, Mentis, a madness. What good you spread is for your own means, and to be turned against those that follow you. We knew it was there, yet had we known how deep it ran… “ The look that graces Tal’s grave, angular face, shadowed with his dense black beard, is not one of embarrassment like Frank’s. No, as Tal subtly shakes his head there is only a deep, painful regret. Had they seen it sooner, caught the insanity while it had yet to settle like rot into his foundations, maybe it would not have corrupted them so deeply.
“Perhaps this would never have come to pass. Perhaps you would have continued your desperate path toward a meaningless death.” Mentis gritted his teeth in a contemptuous grimace and withdrew his manipulative hand from the air. As he did, however, a youthful one rested itself tentatively, nervously, on his shoulder.
“Nah’s nut da tahm fah dose words, Mista.” Even Squab, with his already nonsensical accent muffled by sobs and tears, had begun to stand up to him in his own timid way. He was a mess of nerves but somehow the youngster had found it within himself to push his own fears aside and stand up to the demon in front of him. For that, even the vile Non Compos Mentis had to back down.
“No, I suppose not. Would you not join me, Squab? Frank? The journey into the unknown is darker without company to light the way.” Mentis let his eyes drift from one of his victims to the other, both could not bear to meet them and solemnly shook their heads.
“They will be staying, Mentis. They have suffered through enough of your trials.” Tal spoke for the three of them, all once underlings now liberated from the rule of their tyrant. They would not follow him, regardless of the rewards he offered them, the price they had paid was too steep already.
“I lent meaning to your lives, something I could still do if you’d follow me. There are so many things we could accomplish together even now.” Still the heads of both young and old shook with eyes averted and stood still, knowing Non Compos Mentis had no power to move them anymore.
“Like ambushing the giant, Murdoc, for another trinket of gold? We chase trophies for you no more. We don’t concern ourselves with satisfying the mind of a madman with vengeance and anger, we only look after each other.” A leader and a diplomat, Mentis thought Tal had hidden these traits with a deviousness that matched his own and now used them to defeat him. Where Murdoc had failed to gain the upper hand in mind games and psychological warfare, this bedraggles barbarian had succeeded.
“If you would not help me, none of you, then I’m left only to help myself. When I stand against Murdoc with my legacy, my reputation, my LIFE on the line I suppose it is only right that I stand alone.” And yet the felt the dread that situation would bring him, stood with no defence against the Untouchable behemoth but his own two hands. He bitterly wished that a band of ne’er-do-wells would be waiting in the wings for his signal, but alas there would not be there.
“T’is the way it has to be, Sir.” Frank spoke, still choking back great gulping sobs and yet sounding wise through his weeping, snivelling expression. “Wish it wasn’t so, but there comes a time a man must face his challenges alone and receive reward or a dire penance for his actions.”
Sweet old Frank, who had tasted his penance for a life lived in sin and servitude when he made manipulated love to a prostitute at the behest of his master, knew that punishment came in many forms. He ceased shaking his head for a moment and looked up, now able to meet the eye of the Broken King though his still swam with sorrow. Behind that salty solution, Mentis was sure he saw at least a drop of happiness.
“Then I’ll face my challenge with no regrets.” And somewhere deep within himself, from the same place he felt the love of Rebekah rekindled only days earlier, Mentis felt the consequences of every act of malice, cruelty and sadism weigh down on his soul. Something inside of him knew all along that it had perpetrated horrific acts and would one day hold the greater part of itself accountable. Now was that time. “Whatever penance I face will be just. What is done is done and I leave you all to go about your lives, short as they may be, in peace.”
Tal, with surprise, turned to Squab with wide eyes and made a subtle motion as if it question if Mentis was being serious. The youngster nodded, albeit unsurely, and looked to Mentis himself. The man who had once been the PCW World Champion, had once been the most feared man in wrestling with an army of Hobos behind him, looked strangely weak at that moment. Just then Squab, who had been driven to life-threatening grief by this man, felt sorry for Non Compos Mentis and knew that it would be the last time they would meet.
Collecting up his meagre possessions, the dethroned Hobo King took one last look around the makeshift town he had founded. Hoboville positively bustled with the noise of vagrants chatting, cooking, sorting, planning and just maybe remembering the good old days when they had been well fed, clothed and sheltered by a caring King who loved them dearly. The shanty tents of tattered tarpaulin stretched as far as the eye could see, the ramshackle walls built from any spare plank or sheet of scrap hemmed in the sprawling mass of life; all was well once more.
Standing aside, Tal gave one last nod and for a bittersweet second Mentis imagined a golden crown sat atop his head. Somehow it fit well, and Mentis understood he had been beaten by a worthy rival in the end. Yet Tal was no Murdoch, and as much as Mentis would have given for his fight to be over there was still more to come.
He hauled his pack onto his shoulder and began to walk. Ahead of him the wall opened up with a small doorway, and outside only darkness stayed. It sat in the opening and stared at him, called to him, and he knew he must accept the invitation. With one last look over his shoulder, seeing Frank give him a wizened smile and Squab wave goodbye for perhaps the last time, Non Compos Mentis departed his home and walked into the dark, where the only enemy to greet him was himself.
The lethal injection in question here would not bring about a swift death however, merely the dissolving of a union. A matter of meters away the citizens of Hoboville, New York State (that Mr Mentis had founded himself many moons ago, no less) went about their daily business unaware the foundation of their society was being fundamentally altered. In a matter of minutes, their King would be nursing a broken crown.
“I’m afraid not, nothing that matters at least.” Smug triumph was the only thing that laced the voice of Tal. Once the barbarian, now a ruler-in-waiting. Mentis had underestimated him, this he knew now, and the irony did not escape him that the underling he valued least had been the one to dethrone him.
Only a couple of days prior, Non Compos Mentis had been cowering in the underbelly of the Pure Class Arena, running from things he had little comprehension of. There, crouched behind a battered Buick, Tal had found him and given his ultimatum. Though not in as many words, the choice had been made clear; follow us and relinquish your crown, or follow your diseased mind and be gone forever.
His cancerous psyche craved its kingship dearly and would have followed Tal and his company of hobos, if only to plot the downfall of yet another of his followers, but then he had seen Rebekah. As defiled as his brain was, something deep in the static told him to follow her. That entity living in the background radiation recognized the love radiating from her and was drawn to it. Left unwillingly alone, Mentis tried to get closer to her, to touch her just once to prove to himself she was real, but then her form was lost in a crowd and he was forced to turn and run, to turn and desperately follow his wayward flock.
Yet the damage was already done. He had not followed them immediately. His loyalty was elsewhere. The phantom hiding inside Non Compos Mentis had clung on long enough for the worst possible outcome. Now he looked desperate, neither strong in his loyalty or his insane convictions. The end would come swiftly once he returned home to Hoboville.
“I have given you good times, have I not?” He risked a smile toward Frank that showed a hint of shyness that betrayed the sickness behind his teeth. To Mentis’ surprise, his aged companion managed one back. It had been months since he had winched his face into one, fake or not, and Mentis found himself wondering if this was a dreadful omen in itself.
“Aye, Sir, good times have been had. With them though…” The sorrowful sailor of old let his eyes drop to the floor where they finally let go of their tears. He shuffles uneasily as if wishing to flee, embarrassed at the actions he had once been manipulated into. A wall had been lifted and now Frank Buttershaw III could allow his emotions to run free, fearless of scolding from his master; a dreadful omen indeed. Extending a hand, Mentis tried to rest it on his once-servant’s shoulder in comfort only for this at-best dubious motion to be halted with harshness again.
“A great darkness follows you, Mentis, a madness. What good you spread is for your own means, and to be turned against those that follow you. We knew it was there, yet had we known how deep it ran… “ The look that graces Tal’s grave, angular face, shadowed with his dense black beard, is not one of embarrassment like Frank’s. No, as Tal subtly shakes his head there is only a deep, painful regret. Had they seen it sooner, caught the insanity while it had yet to settle like rot into his foundations, maybe it would not have corrupted them so deeply.
“Perhaps this would never have come to pass. Perhaps you would have continued your desperate path toward a meaningless death.” Mentis gritted his teeth in a contemptuous grimace and withdrew his manipulative hand from the air. As he did, however, a youthful one rested itself tentatively, nervously, on his shoulder.
“Nah’s nut da tahm fah dose words, Mista.” Even Squab, with his already nonsensical accent muffled by sobs and tears, had begun to stand up to him in his own timid way. He was a mess of nerves but somehow the youngster had found it within himself to push his own fears aside and stand up to the demon in front of him. For that, even the vile Non Compos Mentis had to back down.
“No, I suppose not. Would you not join me, Squab? Frank? The journey into the unknown is darker without company to light the way.” Mentis let his eyes drift from one of his victims to the other, both could not bear to meet them and solemnly shook their heads.
“They will be staying, Mentis. They have suffered through enough of your trials.” Tal spoke for the three of them, all once underlings now liberated from the rule of their tyrant. They would not follow him, regardless of the rewards he offered them, the price they had paid was too steep already.
“I lent meaning to your lives, something I could still do if you’d follow me. There are so many things we could accomplish together even now.” Still the heads of both young and old shook with eyes averted and stood still, knowing Non Compos Mentis had no power to move them anymore.
“Like ambushing the giant, Murdoc, for another trinket of gold? We chase trophies for you no more. We don’t concern ourselves with satisfying the mind of a madman with vengeance and anger, we only look after each other.” A leader and a diplomat, Mentis thought Tal had hidden these traits with a deviousness that matched his own and now used them to defeat him. Where Murdoc had failed to gain the upper hand in mind games and psychological warfare, this bedraggles barbarian had succeeded.
“If you would not help me, none of you, then I’m left only to help myself. When I stand against Murdoc with my legacy, my reputation, my LIFE on the line I suppose it is only right that I stand alone.” And yet the felt the dread that situation would bring him, stood with no defence against the Untouchable behemoth but his own two hands. He bitterly wished that a band of ne’er-do-wells would be waiting in the wings for his signal, but alas there would not be there.
“T’is the way it has to be, Sir.” Frank spoke, still choking back great gulping sobs and yet sounding wise through his weeping, snivelling expression. “Wish it wasn’t so, but there comes a time a man must face his challenges alone and receive reward or a dire penance for his actions.”
Sweet old Frank, who had tasted his penance for a life lived in sin and servitude when he made manipulated love to a prostitute at the behest of his master, knew that punishment came in many forms. He ceased shaking his head for a moment and looked up, now able to meet the eye of the Broken King though his still swam with sorrow. Behind that salty solution, Mentis was sure he saw at least a drop of happiness.
“Then I’ll face my challenge with no regrets.” And somewhere deep within himself, from the same place he felt the love of Rebekah rekindled only days earlier, Mentis felt the consequences of every act of malice, cruelty and sadism weigh down on his soul. Something inside of him knew all along that it had perpetrated horrific acts and would one day hold the greater part of itself accountable. Now was that time. “Whatever penance I face will be just. What is done is done and I leave you all to go about your lives, short as they may be, in peace.”
Tal, with surprise, turned to Squab with wide eyes and made a subtle motion as if it question if Mentis was being serious. The youngster nodded, albeit unsurely, and looked to Mentis himself. The man who had once been the PCW World Champion, had once been the most feared man in wrestling with an army of Hobos behind him, looked strangely weak at that moment. Just then Squab, who had been driven to life-threatening grief by this man, felt sorry for Non Compos Mentis and knew that it would be the last time they would meet.
Collecting up his meagre possessions, the dethroned Hobo King took one last look around the makeshift town he had founded. Hoboville positively bustled with the noise of vagrants chatting, cooking, sorting, planning and just maybe remembering the good old days when they had been well fed, clothed and sheltered by a caring King who loved them dearly. The shanty tents of tattered tarpaulin stretched as far as the eye could see, the ramshackle walls built from any spare plank or sheet of scrap hemmed in the sprawling mass of life; all was well once more.
Standing aside, Tal gave one last nod and for a bittersweet second Mentis imagined a golden crown sat atop his head. Somehow it fit well, and Mentis understood he had been beaten by a worthy rival in the end. Yet Tal was no Murdoch, and as much as Mentis would have given for his fight to be over there was still more to come.
He hauled his pack onto his shoulder and began to walk. Ahead of him the wall opened up with a small doorway, and outside only darkness stayed. It sat in the opening and stared at him, called to him, and he knew he must accept the invitation. With one last look over his shoulder, seeing Frank give him a wizened smile and Squab wave goodbye for perhaps the last time, Non Compos Mentis departed his home and walked into the dark, where the only enemy to greet him was himself.
