Participants:
| Scene Title | Do As Mother Tells You |
|---|---|
| Synopsis | The Queen of her own nightmares and hellish children, Yana succeeds in turning the fate of one of her babies, making it so the Evo flu will probably need to be renamed. |
| Date | April 1, 2011 |
In Dreams
‘Continue the story, Turn the page, Emotions displayed on a burning stage. You walk down those empty halls, Everywhere you look there are blank walls. Things you'll see, Terrible things, All dancing before your eyes. For life has given you once more, A nightmare in disguise.’
In the spacious and luxurious dining hall of Dr. Mikhail Puika, at the head of the large long table, containing a bountiful feast of various glorious foods, sits Mother. The Victorian décor fits perfectly with the regal appearance of the dark haired woman, dressed in a formal gown of epic proportions. Glittering diamonds hang heavily about her neck and ears, casting the same sparkling allure as the chandler hanging just above. Sunlight pours in through the large windows, painting a fond semblance of life throughout the room. Three children sit evenly in other seats across the table, eagerly awaiting the start of their meal.
Two boys, one girl just as nicely dresses as their Mother. The walls adorned with the paintings of the children that came before them. The atmosphere is very posh, where fabulous people have silent consumption, rules of etiquette must be followed.
The children themselves are atypical. An air about them that gives off the impression that they were created as opposed to born.
Seymor is the eldest, a rather wild looking boy with steely eyes.
Eunice is the middle child, bold and responsive about the eyes, eager to get into everything that she possibly can.
And then there is Cillian, the youngest. His face kept mostly in shadow, his eyes somewhat sunken in and his expression quite hollow. Nothing too out of the ordinary, just a mother and children settling down to dinner.
The truth lies on the other side.
In the center of the rightmost wall, a looking glass sits, reflecting the whole scene for what it really is. The perfect little world is more madness than a normal heart could ever take. The bright sun that cast it’s warmth is actually a darkness that sets things into an abyssal tone. A veritable land of lost spirits as a black miasma covers everything like a thick layer of dust. The furniture and effects are all twisted, right out of a vicious nightmare, like a clawed creature reaching out to get you from the shadows.
The feast that was once so beautiful are piles and piles of little bodies, like effigies all pale and almost without features, save for the eerie ghost-like face that resembles Van Gough’s Scream. They lay piled onto each other, lifeless and praying for salvation from their soon to be gruesome fate. Several piles of human shapes, piles of insects and even terrified looking animals have been presented for consumption.
Mother is a terror to behold; a frightening queen sitting at the top of her throne, her elegant dress a twisting mass of shadow, extending out beyond the world around her, touching everything in its inky tendrils. Her demonic eyes and stone cold face look over her children carefully, making sure all is as it should be.
Seymor is much darker than his mirror counterpart. That wild look in his eyes carrying a glow, like a vicious predator gazing at you from around the corner. His skin is grey and unhealthy looking, as patterned patches of sickly skin are designed about his body like tattoos. His fingers are elongated along with is teeth, tipped with claws like a furious beast.
Eunice is like a ghost, so pale and whispy with milky eyes held wide and unblinking. Her willowy frame looks as if it had been unnaturally stretched, like some depiction of an alien from a sci-fi movie. Steam waifs from the breaths through her nose and mouth, fueled by god knows what.
And Cillian, dear Cillian… A shadow made flesh. His eyes are a pit of blackness, sucking you into their cold, desolate sockets. His mouth is a blank space of umbra, both unnaturally wide and oddly perfect. His dead colored skin is flawless and free of blemishes, and he carries fear within his gaze.
”You may begin.” Mother breaks the silence, as her voice carries with it the sound of flesh cutting glass shards. The children all burst into action, hungrily reaching out with their twisted forks and knives, stabbing into the bodies of food to pull loads upon their plates, shoveling the individuals beings into their hellish maws. Eunice typically staying with the humanoid shapes, from more than one pile. Some of them look rather dull, whole other seem to have something extra. The cries of the tormented souls ring out as the children begin to chew, ravaging the bodies with excruciating pain and suffering. Seymor is not as picky, his plate is loaded with humanoid and animal shapes alike, but no insects. Who wants to eat bugs anyway?
But Cillian… dear Cillian. He’ll only eat from one pile alone. The brilliant looking humanoids with that something extra. Increasingly gobbling them down one by one with silent chews. Such a picky child, so particular, mysterious and singular. Mother watches him carefully, trying to make heads and tails of the boy, lightly rapping her nails upon the tattered tablecloth.
”So, Cillian. You have hardly said a word since you have joined us. Is there something wrong?” Mother’s question gets no answer, no response. Cillian and the other continue to eat. “I feel like I hardly know you, dear. You’re so closed off, not like the other children. It simply won’t do to have you not open up to Mother. Nothing is to be held back from her domain. Is that understood?” Mother remarks to him with a growing authority in her voice. The trouble she is having with Cillian is getting to her. She is normally very, very patient , though about certain things, such as her control over her children, she has a very low tolerance for things not going how she desires.
Mother sighs and cocks her head to one side, “Cillian, how about you try something else, rather than having just one. There are many other nice dishes just waiting for you. Expand your horizons and try them, you may like it.” She can talk to him, but it doesn’t seem like he is listening. Make no mistake, he does hear her however. She tries to be easy, one more time. “At least try the other variety, like your sister. Just one little bite? For Mother?” Oh, Cillian, you willful child. Not used to mother and her ways, and not yet used to the idea that he has no choice but to bend to her will.
Suddenly, mother grows in terror. The world responds to her fury as the woman stands from her seat and slams her hands into the table, her fingers cracking as they grow elongated, her colored nails splintering the wood beneath them as claws are formed. Her eyes rage with a red fire and her voice calls out like a shout from God. “Cillian! Enough! You will do what Mother commands! You will do everything that is asked of you without question or hesitation! I will not stand for insolence! Do. As I say! Now all of you… Stop!” she throws out her hands like Moses parting the sea, and just like that, the children cease their engorging and sit in silence in their seats. All of them. Mother lets the silence linger for moments upon end, an eternity it seems before she retakes her seat, regaining her composure and giving a sigh of relief.
”Now, let us try this again, and have a nice dinner.” She turns her eyes to each of her twisted children, “Mother loves you all very much, and all she asks is for unconditional subordination. I don’t like being cross with you, you are my babies. Just do. As you’re told.” An unspoken wave of ‘Yes Mother’ washes over the room, and Mother lets herself rest.
"You may begin." She says, and the feast begins again. Her watchful eye taking hold of Cillian and she gives him a moment to continue eating his favorite dish. She has to smile with a sense of pride and completion when his shadowy hand slowly reaches out, forking a few of the duller looking humanoid figures and carefully placing them upon his plate. With the first taste he finds that mother is indeed right.
He likes it.
His taste has expanded. Including more than just one type. I guess it is true what they say.
Mother knows best…
Yana's Apartment
In the wee hours of the night, a sleeping Dr. Elvira Blite, slumbering in her sheer black nightgown, under her expensive silk sheets suddenly opens her eyes with an eerie flash of green behind them. A smile stretches across her face in realization. They’ll have to rename it now… The Evo flu simply will not do any longer. Normals of the world, beware. A reckoning is coming…
I watched as the Lamb opened the first of the seven seals. Then I heard one of the four living creatures say in a voice like thunder, "Come!" I looked, and there before me was a white horse! Its rider held a bow, and he was given a crown, and he rode out as a conqueror bent on conquest. - Revelation 6:1-2 - White Horse, Pestilence