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Corinthian and Misha
Who: The Corinthian and Misha
What: Next episode of Chi Writes Everyone But Her Own Characters
Where: Ethereal nowhere, at first.
When: Immediately after Misha leaves Wainright Manor
Warnings/Rating: TBD
It was the celestial power that drew the Corinthian's attention, the chalkboard-skid of holy light tainted by the mud of humanity on the surfaces of this world. A little divine power didn't bother the Corinthian, because he was an old son of a bitch, so old that gender was a quaint concept and sex a weapon for the imaginative. In his own place he could wrap a soul in a fortune cookie and crush it between his teeth, and it would take a being of the highest order to make him do anything he did not want to do. If he had the taste for politics in his eyes, he would have taken pieces of Adramelech, Baal and Robals. 'The Corinthian' was all in all just a name. In other languages, he was the Black Mirror, the Insatiable, or (far less easily translated) the Colorless Bleakness of Mind Before Dawn.
Why this tiny town was such a hive of supernatural activity, the demon had no idea, but he was lingering there. Lucifer had been here, and he wanted to know why; he also had plans of his own, alliances and betrayals to make.
The breeze and rush of wings was something he could easily intercept, and though he didn't have his own place, there were other empty places between realities he could easily enter. This one was between two pieces of concrete under Repose's central crossroads, frozen in time and alive with skittering creatures and clods of dirt the size of boats.
"Oh, pigeon," the demon said, standing still in his newest suit of skin. It was a patient from the Quiet Home nearby, one whose mind was like finely chopped salsa on the inside. The man was skinny, his lips were chapped, his hospital gown flapping. His normally vacant blue eyes were bleeding. The dirt space beneath the ground smelled of butchery and filth.
What: Next episode of Chi Writes Everyone But Her Own Characters
Where: Ethereal nowhere, at first.
When: Immediately after Misha leaves Wainright Manor
Warnings/Rating: TBD
It was the celestial power that drew the Corinthian's attention, the chalkboard-skid of holy light tainted by the mud of humanity on the surfaces of this world. A little divine power didn't bother the Corinthian, because he was an old son of a bitch, so old that gender was a quaint concept and sex a weapon for the imaginative. In his own place he could wrap a soul in a fortune cookie and crush it between his teeth, and it would take a being of the highest order to make him do anything he did not want to do. If he had the taste for politics in his eyes, he would have taken pieces of Adramelech, Baal and Robals. 'The Corinthian' was all in all just a name. In other languages, he was the Black Mirror, the Insatiable, or (far less easily translated) the Colorless Bleakness of Mind Before Dawn.
Why this tiny town was such a hive of supernatural activity, the demon had no idea, but he was lingering there. Lucifer had been here, and he wanted to know why; he also had plans of his own, alliances and betrayals to make.
The breeze and rush of wings was something he could easily intercept, and though he didn't have his own place, there were other empty places between realities he could easily enter. This one was between two pieces of concrete under Repose's central crossroads, frozen in time and alive with skittering creatures and clods of dirt the size of boats.
"Oh, pigeon," the demon said, standing still in his newest suit of skin. It was a patient from the Quiet Home nearby, one whose mind was like finely chopped salsa on the inside. The man was skinny, his lips were chapped, his hospital gown flapping. His normally vacant blue eyes were bleeding. The dirt space beneath the ground smelled of butchery and filth.