The Bear and Barnacle

With slight reference to previous topic, since Minerva pointed out to me that the one led rather naturally into the other. Warning for brief disturbing content.

December 1944

“Certainly it’s poetic,” says Minerva. “A great many things are poetic. That doesn’t make them true.”

“In some people’s minds it does,” Tom says, and lays out the cards. “Inverted nine of swords again, mind you.”

“There’s a ten in – what, sixty-five? – ten in sixty-five chance of any given card showing in this spread. About one to seven. One in thirteen if you were to count inversions.”

“As we are.” He picks up each card as Minerva tallies it on the great curling sweep of parchment, his long white hands curving capably over the deck.

( That still isn't bad odds. )

"My sister called me that. A monster." Cesare tiredly rubs his face with a cashmere sleeve. "Prego. I mean, seriously. Do I look like one?"

Shaking his head, he mutters under his breath, "When it was all for the best, really. But I, her own brother who loved her best. A monster."

The notion is ridiculous.

"I'm not a monster, I'm just ahead of the curve..."

It was a line he'd used many times. He was always being called a monster - by the news, by the Bat, by the so-called "doctors" at Arkham. But he's not a monster. He just gets it, how the world really works, and he goes with the flow...wherever that flow takes him and whatever it inspires him to do.

Monster. What did that even MEAN? Looks that aren't the norm? How many people did not look "normal"? Behavior that is different? By some of their definitions, THEY were all monsters. The Batman himself even. The schemers, the planners, the politicians. The ones who manipulate the general populace, the ones who say "I'm doing this for you, the people. I'm going to SAVE you and CURE your world!", while really furthering only themselves and assisting the world on it's never-ending spiral towards inevitable self-destruction.

Monster. It's all relative.

AND.HE.IS.NOT.A.MONSTER.

When the Dark Lord had approached the giants, approached vampires, even brought in that filthy werewolf Greyback and his like, Lucius used all his strength not to question. He sneered more than usual, perhaps, but luckily that was one of his standard facial expressions, so it went largely unnoticed. But it had proven very difficult for him. Why would they use these abominations, these monsters, to assist their cause? Didn't it go against everything they were fighting for? True, they were being used...as servants, or trained animals, attack-dogs. Not members of the inner circle. But still...why align with such things at all? He knew he wasn't the only one questioning. But it was not to be spoken. He had foolishly asked Bella, but she had only angrily defended her Master, as she always blindly did. Lucius saw the doubt hidden deep in her eyes none the less.

In fact, what was their Master now? He himself seemed more monster than man now...

These questions and so many others played in his head more and more. If he didn't stop, couldn't guard his mind, if the Dark Lord knew...

He would be dead.

Holmes sat back in a booth and lit his pipe. When he had it going to his satisfaction, he spoke softly as he watched smoke idly curl from the bowl. "I have known men who did monstrous things," he began, "Milverton, Moriarty, Moran, and I suppose that makes them monsters. And there was one, a truly terrible individual, that I knew of but never had the fortune to meet. But I did encounter one monster, a real one, though he was not a monster in and of himself, but the product of a mad schemer. A product of his upbringing and an example of what maltreatment leads to." He puffed thoughtfully on his pipe for a moment. "It was in Dartmoor, a dismal place, perfect for curses and monsters both, though in this instance they were both perpetuated by nothing more than human greed." Holmes took a deep breath. "Actually, the monster was a dog, an enormous thing, about the size of a lioness, a cross between a mastiff and a bloodhound. Daubed with a bit of phosphorus in order to achieve a spectral glow and you have a ready-made demon. A dog kept half-starved and savage. He caused the deaths of two men and nearly that of another, and I’m afraid he killed a small spaniel as well. Killed and ate it. I was quite fortunate that Watson and I were able to put and end to both the dog’s reign of terror and the evil creature that had made him."

This month's topic is MONSTERS!

What are monsters like where you're from? Have you met any? Fought any? Found any under your bed or in a closet? What's it mean to be a monster?


Responses to this topic, as usual, get posted to the community by your character. Please use the appropriate tags, including the new one of "monsterss". Posts can be memories or drawings or used to push along new plots in Margate for your character or simply be conversations with someone/everyone in the pub. Feel free to interpret the topics liberally. As long as the posts have something/anything to do with monsters or monstrosity, they're good to go!