Who: Dorian Feenix, Horror What: A bit of conversation and company Where: Midway Plaisance When: Wednesday night Warnings: None.
It would probably be no big surprise to anyone that Horror didn’t sleep much at night. She did sleep, sometimes, but it was a sleep to let her imagination run free and to see and create….she slept as some people doodled or stared into space daydreaming.
When she wasn’t sleeping…….well. There were any number of things she could be doing, and often….she was. Not that she had done anything anyone would have taken note of in the last couple of weeks….things had been quiet. She had been quiet. It seemed to be the mood, it seemed to be the way people wanted to feel. She wasn’t inclined to let anyone have what they wanted, or let things fall into the lazy roar of silence that had come up…..but……
She was disappointed. She wanted things no one seemed willing to give her. She was caught between what she’d become and wondering what she’d left behind, she had everything and nothing to aim it at.
Yet.
She was waiting.
While she waited, she carried on with the things she’d come to assume as her habits. What Horror preferred was often a matter of affectation and calculation, but anything that wasn’t didn’t stand out. The things she kept in her trailer that she really liked blended in with the things she’d simply put out as a bit of decoration, and the things she meant when she spoke were said in the same tones as what she said that she didn’t.
Most of the time. There were exceptions.
At the moment, Horror was sitting in near dark, her hands clasped neatly in her lap and eyes fixed patiently on the table in front of her. The dim light she’d left in the corners of the room cast shadows and picked out the small white flashes in both the bloody carpet on the floor and the bloody feathers hung from the ceiling over her head. On the table in front of her was a tea service, empty and cold. The door to the trailer stood open, not in expectation of anything but simply because an open door in the night was wrong, was off, was not supposed to be. Anything could come right in, walk up to her table, to her bed, to her. Nothing would catch her unaware…..except for two. Two she allowed to slip by her on purpose, two she didn’t mind ignoring for the pleasure of the surprise when she ran across them. Father and son, God and son.
To catch Horror unawares was to be in her good graces.