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G. M. Dark (illustratedman) wrote in wariscoming,

"I do try and make all the guests feel welcome. I'd hate for you not to come back on opening day, after all." His voice was light, filled with a happy tune, one that juxtaposed the darkness of his soul. He had long since given his loyalty to the Devil, whoever that was, in return for the carnival. One day Lucifer would collect what was rightfully his, but for now Dark served a better purpose than an eternity in hell. He smiled faintly, approached River and examined her youthful visage, feeding off the chaos in her mind. It made him stronger, more alive and more powerful.

It was a sweet feeding, full of terrible things. So utterly delicious! A feast!

"Would you like to see a trick, Miss River?" he asked daintily, thrusting out the hand that held the cane at an angle she could see, undoing his cufflinks to pull his sleeve up to his forearm, revealing the painted faces of creatures and people printed onto his skin. It was permanent ink, the markings that made him the Illustrated Man. Each face told a story, illustrating the destruction of minds and his power over them.

Focusing on the faces at hand, the ink swirled and flowed about like the many faces of a kaleidoscope. He carried on for a minute, then promptly jerked down his sleeve and re-clasped the link.

"I can smell your despair," he said a second later, "it calls to us like dogs in the night."