Username: 
Password:    
Remember Me

Search by :  Username E-mail Region Interest AOL IM ICQ Number Yahoo! ID MSN Username Jabber

G. M. Dark (illustratedman) wrote in wariscoming, @ 2013-01-27 19:08:00

Who: Loki and Mr. Dark (aka Gershom Mallory)
What: Oh, this and that.
Where: Here and there.
When: Evening, 10pm.
Warnings | Status: TBD | in progress


Mr. Dark hummed a tune. It wasn't even really a tune, it had never been before, actually. Rather, it was some listless little sound that spoke of a thousand sorrows, a hundred lonely nights and the fears of a million people wrapped into one. It was the sound of cold uncaring, of calculated scorn. The sound of a being who enjoyed no happiness and suffered no goodness in the world. It whispered from his lips and spread into the night air, casting forth to inspire the misery in others. Dark smiled faintly, but there was no hint of mirth on his visage. He was a man that felt none.

Lawrence was awfully depressed these days. There were so many roiling emotions and activities--so much sorrow and despair. How could the Carnival not come back? Why, when everything was so deliciously sweet it made Dark want to set up permanently. But no, there were genocides around the world, abandoned brides, sleepless men to encounter. All of it became their diet. Ah, to butter their bread with delicious pain! To stuff themselves on peoples' nightmares.

Shaking his head of his musing Dark turned to look out over Lawrence, stepping back so that his feet were upon the track. Thin hands bereft of their usual black leather gloves slid into the pockets of his trousers. He even allowed his shoulders to slump, for though he was a man a century older or more he wore now the body of his 16 year old self. And given that he was a performer, he sought to make the act believable face to face. Loki, of course, knew who he was under this guise of teenage idiocy, but so long as he didn't speak then Dark would have no problem. And well, if Loki spoke it was because Dark lost his grip upon the trickster.

Looking up from the gravel at his feet, Dark smiled. His companion for the night had arrived.

"Good evening," had he worn the top-hat he'd have swept it off his head, bowed and made a show of it. Now he merely extended a hand in greeting.