June Villainy - Oliver

[nocturnalhippy.livejournal.com]

There is artistry in all things dear boy, every single thing, if only you would be see it. Now then let’s see what you’ve been working on tonight...

He stands and waits in the bathroom, thoughtful of them really, he washes his hands again, he needs to be clean for this, if you can’t be pure, be clean, be precise.

This is necessary he tells himself, take no pleasure in this act. That is important.

You need to savour these things, feel it, feel her heart beating she won’t last long, it’s poetic in its own little way. This desperate little muscle fighting for a life that is already spent.

The bags rustle in his pocket, is he shaking, after so long he should be used to this. It’s not so different really. You always were an understudy now it’s time to take centre stage.

They’re still out there, he can smell their sweat, thick cloying perfume, cheap champagne.

Take your time, remember this, you’ll treasure it later. A conversation piece for the mantle.

She looks up. He starts, she can’t see you, remember that. He still finds himself forgetting. Don’t you look at me, nothing gives you the right.

There’s a knife in his hand, he doesn’t really know how it got there. He grips the handle and feels the Beast roar.

No. This is not your night. Pay for it later. Paint the town red. This one must be quick and clean, a rush job, no time for finesse.

This is not an instillation just a simple sketch. It conveys a message, a mood.

An early work, a mood piece, a meditation of sorts.

No no no no no no. This will not do at all. I need to feel it. You call that colour?! You call that contrast?!

He leaves the door unlocked, a small mercy, he runs, he runs as far as he dares.

Tomorrow night will bring the papers, the reviews.

Everyone’s a critic.  

[Requiem]June Challenge

[belak-krin.livejournal.com]

Pulse 86bpm. Excessive sweating likely caused by production of adrenaline. Ambient temperature approximately twelve degrees centigrade.

There was no denying that this was wrong. Despite what might have been said of him, Nicholas was not an idiot. He should not be standing here on a piece of wasteground, staring into the eyes of a girl who was going to die.

The girl's eyes moved rapidly over and around him and Nicholas turned away in shame, his gaze meeting instead with the cold, unblinking eyes of his mentor who stood watching like an elegant statue. Nicholas' gaze faultered and his fingers started to twitch arhythmically as they always did when he was anxious or could not reach a decision. His eyes strayed to the expensive, chinese style jacket his mentor was wearing and immediately began counting the incidents of dragons on the elaborate patterning, calculating the angles between them, sinking into a comforting state of thought.

"Nicholas," Vincent Van-Damme's voice cut through the comfort, carrying the commanding weight of authority, "are you able to continue? I can finish the procedure if necessary, you do not need to learn it."

Nicholas felt hopeful and looked up to his mentor's face. It was not logical to murder the girl after all, the resulting effect would be only temporary, the cost of a life in comparison to a augmentation that would last no more than 168 hours was simply not justified. He would go back to his research, analyse the changes that brought him to the conclusion. All would be well.

"Of course," Vincent continued "If I am killed, this knowledge will be lost, but I can kill this subject for you if you wish to leave."

The twitching in his fingers started again as Nicholas locked eyes with his mentor once more. The process of acquring these rituals was imprecise, requiring repeated experimentation to determine the correct factors. He searched his memory for something that might make sense of the situation. Of the 30 case studies that had been presented to him, the average time to either perfect a ritual or discount it as false was 13 months. 13 months, a test conducted on average every 2.4 weeks, 31.2 human deaths per ritual.

Nicholas closed his eyes and watched the probabilities stretch out, calculated the odds of experiments being duplicated by rival researchers, potential for masquerade breaches and the resulting costs of human lives. He calculated the probable cross section of population that would need to be sampled from, the demands for demonstration by Provosts and Councils, the resulting probability of death through drug use and suicide in children who lost parents...

The scales of the Dragon stretched out from this single incident in a tide of death that was gained from neither imagination or occult practices but calculated to a precise, repeatable truth, reasoned, scientific and undeniable. The clear, numeric cost of his inaction.

He turned back to the young girl who was now struggling desperately against her bonds as Nicholas picked up the syringe of mercury, distilled from the contaminated soil on which the girl lay.

He could preserve the knowledge by this action, prevent experiments from taking place simply to reclaim what would be lost in Vincent's inevitable destruction. Nicholas raised the syringe and approached the girl, who started screaming against the gag, eyes wide and streaming with tears.

The girl blinked approximately three times every ten seconds. The ritual circle on the ground contained three concentric circles and two squares bisecting at an angle of 23 degrees. A group of 6 rocks were arranged in a line 3.5 feet from the girl's head. Vincent had 234 dragons on his shirt. Subject's pulse 96bpm.

With conviction Nicholas pressed down, filling the girl's spine with poisonous metal, watched her eyes roll back, counted the twitches of her legs and related them to the speed of her shuddering chest and shoulders, the angle of her limbs as they contorted against the bonds and her pain.

The needs of the many outweighed the needs of the few. It was all simply a matter of numbers.

June challenge: Danny Kovacs

[jholloway.livejournal.com]

( the fuse )