Post by Fallen One on Oct 17, 2008 22:10:46 GMT -5
Nightfall.
The REW has made a stop at yet another hotel in between stops on their prestigious tour across this vile and sickening globe we call home in the immortal darkness of the unknown that we can only refer to as the universe.
Inside this hotel lay many sleeping heads, but the wrath of the Fallen
One is no blind madness. It is attracted by certain emotions and certain thoughts alone. If one does not invite it, then one has nothing to worry about.
Unfortunately for this hotel, The Embodiment Of Disdain may as well have been dragged inside on a leash and thrown forcefully into the mix, for such have been the actions of certain members of the infinitely vile collection of individuals whose heads now lie on pillows white as snow.
For if their thought could seep outside their heads in a physical form, in the form of color, all these snow white pillows would turn to an inpenetrateable black, blacker the sky on this cool night. Fatigued and tiredness has chained these powerful men, these beasts for they had just been through another one of their excruciating events and their own hunger led them to gnaw on each other and with that, they
gnawed on themselves leaving nothing but shells behind, shells that
they now hope to refill and refresh before the next week's event
is at hand...
* * *
Blake Worship lies in his beautiful hotel suite, abundant in riches and museum like decorations. It is a one of a kind room reserved for those with the deepest pockets in the hotel. The self proclaimed Better Pick sleeps tightly, carefully reserving his energies throughout the entire tour, hoping to come out on top on the next pay per view. Last night was an easy night for him, he came out playing cards and barring some theatrics from an unknown force, he had nothing to worry about.
As he sleeps, gnawing fingers of searing heat begin to playfully poke him and he grumbles, awakening slightly from his sleep and tossing and turning in the expensive bed. These searing fingers do not repent, they continue to poke at him, teasingly and annoyingly. Blake does not want to wake up so he continues turning, hoping that the annoying sensations would go away. Suddenly he feels it getting hotter and hotter, sweat begins to pour on his body and he finally gives in and opens his eyes widely.
Beads of sweat trickle down his chiseled face as he gets out of bed and looks around the room. It is hot. Unbelievably so.
Blake: "Someone must've turned the damn heat on. Stupid fools!"
He mutters to himself as he goes up to the rooms thermostat and surely enough, the heat is up. He turns it down and opens the window enjoying the cool breeze of air on his sweaty brow. Taking in large whiffs of the refreshing air, The Disciple turns to get back to bed when his eyes catch a burnt in image on the hotel room wall.
The image of wings, falling wings into a pit of fire. He rubs his eyes in disbelief and feels the cool breeze come through the open window and breathe over his back. His eyes reopen and he no longer sees the image on the wall.
Attributing the whole debacle to a faulty thermostat and a tired mind, Blake retreats back into bed hoping to catch up on as much sleep as he can.
* * *
The lightly sleeping form of T-Money lays in another hotel room, bare as bare can be, but just what T-Money prefers. He sleeps lightly, being from the streets, one could never count on opening one's eyes ever again if they choose to close them too tightly, even when sleeping.
His slight sleep is interrupted as he feels a warm, humid feeling overcome him in the room. It seems as if some wild beast is breathing it's hot breath all across this hotel room. T-Money walks to the room's thermostat and sees in surprise that it's turned way up - yet he clearly remembers setting it low when he got here for the night. He shrugs his shoulders.
T-Money : "Hotel's is a junkheap" he reasons, as he steps to the window in order to open it for a breath of fresh air. He grabs it comfortably with his hands and tries to lift the frame. To his surprise, it doesn't give. Annoyed, T-Money decides to see what the heck is wrong with the window and moves the drapes aside to be able to better see the entire frame.
T-Money : "What the ..." he mutters in surprise, seeing a clear
image of falling wings painted heavily into the window frame which is clearly broken, never to be opened again. He steps back and goes to call room service when a hotel attendant just happens to walk by.
T-Money : "You gotta see this..." he tells the confused late shift worker. The attendant follows him into the room and T-Money opens the now shut drapes to show him the broken window and the image painted on it.
The attendant looks annoyed and confused, for they both see
only an open window behind the drapes.
* * *
Alas, the tricks one's mind can play on it's owner. Or rather, perhaps it is not tricks, but rather deserved retribution? Perhaps it is that often forgotten thing we like to call a "conscience". Yet, if none of these men, these sick, vile men have a conscience, then what could explain the things that they are seeing?
Most importantly, will it affect them on the next stop of their tour?
