Topic: the darkling hush

TheSylince

Date: 2011-05-12 15:35 EST
ooc - sorry for the double post. took it out of the other thread to make it easier to jump in. hoping to receive play alongs with this one. looking to dig deep and get sylince in some serious trouble. join in.

....

the rush of warm wind that ran the length of summer's edge just were spring was giving itself up caught sylince like an oven blast. in the ajar door of impending seasonal change, the black and white was modestly surprised and wind rustled and glum, heat was not what the alto desired. sylince was a lover of the cool, damp and dark places of winter and the whispers and gasps of life in autumn, spring and summer - while pretty and not overlooked - were hot and uncomfortable and full people who wore too little clothing on the too much of body they had. change was coming this time and sylince would not be so preoccupied with the grump and gloom as yesteryear had always seen, no, sylince was in full trade this time. a little slip up on the part of that man in blue, his pink hair and trickery - it made sylince laugh - it all culminated in misplaced trust and an inkspot with the ability to achieve things once only dreamed. customer satisfaction, to that end, was up. it was thing to solicit a whore in a back alley and pay a tip for a clean up, it was another when that whore could earn serious flow for a description-less experience that begged for addiction.

and this is not even mentioning the drugs. sylince was dabbling in alchemy, in a sense. all of the elements available were crafted and carved and churned into chemical and brightly colored recipes that could spell disaster and ecstasy. anything from the simple feeling of mundane downers and uppers and suppressors and enhancers all the way up to the euphoric and enraged psycho-stimulants that, on earth, would have cost fortunes were finding their way into little black heart-shaped envelopes and into the hands of ordinary people who had just enough to buy. the alto was a kind and benevolent god, gracing subjects with their wants for free if the itch was deep enough, but retribution was swift and justice was served almost as if it was preferred to the cash.

that brings the story to today, where sylince was standing on the lip of the road just outside of the red dragon with a wicked black curve of a smile and freshly washed but deeply stained hands. she hadn't been able to pay last night and she was unwilling to satisfy the needs of the black and white and had paid, with a smile on her face, with her final act in life. sylince sniffed the air and brushed chopped bangs out of sight and saw, like hardy must have done, the season's corpse outlent, its crypt the arid sky, the wind its death lament. sylince was some blessed hope, of which wretched night-birds sing. into the inn, out from the sun, went the summer's darlking hush.