It did not take long for the peculiar ruin that was WestEnd to find itself invaded (more drifted though) by the sandman. Here he found nighttime perches on the corner ledge of a second story, a simple path threaded by a thick and crumbling ledge and afforded by his peculiar lack of care for territories (but the Makos were certain it was a ghost). His choice of vantage had a habit of shifting erratically as work or whim dictated.
There was a strange and familiar deadness to the air in this place, and this coupled with the dilapidation reminded him of the Rust City. And so familiar were some of the scents...he could taste the student and the carnage she left, as well as the mother, and countless others numbered and cataloged in some portion of his mind that was still whole and hale.
This night was drawn in edges made stranger by the mind, painting on recollections and distant streets not there (but we know those buildings are too tall, too red). He had made a game, for the moment, of trailing the message-bearing urchins. Never harmed or even spoke to them (on occasion, a friendly coin in fact..), but it unnerved some more than the local gangs managed to. Such were the harsh lines of a creature that moved without agenda (except perhaps, to remain unseen. would not want to be Seen, now, not now in this place by H ? you are rambling..). If Puck were gray and silent, or Coyote a creature of flat affect and sinister edges, you may have the strange habits of the sandman.
It was along one gray wall of an alley like so many others that the sandman watched a group of youths trail by. It was not the hint of old blood, the stale alcohol or new drugs...Just the turn of one eye, the last one trailing the group, that brought to mind the glass eye of a stuffed animal or puppet. There was some twist of thought, the inexplicable wandering that brought the snarl to his teeth or the intent to the drift after the group of young men (but this is a Puppet, and it has seen you, and must therefore end).
The detail of it was lost even to the blunt calculation of the sandman (and the other, for we are not this, are we?), but the trailing youth was picked from his pack around a corner. Some hours later (fourteen o' clock), there was a ghost with red claws and someone's lost eyeball emerging from an alleyway.
There was a strange and familiar deadness to the air in this place, and this coupled with the dilapidation reminded him of the Rust City. And so familiar were some of the scents...he could taste the student and the carnage she left, as well as the mother, and countless others numbered and cataloged in some portion of his mind that was still whole and hale.
This night was drawn in edges made stranger by the mind, painting on recollections and distant streets not there (but we know those buildings are too tall, too red). He had made a game, for the moment, of trailing the message-bearing urchins. Never harmed or even spoke to them (on occasion, a friendly coin in fact..), but it unnerved some more than the local gangs managed to. Such were the harsh lines of a creature that moved without agenda (except perhaps, to remain unseen. would not want to be Seen, now, not now in this place by H ? you are rambling..). If Puck were gray and silent, or Coyote a creature of flat affect and sinister edges, you may have the strange habits of the sandman.
It was along one gray wall of an alley like so many others that the sandman watched a group of youths trail by. It was not the hint of old blood, the stale alcohol or new drugs...Just the turn of one eye, the last one trailing the group, that brought to mind the glass eye of a stuffed animal or puppet. There was some twist of thought, the inexplicable wandering that brought the snarl to his teeth or the intent to the drift after the group of young men (but this is a Puppet, and it has seen you, and must therefore end).
The detail of it was lost even to the blunt calculation of the sandman (and the other, for we are not this, are we?), but the trailing youth was picked from his pack around a corner. Some hours later (fourteen o' clock), there was a ghost with red claws and someone's lost eyeball emerging from an alleyway.