Eerie, Indiana fanfiction: Preparations
Jul. 27th, 2016 07:55 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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eerieindianaWritten for Day 28 of the ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
31_days July challenge. The prompt was "Liar. Monster. Snappy dresser."
On the morning of his Mayoral Inauguration, Winston Chisel rises before dawn. All seven members of Eerie’s Barbershop Quartet stand ready by their rotating red and white poles, the exposed blades of their straight-razors shining beneath the florescent light and glinting off the high-polished mirrors. Three of them harmonize. Three of them cluster around Eerie’s soon-to-be Mayor, clipping nails and buffing shoes and trimming hair. One of them stands over a silver bowl of blood and entrails, his arms red past the elbow, his crisp white shirt-front spattered with crimson. All of them wear straw boaters.
A runner from the Eeriemat taps on the plate-glass window, holding up a glossy black garment bag with a large golden monogram at the centre. Without breaking rhythm, one of the singing barbers crosses to the door and unlocks it. The light swims in the ripples and creases of the bag’s slick blackness, creating rainbows like the surface of an oil spill. The young teen carries it in outstretched arms swathed in insulating rubber gloves, and takes care not to let it touch his exposed skin.
In a locked case of silver-glass, a red silk tie hangs on a hook made of blessed iron. Gold and black thread has picked out a paisley pattern in the rich fabric, but the lining is embroidered with symbols to reshape the world.
The low, wordless song swells in volume and intensity as the suit is unveiled. A charcoal-grey three-piece, well-tailored and neatly pressed, it is laid across the barbershop’s wide counter with a reverence befitting a sacred artefact. The barber at the altar is covered head-to-toe in gore, and he produces a velvet jewellery box from within his once-green apron and sets it down next to a folded tuxedo shirt. His fingers leave bloody streaks on the glass counterpane.
As the sun rises and the first red streaks appear in the sky over Front Street, the man who will be Mayor wipes the last of the shaving foam from his newly-smooth cheeks and stands. The seven-man Quartet move as one to offer him the bowl, filled with glistening and unidentifiable viscera in a sanguine pool that is beginning to coagulate.
Everyone present kneels and bows their heads as Chisel begins to eat. Sticky drops of cooling blood fall on the tiled floor and on the downturned heads of those nearest. It trickles from their hairlines and into their averted eyes, but nobody moves to wipe it away.
In the pale light of the new day, the only noise is the hum of the assembled men and the soft, wet sound of the Mayor chewing.
31_days July challenge. The prompt was "Liar. Monster. Snappy dresser."On the morning of his Mayoral Inauguration, Winston Chisel rises before dawn. All seven members of Eerie’s Barbershop Quartet stand ready by their rotating red and white poles, the exposed blades of their straight-razors shining beneath the florescent light and glinting off the high-polished mirrors. Three of them harmonize. Three of them cluster around Eerie’s soon-to-be Mayor, clipping nails and buffing shoes and trimming hair. One of them stands over a silver bowl of blood and entrails, his arms red past the elbow, his crisp white shirt-front spattered with crimson. All of them wear straw boaters.
A runner from the Eeriemat taps on the plate-glass window, holding up a glossy black garment bag with a large golden monogram at the centre. Without breaking rhythm, one of the singing barbers crosses to the door and unlocks it. The light swims in the ripples and creases of the bag’s slick blackness, creating rainbows like the surface of an oil spill. The young teen carries it in outstretched arms swathed in insulating rubber gloves, and takes care not to let it touch his exposed skin.
In a locked case of silver-glass, a red silk tie hangs on a hook made of blessed iron. Gold and black thread has picked out a paisley pattern in the rich fabric, but the lining is embroidered with symbols to reshape the world.
The low, wordless song swells in volume and intensity as the suit is unveiled. A charcoal-grey three-piece, well-tailored and neatly pressed, it is laid across the barbershop’s wide counter with a reverence befitting a sacred artefact. The barber at the altar is covered head-to-toe in gore, and he produces a velvet jewellery box from within his once-green apron and sets it down next to a folded tuxedo shirt. His fingers leave bloody streaks on the glass counterpane.
As the sun rises and the first red streaks appear in the sky over Front Street, the man who will be Mayor wipes the last of the shaving foam from his newly-smooth cheeks and stands. The seven-man Quartet move as one to offer him the bowl, filled with glistening and unidentifiable viscera in a sanguine pool that is beginning to coagulate.
Everyone present kneels and bows their heads as Chisel begins to eat. Sticky drops of cooling blood fall on the tiled floor and on the downturned heads of those nearest. It trickles from their hairlines and into their averted eyes, but nobody moves to wipe it away.
In the pale light of the new day, the only noise is the hum of the assembled men and the soft, wet sound of the Mayor chewing.
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Date: 2016-07-27 08:41 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2016-07-27 08:50 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2016-07-28 01:30 am (UTC)glorious as usual, love.
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Date: 2016-07-28 06:25 am (UTC)newsletter (1st week of August)
Date: 2016-08-03 10:34 am (UTC)