Post by Max f'n Daemon on Sept 18, 2022 10:56:22 GMT -5
The voice pierces his veil.
And suddenly, I am here.
Wait, where am I?
“Who’s there?”
The hand on his shoulder is now comforting.
“Roddy…”
Doc’s worry seizes him. He feels the wetness on his cheek, but knows the darkness is gone, knows the blue from his eye has vanished.
“I’m fine.”
“Are ya'?”
Max gets his zippo and a cigarette out of his pocket, quickly lighting both.
“Yeah.”
He’s curt.
Max smirks.
“I am.”
“Good.”
He closes the zippo lid with a snap.
“Now let’s talk about our dreams.”
“I’m tired.
And not the kinda tired that permeates as ya' fade ta’ sleep. That resides as ya’ rest your eyes.
Nah.
The kinda tired that just pisses ya’ off.
The kinda tired that sticks with ya’ like a fuckin leech.
Which is pretty consistent because that’s what ya’ are. Not that I’m any better. I kept pushin. I kept pokin. I kept proddin. And lo and behold, I get ya’ one more time.
But this isn’t a wake-up call for your dreamers. Murdo and Lionel can suck a dick and enjoy it for all I care. A Scottish fuck who fell ta’ your charms like a schoolgirl (no offense Kitsumi) (my name is—) and a Dutch douchefuck who doesn’t even deserve a description from ya' beyond bein from the Netherlands, which is where most of the Dutch come from ya’ fuckin idiot.
That's probably what pisses me off the most. That you’re smart enough ta’ latch onta’ desperate fucks like those two, but not anybody else in AW.
Cause ya’ can preach all ya fuckin want, but if ya’ think you’re gonna convince a “Hard Hitting” Texas proud barfighter like Doc, or the most athletic man in AW like Roddy, or the single minded pitbull mentality of Kitsumi ta’ join your ranks?
Ha!
Dream on.”
“Help me!”
YOU’VE ALREADY MADE YOUR CHOICE
“I worry about your mental state, ironically enough. Of all of you. Of the Dreamers who follow the shepherd and the leader who leads the cult like a pack dog. I’m worried about what will happen to you.
Not because I care.
But because what I will do to you all will ring a thousand bells throughout your realm.
You are a dreamweaver. You manipulate. You control.
But unlike the honesty that comes from Max when he does something similar, you hide behind your veneer, your veil to trick your men like a merciless marionette.
But the puppets lose their will when their string is cut.
And trust me, their string will not be the only thing that is ripped to pieces.
I’m partial to start with the face, but you’re the supposed leader here.
Let’s call it dreamer’s choice.
And if you truly think I don’t use my dreams to my advantage? You’re mistaken.
I dream my dreams to dream…but not for my pleasure or my scheming.
No.
As a prison.”
And then there’s only one.
“I’ve conquered my fears. I’ve embraced who I am. I’m different. Better. More focused.
This is a familiar feeling, but it’s been a while, so you’ll forgive me if I’m a bit rusty. But don’t worry, cause I’m not.
The three of you are new to this. I’ve been teaming for a while, especially with Kit and Doc and recently so with Max.
You’re rookies in this seven-man environment.
We’re veterans against the likes of you.
And I saw this all…once upon a dream.
It will end the same way.
Roddy on top. His followers at his feet in reverence.
All I need now is a crown.
Let’s dream of that next, hm?”
Riveting. Poignant.
“Now…who…are you?”
Please.
Call me Josh.
And suddenly, I am here.
Wait, where am I?
“Who’s there?”
The hand on his shoulder is now comforting.
“Roddy…”
Doc’s worry seizes him. He feels the wetness on his cheek, but knows the darkness is gone, knows the blue from his eye has vanished.
“I’m fine.”
“Are ya'?”
Max gets his zippo and a cigarette out of his pocket, quickly lighting both.
“Yeah.”
He’s curt.
Max smirks.
“I am.”
“Good.”
He closes the zippo lid with a snap.
“Now let’s talk about our dreams.”
“I’m tired.
And not the kinda tired that permeates as ya' fade ta’ sleep. That resides as ya’ rest your eyes.
Nah.
The kinda tired that just pisses ya’ off.
The kinda tired that sticks with ya’ like a fuckin leech.
Which is pretty consistent because that’s what ya’ are. Not that I’m any better. I kept pushin. I kept pokin. I kept proddin. And lo and behold, I get ya’ one more time.
But this isn’t a wake-up call for your dreamers. Murdo and Lionel can suck a dick and enjoy it for all I care. A Scottish fuck who fell ta’ your charms like a schoolgirl (no offense Kitsumi) (my name is—) and a Dutch douchefuck who doesn’t even deserve a description from ya' beyond bein from the Netherlands, which is where most of the Dutch come from ya’ fuckin idiot.
That's probably what pisses me off the most. That you’re smart enough ta’ latch onta’ desperate fucks like those two, but not anybody else in AW.
Cause ya’ can preach all ya fuckin want, but if ya’ think you’re gonna convince a “Hard Hitting” Texas proud barfighter like Doc, or the most athletic man in AW like Roddy, or the single minded pitbull mentality of Kitsumi ta’ join your ranks?
Ha!
Dream on.”
“Help me!”
“I worry about your mental state, ironically enough. Of all of you. Of the Dreamers who follow the shepherd and the leader who leads the cult like a pack dog. I’m worried about what will happen to you.
Not because I care.
But because what I will do to you all will ring a thousand bells throughout your realm.
You are a dreamweaver. You manipulate. You control.
But unlike the honesty that comes from Max when he does something similar, you hide behind your veneer, your veil to trick your men like a merciless marionette.
But the puppets lose their will when their string is cut.
And trust me, their string will not be the only thing that is ripped to pieces.
I’m partial to start with the face, but you’re the supposed leader here.
Let’s call it dreamer’s choice.
And if you truly think I don’t use my dreams to my advantage? You’re mistaken.
I dream my dreams to dream…but not for my pleasure or my scheming.
No.
As a prison.”
And then there’s only one.
“I’ve conquered my fears. I’ve embraced who I am. I’m different. Better. More focused.
This is a familiar feeling, but it’s been a while, so you’ll forgive me if I’m a bit rusty. But don’t worry, cause I’m not.
The three of you are new to this. I’ve been teaming for a while, especially with Kit and Doc and recently so with Max.
You’re rookies in this seven-man environment.
We’re veterans against the likes of you.
And I saw this all…once upon a dream.
It will end the same way.
Roddy on top. His followers at his feet in reverence.
All I need now is a crown.
Let’s dream of that next, hm?”
Riveting. Poignant.
“Now…who…are you?”
Please.
Call me Josh.
