goryteller: (lost)
[personal profile] goryteller
Once upon a time, there was a man who was made up of millions upon millions of other men. He had men inside his ears that worked as an eardrums; he had men churning in his stomach to help him digest food; he had men stretching out like toes and men stretching out like fingers; he had a man inside his chest, beating as steadily as a drum.

[Pause.]

One day, the men that lived inside his brain spoke to him, and they whispered:

We have something to tell you.

disturbing imagery )

I'm looking for Andrew Bernard.
goryteller: (intense)
[personal profile] goryteller
Angelica Einstürzen.

[His voice is rough. Raw. The edges of his words are clipped off, as though he's still learning to use the proper amount of air, learning to breathe the proper breaths.]

I'm here again.
goryteller: (down)
[personal profile] goryteller
[It's late at night. Trees everywhere, likely the park. Katurian is crouched on the ground, holding a lantern out in front of him. Moths buzz and bump into it.

His eyes are bloodshot. Unmistakably. None the less, his voice is a coo.
]

There we go. It's all right.

[He scoops at the moths. It takes some maneuvering, but he manages to get one on his finger, finally, and holds it up in the air.]

Lymantria dispar. [It's an adoring whisper. The moth crawls.] They had these back home, too, little-- little messy things, little pests, always ruining our trees and garden. I hated killing them, but I liked fresh vegetables just a little more. [Beat.] They were brought over to North America as part of an experiment. I read.

[The moth crawls down into his palm. He rests the lantern on the ground.]

"But the chief peculiarity of this horrible thing was the representation of a Death's Head--" [His voice hums.] "--which covered nearly the whole surface of its breast, and which was as accurately traced in glaring white upon the dark ground of the body as if it had been there carefully designed by an artist."

[Beat.]

Poe.

[Beat. He lifts his arm, letting the moth crawl down towards his elbow.]

What do you miss about your old life?
goryteller: (Default)
[personal profile] goryteller
Shocking new details have emerged on a string of murders that authorities are calling vengeance killings, likely perpetrated by an import. More from Maria.

Thank you, James. Some might say that the month of March has been relatively quiet for the citizens of the City, especially on the heels of the import-committed atrocities late last month in Times Square. However, in the city that never sleeps, crime never sleeps either, a fact that is only amplified in the face of our off-world visitors.

Three murders. Three murderers. A fourth murderer who takes gruesome, creative revenge against them literally minutes after their crimes. Tonight we believe there has been a fourth instance of these vengeance killings, this time with illuminating video evidence.

gruesome murders )
goryteller: (light)
[personal profile] goryteller
This will be graphic.

[Short. To the point. He doesn't have the usual softness to his words, those bits and littles and wells and I means. The video clicks on to show green blood caking the wall of an alleyway. The body of a small, Skrull teenager. Specifically, this one.]

She's been here for a full day, at least. All torn and mangled and askew. There's-- a recording of her final moments on the Network. She knew she was going to die. She knew it. But she turned on the communicator anyway so everyone could see it happen.

Maybe she just wanted to leave something behind.

The coordinates for--

[There's a pause. An unfinished breath. Another. Another.]

I'm g-going to be ill.

[And the feed cuts.]


ooc; there will be no responses from katurian. feel free to tag amongst yourselves.
goryteller: (what I can take)
[personal profile] goryteller
[The feed is filled with the sound of heavy breathing. Then choked laughter. Then the video snaps on.]

I'm so fucking bored today, City. What should I do?

[Something has snapped quite palpably in the man who was playing with shadow puppets only days before. The feed is focused on his face, on his manic eyes and disheveled hair. He's rocking on a chair that isn't meant to rock.]

I know. I know what I'll do. I'll kill someone!

[He stops rocking. Drums his fingers on the bottom of the seat.]

Maybe I'll blow up a hospital, show that off. Maybe I'll kidnap a bunch of other fucking imports, tie them to chairs, torture them, and broadcast their sorry, knife-ridden bodies to the network. Maybe I'll shoot a child in cold blood, you little bastard. [He affects, quite accurately, Ladd's accent.] Torture with spells. Slash throats. Decapitate. Trick people into solving madlibs and then beat them to death with sticks. Kidnap people weaker than me and cut into their heads ahah-ha--

[His breaths dissolve into something like the beginning of tears hitch hitch hitch and then spits into laughter instead. He drags his hands over his face. His voice is a frail whisper:]

Oh my God. You monsters.
goryteller: (what is my life)
[personal profile] goryteller
[The communicator is focused on a darkened wall. A beam of light. A shadow puppet emerges, a grotesque face with "lips" that move in time with Katurian's voice.]

I feel like a pig about to be slaughtered.

[The face collapses. He uses his hands to form the shadow into a pig, appropriately. He squeals, shrill, and then chokes on a laugh. High pitched, pig-like:]

A dog about to be put down.

[He forms his hands, predictably, into a dog. BARK BARK, he goes, moving the shadow's jaw. He uncurls his hands without fanfare this time, clearing his throat. Growing unsteady. The camera stays on the empty wall.]

Tell me how you feel today. With art.
goryteller: (Default)
[personal profile] goryteller
[Katurian sounds tired and frail. His voice carries its usual tremor.]

As a human being-- like all human beings, I make a tremendous amount of mistakes. A tremendous amount. I'm not a role model. That isn't-- That isn't something I could say.

[Vocalizing those words nearly kicks his breath away. Pause. Then, feverishly:]

I wanted to apologize for the state I found myself in this last week, a state in which-- in which many of you saw me, and I wanted to let everyone know that it was my fault. I thank you for your concern, I really do, but the most important thing for any of you to know is that it was my fault. And I don't want pity, that's never something I want, even if it seems like a very easy thing to give, even if it seems like I deserve it, because I don't deserve pity and I don't want it either. That doesn't mean I deserve to be treated like shit, g-granted, I don't want to see anyone using that as a fucking excuse, but I-- I'm--

[He catches himself. Breathes.]

But I'm all right.

[Click.]
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[personal profile] goryteller
[There's the soft sound of a heater in the background, a pleasant, continuous hum. Katurian's voice is clear but decidedly subdued, a contrast to his typically frantic nature.]

Aristotle once said that most of humankind is swayed by fear rather than reverence, that they refrain from evil not because it's the right thing to do but because they're afraid of punishment. It gets me thinking about religion more than anything.

[Pause. The faint sound of nails tracing wood. Tapping.]

After all, religion builds monsters to keep people in line. Fantastical beings. Or-- not so fantastical. But of course, I never needed them. I never payed attention to all the monsters that people cowered over in groups behind pews. The monsters described on clear blue pamphlets.

I'm a writer. I make my own monsters.

[Pause. Then, softer:]

There are, of course, quite a few people who don't refrain in the first place. I suppose that's what Aristotle meant. Most humankind.

[More tapping. Drumming.]

I suppose-- [Pause.] Well. I suppose that's it for today.

[Click.]
goryteller: (Default)
[personal profile] goryteller
When I evacuated the City, I wondered if I should stay away. Not-- in the evacuation center specifically, that would have been ridiculous and likely illegal, but just away. Just someplace else. I mean-- I mean there's a great big world out there, you know, a world with parks that aren't all fucked up because of monster attacks. Swing sets. Wishing wells.

[Pause.]

If I were to go anywhere, though, it would have to have trees. Not those little things you can get at those garden stores, but real trees that have existed for hundreds of years, all rotten inside, covering the yard and rooms with shadows even when it's bright outside. I'd want a bird feeder. I'd want to see birds.

But I keep coming back. I'm here. [Pause. Quiet:] I am here.

[There's a moment of deliberation. Breathing.]

What keeps you in this place?
goryteller: (Default)
[personal profile] goryteller
In the 1940s, rumor has it that a prisoner on the island of Alcatraz was killed by a ghost.

Back in those days (unlike these days), they had isolation chambers called hole cells where the prisoners were kept in near darkness for weeks on end. "Bang bang bang," one prisoner cried and pounded. "Someone's trying to murder me in here." But the guards thought he was hallucinating, as those being tortured with solitude tended to, and so they did nothing. When the prisoner stopped screaming, they were quite content until they opened the cell and found that he was dead. He had markings on his neck. Strangulation. No one else was in the cell.

Ghost stories have a sort of charm, don't they? Whether or not you believe them, I mean. I don't generally because we didn't have imports back then and because the living can be fucking horrible enough. I'm certain one of the guards killed him and thought they had a clever way of covering it up. Which they did.

I wonder what the prisoner's crime was. But I don't even have a name.

I know I would take death as a legacy if nothing else.
goryteller: (Default)
[personal profile] goryteller
You son of a fucking bitch!

You're going to get me fucking killed, did you know that? Did you have any idea?! And I'm not talking about something quick like I'm so accustomed to, I'm talking about at least nine fucking deaths delivered by at least nine fucking individuals in ways that are so creative and so gruesome that I'd almost be tempted to write about them if they weren't so clearly in my imminent fucking future!
goryteller: (Default)
[personal profile] goryteller
I've been here for well over a year now, and I still don't understand this place.

You know how-- [Pause.] You know those questions people like to ask sometimes, like 'if you could bring one person into the City, who would it be?' I wouldn't bring in anyone I really cared about. Sometimes I think about bringing in people from my old workplace, just so that I can show someone back there that this world exists. Anyone. Even if I don't give a shit about the person in question, which for them I really wouldn't, I'd want them to know. Maybe to make myself less invisible. Less absent.

[Pause.]

But when we return back to our old, significantly more familiar lives, that doesn't quite happen. Our memories are wiped clean. Gone forever. We will never have control over the Porter, and no one we want to arrive will ever arrive because we asked for them to. The-- [A bitter laugh.] --the fucking insanity here, that remains our best kept secret. The poor fucking natives. They'll always know.

[Pause. Then, carefully:]

The very first day I arrived here, I thought I was in Hell.

What about you?

private to nina sayers )
goryteller: (Default)
[personal profile] goryteller
Once upon a time, there were two kings who lived in two separate kingdoms and sat upon two separate thrones; one kingdom was in a valley bathed in light and had bountiful harvests and green, green grass for all the livestock to live on, whereas the other was on a mountain bathed in darkness and suffered drought and famine and so forth, and many of the animals were sickly and the residents were poor. One day, after many weeks of rainfall, a powerful storm hung on the horizon, and the king in the dark kingdom offered the other king and his residents shelter on the mountain with them, for while life was difficult there, their height lent them protection from the dangerous flow of the river below, the same river that allowed the light kingdom to flourish so easily in better times.

"And why should I do that!" cried the king. "We are so comfortable where we are. How could you ask us to give that up, to live life in suffering like you?"

And when storm came, the river overflowed and swallowed the light kingdom, choking the life out of all those bountiful harvests and green, green grasses, and those who didn't drown succumbed to illness and starvation soon after.

|
goryteller: (Default)
[personal profile] goryteller
Fugue? It's Katurian.

[Pause.]

You had said we had a few things to talk about.
goryteller: (Default)
[personal profile] goryteller
[Katurian is breathing hard, and each of his breaths is audible over the communicator. The inhale. The exhale. Everything is sharp and raw.]

I am scared out of my mind. And I know what you're going to say: Katurian is always scared out of his mind. But not without reason.

I'm thinking it isn't the Porter. The thing that's kidnapping people and erasing their memories. I'm thinking the Porter does a lot of fucked up things, but not this. Not now. Someone mentioned that we're being watched, like, the Network is being watched and tracked and followed, and the Porter doesn't need to monitor us because it already knows fucking everything. Do you know what I mean? It gives us powers that are ironic or fitting in some way because it knows us, it chose us.

Which means someone else is watching us. Maybe other imports. Maybe a group of natural citizens who somehow wormed their way inside, I don't know, I'm inclined to say imports, but anyway, there's a very good chance that this someone else is doing the kidnapping.

HEY YOU! [He breaks into a laugh, not a little hysterically.] We know you're there! We're on to you. You can't kidnap people and then go off and have tea or whatever the fuck you're doing. You need to take some fucking responsibility! I want a speech! I want a declaration of war!

[His breathing slows. Quiets. Beat.]

I've been doing a lot of thinking, and I don't think I can remember last weekend at all.

[An extended pause, and then the communicator clicks off.]
goryteller: (Default)
[personal profile] goryteller
[Katurian has been gone for the last few days as well, but you'd never know it - from the sound of his voice, neither would he. He sounds cheerful enough, albeit somewhat unsteady.]

The Thief in the Woods.

By Katurian Katurian.

Once upon a time in a world far away but not unlike this one, there lived a thief, and this thief decided to rob a house out in the middle of the woods; the house stood upon a quiet patch of land in a quiet valley, and the family that lived in it had neither neighbors nor, as would follow, concerned police officers who would be ready to hear their calls for help. This family was also very well-off, and for these reasons, the thief saw himself at a distinct advantage and thus made his way to this house, trekking across patches of mud and brush, stumbling over mossy roots and ditches and gives in the earth, hiking for days for this one chance at wealth. He packed lightly and brought with him limited food and water with the plan of acquiring new - perhaps even gourmet - supplies at the house.

cut for length and gore )
goryteller: (Default)
[personal profile] goryteller
Greatest disappointment?

[Who's that sunshine? Oh, Katurian's back. He's in a stairwell and his words echo faintly.]

No, I-- I'm not serious. [Firmly:] I'm not being serious. I'm glad I'm in the City again. Horrible dinosaurs and all. I have so much more to write. [Beat.] And people to see.

The main thing is that I owe some people an apology. I know I said some nasty things when I was younger, and you could say I didn't know any better, but that's fucking bullshit. I was a snotty brat of a kid. So I'm sorry.

You can still answer my question, if you want. Your greatest disappointment. I understand that might not be the kind of thing you'd want to share with strangers, or someone like me in particular, but I consider myself v-very--

I consider myself very good at listening.
growsdarker: (Default)
[personal profile] growsdarker
The very first thing you should know is that your pets are dead.

[Katurian's voice is an unfortunate cracking middle schooler's, but his usual morbid glee is unmistakable.]

Probably dead. Most-likely dead. Unless we're talking about parrots that can live for a hundred years and whatnot, but I'm betting most people have cats and dogs and gerbils. Did you know that something like fifty million people die every year? If you're thirteen years in the future like I am, think about how six and a half hundred million people have died since. There are car accidents and heart disease and freak accidents like swallowing glass from cracked plates and murders and suicides and murder-suicides. There are six and a half hundred million ways to go. Or more.

Do you figure any of them are people we know?

[Light, sing-song:]

Welcome to the future.

private to stein )

ten. voice.

May. 3rd, 2011 11:13 pm
goryteller: (Default)
[personal profile] goryteller
[He sounds composed, given the circumstances, though a slight hitch escapes into his voice now and again.]

Well. [Pause.] I've sent messages. I've knocked on his door. Again. And again. When I stepped inside his apartment after a full day of nothing, there were no signs of forced entry, but his communicator was there and he was gone. He is gone. Andrew Bernard is gone.

[Pause.]

A-And maybe this sounds like a port out, and, you know, it probably is. That's probably just what this is. Case closed, right? Ha! Isn't it always? But I-I swear to God--

[Composed. Dark. Dangerous:]

I swear to God that if I find out any one of you has laid a finger on him, you'll live to regret it.
goryteller: (Default)
[personal profile] goryteller
[It's a rare video post, yes, but it's focused on the weather-stained window. In the distance, there's a swarm of pigeons. It's raining.]

Rain is terribly depressing.

[Spoken like an admiration! There's a smile on his voice. He must be in a good mood. (Or slightly drunk.)]

Anyway, these ones aren't mine, but-- [He clears his throat.]

A birdcatcher was about to sit down to a dinner of herbs when a friend had arrived, but the bird-trap was quite empty--[He follows the pigeons with his camera.] --as he had caught nothing that day, and so he had to kill a pied partridge that he had tamed for a decoy. The bird entreated earnestly for his life [Pleadingly:] "What would you do without me when next you spread your nets? Who would chirp you to sleep, or call for you the covey of answering birds?"

The birdcatcher spared his life and determined to pick out a fine young rooster. But the rooster expostulated in piteous tones from his perch: "If you kill me, who will announce to you the appearance of the dawn!? Who will wake you to your daily tasks or tell you when it is time to visit the bird-trap in the morning?'

The birdcatcher replied, "What you say is true. You are a capital bird at telling the time of day. But my friend and I must have our dinners."

[He snickers, a quiet wheezing sound. Oh, he's definitely drunk.]

One more. [Breaaaaathe.] A singing bird-- [Again, he follows the pigeons.] ---was confined in a cage which hung outside a window not unlike this one, and had a way of singing at night when all other birds were asleep. One night, a bat came and clung to the bars of the cage, and asked the bird why she was silent by day and sang only at night. Not a little peculiar, that.

"I have a very good reason for doing so!" said the bird. "It was once when I was singing in the daytime that a fowler was attracted by my voice, and set his nets for me and caught me. Since then, I have never sung except by night."

But the bat replied, "It is no use your doing that now when you are a prisoner. If only you had done so before you were caught, you might still have been free!"

Ha.

[Beat. There's an awkward, unsteady silence before he clicks off the video.]

private to edward nygma )
goryteller: (Default)
[personal profile] goryteller
[Katurian still isn't so great at public speaking - aside from his storytelling - and when the communicator clicks on, it takes him several moments to find his words. All the same, he's steadier than usual. Controlled.]

I have good news. Everyone. [Pause.] As of this morning, I've entered a reformation program to help me adjust to living in the outside world. Because I will be living in the outside world. I will be leaving this hospital.

[Pause.]

I can pick up private filters now. It's a transition communicator, and I've had it since yesterday. They trust me enough.

[Another pause, longer, where he considers turning off the communicator. The voice function can't pick it up, but his hand lingers above the switch. He pulls back.]

I'll be staying on to see to the musical, though, you shouldn't worry about that, I mean, if you were worrying about that, in any case, but I don't leave things like that incomplete, that's not what I do. I mean, talk about sloppy storytelling. Nothing keeps me from finishing what I start.

[Beat.]

It's going to be brilliant, by the way. Everyone involved has been brilliant. [The slightest wavering:] I've never been more proud.
goryteller: (Default)
[personal profile] goryteller
[The following has been seen posted throughout the City on telephone poles, walls, doors. An ad runs in the local paper. Today, it's deliberately posted to the Network.]



(ooc: tags from katurian will be sporadic or non-existent, but feel free to talk amongst yourselves!)
goryteller: (Default)
[personal profile] goryteller
[The feeds snaps on to a hurried conversation in low voices. One voice in particular -- male, possibly familiar -- occasionally rises above the others. He doesn't care about maintaining a polite volume. About staving off panic.]

I know what I saw! I'm not a fucking psychotic!

[More voices running on top of each other. Somewhere near the communicator speakers, there's the scratch of a pen on paper. Katurian redoubles his grip on the communicator and for a moment, the palm of his hand covers the speakers and dulls all the other sounds. He pulls it to his mouth.]

She's in the hospital. Dr. Angelica Einstellsehn-- [He pronounces each syllable carefully.] -- is alive, and she is in the hospital. No one seems to know this. No one seems to have noticed--

[Beat. Murmured conversation. Then:]

Of course, I'm telling them! What kind of person do you think I am?! I can't sit by and let this happen. I won't. I refuse.
goryteller: (Default)
[personal profile] goryteller
[It's late at night. Far beyond light's out at NOHoPE, but without the video function, it's only obvious in how Katurian keeps his voice at a low hush.]

I know this is public. I'd make it private, but I can't. The communicator they've given me at the hospital, it won't let me have filters or privating. Anything like that. I guess it's so I can't secretly plot anyone's ruin or whatever. [Pause, uncertain.] That was a joke.

Anyway, most of you can ignore me. You can stop this recording right now. [Hesitation, then rushed:] But if you're supposed to be visiting me, you can tell me when and I-- I'll make sure I get your names in to the nurses this week and whatnot, and I'm still doing well, I'm holding steady, so there's nothing to worry about. I'm fine. Don't I sound sharper? [Pause.] I'd like to think so.

Anyway.

[His tone is ambiguous - deliberately so - but his voice holds steady.]

Edward Nygma. I'd like to speak with you.

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WELCOME TO DREAMWIDTH, HERO...

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