FurikoMaru
Experienced.
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Any yan-yan route that ends in vampirism rather than disembowelment has a good end. It says so right in the OED.
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A True Lady's Quest
- Thread starter FurikoMaru
- Start date
drake_azathoth
Fabulously Evil
- Joined
- Feb 19, 2013
- Messages
- 3,795
[X] "Mickey, take us to Ogre St." There's still plenty of daylight left.
FurikoMaru
Experienced.
- Joined
- Feb 28, 2013
- Messages
- 2,502
Fuck. My battery-dead computer got unplugged and I lost the update. >_< Back to work...
FurikoMaru
Experienced.
- Joined
- Feb 28, 2013
- Messages
- 2,502
[X] Welcome To The Jungle
"Miss Joestar, please, if you wish to risk your life could you at least do it in Whitechapel? There are policemen in Whitechapel!"
"This is not some childish fancy, Sebastian, and I will not be spoken to as if it were," you say sharply. "I have business to attend to in Ogre St. You may accompany us, as is your duty, or you may stay here and help Mickey guard the carriage."
Honestly, first Mickey tries some excuse about working for your father and not for you, and now Sebastian's trying to interfere?
"It's dreadful being twelve," you mutter as Sebastian falls into step behind you.
"I regret to say that being thirteen is not much of an improvement," Dio remarks sympathetically.
Despite the nomenclature, Ogre Street is in fact a whole network of narrow Georgian-era alleys and sideroads, slicing up and down through the northern half of the city's East End like a jagged wound. Even native East Enders avoid these paths, according to popular lore, and the sons of Bethnal Green and Shoreditch are no strangers to brutal circumstances.
Many of the alleys are dead ends, bricked up either by people in adjacent neighbourhoods for their own safety or by the denizens of Ogre St themselves, the better to bottleneck their prey. As such the network is in some places accessible only by staircase from the more modern streets built over it.
Prorsum Bridge, from which you are descending now, is one such street.
Within moments of setting foot in the lower street Dio has linked arms with you and set a steady but unhurried pace.
"Keep your eyes on the way ahead of you," he says under his breath. "No matter what happens, no matter what you see, you must not show fear, or pity, for even a moment."
The crowd parts for the three of you, the adults staring coldly, the children hurling insults and in one case a fistful of manure; it manages to knock off Sebastian's hat, to general acclaim and amusement, including your own.
There is otherwise precious little to laugh at. The stench of excrement, rotting meat, sweat, smoke, cooking fires, all of it coalesces into a singular smell that is so overpowering in places that you find it difficult to think clearly. You walk on tiptoe to avoid the pools of urine that accumulate in the abundant potholes. Mindful of Dio's admonishment, you do not cry out the first time you see the corpse of a puppy floating in the gutter, or the second, but your self-control fails you when you come across what you presume to be their mother, with its guts torn out by some other creature and a remaining two baby dogs whimpering and licking the corpse's face.
You begin to weep, silently, and fortunately no one notices, because that's the exact moment two women begin a screaming match in an upstairs room overlooking the street.
The clothes that hang to dry between the second-floor windows are all faded and colourless, as are the buildings and the faces of the people who live here. Even their eyes seem to have been washed out, stripped of human feeling. They remind you of those of the tiger in the Zoo; they have that same listlessness, the patience of a caged animal.
"All right there, lovey?" a half-dressed female in entirely unconvincing rouge and entirely real ringworm asks Sebastian, pressing herself up close to whisper in his ear. He shoves her roughly aside and ignores the hail of curses she shrieks after him.
Dio is unmoved by any of this. His dark hazel eyes scan the scenes before you both impassively, taking in everything and holding nothing. Oh, occasionally he'll spot something and pull you past it before you can so much as gain a glimmer as to what it was, but... it's not that he doesn't look frightened, it's that he never even looks surprised.
This is where he used to live. The realization hits you like a snowball to the head, and sends a shiver down your spine.
"We're here," he says suddenly.
The building is less filthy than those on either side of it, which you choose to take as an encouraging sign. Less encouraging is the Chinese script carved into the façade; fearful visions of white slavery and opium-addicted harem girls dance in your head, culled from the Arabian Nights and the pennydreadfuls you've confiscated from the boys at school.
But you've come too far to back out now.
"You will remain on the pavement, Sebastian," you decree, glaring at him as he opens his mouth to protest. "This is a private matter."
"V-very good, Miss Joestar," Sebastian says weakly.
Dio opens the tiny red door with a jangle of strange bells, and a rush of incense fills your nostrils.
The room within is packed wall to wall and shelf to shelf with dusty boxes and glass jars, stacked so high and precariously that you feel frightened to move too freely, lest you kick off an avalanche.
In the far left-hand corner of the room is a glassed-in display case. A small Chinaman with shockingly wild hair and long mustachios is sitting at it, surrounded by papers and receipts, writing in what must be an accounts book. He says something irritable in Chinese without so much as a glance at the door.
"None of that, Wang Chun," Dio replies, approaching the counter. "There is a lady present."
"Back again?" the man asks, still not looking up from his books. "I tell you, I'm not a damn fortune teller. Go and pester Mrs Grey if you want that sort of thing."
"This is Miss Joanna Joestar," Dio says, as though the man had not spoken. He lays a tuppence on the ledger. "Tell her what you see in her face."
That gets Wang Chun to raise his eyes. Ignoring you, he glares at Dio. "I am a respectable businessman, boy," he replies scornfully, "not a performing monkey. Get out of my shop or I'll call Fei down here to chat with you."
Dio's lips quirk upwards into a smirk. "Tell Miss Joestar what she wants to know or I'll call Long Goodbye down here to chat with Fei."
Wang's eyes narrow, but at last he relents, and turns his gaze on you.
"Failure as a wife," he says matter-of-factly, after a moment's consideration.
"I beg your pardon?!" you splutter in surprise.
"That is not the chin of an obedient woman," Wang declares, pointing at it with a knobbly finger. Dio laughs unrestrainedly.
"Did you bring me here merely to make a fool of me?" you demand.
"Is that all?" Dio asks the rude little peddler.
"What did you expect?" Wang asks back in a bored tone. "If I told you once I told you a thousand times; the head is not finished growing at this age. The birthmarks on your ear can only be read because they won't change greatly over time."
"Birthmarks?" you ask, anger pushed aside by curiosity. "I have a birthmark."
"Well hurry up and show me it, then, if you're so keen," the man says in exhasperation, "and then get out of my shop!"
You feel yourself flush. You are most certainly not removing your blouse in front of a strange Chinaman in Ogre St. Such a scenario is simply not a part of the life of Joanna Joestar of Abney Park.
"I doubt it will require much visual analysis," you say primly. "It is simply a star-shaped patch of red on my left shoulder, nothing-"
"A star?" he interrupts, frowning. "You are certain? Have you seen it with your own eyes?"
"Of course," you reply, somewhat taken aback at this newfound willingness to speak to you directly. "Every Joestar on record has been born with a similar mark, if the family Bible is to be believed."
"How many points does it have?"
"Five."
For a moment, he just stares. Then he begins to laugh, long and hard. His lips part to reveal crooked but gleaming white teeth, and he tilts back his head in his mirth.
"I take it back," he says, still chuckling, and adds something to Dio in Chinese. Amazingly, Dio replies, sharply, in that same language.
"Dio...?" you ask, confused.
"Nothing important," he answers, rolling his eyes. "You must excuse Wang. He has a rather crude sense of humour."
"Crude or not, know this, Miss Joestar," the shopkeeper says. "You and your children will likely wield great power, but rarely will it truly profit any of you."
"... what might this power be?" you ask uneasily.
"How should I know?" Wang Chun leans back over his notes and resumes his work.
Dio seems to take this as your cue to leave, and heads for the door.
You curtsy to the man. "Thank you for granting me a portion of your time, Mr Chun. I shall consider your advice." As though you can do anything else with it.
He grunts.
The sun is sinking low on the horizon when you emerge. Sebastian smells like cigarette smoke, but as there is no repulsive 'gasper' in sight, you let it go.
The crowds have thinned considerably, and you make good time. You are almost back to Mickey and the carriage when-
shunk!
-Sebastian's head falls from his shoulders in a spray of blood that soaks your hair, and rolls past your feet.
You scream in horror, and Dio takes a protective step behind you as a trio of men step out of the shadows, two before him and one before you.
"You have my money, boy," one of them says in what would be a friendly tone on anyone else.
"Dario had your money," Dio replies coldly. "You had the chance to reclaim it at his funeral and you did. As I recall the priest said he'd never seen someone rob a corpse after it was in its coffin before."
Oh, Dio, please don't let this turn into a brawl, you think desperately. He can't hope to win against three grown men, especially not with his hands still healing.
[X] Let Dio do all the talking. This is his turf, he knows what goes on here.
[X] Father made you responsible for Dio. Time to step up; point out that as he is now of the Joestar family his debts are your debts, and pay whatever he owes these 'likely lads'.
[X] Punch the one in front of you in the sternum, grab Dio and run for the carriage.
"Miss Joestar, please, if you wish to risk your life could you at least do it in Whitechapel? There are policemen in Whitechapel!"
"This is not some childish fancy, Sebastian, and I will not be spoken to as if it were," you say sharply. "I have business to attend to in Ogre St. You may accompany us, as is your duty, or you may stay here and help Mickey guard the carriage."
Honestly, first Mickey tries some excuse about working for your father and not for you, and now Sebastian's trying to interfere?
"It's dreadful being twelve," you mutter as Sebastian falls into step behind you.
"I regret to say that being thirteen is not much of an improvement," Dio remarks sympathetically.
Despite the nomenclature, Ogre Street is in fact a whole network of narrow Georgian-era alleys and sideroads, slicing up and down through the northern half of the city's East End like a jagged wound. Even native East Enders avoid these paths, according to popular lore, and the sons of Bethnal Green and Shoreditch are no strangers to brutal circumstances.
Many of the alleys are dead ends, bricked up either by people in adjacent neighbourhoods for their own safety or by the denizens of Ogre St themselves, the better to bottleneck their prey. As such the network is in some places accessible only by staircase from the more modern streets built over it.
Prorsum Bridge, from which you are descending now, is one such street.
Within moments of setting foot in the lower street Dio has linked arms with you and set a steady but unhurried pace.
"Keep your eyes on the way ahead of you," he says under his breath. "No matter what happens, no matter what you see, you must not show fear, or pity, for even a moment."
The crowd parts for the three of you, the adults staring coldly, the children hurling insults and in one case a fistful of manure; it manages to knock off Sebastian's hat, to general acclaim and amusement, including your own.
There is otherwise precious little to laugh at. The stench of excrement, rotting meat, sweat, smoke, cooking fires, all of it coalesces into a singular smell that is so overpowering in places that you find it difficult to think clearly. You walk on tiptoe to avoid the pools of urine that accumulate in the abundant potholes. Mindful of Dio's admonishment, you do not cry out the first time you see the corpse of a puppy floating in the gutter, or the second, but your self-control fails you when you come across what you presume to be their mother, with its guts torn out by some other creature and a remaining two baby dogs whimpering and licking the corpse's face.
You begin to weep, silently, and fortunately no one notices, because that's the exact moment two women begin a screaming match in an upstairs room overlooking the street.
The clothes that hang to dry between the second-floor windows are all faded and colourless, as are the buildings and the faces of the people who live here. Even their eyes seem to have been washed out, stripped of human feeling. They remind you of those of the tiger in the Zoo; they have that same listlessness, the patience of a caged animal.
"All right there, lovey?" a half-dressed female in entirely unconvincing rouge and entirely real ringworm asks Sebastian, pressing herself up close to whisper in his ear. He shoves her roughly aside and ignores the hail of curses she shrieks after him.
Dio is unmoved by any of this. His dark hazel eyes scan the scenes before you both impassively, taking in everything and holding nothing. Oh, occasionally he'll spot something and pull you past it before you can so much as gain a glimmer as to what it was, but... it's not that he doesn't look frightened, it's that he never even looks surprised.
This is where he used to live. The realization hits you like a snowball to the head, and sends a shiver down your spine.
"We're here," he says suddenly.
The building is less filthy than those on either side of it, which you choose to take as an encouraging sign. Less encouraging is the Chinese script carved into the façade; fearful visions of white slavery and opium-addicted harem girls dance in your head, culled from the Arabian Nights and the pennydreadfuls you've confiscated from the boys at school.
But you've come too far to back out now.
"You will remain on the pavement, Sebastian," you decree, glaring at him as he opens his mouth to protest. "This is a private matter."
"V-very good, Miss Joestar," Sebastian says weakly.
Dio opens the tiny red door with a jangle of strange bells, and a rush of incense fills your nostrils.
The room within is packed wall to wall and shelf to shelf with dusty boxes and glass jars, stacked so high and precariously that you feel frightened to move too freely, lest you kick off an avalanche.
In the far left-hand corner of the room is a glassed-in display case. A small Chinaman with shockingly wild hair and long mustachios is sitting at it, surrounded by papers and receipts, writing in what must be an accounts book. He says something irritable in Chinese without so much as a glance at the door.
"None of that, Wang Chun," Dio replies, approaching the counter. "There is a lady present."
"Back again?" the man asks, still not looking up from his books. "I tell you, I'm not a damn fortune teller. Go and pester Mrs Grey if you want that sort of thing."
"This is Miss Joanna Joestar," Dio says, as though the man had not spoken. He lays a tuppence on the ledger. "Tell her what you see in her face."
That gets Wang Chun to raise his eyes. Ignoring you, he glares at Dio. "I am a respectable businessman, boy," he replies scornfully, "not a performing monkey. Get out of my shop or I'll call Fei down here to chat with you."
Dio's lips quirk upwards into a smirk. "Tell Miss Joestar what she wants to know or I'll call Long Goodbye down here to chat with Fei."
Wang's eyes narrow, but at last he relents, and turns his gaze on you.
"Failure as a wife," he says matter-of-factly, after a moment's consideration.
"I beg your pardon?!" you splutter in surprise.
"That is not the chin of an obedient woman," Wang declares, pointing at it with a knobbly finger. Dio laughs unrestrainedly.
"Did you bring me here merely to make a fool of me?" you demand.
"Is that all?" Dio asks the rude little peddler.
"What did you expect?" Wang asks back in a bored tone. "If I told you once I told you a thousand times; the head is not finished growing at this age. The birthmarks on your ear can only be read because they won't change greatly over time."
"Birthmarks?" you ask, anger pushed aside by curiosity. "I have a birthmark."
"Well hurry up and show me it, then, if you're so keen," the man says in exhasperation, "and then get out of my shop!"
You feel yourself flush. You are most certainly not removing your blouse in front of a strange Chinaman in Ogre St. Such a scenario is simply not a part of the life of Joanna Joestar of Abney Park.
"I doubt it will require much visual analysis," you say primly. "It is simply a star-shaped patch of red on my left shoulder, nothing-"
"A star?" he interrupts, frowning. "You are certain? Have you seen it with your own eyes?"
"Of course," you reply, somewhat taken aback at this newfound willingness to speak to you directly. "Every Joestar on record has been born with a similar mark, if the family Bible is to be believed."
"How many points does it have?"
"Five."
For a moment, he just stares. Then he begins to laugh, long and hard. His lips part to reveal crooked but gleaming white teeth, and he tilts back his head in his mirth.
"I take it back," he says, still chuckling, and adds something to Dio in Chinese. Amazingly, Dio replies, sharply, in that same language.
"Dio...?" you ask, confused.
"Nothing important," he answers, rolling his eyes. "You must excuse Wang. He has a rather crude sense of humour."
"Crude or not, know this, Miss Joestar," the shopkeeper says. "You and your children will likely wield great power, but rarely will it truly profit any of you."
"... what might this power be?" you ask uneasily.
"How should I know?" Wang Chun leans back over his notes and resumes his work.
Dio seems to take this as your cue to leave, and heads for the door.
You curtsy to the man. "Thank you for granting me a portion of your time, Mr Chun. I shall consider your advice." As though you can do anything else with it.
He grunts.
The sun is sinking low on the horizon when you emerge. Sebastian smells like cigarette smoke, but as there is no repulsive 'gasper' in sight, you let it go.
The crowds have thinned considerably, and you make good time. You are almost back to Mickey and the carriage when-
shunk!
-Sebastian's head falls from his shoulders in a spray of blood that soaks your hair, and rolls past your feet.
You scream in horror, and Dio takes a protective step behind you as a trio of men step out of the shadows, two before him and one before you.
"You have my money, boy," one of them says in what would be a friendly tone on anyone else.
"Dario had your money," Dio replies coldly. "You had the chance to reclaim it at his funeral and you did. As I recall the priest said he'd never seen someone rob a corpse after it was in its coffin before."
Oh, Dio, please don't let this turn into a brawl, you think desperately. He can't hope to win against three grown men, especially not with his hands still healing.
[X] Let Dio do all the talking. This is his turf, he knows what goes on here.
[X] Father made you responsible for Dio. Time to step up; point out that as he is now of the Joestar family his debts are your debts, and pay whatever he owes these 'likely lads'.
[X] Punch the one in front of you in the sternum, grab Dio and run for the carriage.
useless101
Doing Nothing, Nothing Doing.
- Joined
- Feb 19, 2013
- Messages
- 1,183
[X] Punch the one in front of you in the sternum, grab Dio and run for the carriage.
Sebastian is already dead, so there is little question that this will end in violence one way or another. Perhaps Dio knows enough to talk his way out of this, but it strikes me as unlikely that a peaceful resolution won't include a hostage situation where they ransom us back to father.
I'd rather not put him through that, or play damsel in distress at all.
Sebastian is already dead, so there is little question that this will end in violence one way or another. Perhaps Dio knows enough to talk his way out of this, but it strikes me as unlikely that a peaceful resolution won't include a hostage situation where they ransom us back to father.
I'd rather not put him through that, or play damsel in distress at all.
Crypsis
Getting sticky.
- Joined
- Feb 19, 2013
- Messages
- 72
[X] Father made you responsible for Dio. Time to step up; point out that as he is now of the Joestar family his debts are your debts, and pay whatever he owes these 'likely lads'.
Their opening move was murder - they mean business. Don't intervene and we'll bleed out in the gutter. Outnumbered - could gamble on unexpected talent for violence, but not a safe bet. Better to deescalate, reengage on more favorable terms later.
Their opening move was murder - they mean business. Don't intervene and we'll bleed out in the gutter. Outnumbered - could gamble on unexpected talent for violence, but not a safe bet. Better to deescalate, reengage on more favorable terms later.
FurikoMaru
Experienced.
- Joined
- Feb 28, 2013
- Messages
- 2,502
Woo! I'm ropin' in non-fans!
Thugs are for the most part a disposable commodity in Jojo. They exist to get the shit beaten out of them to better highlight how fucking 'ard the Joestars are, even the ones who've been raised in middle-class comfort or upper-class splendour.
That said, you're a chick. Whose only experience with physical fighting just happened last night.
Thugs are for the most part a disposable commodity in Jojo. They exist to get the shit beaten out of them to better highlight how fucking 'ard the Joestars are, even the ones who've been raised in middle-class comfort or upper-class splendour.
That said, you're a chick. Whose only experience with physical fighting just happened last night.
FurikoMaru
Experienced.
- Joined
- Feb 28, 2013
- Messages
- 2,502
They are not inherently any different from the rest of humanity. They're very physically durable, on the whole, but that's large family breeding at work, not anything supernatural.
However, every Jojo has been bizarre in their own way. Their determination can carry them through most situations with a result that breaks even at worst.
However, every Jojo has been bizarre in their own way. Their determination can carry them through most situations with a result that breaks even at worst.
Hymn of Ragnarok
Well worn.
- Joined
- Feb 19, 2013
- Messages
- 5,552
[X] Let Dio do all the talking. This is his turf, he knows what goes on here.
Yeah, we're explicitly a girl with pretty much no combat stats to speak of. Barring supernatural intervention, going in for a punch is just begging for someone to grab Jojo by the wrist and use her as a hostage.
Yeah, we're explicitly a girl with pretty much no combat stats to speak of. Barring supernatural intervention, going in for a punch is just begging for someone to grab Jojo by the wrist and use her as a hostage.
Last edited by a moderator:
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Also note that revealing that you is Joestar isn't going to get Dio any favors... instead, you might end up getting kidnapped and ransomed for lots of moneys.
So...
[X] Punch the one in front of you in the sternum, grab Dio and run for the carriage.
- - [X] Something STRANGE happens again!
So...
[X] Punch the one in front of you in the sternum, grab Dio and run for the carriage.
- - [X] Something STRANGE happens again!
Chibi-Reaper
D-Donations plz?
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>Reveal you are a lady of wealth and breeding.
>To the vile urban cutthroats and back-alley bandits.
Nope. NOPE NOPE NOPE. I don't know what to vote for, but I know what to not vote for.
>To the vile urban cutthroats and back-alley bandits.
Nope. NOPE NOPE NOPE. I don't know what to vote for, but I know what to not vote for.
FurikoMaru
Experienced.
- Joined
- Feb 28, 2013
- Messages
- 2,502
Another scene from
What if you had chosen the Stone Mask origin story?
April 1st, 1938
It's rare, but every so often, you start to miss the way things were.
Luckily there is a cinema in the village - or what was the village.
Yes, with each passing year Abney Park becomes more and more a crowded London suburb; every day at five am, you are jolted momentarily awake by the first of the commuter trains, and the open meadow where you learned to drive, one cool summer evening in 1903, is now the proud location of an enclave of tasteless Mock Tudor row homes. You recognize few names in the pub of a Saturday evening, and fewer faces.
Even the cinema itself holds mixed memories for you. It is your window onto the past, and it stands on the spot where, fifty years ago, Del Shannon's house burned to the ground, and you finally triumphed over your brother.
The film is the standard fare; a girl meets a disreputable man and refuses to have anything to do with him until he reforms, which of course he inevitably does by the final reel. You do wish the modern world's most popular method of storytelling would stop using the same trite plots that were making the rounds in vaudeville houses when you were nine. Why is there never a story where a man won't have anything to do with a girl unless she becomes as wretched as himself?
That was a rhetorical question. You know the answer better than anyone.
There are scenes of sun-dappled meadows, however, and the mercurial male lead is blond. You stay right until the end.
You dismiss Woody and the car, electing to walk home. The air is clear and crisp, tonight, and if perhaps you shouldn't be taking risks at your age, well, what is life without risk?
You wind your way through the streets of your youth, occasionally passing a couple hand in hand, or a gaggle of girlfriends heading down to the pub in their too-short skirts and bell-shaped hats. All pause as you pass to wish you a good evening, and you acknowledge each of your people with a deep nod, and a smile.
The reason it is rare for you to dwell on the past, as you have tonight, is that everywhere around you, you can see the changes you have wrought, and the fruit they have borne.
And who could be dissatisfied with that?
The walk from the edge of Abney Park to your door is shorter, now; you had to sell a significant portion of the land in order to support your various works and charities through the Great War, and you keep only a skeleton staff. It's more than enough for an old woman living alone, to your mind.
You stroll casually up the drive, occasionally skipping, as there's no one present to see you do such a childish thing. You hum snippets of an old song whose words you cannot quite remember.
And then you hear something you've been waiting for for a very long time.
Footsteps behind you.
"Hello, Jojo."
You smile to yourself. Now the night's real entertainment can begin.
The dance lasts an hour, and every second should, by all rights, hold an eternity in itself.
But you know it can't. You know there's only one way to end this.
"SUNLIGHT YELLOW OVERDRIVE!"
The dawn breaks through your chest.
You slump to your knees, and collapse backward in the dirt. You stare up at the sky, and for a fleeting moment feel sad that the stars are no longer visible here.
"Well..." you rasp. "My congratulations to you, young man. You've slain the dragon. The land is now at peace. You're a hero."
The boy frowns. "Heroism does not enter into it. It is enough to have done what my grandfather could not, and avenge his passing. You will not trouble the Brando bloodline any further, creature of the night."
Despite the pain, despite everything, you chuckle to yourself, wistfully.
"Yes... yes... that's exactly the way... you should be."
And you are gone.
Enemy Mine - Good(?!) End 1
Furiko's Omake Theatre~!
What if you had chosen the Stone Mask origin story?
April 1st, 1938
It's rare, but every so often, you start to miss the way things were.
Luckily there is a cinema in the village - or what was the village.
Yes, with each passing year Abney Park becomes more and more a crowded London suburb; every day at five am, you are jolted momentarily awake by the first of the commuter trains, and the open meadow where you learned to drive, one cool summer evening in 1903, is now the proud location of an enclave of tasteless Mock Tudor row homes. You recognize few names in the pub of a Saturday evening, and fewer faces.
Even the cinema itself holds mixed memories for you. It is your window onto the past, and it stands on the spot where, fifty years ago, Del Shannon's house burned to the ground, and you finally triumphed over your brother.
The film is the standard fare; a girl meets a disreputable man and refuses to have anything to do with him until he reforms, which of course he inevitably does by the final reel. You do wish the modern world's most popular method of storytelling would stop using the same trite plots that were making the rounds in vaudeville houses when you were nine. Why is there never a story where a man won't have anything to do with a girl unless she becomes as wretched as himself?
That was a rhetorical question. You know the answer better than anyone.
There are scenes of sun-dappled meadows, however, and the mercurial male lead is blond. You stay right until the end.
You dismiss Woody and the car, electing to walk home. The air is clear and crisp, tonight, and if perhaps you shouldn't be taking risks at your age, well, what is life without risk?
You wind your way through the streets of your youth, occasionally passing a couple hand in hand, or a gaggle of girlfriends heading down to the pub in their too-short skirts and bell-shaped hats. All pause as you pass to wish you a good evening, and you acknowledge each of your people with a deep nod, and a smile.
The reason it is rare for you to dwell on the past, as you have tonight, is that everywhere around you, you can see the changes you have wrought, and the fruit they have borne.
And who could be dissatisfied with that?
The walk from the edge of Abney Park to your door is shorter, now; you had to sell a significant portion of the land in order to support your various works and charities through the Great War, and you keep only a skeleton staff. It's more than enough for an old woman living alone, to your mind.
You stroll casually up the drive, occasionally skipping, as there's no one present to see you do such a childish thing. You hum snippets of an old song whose words you cannot quite remember.
And then you hear something you've been waiting for for a very long time.
Footsteps behind you.
"Hello, Jojo."
You smile to yourself. Now the night's real entertainment can begin.
The dance lasts an hour, and every second should, by all rights, hold an eternity in itself.
But you know it can't. You know there's only one way to end this.
"SUNLIGHT YELLOW OVERDRIVE!"
The dawn breaks through your chest.
You slump to your knees, and collapse backward in the dirt. You stare up at the sky, and for a fleeting moment feel sad that the stars are no longer visible here.
"Well..." you rasp. "My congratulations to you, young man. You've slain the dragon. The land is now at peace. You're a hero."
The boy frowns. "Heroism does not enter into it. It is enough to have done what my grandfather could not, and avenge his passing. You will not trouble the Brando bloodline any further, creature of the night."
Despite the pain, despite everything, you chuckle to yourself, wistfully.
"Yes... yes... that's exactly the way... you should be."
And you are gone.
Enemy Mine - Good(?!) End 1
FurikoMaru
Experienced.
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- Feb 28, 2013
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- 2,502
If you want, yeah.
Ardion Prosili
Lover of Horned Women
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- Mar 3, 2013
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- 952
I'll settle for the much more unthinkable route of making Dio and Joanna acknowledged equals and stuff.
FurikoMaru
Experienced.
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Oh, hard mode? ;D Awesome, lemme just go wrap my hands and grab my Aku haori and zanbatou.
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Ardion Prosili
Lover of Horned Women
- Joined
- Mar 3, 2013
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- 952
/smackFurikoMaru said:
Speak non-moonspeak or not at all!
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FurikoMaru
Experienced.
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Mou, sore wa anmari hidoi yo~! : <
HighMongrel
Making the rounds.
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- Feb 19, 2013
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FurikoMaru said:
ロマジを書くをやめてください。 それはもっとむずかしい読みますから。