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Tell me again, why do I need one of these things?

Renfield had - by the time the brief awkward hand of adolesence had…

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hugh house
Renfield had - by the time the brief awkward hand of adolesence had clawed its vivious, bone-deap on his shoulder - learnt not to talk about the things he saw. Sometimes, he learnt so well he forgot them completely, until Benton comes with the white wolf snapping at his feet. The wolf is an attention seeker, spining around like a loop (loup!) with no end and barking. He jumps and yearns just for the beauty of Benton's touch. Renfield understood this -- this was the only thing he ever craved.

Except that line is untrue; there is a connection between them but it a dark blood rope, a umbilical cord leading from one to the other. Renfield spent a very confusing afternoon over at Ma Fraser's travelling library - it didn't travel much, these days, only from up town Inuvik to the other end of Inuvik - sitting with a outsized book on dream symbolosium. Renfeild hadn't understood all of it, but he didn't want to tell Mrs Fraser, because then she might figure things out.

Renfield is pretty sure he doesn't want anybody to find out. Except Benton.

And so, one summer this silence was broken by a dark man who stepped out of somewhedre and into the burning swirling light of an artic summer. The wolf cowered as he took tea with Mrs Fraser and the boys - soon men, or so they thought - encourage with a fistful of quarters to go down the malt shoppe - Inuvik is a long way from anything, so it ran in its own special time zone, like last week, the year the Leafs won, the year the Leafs lost... anytime but now - and drink some milk and drive the owner nuts.

Benton did this thing with pinball machines and machines scream electric screams. The wolf was hiding in a corner trying to look big and insignifcant at the same time. Renfield fed it some cruller and did his thing. He tries to remember that one guy is his brother and the other is some kind of weird dream twin. It never works. The way Mike presses Benton close, holding Benton so tight to the metal contraption that bruises were a-go-go.

There were no invisible folks here, just the sound of a rising storm, some tsunami about to blow them all away. Given that Ben and Mike (or Fraser and Smithbauer - kings of school yard hockey and going to make the draft in double quick time) are making a habit of sneaking out to the back room; there might be some kind of blowing involved. Jimmy Kinsela had been talking about it in recess and Renfield was now more confused than he was yesterday. He was yet to figure where balloons come into play, even if balloons were pretty wonderful and felt strangely nice.
  • Oh, I like. The prose is really lovely.
    • i need a poet!verse icon

      It's the weird backstory material - there is more where this came from and new and interesting shades of disturbed... not sure where the not there people/things came from but I think it might be some trance state thing.... it clearly calms down a little until the night he scratches everything in the wall of his nice hotel room. That's hot. And weird. And hotly weird.


      And I wrote (badly) a little bit earlier stuff with Benton naked and wearing the serge (which he doesn't in this universe - he is a sneaky bastard with principles... and good grammar) and Renfield takes a moment to realise that it's the suit his dad (Ian Turnbull) died in and it is still oozing thick unctous blood the colour of horribly bloody death.

      Okay, that bit might have lost it. I keep doing the "colour of trust betrayed, or unforeseen death, or wolf, or unnatural death..." Let's say they had a skin walker problem. There's a reason Quinn (up there) wants the boys out of the house and hupping pinball machines... and it's not Fraser.

      • Re: i need a poet!verse icon

        Awesome! Seriously, this sounds great.
        • Re: i need a poet!verse icon

          It's all to do with why Muldoon killed Benton's mother.

          Dum Dum Da! Clearly still-alive!Bob didn't chase him off the cliff... it's my favourite bit of the original draft/thing/immensity and - thinking about it - it might even have got to you.

          You will like it immensly any which way - blood, gore and supernatural murder are your thing.
  • Tasty stuff this, Bee

    Very nice stuff indeed.
    • Re: Tasty stuff this, Bee

      Hi! Joe! *attack hug*

      It's a little random, I am beset with back-story, important backstory... I am the person who tries to retroengineer everything. (agh! Mike Holmes analogy bearly stopped)

      This is not the night of spelling things. It is the night of drinking diet coke after 1800 hours. I have a problem. I shouldn't have looked at that AA poster down at the library.
      • Re: Tasty stuff this, Bee

        Did you see th elast few posts I replied to out here - I think you were in a meds-haze at the time and you may have missed them.

        Tomorrow's Canada Day - tell your Mum to make flapjacks w maple syrup.

        • Re: Tasty stuff this, Bee

          I am not a nuclear submarine, so I have to come up for air sometimes

          [dosk is home! woo! So now I know a lot about atomic powered aircraft and why they don't work (unless you're Russian and free to kill all the aircrew) and everything else I didn't want to know, but do now]

          I was just going to say with the school thing that I know you're not happy in the world of retail (and _hell_ you're not pappy in the world of retail) and you should really find something that completes you and makes you happy.

          I am more likely to be baking my famous fruit cake. Boiling butter and sugar sounds syrup-y to me, ymmv. We are cooking in this country regardless of the oven on and then the rads upstairs have gone screwy.
  • I am excited at where this might go! :p~~~~ * drooling with anticipation*
    • Thankies! *glompage*

      It's related to the big thing (otherwise known as poet) so you might be waiting a while.

      Sunshiny comments make the road a little smoother.
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