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Lamonticus Vanshayal

The birds and the bees grew wise to the lies; so they took to the trees, and took to the skies.

0 · 85 views · located in Sol Avenue and Lady Une Drive

a character in “The Multiverse”, as played by NotAFlyingToy

Description

Image

Bought a hot-shot gat from a north end Guinea.

Ante up with your ass, because you ain't got a penny.

Droppin' bombs down on, cut you all down to size.

Because it's rich to the poor, and it's rich to the wise.

So begins...

Lamonticus Vanshayal's Story

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Out of the crowd, a man swooped to catch the fainting woman, his movements fluid and graceful, easing into the catch. He lifted her as if she weighed nothing, smiling pleasantly to his surroundings as he did, and, hopefully unnoticed, slipped out of the crowd.

For watchful ears, he called, "I'd better get this one to a hospital."

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The shirtless man glanced towards the bespectacled man, sighing audibly as he reached to pat his cheek. "No, she doesn't have any children," he said, softly. "I know far, far more about little Charlotte than you do, it appears. We could say that her husband and I are even old acquaintances, from way back when."

He tried to shrug off the blind man's grip, his eyes levelling at Christopher. "Please unhand me. You will need to find another escort tonight, friend."

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As the other man turned to leave, Lamonticus chuckled darkly to himself. He shifted his grip on Charlotte, holding her easily as he glanced behind him, to the crowd surrounding the gasmasked people, the Terran Militia, and the strange being. He watched them all as he slowly backed into the night, a rag from his pocket fished out and placed over Charlotte's nose and mouth, keeping her unconscious.

He walked away from the group of people, their imagined crimes, with a helpless woman in his arms.

The setting changes from wing-city to Side Alley

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Fluidly, easily, the shirtless man stepped into the side alleyway, glancing around him subtly as he stepped into the darkness. He lowered Charlotte to the floor of the side alleyway, reaching into his pockets to pull out smelling salts, intended to counteract the substance rubbed into the cloth.

He broke them and shoved them up the girl's nose. As he did so, his eyes took on a... captivating light. If a female were to look into them, they'd find it... hard, to look away.

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He smiled, easing the power, the sway he held over her, into his voice, his words.

"It doesn't matter who I am, Charlotte," he said, touching her face, allowing the power to transfer through touch, as well. "Listen to my voice, hear my words. Do you know who Brett Carter is? Do you know where he is tonight?"

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The smile widened even further. "Do you know who Brett Carter is, Charlotte? It's okay that you didn't answer my question, but I like my questions answered from now on. Okay?"

His hand on her face tightened into her hair, jerking her head backwards as he hissed slightly, his face becoming macabre, scary... and still, his eyes held their thrall.

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Immediately, the face calmed, the grip became soothing, stroking caresses as he wiped away her tears, smiling down at her. "That's good, Charlotte, that's good. Very good. I don't like to hurt you, but I need my questions answered."

He cupped her face with his thumbs, and brought her close, almost as if to kiss her. "But that is the wrong answer. It's okay that it's wrong - you don't know the right one. But maybe you should know it. Would you like to know where your husband is? Who he is?"

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He rubbed her cheeks, leaning closer to her, watching her eyes with his. "Now now, Charlotte... One answer at a time, please. You don't want me to get angry again. Just one answer this time, okay?"

He took a deep breath. "Do you want to know who Brett Carter is?"

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"Excellent," he said, purring at her, stroking her.

"I'll be by your apartment soon; and we'll discuss this... husband of yours." He reached into his back pocket, withdrawing a small, crinkled newspaper clipping from his back pocket. He handed it to her, folding it into her slender hand, bringing the hand up to kiss.

"Will you be waiting for me, Charlotte? Just one answer, please."

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He grinned - simple, easy, like pulling quarters from her darling ears. He leaned forwards to press his lips upon her forehead - a filthy, crawly sensation as a forked tongue tasted salty skin - before he withdrew, smirking slyly.

"I wonder," he said, idly, "what I could convince you to do in this state. Doesn't that sound like a fun-"

Suddenly, a sound split the night.

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The man abruptly dropped his charge, releasing Charlotte from her thrall and staring down Christopher.

"What possible trouble," he began, advancing slowly, "would it be to keep my newest pet? Are you going to stop me, blind one? Are you going to hit me with your cane?"

His face was contorted, inhuman; he didn't like vision impaired people. They were too hard to enthrall, to win over to his side. He needed to touch them, and he hated touching men.

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The man advanced further. "And so, the wicked and wild winds came crashing upon the plan's head. It seemed like such a grand idea to play white knight, didn't it? Yet, you know I could kill you. Here, in this back alleyway, would anyone miss a scared, cold child?"

He cocked his head. "Blind, too? How long would it take to find your corpse?"

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The sound of running feet on the pavement - hundreds of yards away, closing fast - and two little ingrates that needed to be killed. Badly, badly fucked up.

But the hounds closed in.

"I'm so proud of you, Charlotte," he said, softly, and then vanished in a puff of smoke as people queried, crowding around the two left behind as to why she screamed.

The setting changes from side-alley to Sol Avenue and Lady Une Drive

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What a pleasant evening for a stroll among the darkened towers and onto the lazy streets of Wing City. What a gorgeous night to skulk and scheme, the scent of women hard in the air and the sounds of sin all around him. His bootsteps clicked against the asphalt, his jeans riding low on slim hips, his shirtless body revealing a dragon tattoo on his left pectoral, blonde, slicked hair, a toothpick in his mouth. Everything about his looks was designed to make women's mouths water; everything, from the tips of his locks to the soles of his work boots. His thrills were the sorrow of others, and his highs were the pain that he could cause.

Yes, what a wonderful night to roam and prowl the darkened streets, as the snow fell around him, a shrewd smile on his lips. He walked out into the intersection, his arms outstretched, as if he could absorb the cold, the night air, and the sensation of sin into his body and expel it, savour it, multiply it. He was darkness and beauty, a gorgeous mask hiding an evil spirit.

He was

Catapulting
through
the
air.

CRACK

The man's body ragdolled as the fender of a taxi cab slammed into his hip, sending him somersaulting up and over the hood, his head smashing into the window of the car, his eyes meeting the woman who drove. Their eyes locked - he felt a surge of longing when he felt her pain, her confusion - before he slammed into the roof of the car, rolled down the back of it, and landed in a mangled heap in the red glow of the rear lights.

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Suddenly, without warning, a face reared in front of her; mangled, disgusting, skin peeled back from asphalt burn, teeth missing, nose destroyed. It was nothing but bone and sinew that leaked from his orfices, dripping onto the snow white in large drops of red. The face was shrieking in horror, mangled, broken fingers reaching to claw at the cab driver's shoulders.

"You murdered me, bitch!" the face shrieked, clawing at her shirt, her pants, "You murdered me!"

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All that answered her was the corpse, lying in an awkward position in the snow. Mangled, bruised, and broken.

Lying there. Stiff. Silent.

Extinguished.