Opinionated
10-25-2006, 10:29 PM
“So… why were you looking for Alex?” Jernice said as Prometheus drove around town, looking for a good-looking restaurant. She’d been quiet until now, probably trying to think of a question that didn’t sound childish.
“Alex probably got bitten or scratched by a Lycan two months ago. He developed Lycanism, which is a disease caused by the chemicals on a Lycan’s jaws and sometimes their claws.
“Two months after a person has gotten Lycanism, they start transforming at the full moon. It’s possible to stop cure Lycanism any time after the victim’s been bitten. We’d figured that he’d been bitten, so we were trying to get to him before tonight.” Prometheus explained. “That one any good?” He asked as he nodded to a Mexican restaurant.
“No, not really. And who’s ‘we’?” Jernice said as she looked out the window. There was an average Italian, but nothing else that had really decent food.
“We means the V.S.S.C.V., Vatican Society for the Study of Cryptic and Variants, a.k.a. The Freak Show.” Prometheus answered, repeating each letter of the acronym for emphasis. He jumped the gun on her next question and continued: “A Cryptic is a creature whose existence has not been proven by science. In Freak Show slang, it’s an extremely nonhuman creature, like a Chupacabra. A Variant generally refers to a creature that is partially human or created from humans, like a Vampire or Lycan.”
“And it’s run from the Vatican?” Jernice said with a heavy tone of disbelief in her voice.
“Well, virtually all Freaks are dangerous to humanity. And it’s the Vatican’s Christian responsibility to try and keep humanity safe until Revelations.” Prometheus explained.
“Oh. Hey, pull up here!” Jernice exclaimed as she pointed out a mom-and-pop looking restaurant.
“So… how’d you get those scars?” Jernice asked between bites of her burger(no onions).
Prometheus swallowed a chunk of chicken fried steak and said, “It’s a long story. You promise you’re not going to embarrass anyone because of what I’m about to say?” Jernice nodded. “You’ve read Frankenstein, right?” Another nod. “I’m the monster.”
All she did was stare, to her credit. She blinked dumbly, and would have laughed or asked if he was serious, if the expression on Prometheus’ face hadn’t been so serious.
When he decided that she’d grasped it firmly enough, he continued, “The story Frankenstein was sponsored by the Freak Show to throw off suspicion from me. Except for a few name changes and one plot adjustment, it’s accurate. I was pieced together from about four corpses and a great deal of alchemy. ”
Speaking these words brought back memories of those early days, days of hatred and rage. The end, probably, was when he saw the doctor dead, and found that his god wasn’t a god after all. He took the doctor south, not north, in order to cremate him. However, he was found by a team of Freak Show hunters, who recognized his potential, and gave him that one thing the doctor hadn’t: purpose. He remembered the man who gave him that purpose, his bushy eyebrows, high forehead, and gallant stride.
“This,” Prometheus said with a vague gesture to the long scar that ran across the right side of his face, “Was when the Doctor had to do some work under the skin after he’d attached it.” He motioned to the patch scar on the other cheek and said, “This rotted before I was finished, and the Doctor had to replace it.”
“And those men that came with Father Johanson, were they… like you?” Jernice asked.
“No. They were Golems. Artificial constructs of clay. They can’t speak because a clay tablet with one of the names of God written on it has taken the place of their mouths. They can use sign language, and are pretty polite.”
And they talked until their food was nothing more than cold crumbs, and Prometheus drove Jernice back to the church. Father Johanson told her the test results were full negatives, but should still come by the church immediately if she feels ill around the full moon.
“Father, I’ve got a package coming soon to this address.” Prometheus said. “Keep an eye out for it. You got a hotel around?”
“Sure,” Johanson said as he tossed an apartment room key to Prometheus. After he’d given directions and room numbers, he said: “Tell the front deskman Johanson let you use the room.”
Prometheus thanked the Father with all his heart, and told him and Jernice goodnight. The directions were easy, and in little time he found the apartment complex. He said what he needed to say to the deskman, and went to room 111. “In the beginning,” Prometheus muttered under his breath as he opened the door and walked in.
It was obvious that the Vatican kept this room, due to the sparse but invaluable amenities. All Freak Show field workers were drifters, and it could not always be counted on that the church had room for a bed.
Prometheus kicked his walking shoes off, and undressed down to an athletic shirt and boxers. However, he kept his crucifix on and held his Crossgun (safety on) in his hand as he flopped on the bed. Sleep came quickly to his weary body.
“Alex probably got bitten or scratched by a Lycan two months ago. He developed Lycanism, which is a disease caused by the chemicals on a Lycan’s jaws and sometimes their claws.
“Two months after a person has gotten Lycanism, they start transforming at the full moon. It’s possible to stop cure Lycanism any time after the victim’s been bitten. We’d figured that he’d been bitten, so we were trying to get to him before tonight.” Prometheus explained. “That one any good?” He asked as he nodded to a Mexican restaurant.
“No, not really. And who’s ‘we’?” Jernice said as she looked out the window. There was an average Italian, but nothing else that had really decent food.
“We means the V.S.S.C.V., Vatican Society for the Study of Cryptic and Variants, a.k.a. The Freak Show.” Prometheus answered, repeating each letter of the acronym for emphasis. He jumped the gun on her next question and continued: “A Cryptic is a creature whose existence has not been proven by science. In Freak Show slang, it’s an extremely nonhuman creature, like a Chupacabra. A Variant generally refers to a creature that is partially human or created from humans, like a Vampire or Lycan.”
“And it’s run from the Vatican?” Jernice said with a heavy tone of disbelief in her voice.
“Well, virtually all Freaks are dangerous to humanity. And it’s the Vatican’s Christian responsibility to try and keep humanity safe until Revelations.” Prometheus explained.
“Oh. Hey, pull up here!” Jernice exclaimed as she pointed out a mom-and-pop looking restaurant.
“So… how’d you get those scars?” Jernice asked between bites of her burger(no onions).
Prometheus swallowed a chunk of chicken fried steak and said, “It’s a long story. You promise you’re not going to embarrass anyone because of what I’m about to say?” Jernice nodded. “You’ve read Frankenstein, right?” Another nod. “I’m the monster.”
All she did was stare, to her credit. She blinked dumbly, and would have laughed or asked if he was serious, if the expression on Prometheus’ face hadn’t been so serious.
When he decided that she’d grasped it firmly enough, he continued, “The story Frankenstein was sponsored by the Freak Show to throw off suspicion from me. Except for a few name changes and one plot adjustment, it’s accurate. I was pieced together from about four corpses and a great deal of alchemy. ”
Speaking these words brought back memories of those early days, days of hatred and rage. The end, probably, was when he saw the doctor dead, and found that his god wasn’t a god after all. He took the doctor south, not north, in order to cremate him. However, he was found by a team of Freak Show hunters, who recognized his potential, and gave him that one thing the doctor hadn’t: purpose. He remembered the man who gave him that purpose, his bushy eyebrows, high forehead, and gallant stride.
“This,” Prometheus said with a vague gesture to the long scar that ran across the right side of his face, “Was when the Doctor had to do some work under the skin after he’d attached it.” He motioned to the patch scar on the other cheek and said, “This rotted before I was finished, and the Doctor had to replace it.”
“And those men that came with Father Johanson, were they… like you?” Jernice asked.
“No. They were Golems. Artificial constructs of clay. They can’t speak because a clay tablet with one of the names of God written on it has taken the place of their mouths. They can use sign language, and are pretty polite.”
And they talked until their food was nothing more than cold crumbs, and Prometheus drove Jernice back to the church. Father Johanson told her the test results were full negatives, but should still come by the church immediately if she feels ill around the full moon.
“Father, I’ve got a package coming soon to this address.” Prometheus said. “Keep an eye out for it. You got a hotel around?”
“Sure,” Johanson said as he tossed an apartment room key to Prometheus. After he’d given directions and room numbers, he said: “Tell the front deskman Johanson let you use the room.”
Prometheus thanked the Father with all his heart, and told him and Jernice goodnight. The directions were easy, and in little time he found the apartment complex. He said what he needed to say to the deskman, and went to room 111. “In the beginning,” Prometheus muttered under his breath as he opened the door and walked in.
It was obvious that the Vatican kept this room, due to the sparse but invaluable amenities. All Freak Show field workers were drifters, and it could not always be counted on that the church had room for a bed.
Prometheus kicked his walking shoes off, and undressed down to an athletic shirt and boxers. However, he kept his crucifix on and held his Crossgun (safety on) in his hand as he flopped on the bed. Sleep came quickly to his weary body.