Post by Jack of Blades on Apr 19, 2007 8:01:08 GMT -5
Alcoholics Anonymous meeting. Each Tuesday. A circle of men, predominately men anyway, gather in some dull, tawdry backroom of a church and expatiate tales all shaped around the same tenets. Unemployment. Divorce. Mourning. A scene so devoid of individuality and 'hope' that to include my vain, selfish ego in the circle may cause it to explode. And yet here I am, listening to each woeful rendition of how they turned on their once comforter. Their livers may be thankful for it but conversation has suffered considerably.
All: Thanks David.
They announce me as the next person to stand up and bare my heart to this unimportant rogues gallery. I don't really have anything to say or at least nothing of value. Not anymore. Even to this bunch of louts who are too enthralled with thoughts of triple distilled vodka and the like.
Jack of Blades: My name is Jack!
All: Hi Jack.
I say, they respond. Like automated parrots. No real thoughts on the matter; just waiting for some instigative statement to come through. I really don't wish to indulge these people further in any sort of discussion on my drinking habits. Although I have been known to consume copious amounts of drinks that essentially consist of ethanol, I am not at the level of dependency where I feel the need to divulge the facets of my thirst to a collection of impotent fools. But I don't need to make another statement. At least, not a vocal one. They burst through the door in matching 'French maid' outfits with five bottles of whiskey each placed precariously on silver (tin) platters.
Dysphoria: I brought you Outcast's new transc--
Jack of Blades: I don't care. I guessed correctly the first time and I'm perfectly sure that I'll be spot on with this.
And besides, what with all Outcast's bravado, it makes him sound slightly interesting when from what I've seen its the exact opposite. Unlike past opponents, I don't find Outcast an appealing toy. Maybe its because of my newly invigorated depression. Maybe its because we are two self-proclaimed 'Outcasts' and two people form a society. Or, maybe its that Outcast was never spoken about with the same hushed tones as Dake Ken or Logan. He was never viewed as anything more than additional body parts. When I was thinking how to make an impact, the name 'Outcast' was never considered a possibility. He has nor will he ever establish himself as vital to the WCF as Creeping Death. The name 'Outcast' will never be paired with PC Cradle when discussing those of legendary status. 'Outcast's efforts will never be considered revolutionary unlike...well, unlike mine. Or the 'me of old' at least. And that, in a roundabout way, is why I don't care for a single word he says. As for a conclusion, it could be his own ineffectualness that prompted him to support the NCW with so much rigour. A lesser entity allows for lesser Gods.
Dysphoria: Heh, I just noticed that whoever did the transcript spelt the word, 'intelligence' wrong. I guess it's just kind of funny when its put in the context of...'Davey' boasting about his high I.Q.
I see them all leering at her. The attire doesn't help to divert their attentions but it compliments her role there. To some it may remind them of lost wives (if you can call someone staying at their mother's lost) or some other paramour that was surplus to the drink. She may even give some of them the first stirrings they've had in a while. I tire of their dirty glares despite the fact that she revels in it. I take her and the other French maids away, leaving my former confidantes to their resurrected alcoholism.
All: Thanks David.
They announce me as the next person to stand up and bare my heart to this unimportant rogues gallery. I don't really have anything to say or at least nothing of value. Not anymore. Even to this bunch of louts who are too enthralled with thoughts of triple distilled vodka and the like.
Jack of Blades: My name is Jack!
All: Hi Jack.
I say, they respond. Like automated parrots. No real thoughts on the matter; just waiting for some instigative statement to come through. I really don't wish to indulge these people further in any sort of discussion on my drinking habits. Although I have been known to consume copious amounts of drinks that essentially consist of ethanol, I am not at the level of dependency where I feel the need to divulge the facets of my thirst to a collection of impotent fools. But I don't need to make another statement. At least, not a vocal one. They burst through the door in matching 'French maid' outfits with five bottles of whiskey each placed precariously on silver (tin) platters.
Dysphoria: I brought you Outcast's new transc--
Jack of Blades: I don't care. I guessed correctly the first time and I'm perfectly sure that I'll be spot on with this.
And besides, what with all Outcast's bravado, it makes him sound slightly interesting when from what I've seen its the exact opposite. Unlike past opponents, I don't find Outcast an appealing toy. Maybe its because of my newly invigorated depression. Maybe its because we are two self-proclaimed 'Outcasts' and two people form a society. Or, maybe its that Outcast was never spoken about with the same hushed tones as Dake Ken or Logan. He was never viewed as anything more than additional body parts. When I was thinking how to make an impact, the name 'Outcast' was never considered a possibility. He has nor will he ever establish himself as vital to the WCF as Creeping Death. The name 'Outcast' will never be paired with PC Cradle when discussing those of legendary status. 'Outcast's efforts will never be considered revolutionary unlike...well, unlike mine. Or the 'me of old' at least. And that, in a roundabout way, is why I don't care for a single word he says. As for a conclusion, it could be his own ineffectualness that prompted him to support the NCW with so much rigour. A lesser entity allows for lesser Gods.
Dysphoria: Heh, I just noticed that whoever did the transcript spelt the word, 'intelligence' wrong. I guess it's just kind of funny when its put in the context of...'Davey' boasting about his high I.Q.
I see them all leering at her. The attire doesn't help to divert their attentions but it compliments her role there. To some it may remind them of lost wives (if you can call someone staying at their mother's lost) or some other paramour that was surplus to the drink. She may even give some of them the first stirrings they've had in a while. I tire of their dirty glares despite the fact that she revels in it. I take her and the other French maids away, leaving my former confidantes to their resurrected alcoholism.
