abductpraise-blog

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JOIN THE CULT!

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Since it’s getting cold; is your muse a peacoat gay, an leather jacket gay, or a puffy coat gay?

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dcathproof:

As the hat hit the ground the entity seemed to smile more. Why should he care about that hat anyways– there’s no use in hiding those purple tinted eyes from the other and besides that hat didn’t belong to him– it belonged to that poor vessel of his.

“To not know English well you uh– uh– uh– speak it rather nicely.” Perhaps it’s because the entity understood the brokenness– that god awful language barrier, he’s had to deal with this before and unfortunately that’s why he knows German almost fluently despite having not needed it since the 1940s. “Who you are? My bad, your h̙i̦͈g͇̲͓h̤̩̺͕̩n͉̕e͔̹̬̫͡s̡͇̫̳̼s̺̲.”

      With no idea who or what the other who stood next to him was, he did know one thing and that was he was dangerous. The tour guide who was introducing Ambroos to the world that was alien to him was found with her neck cut and tongue pulled out through the deep gash and Ambroos knew that wasn’t right. He knew it had nothing to do with culture. Spiritual sacrifice had been banned for decades 

       ----- and there was only one person it could have been, but he’ll say nothing. Not yet anyway.   

     “Ambroos,” he spoke with his chin held high. He was proud of who he was but who wouldn’t be? He was a leader, he was worshipped and to most on the island, he was a GOD. “I am leader of Isurst Atoll. We have no government. No men in suits and silly ties. Just me.” 

      “and who are you?” he asks, with a cocked brow, a smug look crossing his face, “raggedy man with God complex?” Hypocritical coming from him, of course. “You no scare me. Pathetic man,” and he spits on the ground, a sign of disrespect towards the other. 

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mindsever:

     Saint is uncomfortable without his crew, but he knows he’s strong enough to handle himself. He has wrestled a cannibal to the ground and slit his throat with a Bowie knife–all on camera, which he later sold to his audiences by featuring the footage of his own face, wide-eyed and lashes flecked with ruby droplets of blood, in every commercial that ran.

     He can certainly handle this alien boy on the lower side of a hundred-forty pounds. So he nods at his crew who look dismayed at the prospect of being out in the throes of the icy atmosphere, surrounded by hiveminded creeps praising some teenage boy (but isn’t that just Hollywood?), but they leave nonetheless.

     Camera propped upon a portable tripod, he looks back at it, hoping it’s sufficient enough to pick up his audio without the boom mics, and he says to Ambroos, “What was that?” his voice betrays a serenity unnatural to even the stillest of ponds, but inside, he’s boiling with rage at this know-it-all, fake prince controlling HIS prospects, “Why are you insistent on us being alone?”

     Dismissing his followers with a simple wave of the hand, the two are now alone in what would appear to be a small, makeshift castle. A king had to have his castle didn’t he? Only the best for him and that wasn’t just his words, but the ones who fall to their knees when catching sight of him. This was beyond brainwashing. This was insanity. 

    “Would you like to see how they contact me?” He asks and pulling himself up from his lap, “I can show you how they contact me but it must not be recorded. You can tell your fans,” he doesn’t really understand the concept of tv, “the ones who follow you, they must know too. The word must be passed on.” 

     Taking his hand, he leads Saint down the echoed hall which was no more than 68 feet long with doors, painted different colours the entire way down. Reaching the end of the hallway, stood before them was the only door painted black and reached no more than five feet tall, “you must remove shoes and your socks and any metals ----- OH,” Ambroos almost forgot, “you must turn phone off, it interferes with my signals.” 

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* question starters

‘ how could you? ’

‘ where were you? ’

‘ what are you running from? ’

‘ what’s wrong? ’

‘ do you want a blanket? ’

‘ did you throw a rock through my fucking window? ’

‘ are you even listening? ’

‘ oh, is that the story? ’

‘ are you drunk? ’

‘ are you lost? ’

‘ are you trying to hug me? ’

‘ what are you staring at? ’

‘ is this your idea of a sick joke? ’

‘ do you still care about me? ’

‘ forget something? ’

‘ leaving so soon? ’

‘ will you cut it out? ’

‘ who did this? ’

‘ does it look like i’m laughing? ’

‘ were you singing? ’

‘ is that a bruise? ’

‘ is that blood? ’

‘ are you trying to get us killed? ’

‘ was that an apology? ’ 

‘ did you hang up on me just now? ’

‘ can we leave? ’

‘ well, did you? ’

‘ you started those rumors? ’

‘ are you in trouble? ’

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– Harlan Ellison, “I Have No Mouth and I Must Scream”

indie fandomless sci-fi/futurism oc.

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        Perhaps it was because Ambroos spoke little English or maybe it was the fact that he didn’t take lightly to being threatened, especially not by someone who’d he’d consider to be below him on the food chain and so he smiled, there was little to no emotion in his eyes as his lips lifted at the corners like a Cheshire cat. 

     “Pardon my English, but are you----hmm, how you say,” sucking his lower lip between his teeth in thought, “threatening me?” and he took another step towards the other, “you shouldn’t threaten me. Do you know, uh, who I am because If you did, you---hmm, you’d regret those words you speak.”  By this stage, Ambroos was standing before him with his face inches apart from the others, his cold breath could be felt and to make matters worse, he pushed his stupid cap from off his head. 

@abductpraise​ | from this

“You’re paying a s̨͈m̫̻̻͕a͔̯̙̹̲͟ĺl̡͇̝̣͉ price compared with what she’s going through.” The statement is emotionless but the corners of his mouth pull up into a smile that’s anything but friendly. “Or uh– went through.” The entity smiles more then, fighting back a laugh. “So, Ambroos, I suggest you go with the flow and not f̼̯͔̻̥̭u͍̗͓c͚̦̼͖͈͠k̯̙͔̥̱̼ ̵ar̠̪͢ͅo̜u̢̖͇͍̱̗̮n̪̪d̠͘, less you end up like her and we don’t want that do we?” Hat lifts so he can get a better look at the other. Eyes widen and he gives a look of disgust when the other doesn’t reply as quick as he wants. “D͎̜͠o̮̣̼̪̳̦͔ ̨͕͉̺w͕̫̤͎̹e̝͚̩͡?̷”

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mindsever:

    This delusional little monster is slipping onto him. Hazard of the trade, certainly, but he despises the weight being settled across his lap, and he looks frantically to the camera crew who stays still as part of their written contract. He wrote the rules himself in an effort to capture as much horror as possible:

    CREW MUST NOT INTERACT WITH SUBJECTS TO MAINTAIN INTEGRITY.

    That’s usually the way it is. The crew standing aside while Saint is grappling for help under the ministrations of his madmen. Of course, Saint is immensely strong and can stop this anytime he wants. But he lets the dreamboy sidle over and hazily slur his speech.

     “I don’t know if I am Bossman,” he hisses between his teeth, his anger already crawling blood red up his cheeks, and he exhales for the camera, “I thought you were Bossman. Of this whole island. Is that right? Are you their leader?”

     He refuses to answer that second part, remaining neutral within his location. This is an unbiased report, after all.

      It wasn’t as if this was Ambroos first time in front of a camera but it doesn’t happen very often due to the fact that the Island and Ambroos have a somewhat unsavoury reputation. Most of those who set foot on the island, cease to return and those who do----well, they’re just a fraction to who they where before they left. 

      “Leader?” pointing to himself and nodding, his head cocked to the side as he stared at the other, his stare was intense, feline and makes most uncomfortable, “but I like, uh, I see myself more of saviour to my people. I help them. I give hope and deliver results.”  With long, skeleton like fingers, he brushed Saint’s hair behind his ear and he sighs dramatically, head resting back on his shoulder and for once, his eyes turned to the camera. 

     “Out,” he demanded before turning his attention back to Saint, “only you. I talk with you. You can set camera on table, but I only speak to you.” 

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JOIN THE CULT!

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JOIN THE CULT!

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           Unsure to what was actually going on, Ambroos lay across his zebra stripped ‘therapist’ chair. It was long enough for him to stretch across and his head was rested upon a heart shaped pillow. He wasn’t paying much attention to what was happening around him, he was more interested in himself and that wasn’t hard to see due to the fact Ambroos was currently staring at himself in his hand held mirror --- like a set of keys or a phone, Ambroos was never seen without it. It was cherry red and shaped into an apple. It was the second love of his life --- him being the first, of course. 

         “I, uh,” sitting up, he walked towards the man who seemed to be in charge of the team, his legs slender and his prowl was almost catlike as he swung a his legs over his and sat on his lap, “are you----how they say? Boss man? I would like to very much speak with you.” 

      His face turned from the camera and for the first time since they arrived a few hours ago, Ambroos was finally paying attention to someone other than himself. Walking his fingers up the crook of the others neck, he asks,

                                “do you believe?”

@abductpraise – ENTER.

    Oh, it’s horrible, it’s ridiculous, it’s heinous, it’s hilarious.

    Inside Abroom–Abloom?–no, Ambroos’s home, it is finally warm. The wind chill outside is not keen against Saint’s California-toned skin. Ambroos, despite his youth, easily has the nicest home on the island. Most of the island is wildlife and forest, but the small town he’s traveled to is so underdeveloped and icy that he feels pouty and entitled slogging through it, wishing he was back in Silicon Valley, where they’ve advanced the outdoors enough to adjust to human temperature.

     But this was his idea and the camera crew are suffering just as much as he is while they stick the camera in the face of this alien boy-god and go, “Rolling.”

     “Hi, Ambroos. I’m Saint, with the GGV. We’re here to document your, as you put it, extraterrestrial divinity. Can you explain to us what that is?” he looks nervously around the room, into the camera lens, when the boy won’t say anything, “Um… Ambroos? Will you speak to m–… What are… what are you DOING?”

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