The Clicking of the Chain (The Silence of the Lambs Parody) (#1 of 2)
for kloktober day 11: horror movie crossover
It's a parody, not a crossover, and I used a lot of the original script for this sequence to make sure it 'accomplishes' similar things for the main plot. I've always wanted to do this sort of thing... I like doing kloktober pieces that are for me more than the audience, but I hope you enjoy this retelling of one of the most quoted scenes in The Silence of the Lambs featuring Charles Offdensen and Magnus Hammersmith.
tws: body fluids, sexual harassment
At the bottom of the stairs was a left turn into a dingy cream-colored space kin to a car rental window at a crusty regional airport. A bulletin board held seven year-old thank you cards and a sign-in sheet for personal visitors. From a slim staff door came a short man in his sixties in an Orioles ball cap and white coveralls and an extended hand.
“Hi, I’m Mashed Potato Johnson. He told you, don’t get near the bars?” Damien Cornickleson’s footsteps were still volleying down the stairwell.
“Charles Offdensen.” He took the handshake with a bit of a dip. ”Yes, he did.”
“Okay. Past the others, he’s in the last cell. Stay to the middle, now. I put out a chair for you.” He pointed through the door to the gray wall of the corridor, where there was a security camera mounted to the wall. “I’m watching. You’ll do fine.”
His even steps echoed down the dim corridor, lined on one side with cameras and the other with iron bars holding back men of all sorts of shapes and sizes and muttering. Right before he’d reached the end of the hall, a green, black, and white blur threw itself against the bars, bearing wet, darkly streaked, yellow teeth. The white cast on his face rubbed off on the iron, and his crudely-colored green mane of matted frizz was trapped in his grip on the lock.
“Cocaine!”
Charles flinched hard enough to set his glasses off-kilter, but he only stalled on a single step before he was standing squarely in front of Magnus Hammersmith behind bars.
His cell was kept more lit, and had the addition of nylon netting on the exterior side of the bars. The inside of Magnus’ cell was covered in swaths of butcher paper decorated with black and white modern art patterns of various scales, with or without interlocking phantograms of all manners of polygons.
Charles cleared his throat and lowered the briefcase in his hands. “Mr. Hammersmith, my name is Charles Offdensen. May I speak with you?”
Magnus looked up from his magazine, eyes shining behind the tight waves of his hair. His ankles stretched at least a foot past the hem of his hospital pajamas and his skin, historically photographed to be a warm medium tone, was bleached and dusty from the windowless basement floor. Despite the menacing angles of his face, his voice was indignant, not commanding.
“And good morning to you, too,” he sneered, then went back to his reading.
Charles took another step forward.
“Magnus, we’re having a hard time with a case, and we believe you might have some guiding information. Do you mind answering a short questionnaire?”
“ ‘We’ being the Behavioral Science Unit at Quantico… But what’s a suit like you doing there? Huh? Fraud investigation wasn’t the thrill you expected?” He chuckled at his own joke and tossed the magazine on the floor with a resonant slap. “You’re one of Roy Cornickleson’s, I expect.”
“I am, yes.”
“Show me.”
Charles whipped his wallet out of his pocket and opened it to his IDs, holding them out in front of them.
“Closer, Charles. I have two eyes, but only one of them works.”
Charles clenched his teeth so he wouldn’t make a face and inched closer each time, but didn’t dare lean.
“Expires in a week. You’re not real FBI yet, are you?”
“I’m still in training at the Academy.” Charles pushed his glasses back up to his nose and squared his feet.
“Old Roy’s showing me off to a trainee? Well-”
“We’re talking about investigation, Magnus. You can decide for yourself if I’m qualified.”
“Smart, Officer Offdensen. Sit down.”
The rusted hinges of the chair bent when he sat down. If he were any heavier, he’d have been tipped into the floor. Magnus mirrored him and sat back down on his cot.
“Now, what did Rockzo say to you? Don’t look stupid– Dr. Rockzo, the Rock n’ Roll Clown in the next cell. He lunged at you. What did he say?”
“He said, uh, ‘cocaine’.”
“Of course he did. He does cocaine. Or did. Whatever. But you… you don’t have that kind of money, do you? You brought your best briefcase to see me today, didn’t you?”
Charles pulled at his tie before he remembered to stop himself. “Sure.”
“It’s better than your shoes, but not great. Not the cocaine type.”
“Not now, no.” Just like that, Magnus was out of things to say, and started to bounce his leg. The movement of his subway-sized foot was comical… if he had a pair of spoons in his hand, they’d click together nicely. The nervous bouncing on such a long, flimsy frame made him look like a dancing toy.
“Did you do those drawings?”
“Yes. Do you care much for contemporary art?”
“I’m not familiar… they allow you to keep a compass?” One of the works was a system of interlocking circles, some of them chained together in links, and others that looked like they were out of a spirograph.
“No. The scratching of the pen is what I have instead of a tune. Can’t let me get a hold on wood or string, can they?”
Charles looked down as if bowing his head in church before taking out a questionnaire from his briefcase. He held his chest higher.
“Magnus, if you��d please…”
“I’ve had my fair share of shrinks and investigators, Offdensen. You’ve been courteous, you’ve established trust and complimented my art, but this segue into your little survey is a bunch of bullshit. It’s boring, it’s stupid, and that’s not going to cut it.”
“I’m asking you to look at it. Either you will or you won’t.”
Magnus snorted and stretched his legs out in front of him, ankles crossed. “Roy Cornickleson must be strapped for time hunting down the ‘Metal Masked Assassin’ if he needs help from the likes of amateurs like you. Did he send you here to ask me about him?”
“No, I-”
“How many people has he used up so far, that Assassin?”
“Five, so far.”
“Flayed?”
“Partially, but that’s an active case, and I’m not involved, s–”
“Do you know why he’s called the Metal Masked Assassin? The newspapers don’t say.”
“I’ll tell you if you look over this form.” Charles passed it into a metal hatch which opened on Magnus’ side when the door to the outside was closed. Once Magnus picked it up, Charles began…
“It, uh, started as a joke, about wearing their faces, like that one movie…”
“And you can’t remember the title.”
“No, I can’t.”
“Right.” Magnus set the questionnaire on the cot beside him. “Show me what you have to offer. Why do you think he takes their skins, Officer Offdensen?”
“Uh, well, most serial killers take a trophy, sometimes for excitement or-”
“I didn’t.”
“You ate them.”
“So it would seem.” He smirked and picked the forms back up, only to begin tearing them in a frenzy that exploded out of nowhere but the air around them. As he struggled, his grunts and the struggling, shearing sounds of ripping copy paper volleyed in the stony ward.
“You think you’re so clever, so ambitious, don’t you Chuck? You’re a fraud dressed like a bourgeois bagman. Good nutrition has given you well-fleshed features, but you’re not more than one generation from salty white trash, are you? That New England accent you prune so delicately to hide all the junkiness of Maine fishmarkets– What was your father, huh? Did you have one, or did he roll from his bed into the sea like every other frozen drunk on his lobster boat? I bet the other boys without fathers found you just fine in locker rooms, with wound, wet towels and cracked lips, while all you could think about was a less physical path of being, of being at all… and power. Powerful as the F.B.I…”
“You see a lot, but are you strong enough to look at yourself? Write it on the piece of paper.”
“And you’d love it, wouldn’t you?”
“If you weren’t a coward.”
“You think you’re tough one, aren’t you?”
“... I decline to comment.”
“Oh, but you’d hate if I thought you were anything but superior! It’d break you to little fucking pieces. Don’t worry, Charles. If you hold your head high enough, everyone will assume you’re tall someday soon.”
“And the questions?”
Magnus turned his back. Charles leaned forward in his seat and slammed the door of the meal hatch open and shut again. Magnus was up and snarling at the bars in a flash.
“A census taker once tried to test me, Charles. I ate his liver with some fava beans and a nice chianti. I hope a degree from Harvard will help you piece together that fucking around making noise in a ward of prisioners and psychos won’t give you a bigger dick! Go back to school. The boys miss you!”
He retreated from the bars to stand in front of one of his works, and Charles took his invitation to leave.
“Ooh, hoo, hoo, hoo!… Dr. Rockzo don’t feel so good. Ohh, it hurts, it’s all infected, shit all over this mess, ooh-hoo! K-k-k-lookit-”
When Charles paused at the cry, he took half a load of semen into his face from Rockzo’s hand. While he howled, Magnus bellowed, “You stupid fucking clown!” Charles fumbled in his pockets for a frayed pink tissue and tried not to let the clown’s cum anywhere closer to his eyes and mouth. Just when he’d passed Dr. Rockzo’s cell and saw the light streaming in from the room he was in before, away from the din rising up in the corridor, he heard Magnus shouting above them all.
“Officer Offdensen!”
With burning eyes and sharp features as contorted and pinched as the acid-trip Devil that leads partygoers to slit their wrists or jump out of bedroom windows, Magnus stood again at the bars of his cell. Charles hurried himself back over, although he couldn’t see further than his armspan while he carefully wiped the body fluids off the lens of his glasses.
The veins in Magnus’ neck were thick as snakes. “Look, I didn’t want that for you. Excretions are disgusting to me, and bad manners-”
“Then do the survey for me.”
“No, but I’ll do you one better. Advancement. Go to Split City, check on an old bandmate of mine, Ravenwood. Just like you think it’s spelled. Now leave. I don’t think Dr. Rockzo could manage again so soon, even if he is crazy. Don’t wait around to see– Go!”
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15 questions, 15 answers, tagged by @empressofthelibrary!
are you named after anyone? Sort of. My first name was the only name that mum and dad agreed on, but both my middle names are after my grandmothers!
when was the last time you cried? Today, I was walking the dog, saw a really whimsical fallen tree in the woods, and got emotional over it. That was just a little tear up though. A big cry was yesterday, reading more news on Palestine.
do you have kids? I do not, but I think in like, 10ish years, I'd like to adopt a kiddo. When I'm financially, emotionally and mentally ready for it, being a parent genuinely sounds nice to me, but I have 0 intention of ever giving birth. I've wanted to adopt since I was about 8 years old. I'm 27, and it's only NOW the thought of being pregnant isn't horrifying beyond words to me, but even if I wanted to have a uterus baby, I'd still adopt.
what sports do you play/have you played? I did quite a few martial arts classes growing up. Boxing, Kick boxing, karate, judo. I went to a cheerleading class once, but I got really bored because they wouldn't let me join in, so I left ^^;
do you use sarcasm? ... I don't know??? I've been told I am when I'm not trying to, and told I'm not when I'm trying to. I don't know, am I using sarcasm??!
what is the first thing you notice about people? Personal energy. As in, what's the vibe they're putting out. It sound so corny I know but I meet endless people at work and can only remember a few faces, but vibes have stuck with me.
what is your eye color? Dark brown! They look almost black unless I'm in the light, and it makes it look like I have giant pupils. I really like my eyes ^^
scary movies or happy endings? Oddly enough I'm all happy endings these days. I used to looooove scary movies, and while now I appreciate a good horror thriller, too much just drains me. Nothing wrong with a struggle in the film, but now, I want my good ending escapism.
any talents? I'm really good at throwing food into the air and catching it in my mouth. Other than that, I'm not too bad at singing belt style and I'm really good at performing for kids. parents tell me often they're impressed I keep the kids attention
where were you born? Hammersmith in West London in a particularly gloomy hospital XD Seriously, google pictures of Hammersmith London , some of the old buildings are gorgeous but it's all getting pretty grey over there
what are your hobbies? It's drawing. I just love to draw so much. Writing is something I'm trying to make into a job so it's less of a hobby now but I still like it. And while soap making is done only for conventions, I really enjoy doing it. And dungeons and dragons. Loooove d&d
do you have any pets? A very old cat named Crikey and a middle aged dog named Butch. Crikey is my baby boy and I adore him
how tall are you? 5'7
favorite subject in school? I liked art, it was fun and until A-Level my teachers kicked ass. Funnily enough I remember liking history until we had to do exams, where I learned liking history and being good at history are different things, and I started to hate it.
dream job? At this point, I'd like this. I'd like to write/ illustrate and publish books, and let that be enough to live on. As a side thing, I want to sell my soaps at a few conventions a year, and do kids parties maybe 1 day a week. So, all the stuff I'm doing now, I'd like to do at a level I can live happily on.
Okay, I'm tagging @paeonia-horse @theamishpirate and @kajeaynart
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