Post by Deleted on Jun 18, 2021 19:43:11 GMT -8
There was a funny thing about how perception worked. It was something that was exploited every night on the evening news, across the pages of gossip magazines, displayed amongst youtube thumbnails, click bait articles from here or there. It was so simple, so effective, and got results. It didn’t matter the validity of the consent, be it the truest truth, the most despicable lie, or any mix in between. The results were the same.
Just say it loudly.
That first bite of the apple had damned humanity. The first perception will always bear weight. Even if debunked, disproven, dismissed it will remain on the consciousness of the collective masses and there will always be at least a few who will take it as it was presented no matter what it was for or against. Once it was out there, it wasn’t going anywhere. So what exactly did that mean? It meant that Beltane, in the end, was exactly what it was. Roaring flames taking sacrifices to keep faeries happy. Someone, someone’s, anyone had decided that Archie Hartman was the sacrifice and that this would be enough to appease the faeries going forward. And thus a goliath amongst their kind, a fire themselves, had done the duty.
Slaver
In retrospect, wasn’t it a brilliant move? The Chatelaine had never stood a chance as was. Knuckles caving in his face, the taste of iron filling his mouth, barely able to hold a grip on reality. Still something said spit something with vitriol. Rage never bred compassion, that really fed into the battle cry didn’t it? The title that was tossed, who it was tossed by, it all made an impression. It had to be true. No matter of explanation, of gray, of intent would matter because the whole story had already been told. Loudly. With one word. Followed by violence. The fire consumed its sacrifice.
Attempts to try and figure out what happened weren’t positive optics. What else could be done? In the moment the scramble to know. The desire to know the world wasn’t closing in around you, that you weren’t drowning in invisible walls was impossible to ignore. It didn’t help but it was the only thing that felt right. Nothing was found. Nothing was gained. It was just the actions of a Slaver. Thus there was a simple reality that had to be accepted. This was never going to change. One could never figure out how many people would harbor this as their new reality. There were those that no matter what was presented in contra would believe otherwise. Again, a goliath had stated it as truth, and took action. Just like the blow that leveled him, the accusation had hit - just in a way that did incalculable damage.
At some point Archie Hartman made a point to escape the watchful eyes of his Motley. Riley and Linden. They stuck by him. They tried to defend him. It hurt to watch. Archie knew what was happening but couldn’t do anything about it. His choices, actions, and perceptions were weaponized and now his stink had hurt them. He loved them, and simply by association he had now hurt them. It wasn’t fair to them. They were too good for him. Once he had slipped away he found his way to the gotti mess he had kept as a keepsake. It was a need, a compulsion. Tickets, pamphlets, articles, letters, photos. Through the night it was box after box. Maybe a dozen. A record of his achievements, He threw them all into the dumpster. Their existence was now a dagger in his heart. Everything ever done tainted, because his legacy was now tied to one single word. Slaver. They were inseparable.
The purpose of Beltane, was to sacrifice something to the bonfire to appease the faeries.
At Beltane someone had spoken loudly.
And now, everything that was, vanished. And while he walked there would be no legacy which could be left that wouldn’t include this. The person who had existed up until that night burned as a sacrifice in that fire. As a Slaver.
At Beltane Archie Hartman died, as crowds cheered.
The Chatelaine didn’t know who he was anymore.
Just say it loudly.
That first bite of the apple had damned humanity. The first perception will always bear weight. Even if debunked, disproven, dismissed it will remain on the consciousness of the collective masses and there will always be at least a few who will take it as it was presented no matter what it was for or against. Once it was out there, it wasn’t going anywhere. So what exactly did that mean? It meant that Beltane, in the end, was exactly what it was. Roaring flames taking sacrifices to keep faeries happy. Someone, someone’s, anyone had decided that Archie Hartman was the sacrifice and that this would be enough to appease the faeries going forward. And thus a goliath amongst their kind, a fire themselves, had done the duty.
Slaver
In retrospect, wasn’t it a brilliant move? The Chatelaine had never stood a chance as was. Knuckles caving in his face, the taste of iron filling his mouth, barely able to hold a grip on reality. Still something said spit something with vitriol. Rage never bred compassion, that really fed into the battle cry didn’t it? The title that was tossed, who it was tossed by, it all made an impression. It had to be true. No matter of explanation, of gray, of intent would matter because the whole story had already been told. Loudly. With one word. Followed by violence. The fire consumed its sacrifice.
Attempts to try and figure out what happened weren’t positive optics. What else could be done? In the moment the scramble to know. The desire to know the world wasn’t closing in around you, that you weren’t drowning in invisible walls was impossible to ignore. It didn’t help but it was the only thing that felt right. Nothing was found. Nothing was gained. It was just the actions of a Slaver. Thus there was a simple reality that had to be accepted. This was never going to change. One could never figure out how many people would harbor this as their new reality. There were those that no matter what was presented in contra would believe otherwise. Again, a goliath had stated it as truth, and took action. Just like the blow that leveled him, the accusation had hit - just in a way that did incalculable damage.
At some point Archie Hartman made a point to escape the watchful eyes of his Motley. Riley and Linden. They stuck by him. They tried to defend him. It hurt to watch. Archie knew what was happening but couldn’t do anything about it. His choices, actions, and perceptions were weaponized and now his stink had hurt them. He loved them, and simply by association he had now hurt them. It wasn’t fair to them. They were too good for him. Once he had slipped away he found his way to the gotti mess he had kept as a keepsake. It was a need, a compulsion. Tickets, pamphlets, articles, letters, photos. Through the night it was box after box. Maybe a dozen. A record of his achievements, He threw them all into the dumpster. Their existence was now a dagger in his heart. Everything ever done tainted, because his legacy was now tied to one single word. Slaver. They were inseparable.
The purpose of Beltane, was to sacrifice something to the bonfire to appease the faeries.
At Beltane someone had spoken loudly.
And now, everything that was, vanished. And while he walked there would be no legacy which could be left that wouldn’t include this. The person who had existed up until that night burned as a sacrifice in that fire. As a Slaver.
At Beltane Archie Hartman died, as crowds cheered.
The Chatelaine didn’t know who he was anymore.