Thread: The Songs Are No More (Chantho/Misanthropic)

Ezra hung back from the crowd, watching with apathetic disapproval. It was this that he hated above all. These people were the monsters. Their appetites for the depraved and dissolute were insatiable. And society accepted them without question. It disgusted him to the very core of his being, because he knew these people saw nothing wrong with what they were doing. When the victims screams for mercy turned to song, they laughed in delight at the craftsmanship. No mercy, no hesitation. Keeping to his darkened corner so as to avoid the festivities, the man hoped that perhaps tonight no one would bother him. The holidays always brought out the worst in the guests. More than once someone had tried to purchase him, or mistaken him for a live toy. He wasted no time in setting them straight, but having to do so was an annoyance. So he did his best to stay out of the way and wait until the night was over. Did Damien ever have to deal with this? Hed have to ask him. It wasnt long after Gigaslut6niner arrived that The Largo brothers followed. Amber was no doubt too busy getting her zydrate fix or some new surgery to show up. Even if it wasnt for the right reasons, Ezra appreciated her for that. Pavi skipped off to investigate a neglected woman whose skin had been peeled back to reveal her ribcage and beneath that, a still beating heart. Meanwhile Luigi made his way to stand beside Gigaslut and pull her into a violent embrace. The pair of them were known to often take part in relations privately and publicly that most involved with Luigi Largo could not survive. They tolerated one another to an almost alarming point. More than tolerated. And somehow, neither of them was dead. His lip curled in revulsion and he dropped his gaze to the floor, but only for a short time. Hed learned from many times attending these parties that to keep ones eyes lowered indicated a sort of submission and would give the wrong impression. The last thing Ezra needed was some forty something soccer mom with a dom complex asking if he was available. Deceptively beautiful music swirled around the room, filling the air with the dying cries of those still living. They faded only to be replaced by new voices that begged for mercy and received none. One day he'd burn this place to the ground along with everyone in it. When he could afford to live on his own time, paint what the wanted to paint, be content that he wasn't going to return home each night with blood on his hands. Ezra allowed himself a small smile at the fantasy. How beautiful it would be to see these people suffer, to hear their agonized screams for help as the flesh melted away. All their painstaking effort in maintaining a perfect appearance for nothing. Because what good were all their expensive surgeries when they were dying? He folded his arms across his chest and scanned the crowd for the one person he had any interest in looking at. It was unhealthy to dwell on such ideas anyway. If he continued to harbor that kind of violent resentment he'd be no better than the people who employed him. Ezra's gaze finally found Damien amidst the crowd and he relaxed a little. His friend always did manage to have that calming effect on him even when they weren't speaking. Awkwardly the artist tried to adjust the uncomfortable codpiece he's been suckered into wearing. Overall the entire get-up was very uncomfortable not to mention revealing. There wasn't much to be ashamed of considering the state of dress some of the guests arrived in, but he felt nervous all the same. Why did he even need to be hear for this? His part was done.