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

Damien was pretty shocked, he had never expected Ezra to call. He had wanted to hang out but since the man had shown little initiative he always figured Ezra didn't want to do anything. Now he had to let him know that he was still interested. He called Ezra back but found the line going to the answering machine and he stumbled a bit, Hey Ez, it's Damien. I'd love to get together on Friday. That would be perfect. If you want we could go to a bar or something...I have some extra cash saved up for a night out, I bet we could split some drinks or something. If you want. Give me a call back, okay? The next day was the party. The majority of the day was normal, minor surgeries and checking up on patients, at least one he had put in the place. He had been called in somewhat early by those throwing the party, they had a new gimmick. He was met by a rather normal looking man who had a book and held it up, Sis wants this done to the living meat. Get it done before the surgery. They are in the back next to the freezer. They are knocked out now but get to it. Chop chop. The man was an adopted relative of the family, one of those used by the near matron of the house. The surgery to be performed was a splicing of the vocal chords to produce music and brilliant song the more the victims were hurt. Damien gave a low whimper as he walked to the three patients, two girls and one boy around the ages of twenty, and began to work. The people were completely unresponsive as he snipped and chipped at their bodies, leaving the vocal chords mangled into a thing of horrendous beauty. It was a real monument to his skills that he could even do this, especially after just reading about it. Yet Damien was nothing if not a good surgeon, and it only took one hour per person to get the surgery done right. He would be brought his special surgical jacket and be forced to dress in it. This time, for the Valentine's Day Special, he had a bright red and black latex man thong that was visible from an open red and white rubber surgical jacket. His surgical mask was done in the shape of a heart with the arrow that kept it attached to his face. Even his scalpel was in the shape of an arrow to keep in theme with this wicked degradation of Valentine's Day. A new face came in with Ezra and motioned towards them, People will be arriving in a few hours. Get the corpses ready first and then just add a few holes to the live ones. I think the people are going to want to add their own flair to it. Ezra, make sure everything says Valentine's Day, okay? Damien, baby, the Marquis just LOVED the corpse vaginas you crafted on the corpses last time, do that again for him, okay? And make sure the male corpses can hold an erection that won't break under...hmmm...Mr. And Mrs. Adlestein...take the...five hundred and sixty pounds, okay? It would have been somewhat embarrassing last time if they weren't drunk. Okay boys, now get to woooooooooooooooooooork! Damien looked up at Ezra and looked like he was grimacing. He hated these outfits he was made to wear, he hated defiling corpses, and he hated his bosses. He took out the first corpse, a rather beautiful man except for the place where his face was skinless from trailing on the road after his motorcycle accident. Damien looked up at Ezra one time and decided it was better to start now than get penalized, W-what should I do to this one? He looked forward to starting on the live patients with a morbid paradox of great proportions. He disliked that part of the job the most yet it was also when he allowed himself to become emotionally deadened by the zydrate he got special order from Ms. Sweet. They had been something of an item before, though never as much as the tabloids had suggested. She had taken a shine to him because he was the only person she had ever met that didn't have any surgery done to him. The infatuation had lasted almost three days but she liked him enough to send him free zydrate still, plus he offered her a free surgical hand for her addiction. It was a mutual friendship that didn't have that messy necessity of talking to one another except on the rare blemish on their relationship.