Post by Kyle on Nov 13, 2017 22:22:57 GMT -6
A hand hovers over a piano. Pale skin marred with white scars poised over pearlescent keys. Waiting, frozen, until time is allowed to resume, subject to the will of divinity. A single note is struck, the sound a hook in the air reeling focus into itself, and then music is brought into being. And it was good.
[STATIC]
A slam of the car door breaks the tune for but a moment before it resumes, the scene having changed. A new hand fills the screen, knuckles white from gripping the car door. Finally it releases and begins to move away from the car towards a new destination. The camera pans up the hand, past the arm and shoulder, until the head was reached. All the while, this fragmented man moved onward. The camera zooms out, giving the crowd a glimpse of an ear, than a cheek, than a jawline, until finally a familiar face to some greets the screen. His eyes were hard.
Sebastian Knight.
The man approached a nondescript, gray building, arms pressed against his body to ward off the crisp Virginia autumn. A breeze brought a cloud of orange leaves dancing around his ankles, before they were carried through the shattered remains of the front entrance way of the building. Like a faithful follower, Sebastian did the same.
[STATIC]
Sebastian Knight stared, hesitant, at the number hanging on the wall on the door in front of him. Six. Echoes of memories danced behind those unblinking eyes. And behind the door, behind the number, the piano was ever playing. With a deep breath, Knight stepped into his past. The door swung shut behind him.
He wasn’t the only man in the hallway. Looming directly on Knight’s left was a hulking shadow, faced enshrouded in a thick brown beard and the hood of his black jacket pulled up over his head. His hands were wrapped around the straps of his overalls like they were prison bars. In a way, the man himself was a prison. One man, and also many. Legion.
The second man Sebastian met down his walk down the crowded hallway was less foreboding. His blond bowl-cut was disheveled and his rim glasses were fogging up from his breath. He was staring into one of the rooms that was off of the hallway. The camera caught but a glimpse of the room as Sebastian moved past the man. A thousand thousand numbers had been scratched into the wall. The smile on the blond man’s face looked pained, as if those scratch marks were also scars to him. Bernie McCalister.
The final man knelt before the final door directly opposite the entrance to the hallway. His shorned head was bare to the elements, and he wore nothing but a sackcloth robe that had been dyed black, but he did not appear affected by the chill hanging in the air. He didn’t even acknowledge Knight as he drew up beside him. He had eyes only for the door and for the music emanating from it. Atticus Sinclair.
Sebastian exhaled. Perhaps it was the same breath he had taken on the other side. A single life’s moment locked in anticipation. He lifts his hand towards the door.
[STATIC]
Knock. Knock. Knock.
The hand pauses and the music, after a moment, stills. The door can be heard off-screen opening with the slightest of creaks.
“It’s time,” the voice from the doorway said, loud in this newfound silence.
Silence. And then, a low, knowing chuckle.
“Indeed, it is.”
A second hand appears on the screen to close the piano. One white and the other red.
The scene fades
[STATIC]
A slam of the car door breaks the tune for but a moment before it resumes, the scene having changed. A new hand fills the screen, knuckles white from gripping the car door. Finally it releases and begins to move away from the car towards a new destination. The camera pans up the hand, past the arm and shoulder, until the head was reached. All the while, this fragmented man moved onward. The camera zooms out, giving the crowd a glimpse of an ear, than a cheek, than a jawline, until finally a familiar face to some greets the screen. His eyes were hard.
Sebastian Knight.
The man approached a nondescript, gray building, arms pressed against his body to ward off the crisp Virginia autumn. A breeze brought a cloud of orange leaves dancing around his ankles, before they were carried through the shattered remains of the front entrance way of the building. Like a faithful follower, Sebastian did the same.
[STATIC]
Sebastian Knight stared, hesitant, at the number hanging on the wall on the door in front of him. Six. Echoes of memories danced behind those unblinking eyes. And behind the door, behind the number, the piano was ever playing. With a deep breath, Knight stepped into his past. The door swung shut behind him.
He wasn’t the only man in the hallway. Looming directly on Knight’s left was a hulking shadow, faced enshrouded in a thick brown beard and the hood of his black jacket pulled up over his head. His hands were wrapped around the straps of his overalls like they were prison bars. In a way, the man himself was a prison. One man, and also many. Legion.
The second man Sebastian met down his walk down the crowded hallway was less foreboding. His blond bowl-cut was disheveled and his rim glasses were fogging up from his breath. He was staring into one of the rooms that was off of the hallway. The camera caught but a glimpse of the room as Sebastian moved past the man. A thousand thousand numbers had been scratched into the wall. The smile on the blond man’s face looked pained, as if those scratch marks were also scars to him. Bernie McCalister.
The final man knelt before the final door directly opposite the entrance to the hallway. His shorned head was bare to the elements, and he wore nothing but a sackcloth robe that had been dyed black, but he did not appear affected by the chill hanging in the air. He didn’t even acknowledge Knight as he drew up beside him. He had eyes only for the door and for the music emanating from it. Atticus Sinclair.
Sebastian exhaled. Perhaps it was the same breath he had taken on the other side. A single life’s moment locked in anticipation. He lifts his hand towards the door.
[STATIC]
Knock. Knock. Knock.
The hand pauses and the music, after a moment, stills. The door can be heard off-screen opening with the slightest of creaks.
“It’s time,” the voice from the doorway said, loud in this newfound silence.
Silence. And then, a low, knowing chuckle.
“Indeed, it is.”
A second hand appears on the screen to close the piano. One white and the other red.
The scene fades
Ward 6
They Arrive
They Arrive
