Ain't Never Done Believed In Ghosts
Jul 6, 2008 19:05:00 GMT -5
Post by Bryan Fury on Jul 6, 2008 19:05:00 GMT -5
It was just a job. Nothing more. He was a fireman in the Opera House; his job was not just dousing fires, but starting them. He needed to shovel the coal to keep the house warm, and assist in lighting every flickering candle and oil lamp that kept the place bright and shining while the performances were running.
And where he was, down there underneath the stage, the orchestra pit, away from patrons, performers and even other firemen, he was out of sight.
Out of sight because he was "hideous." His skin was a deathly pale color, robbed of a healthy look because of something.... that avoided his recollection. Whatever had happened, it turned him into a monster.
A long time ago, he had become riddled with scars. On one side of his face, a large scar ran down his cheek, over his eye. More smaller ones had been cut into the flesh around his face, particularly the left side, which was reconstructed with brass plating. And that was only what people could see. The rest of his form was just as bad, if not worse, particularly in his chest, where it seemed his heart had been removed and replaced with mechanize.
Of course, Bryan told no one of the machinery inside him - the fake joints and glass tubes filled with a crude chemical composition that kept him alive. It was all a secret that he had only allowed one person to really discover - Yoshimitsu Jirahasuke, a young man from Nippon who had pulled him off the streets and given him his job.
"Jira..." The man breathed the word out softly, feeling the way it affected him... He stopped to wipe the sweat from his brow, completely filthy with soot and dirt, only to hear:
"L'REVENANT! BOUGER VOTRE DERRIER*!" from his foreman for taking a moment's rest.
And so, he kept shoveling, working up a terrible sweat, keeping one thing in mind: The young man who he would be returning to at the end of the week. Jirahasuke was all he had now. He remembered someone from long ago, but now they had to be gone, else he would not be lost and alone in Paris, relying on a young man's charity.
The worst part of it all had to be the nickname he had been given. No one really called him by his name, but 'l'Revenant,' - The ghost that haunted the opera house. He had no idea what made him earn that name. There was some talk around (that he understood) about a "Ghost" living in the Opera House, who preyed upon unsuspecting workmen (and some of the opera singers). Bryan thought it all was just an excuse for people being killed or going missing.
"Don't... believe... in ghosts..." muttered Bryan as he slammed the gate shut on the furnace. Ghosts were not real. Being named after one was a piss-poor joke in the American's eyes.
* (("L'REVENANT! BOUGER VOTRE DERRIER" is a rough translation of "Ghost! Move your ass!" People call Bryan 'the ghost' because of his mild resemblance to the Phantom of the Opera, but he is, in no way, an imitation of such. He's ugly, and covers it with a mask, so his employers are mean to him about it. YAY ANGST!))
And where he was, down there underneath the stage, the orchestra pit, away from patrons, performers and even other firemen, he was out of sight.
Out of sight because he was "hideous." His skin was a deathly pale color, robbed of a healthy look because of something.... that avoided his recollection. Whatever had happened, it turned him into a monster.
A long time ago, he had become riddled with scars. On one side of his face, a large scar ran down his cheek, over his eye. More smaller ones had been cut into the flesh around his face, particularly the left side, which was reconstructed with brass plating. And that was only what people could see. The rest of his form was just as bad, if not worse, particularly in his chest, where it seemed his heart had been removed and replaced with mechanize.
Of course, Bryan told no one of the machinery inside him - the fake joints and glass tubes filled with a crude chemical composition that kept him alive. It was all a secret that he had only allowed one person to really discover - Yoshimitsu Jirahasuke, a young man from Nippon who had pulled him off the streets and given him his job.
"Jira..." The man breathed the word out softly, feeling the way it affected him... He stopped to wipe the sweat from his brow, completely filthy with soot and dirt, only to hear:
"L'REVENANT! BOUGER VOTRE DERRIER*!" from his foreman for taking a moment's rest.
And so, he kept shoveling, working up a terrible sweat, keeping one thing in mind: The young man who he would be returning to at the end of the week. Jirahasuke was all he had now. He remembered someone from long ago, but now they had to be gone, else he would not be lost and alone in Paris, relying on a young man's charity.
The worst part of it all had to be the nickname he had been given. No one really called him by his name, but 'l'Revenant,' - The ghost that haunted the opera house. He had no idea what made him earn that name. There was some talk around (that he understood) about a "Ghost" living in the Opera House, who preyed upon unsuspecting workmen (and some of the opera singers). Bryan thought it all was just an excuse for people being killed or going missing.
"Don't... believe... in ghosts..." muttered Bryan as he slammed the gate shut on the furnace. Ghosts were not real. Being named after one was a piss-poor joke in the American's eyes.
* (("L'REVENANT! BOUGER VOTRE DERRIER" is a rough translation of "Ghost! Move your ass!" People call Bryan 'the ghost' because of his mild resemblance to the Phantom of the Opera, but he is, in no way, an imitation of such. He's ugly, and covers it with a mask, so his employers are mean to him about it. YAY ANGST!))