1.
a stage in a sequence of events at which the trend of all future events, esp. for better or for worse, is determined; turning point.
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{{ Continued from: August Court }}

We can only delude ouselves for so long before something unravels the carefully constructed fantasies we have created to sheild ourselves from the cold, hard, spear of truth ceaselessly pointed at our hearts. That something can take many forms, but they all lead to the same end: The longest moments in our lives, the ones which seem to drag on into eternity, the ones we must endure to know, not think, but know we were right all along and yet ardently, vehemently, prayed we were wrong.

In the face of such self-inflicted adversity, such masochistic travesty, there is only one thing to do. Something really, really, stupid.

Hyde wanders in to the Red-Eye Theatre on auto-pilot, scarcely aware of the world around him. He needs answers, he needs the truth. It is doubtful that he will find either here, but at least he will be able to console himself later with the knowledge that he tried. He tried so hard to make it work. Gave everything that he had and more only to be spurned, lied to, stolen from, cheated on, and lied to some more. Finding his way back to the best seat in the house, he sits and removes his hat as he had done thirty days before, and he waits.  

--Last edited by Mister Hyde on 2008-11-08 11:43:37 --

 It is but minutes before a shuffling can be heard from the rear of the theatre and an emaciated latino man wearing an old tuxedo and top hat appears walking toward the hulking man sitting in the dilapidated playhouse.

"Back again are we," in a hollow and disjointed voice," I have heard that someone has been busy. Yes... a busy bee indeed," as he stares at you with blood shot eyes.

"You are certainly no different, none are, she uses everyone at her whim and tosses them aside just as easily. You appear to be a man of some character, it must be hard for you, knowing you are underneath such a whore," with a mocking laugh that sounds taunting.  

His hat topples to the floor when Hyde nearly leaps to his feet, violence written all over his face as the Puppeteer's words boil his blood. As quickly as the rage had overtaken him, the grotesque mockery of a man stops and looks down at the cane in his hands, which he is still gripping as though it were a baseball bat, and wonders for a moment why these words angered him so. Was it because he was being mocked, or because what the bastard said was true?

His shoulders slump visibly as he releases his grip on the walking stick and finally sets it down. Taking a few steps to the foot of the stage, he lifts his gaze to look into those blood-shot eyes.

"What could you possibly know of it? You have no idea how difficult it is. Unless you mean to tell me that she made the same promises to you as she did me." He trails off, casting his eyes downward in thought a moment before continuing, as if to himself. "Whispers in the dark should never be trusted."

As a junkie seeking sobriety, however briefly, Hyde's voice grows strong once more, in what would seem to be a moment of clarity. Locking eyes once more with this man who now wears a different face, yet could not possibly be mistaken for anyone else.

"I know of your relationship with her. I watched you, both of you for many weeks. I read her diaries, found your letters. I know that you were comparatively oblivious to my existence in those days, though I would not say entirely so. Still, I do not seek to lay blame at your feet, however much that would fortify the lies I have longed to believe for all these years."

"It would be so much easier to hate you, to obsess over your destruction until such time as I were able to bring it about, but it would also be childish. To say nothing of the fact that it would ensure that I continued to refrain from blaming her. No, I have walked that path too many times before, it leads to nowhere of any beneficence."

"But I am not here to ramble. I am here to break the cycle. I am here for your side of the story. The real one, not this drivel you peddle to your congregation, perhaps even yourself. I ask for very little, when all things are considered. I ask only for the truth. What do you really have to lose?"

 "The truth? What is the truth? Nothing I can ever give anyone," with a madness to his eyes. "I am, good sir, a creature of will forged in the fires of her apathy and left to grow on her hate and shame. What I remember are but fragments, you never die, but are still alive. I am what I remember and even I twist and turn those over time. Imagined feints and overheard lies, are these the truths you seek? I am certain they are not. You want justification for the lack of conviction of your own thoughts. I shall give you nothing more, you know my tale and it is how I have seen it. Should you want more ask the rotted corpses that knew me or the spot on the street where she left me torn asunder. There you might gain your glorious insight and calm that tender heart of yours that needs answers. I have no heart, I am but a fragment of what I once was, I am her creation and I hate her. That is what I am and that is the only truth I need."

You can see his body start to tremble with spasms, whether it is rage or emotion you do not know. The man that stands before you looks to be barely clinging to life by a thread, he will certainly not survive the week. Already his ribs and bones are visible on his frail form and one of his arms looks shattered, but he does not even notice seemingly unaffected.

His powerful fingers bite deep into the waist-high stage before him, splintering the wooden planks as he listens to the ghost's monologue. Hyde came here expecting either unbridled truth, or vengeful falsehood, in either case expecting justification of misdeeds, excuses for wickedness, whether for his own defense or for hers mattered not, as either would signify guilt. Instead the shade's effrontery is like a slap in the face.

Perhaps it is because it implies that this shadow of a man is exactly what he says; a toy that she played with only so long as it amused her, to be tossed to the side and forgotten when she grew bored or found a new one. A filthy, broken, neglected puppet, just like Hyde. More likely it is the echo of his own tenacious denial which now stings his already bruised ego.

After a long moment of silence, Hyde's head is thrown back in uproarious, demented laughter as he realizes the absurdity of it all. The gut-wrenching clamor continues for what seems like several minutes, forcing tears of blood to stream down his contorted face. Amplified by the acoustics of the stage, the noise almost seems to shake the building. When it finally stops, Hyde will straighten himself, calmly turn to collect his hat and cane, and turn once more to face the spectral showman as he returns his hat to his head.

"I ain't exactly sure why I came 'ere, chum. I s'pose I had some vague notion of exactin' some sort'a vengance on ya. Makin' ya pay fer my sufferin'. But what could I possibly do ta ya that'cha ain't already done ta yerself?"

He seems to reflect on this for a moment, a smile spreading across his face as he lifts the but of his cane to point it at the thespian.

"You, me ol' chum, are damned. Maybe even more than me." Turning back towards the door, Hyde begins to lumber away, pausing in the threshold for one last look at the wretched mannequin. "I s'pose I should be thankin' you. You have given me exactly what I need."

 "No thanks are needed, ol' chum. I can only show you yourself, we are but shades of the same twisted in our current shapes to her whims," with a flourish and a ghastly applause. Obviously the performance tonight was something the crowd had not expected, nor foreseen.

As you walk toward the door the otherworldly audience stands in respect at their playhouse affecting that which they long were deprived.

Though, his stony exterior fractured with visible sentiment only briefly, the emotional leeches surrounding him have surely grown fat on Hyde's torrential outpouring of Pathos in these last few moments.

"That may well be, but there is always a choice, no matter how seemingly narrow, even if it is only a choice between two evils. It is simply a matter of knowing what one can and cannot abide, and I have been far too tolerant for far too long already."

Tipping his hat in response to the bow and flourish, he adds "You don't have to stay anywhere forever. Not even Hell."

2008-11-08 09:16:50 Hyde rolls 8 dice to Mask (Diff 7) 2,2,6,9,1, 4,8,9 (2 successes)

Turning to leave, he shifts the appearance of his hulking frame slightly on his way toward the exit before calling back over his shoulder "See you around chum."

{{ Continued in: Slings and Arrows to Fell a Giant }}  

--Last edited by Mister Hyde on 2008-11-08 11:45:05 --