goryteller: (Default)
Katurian Katurian ([personal profile] goryteller) wrote in [community profile] capeandcowllogs2010-03-19 08:25 pm

but you're caught in your own glory

WHO: Katurian and You! (Open)
WHERE: Central Park
WHEN: Backdated to March 14th, all day.
WARNING: Likely descriptions of morbid fiction!
SUMMARY: Katurian tells his stories in the park.
FORMAT: Starting as paragraph, but feel free to tag as you'd like!

Today, Katurian wants to make something of himself. He wants to step outside and suck in the fresh air. He wants the breeze in his hair. He wants people to look him in the eye, to smile at him, to remember his name. He wants to tell stories.

You're manic, he tells himself. He doesn't know much about psychology, but he isn't sure what else it could be, given the week he's had. The bruise he received after wiping Margaret Marks out of existence is a healing, but sickly yellow, and the concussion that came with it hangs between his temples as a dull, but ever present headache. His dreams are fragmented. Awful. He looks in the mirror and isn't sure who he sees anymore. He's a mess inside and out, but today, there's a distant tinge to it, a why does it matter? A vague acceptance.

Acceptance? Of inevitable punishment? Of Death's promised protection? Of the man (ghost?) he's becoming?

Or maybe he wants to enjoy what he has while he still has it. Katurian doesn't know much about himself these days, but the one thing that's constant and will always be constant are his stories. With them, he stays afloat.

At eight in the morning, he brings a crate to Central Park, stands on top of it, and starts telling fairy tales. He tells the ones he's already told the Network, and the ones he hasn't. He tells stories from home, too, although there are some he can't tell, some that left a sickening taste in his mouth when he practiced them in front of the mirror beforehand. The Pillowman was one of them, but that isn't surprising. He knows he doesn't want to use that one anyway.

I AM SO SORRY

[identity profile] pullingyourlegs.livejournal.com 2010-03-20 12:45 am (UTC)(link)
There is a small, smiling little girl settled on the outskirts of whatever crowd the man's managed to draw to himself, and for the first time in months the insubstantial shift of a dress she's wearing appears almost plausible for the weather. She is wearing shoes, at this point, although she would rather be barefoot, since the ground is still half-sodden and tracking mud would just be rude of her! If she recognizes the narrator's voice as that of the boy who showed so little respect a month or so ago, when she was barely able to stand on even the firmest surface, she certainly isn't letting it show in her expression; the wide, interested eyes and the upturned corners of her mouth look absolutely genuine.

To be fair, that doesn't rule out any intent of ripping him limb from limb, but let's pretend for a while. Riful stands, one arm crossed over her stomach and the other cupping her chin, and listens to the story.

[identity profile] pullingyourlegs.livejournal.com 2010-03-20 02:22 am (UTC)(link)
Riful's already applauded adequately, at least in her own personal estimation. She claps her hands together once more, claps them, and grins, taking a few steps forward--quickly but not with haste. Her movements are still a little girl's, as opposed to a predator's, but she may be cornering him nonetheless, and after a few more she is standing in front of him.

"Hello," she says, hands still knit together. "That was a very interesting story."

She has to tilt her chin up to speak to him face-to-face (especially given the crate); it would be irritating if the power balanced wasn't set so staggeringly against him. Truth be told, Riful actually has no idea who the man is, but the vague sense of familiarity--and the soft glow of capability that always identifies imPorts--are more than enough to make him worth further observation.

"Did you write it yourself?"

[identity profile] pullingyourlegs.livejournal.com 2010-03-21 11:05 pm (UTC)(link)
She pauses and tilts her head, seemingly pondering something, with a slight smile on her face. There is something familiar about him, but while she was in prison she spent so much time listening to the network that it's only natural she might have heard his voice--if he is actually a hero, of course. He certainly feels like one, but his demeanor leaves a lot to be desired!

"It was a very sad thing that happened to that girl at the end," she adds, not sounding particularly upset (but perhaps less happy than she could be), "but every animal does need to eat."