but you're caught in your own glory

[goryteller]

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.

Comments

durr edits

[goryteller]

"I haven't met many wolves," he admits, his stance faltering somewhat. He shifts his weight. "There's more punch, though, in that he asked first, don't you think? He was going to give her a choice, but he didn't. In the end."

It has always appealed to him, this hope-but-not-hope, the shifting of terms, the happy endings that hang in sight and then dissipate into thin air. Twists. It's a common theme in his stories (he doesn't have themes, he'd say), but he never questions it. It's just an irony he enjoys weaving. There's nothing more fun than playing the cruel, spiteful god.

[simplyteasing.livejournal.com]

Now that was a lie if he ever saw one. Tyki placed a hand into one of his pockets, half-jutting his hip out to match Katurian's body rather open language. "It's less a punch when you know the story is going to have a twist in it, as they usually do. The wolf -- if he were a real wolf -- would have simply eaten the girl at the beginning, if he were so hungry."

[goryteller]

Katurian could argue with him about the wolf - he could talk about how wolves don't attack people, not really, and that it's important to see the wolf as just as much of a victim as everyone else, but the first thing Tyki says sticks with him.

"What?" he asks. He fidgets, running a hand up through his bangs. "A story can have a twist, but you don't know there's going to be a twist. Do you? I mean, even if you did, it shouldn't give away anything. I hope it doesn't give away anything."

[simplyteasing.livejournal.com]

He lets out a small chuckle, gesturing airily with his other hand as he explains. "Once you've heard one story, you've heard most of them." he shrugs, obviously unimpressed. "You can change the telling or the tone, but to expect anything to break free of the framework that makes it is rather...Ludicrous."

His own situation notwithstanding, of course. There was no such thing as Theory of Noah.