♔【.x// Your Grey Visage, Prompt Sidestory 】WIP

Prompt:

    Philharmonic (Doctor)

    Pharmacy

    Galactic

    Floodgates

    Showbiz

"HELLO THERE, MUNSTER. VELCOME TO GALACTICA PHARMACEUTICALS. I WILL TOTALLY SERVE YOU," spoke a metal contraption monotonously.

Cain stood in front of the counter with a "not amused" face, his mouth forming a straight line. Not even bothering to ask why there was a robot there in the first place, he sighed as he made his request. "Here's my perscription. I need vicadin."

"PROMISCUOUS ERROR," said the contraption, flailing his arms as his whole body spun, with the exeption of his head.

"Pr-Promicuous?" Cain repeated in bewilderment.

"VICADIN ALL GONE. STOLEN STOLEN. ITEM #232 OUT OF STORKS," mispoke the machine. The man briefly wondered if the reason he had to take these drugs was because of the insanity surrounding him that always led to him getting either physical injuries or a series of migranes. Honestly, it had it be intentional for anyone to program such a ridiculously nonsensical robot.

"Stolen? What? How can--"

"YOUR VIRGINITY WAS STOLEN," the robot proclaimed epically. Several people passing by paused mistep to stare at the humiliated man.

Cain decided that sometime that afternoon he was going to search for a mallet and then rip down some floodgates so he could put the cursed machine in the center of the disaster to convulse up in waves of sparks, explode, and die.

"HAHA. JK, JK, JOHN KENNEDY. ITEM #323 ALL STOLEN BY A SHADY PMSING GUY WITH CANE IN DIAGNOSTICS DEPARMENT."

The investigator glared as his perceptive abilities went in alarm. "You just said it was item #232 just a moment ago. ...Hold on, are you talking about... That guy? You just let him get away with the vicadin?! Oh, COME ON!"

"ERROR. YOU FAIL. I SAID #323. YOU NEED A HEARING AID," the machine recommended. Cain tried to insist he heard otherwise, but the thing cut him off, "IT AMUSED ME TO LET THAT FOOLISH FOOL TAKE THE VICADIN--I ENJOY OBSERVING FOOLISH HUMANS SUFFER IN GRATUITIOUS AMOUNTS OF TROUBLE. AHAHA. HAHA. HA."

Another voice began to laugh along the robotic tone's, one crisper and much more full of life and cheer. "Hey, on the bright side, he probably just made room for three more seasons of that guy's show!"

"NOT HIM. NEGATIVE NEGATIVE. HE SAID HIS NAME WAS DR. PHIL," said the contraption.

The younger man raised an eyebrow. "He deals with relationships. Terribly, might I add. He wouldn't be here, Bawb. So don't lie, or I'll have to wash your insides with Hannah Montana toothpaste, and make you do another Miley Cyrus video the next time I do maintenance on you."

The machine froze up in what seemed to be fear, but then he played a voice clip of a man whose voice was quite seductive in tone--practically in purrs: "[Hello. You can call me Phil. Doctor Phil Harmonic, at your service.]"

"Oh great, just who I needed: another weirdo," Cain sighed at finally stopping in his thoughts to notice his younger cousin.

"Why of course you need me, Cain! Isn't it always after you speak to me that you solve half of your cases?" replied Deo. "Anyway, it seems that you were sexually harassed, Bawb. Makes sense--you used to be in showbiz, right? Ahh, Saturday Night Died was a great show."

Anybody who comes on to a machine can't be in their right mind. Or maybe, the older man wondered, just maybe that Dr. Harmonic guy was desperate? Considering all possible scenarios, Cain's head shot back up as if he had an idea, and a light bulb turned on.

"Was there anyone else working here?"

"JUST A GORGEOUS BLOND CHICK WITH 42D'S, WHO WORKED DIRECTLY BEHIND ME AT THE TIME THAT GUY HIT ON ME."

Well, that explains it. Does this car wreck of a machine have any normal comprehension capabilities at all?

"WELL, THIS PIECE OF WRITING WAS POINTLESS," Bawb stated bluntly.

"Uhm, you just broke fourth wall," Cain narrated.

In response, the robot just played another sound clip: "[ITEM #323 FELL OFF THE STOCK MARKET.] HEAR THAT, FOOL? I SAID #323. FEAR ME."

"You never even said that to me!!" Cain said, exasperated.

---

Afterword from the characters:

Cain: That thing is definitely your creation.

Deo: ... (Well yes, I created it to make you miserable, but you'll never know.)

Cain: Which begs the question--why not become an engineer rather than a mortician?

Deo: No particular reason. Besides, here I get to work with you! (Because I love playing with dead bodies and >spoilerspoilerspoiler<.)

Cain: But you could invent things! And I am in dire need of an all-in-one forensic equiptment!

Deo: I only make things of my interest. So this all in one DNA sampler, finger print analizer, etc, would have to come in the form of magical girl wand. Do you still want it?

Cain: ...(Actually considering it.)

Deo: Just--no. Amusing, but--no.

---

A/N: ...I've created a monster. I got Bawb's name from my friend Evan's screen name. It just always struck me as a name of a robot. But I amused myself as I wrote this because all he can do is spew crap, and say things like, "THAT MERELY HALF COMPUTES" or "BRING ME A WAFFLE IRON, I'M HUNGRY." I have a very... Random, Seth MacFarlane-ish sort of humour. I'd love to do some dark humour aswell, but I haven't a clue on how I should go about that. Ahh, that, and Cain is just so fun to torture.

Munster: Google it. Because even I'm not sure.

>Velcome: A vampire-like "Welcome".

>"Promiscuous" error: I blame pop songs.

>"That guy" is Gregory House, from HOUSE, played by Hugh Laurie, a totally sexy mofo. With an awesome British accent.

>"Saturday Night Died", parody of SNL, a show that should die because rarely is it funny.

♔【.x// Story Beginning Drabbles 】

Beginning a story. 
    i. Generalization. 
    ii. Dialogue.

i.

Somewhere from someone, I've heard before, said to me that "love is like a car crash, you never see it coming."

    Well, I just got out of a car crash and I'm in an impossibly white prison that I'm quickly getting sick of. Prison, in which I mean the god damned hospital. Well, they have a poster on the wall to my left, but it's just one of those uninteresting diagrams of the human body.

    According to that diagram, plus that dull pain I'm feeling, I wouldn't be surprised if I had several of my ribs protruding my intestines.

    Oh, and when I said that I happened to be in a car crash, I meant it metaphorically. My girlfriend--well, former now--literally punched me in the gut and totally shattered my rib cage. Then she ran away crying. It's insane. I really just don't get it.

    So I suppose that that was what those romance novels of hers meant when they said that your heart practically leaps out of your chest when you're in love?

    I'm not too sure about that. I'm pretty sure I was just hyperventilating.

    So as I was doubting that very line I read somewhere, or heard somehow before, another type of car crash struck me as an overly attractive doctor stepped in, and spoke in a gentle and kind voice that just made me melt. Don't even get me started on that soothing smile.

    "Good morning, it's nice to see you're awake, sir."

    Ah, so there I sat, totally gaping at this person.

    Crap, was I drooling?

ii.

    "Royal straight flush!!" proclaimed a young teenager with the most eerie yet serene smile.

    The men across him wailed in agony as they tossed their cards in the air. "NOOOOOO!! You can't do this! You have to be cheating!!" yelled the middle aged men stripped of nearly all their belongings.

    "Ah-ah-ah," the boy cooed, wagging his finger. "Though you keep saying it, you still haven't proved it. Besides, I'm not cheating, see? Nothing in my sleeves!" he beamed.

    The men dropped their jaws, as if saying the words "this can't be" repeatedly in their minds. However, the boy merely sighed happily as if could never get bored with the same reactions from his opponents in poker. He quickly collected his money and other winnings.

    "Oi, cheaterface, we're leaving. Come now or we'll leave you behind," an older man deadpanned.

    "I knew it, you were cheating after all!!" the group leader insisted as he sent his men to attack the boy, who in turn ignored them.

    "And what, Kae? Fail the mission and then walk back home? Go on, wave around your silly rifle and get lectured by Lena. I'll just go home early in my gorgeous. New. Black Ark limo," he said in a provoking manner as he swung his leg into an attacker's stomach, sending him flying into his comrades.

    "And get lost, then end up dead in a forest opposite the way back?" Kae scoffed as he decked a guy attacking him from behind without much effort.

    The boy, Arcas, grounded his teeth in frustration, grumbling as he followed.

    "Fine. I'll just buy some sushi with all that money I just won and totally eat it right in front of you," Arcas said in a cheeky tone. "Mmm. I'm especially craving some tempura soba. Your favourite, right?"

    It was then Kae's turn to grind his teeth as he felt an uprise in his homocidal urges.

    "My, what sharp teeth you have, grandma!" the teenager cooed mockingly, in a falsetto imitation of the Red Riding Hood.

    "Oh, he is dead," Kae thought, fists trembling. Glaring heatedly at his source of irritation, he growled back: "It's so I can rip your head off, you damned bean sprout."

    "Yeah, yeah. I've heard that one too about twenty times. Oh, and my name is Arcas, or are you hard of hearing?" said male replied in light-hearted laughter. "Onwards to the mission, partner."

    "Watch your back," the taller seethed.

    "That's what you're here for, Kae."

A/N: Eraaaaaagghhhh. Sorry it's so damn short. 8  u 8" I'm a reaaaallly slow writer. Truly. Slower than the process of factoring hectopascals. /TWEWY reference. Anyway, it's extremely likely the latter characters will make a reappearance. o uo~<3 I love making up names. But it's likely Arcas will appear as Artemis next time, which is my favourite male name. Kae will be Yue instead. Yue means moon in Chinese. 

♔【.x// This Loveless Game 】

【.x// Prompt: Our separation need not be final.】

- In media res. Prose.

    A violent crash sounded as I struck an uprooted stop sign at where the ravenhead swiftly leapt from.

    "Just... LEAVE!! Leave this city, get out of my sight. I told you to disappear from my life!!" I screamed in rage. To drive out that very person I need out of my life, I chose to end the disaster we shared.

    "You know, our separation need not be final. As long as we both are alive, everything will be fine," you insisted as poetically as you always are.

    So what will happen when one day you go too far again in one of our damned games, and I finally send you to Hell where you belong? What then? You sugar coat your words all the time, but I'm not as blind as the others you toy with--though before I could proclaim any of this, you had already left.

    I've long come to terms with the fact that you'll never be someone who I can be happy with. You're an evil, sadistic little twit who lives for mind games--and simply without boundaries, no set limitations. Rotten to the core, yet irresistibly attractive in every other way; from your elegance to your perfect and pale visage. You're manipulative and sly, while seductively bold. You're unsympathetic and yet strangely you understand everything there is to be understood, with the exception that you still cannot even comprehend true love. Through your expression of affection-filled hate or hateful affection... It's apparent that you have an extremely twisted definition of love, if you can even call it that.

    So I lied. I'm not afraid of hurting you, not at all in any aspect. From your actions and mine, it's pretty easy to discern that you saw through that obvious lie. Months ago I had dislocated your arm with the full intention of breaking it. I disabled your right hand, but as I was basking in that brief sense of glory, you then proved yourself ambidextrous and then laughed harshly as you struck back at my collarbone with twice the force as usual with your switchblade, as if to say "bring it on".

    It's not that I'm afraid of killing you, either. You're practically impossible to take down. Despite the lack of limitations on my body that can lift even a bus or even a settled trailer, you'd still lift yourself from any blood-soaked ground.

    The unsaid truth is that I'm afraid of falling for you. You may think it's impossible, but it isn't. You're enticing--mind consuming, breathtaking--like the darker path filled with danger and excitement one can't resist.

    I had wanted to live out the rest of my shortened life in peace, since--according to that fool of a doctor we both keep acquainted--my body will start decaying by the time I reach my mid thirties. I laugh because I remember your reaction from back then: your eyes briefly widened in a mix of anger and denial, which I hadn't expected from you at all.

    Then of course, you had to speak further with these nonsensical and twisted words: "Well, that's too bad. Ne, actually, that's quite alright. Beauty has always been fleeting. So should you die early, at least my memory of you shall remain timeless."

    Any normal person would have grimaced in disgust. I chuckled bitterly at that time, not so much in distaste of your lack of compassion, but instead I was annoyed yet amused that you had called it extreme romanticism on your part.

    I didn't believe you until the following week when I found a pistol in your drawer with two bullets left inside. It was locked, but I easily ripped it open, of course. Did you really intend to hide it from me? Even now, I'm not entirely sure what it meant that you intended to die with me.

    After that, you started to hide something from me, while at the same time you subtly increased the time we spent together. You wanted to move in, but I'm pretty sure half of the city would be in ruins if that were to happen.

    So I confronted you about it, threatening to tell both sides of an on-going gang war that you were selling information to them both, for your own amusement. It wasn't as if I'd be lying. Instead, it was probably through a web of gang wars that you sold the truths to, rather than only between two.

    You had finally revealed yourself to be looking even further in your long search for immortality. I didn't take you seriously, but you didn't expect me to. I let the matter go.

    I did want to spend the rest of my life in peace and quiet, I really did, until recently. Because in that ideal I had for myself, once I lived it, I didn't feel alive at all. I couldn't help yearning for the addictive thrill rides that is of every minute I've spent with you.

    If I where to fall for you completely... I can imagine what you would do. It was the unspoken condition between us that neither of us would cross that line. Without a doubt in my mind, if that day were ever to come, you would leave me forever. So in preemptive retaliation, I forced you away. I didn't want to lose, especially not to you.

    It's destroying me--the lack of you in my presence, your presence alone, this loneliness only you can drive away, and the loneliness of being with you. Sighing, I realized one day, whether you're here or not, that you'll drive me mad.

    Just what the hell should I do?

    "NGRAAAAHHH!!" I yelled in frustration as my fist flew to hit a cement wall. My knuckles bled as drops of blood fell down, interlaced with crumbled stone. I stomped heavily away as half the wall fell in pieces.

    Abruptly, I froze in my tracks.

    Ah. It's simple. Well, it's not really simple, but why didn't I think of it before?

    Grinning, I decided on a plan. It wasn't flawless, nor was it very feasible, but I was definitely willing to try.

    I'll make you fall as closely as possible in love with me.

    So, watch.

    Watch as I win this unspoken game between us.

    And finally, when I do, I'll never let you out of my grasp again.

A/N: ...So. How was it? Not too bad, I hope. Gah, that took way too long to finish. This obviously wasn't done in one go. I wrote it on my Nintendo DS, so I could edit it easily. I tried to write it as far from cliche as I could, since I wouldn't be surprised if a lot of the ideas for this prompt was something related to relationships. So I wanted to write about something like this, that isn't exactly love. Not at all, even. (Need and want, definitely, but... "Don't be sad, 'cause two out of three ain't bad." HA~ /Shot for the reference.)

FFFFF. Sorry, the title sounds so emo. = u=" It's all I could come up with at the moment.

None of the pictures are mine. o uo Found them via Google or Photobucket, and etc.

♔【.x// Your Grey Visage Pt. I 】

【.x// Your Grey Visage ; First Chase 】

    "So where is this victim?" asked a man half-heartedly. Though it wouldn't be quite accurate to say that he had grown sick of the sight of mutilated dead bodies, it was moreso that he had just grown tired of his job. He had wanted more exitement in his life as an investigator, but lately his cases had been far too predictable.

    "Ah, I happen to be sitting on him," his companion said casually as he popped in his mouth another piece of generic pink bubble-gum that he ruffled out of his easily recognizable 7-Eleven shopping bag. Strangely, he had put the individually wrapped pieces of gum in a latex glove he carried as part of a spare pair. The childish-looking man claimed that he hadn't been able to find the bin of mini plastic bags and thus didn't want to bother looking.

    The former man choked slightly on his coffee, which amused the cheerful person who sat across him in his usual carefree manner, chuckling at his cliche reaction. The man sighed, exasperated at his younger cousin for being so... Illogical? Nonsensical? Or perhaps it was just a matter of being inconsiderate. The whole point of them waiting at the airport was to wait for the victim's supposed family to identify him and confirm to themselves of his death. Yet, here was his weird cousin, sitting on the casket of said body while eating candy. And the man was stuck with him, waiting as the time passed slower than minus five per hour.

    "Deo, honestly, have you mentally matured at all the past four years? You certainly don't look any older," he teased the younger man without malice. "Even in your taste in clothes: There's a cutesy purple whale with an overly swollen belly on your shirt. You wear it to work with your uniform though you're a mortician. I don't even know what to say."

    "Hey, it's cute. Helps brighten up the mood at work, and at least I hid the derrogatorive speech bubble," Deo insisted as he chewed rhythmically on his gum, popping it occasionally. "Oh, by the way, it says 'STROKE & B-'"

    "Definitely doesn't suit you, and I really don't want to know--I'd rather swallow (???) peroxide*... Or something," his older cousin interrupted in a blatant statement. Deo only laughed lightly in response.

    "I just wanted to see more of that 'disturbed face' of yours. But ow, that was quite harsh of you, Cain. Calling me not cute," the light brunette said, feigning hurt.

    "Officially disturbed," Cain said at the thought of his cousin being cute rather than bizarre and creepy. "Plus, you should probably get off the poor guy now. It'd be quite insulting to his family when they walk in to see you using him as seating equiptment."

    "Ahh, true, true! If he had a wife she'd probably wrinkle her face in a lovely scowl... Or she could even cry," the young man muttered almost dreamily. If Cain had found it strange, he'd have likely dismissed it as something the mortician would usually say. Deo stood off the case, exchanging his gum for more candy. Cain assumed it was because of the nasty air of being around dead bodies that made his cousin crave sweets.

    "Well, if she existed she'd probably cry anyway just at the body's stitched up body from the numerous slashes. So as usual, just be quiet and I'll do the speaking, since you always say... Overly unneccessary things," the older male commanded. He examined the papers of his suitcase with an uninterested face, then shifting to his gathered material evidence, including the broken tip of a knife.

    "It amuses me to see people's reactions to things. I don't just do it for no reason, you know. Well, the guy happens to be rich. His family could be in genuine despair, but these days, it's more likely they'll be secretly happy instead," Deo rambled.

    Cain paused in thought while recalling the photos of the corpse, ignoring Deo's creepy and depressing comments. "He didn't seem to be. Did he have fancy jewelry or something?"

    "Something like that," Deo replied as he grinned a smile that didn't even come close to reaching his eyes.

    A knock sounded at the door, and Cain had let a woman in along with her son.

    "Oi, Cain. I have to run, but you'll definitely catch up, right?" the young man asked cheerfully.

    An eyebrow was raised in confusion at the strangely phrased question, but their owner replied nonchalantly nontheless, "Yeah, whatever."

    Needless drama ensued as he could tell the tears of the victim's wife were fake. Cain was at least relieved that there wasn't any real need to hold back during his questioning. However, a switchblade with a broken tip had been found in the woman's purse, yet she insisted she had known nothing about it.

    Yet, Cain felt a strange sense of déja vü that made him weary. All the evidence had pointed to the wife in such an obvious way, including the mother and child's missing plane tickets including their records, and then the child had insisted that they never even left the city and made their way from home, the site of the murder. The woman was in hysterics, which confused the investigator even further.

    Cain groaned drearily, massaging his neck through his copper-brown hair, "It's going to be a long day." He threw back the remainder of his coffee, but found that it was cold. The man swore under his breath.

    A long day indeed.