R U S T E D.patience Jan 7, 2010 15:11:10 GMT -6
Post by MORPHINE BROOKS on Jan 7, 2010 15:11:10 GMT -6
you can't see what D W E L L S
within these L I E S
And so, time passed with it's merciless boring ticks, the clock counting down like a timebomb for his sanity. Working wasn't exactly the most favorite thing to do to pass the time, not for Morphine, he preferred staying at him with his little friend and doing the more unheard of things. Dark magic had it's rituals, it's seanances, and curses, something that he would waste countless hours on to appease the one he called his lord. No, not the typical man with the white beard in the sky, not 'god', but Satan himself. Being a Satanist in Las Vegas wasn't uncommon, considering once you entered the city, you became a child of hell yourself. So many sins swelled in the cavities of the fascinating city's offerings, tempting even the cleanest of saints.
The shop in which he sat aimlessly in was called 'Medusa's Masterpiece'. Morphine had no idea to why it would be called such a name, but he didn't question his crooked, gangely bossman. There wasn't much that he feared, but that man was someone he didn't want to cross at any particular time, considering he did own a dark magic shop, he clearly had to know something about it. The shop itself was beautifully designed in the dark liquor eyes of Morphine, being a strange individual, he found it quite alluring. The walls, which had rows and rows of mutliple items, were darker than the night itself. Red and purple neon lights were attached to the edges of the ceilings, breaking open some sort of viewing capability to the customers. The floors were carpeted with crimson red, the fabric knitted closely to the cement that lay underneath. The counter in which he sat in a black fabricated chair behind, was made of hazey glass, white lights in each four corners, highlighting the specialty tarot cards, ouija boards and spell books that were scattered along a silk red cloth. Only Morphine had the key to unlock the glass cabinet's doors, no one else would be able to retrieve it unless smashing the stiff surface.
Music purred from the many speakers that were hidden in the space, playing music too heavy for most to understand. He could murmur every word if he wished, but he kept in silence, arms folded and waiting for someone to enter through the clear doors. Not many ever came in here, so really Morphine was being paid for doing nothing but relaxing and listening to music that he hand selected. It amused him in a way, but agitated him at the same time, like stated before, this was not his regular pass-time. Plus, the clothing he was confined to wearing was torture, hoody's, semi-normal footwear and limited jewelry was the most he could get away with. Usually would find him wearing the typical 'gothic' style of clothing, but that was tossed when coming to work. Even his hair posed an issue, but he stood his ground on that topic as soon as it came up in an argument. he wasn't going to get rid of his dreads ever, nothing would change that. Then bossman kept telling him that he couldn't style it so 'strangely', which Morphine had no idea what he was talking about, because all he did was make it like a Trojan's helmet, a mohawk out of dreads.
A heave abandoned his lungs, escaping into the air that surrounded him, his patience burning as the clock ticked more. If any one was going to come, they better hurry the fuck up before he just left his shift without notice. Not like there'd be any loss, really.
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