A Nightmare And A Wet Dream
Posted: Sat Jul 13, 2019 11:46 pm
((Blaise d'Aramitz continued from If I Had Two Faces, Would I Be Wearing This One?))
Nasally grunts filled the morning air. He was pulling at a pair of sneakers, the only ones on this level that seemed to be anywhere close to his size. They did nothing for his outfit but he didn't care about that sort of thing, vanity was a sin he was disqualified from at birth. Bottom line was that he needed shoes and he didn't wanna shimmy his way up the tree to look for another pair just 'cuz the colors didn't line up right. That wasn't the sort of thing Carl would do. Carl would be just fine as long as he could get this dang blasted nail out without tearing them up too much awful worse. They looked pretty rugged as it was, but they were better than being bare foot, right?
Blaise was horrified at their actions. Slipping in deeper was a necessary evil but it was still evil, one that violated everything they stood for; Denim was one indignity and the ridiculous graphic on their too-big t-shirt was another, but at least they went together in a minimally acceptable way. These chromatic monstrosities were something altogether different. They wouldn't match anything, least of all themselves. Teal tongues and cross arch accents, magenta soles with random black jagged inserts, pale yellow bands on the heels, two completely different shades of blue in ill fitting patterns over the face and laces, all defacing an egg white base that could have been anything else. Anything at all. Someone had seen that most basic of starting points and decided embody artistic restraint into a living vessel, invite it out for the evening, and offer it some cold fast food leftovers from the floor of their van before prematurely ejaculating without so much as giving its now exposed anus the opportunity to be disappointed.
No one had ever or would ever sacrifice more for survival than they had. If it would not compromise their position they would state so as a matter of record for the public at home.
At least in a associative way they didn't have to imagine themself touching the abominations. That was Carl's job. One he was performing poorly, but at least it wasn't theirs. Eventually his hands would be theirs again, but by then surely they would be able to rob someone with better taste and put this whole thing behind them.
Nasally grunts filled the morning air. He was pulling at a pair of sneakers, the only ones on this level that seemed to be anywhere close to his size. They did nothing for his outfit but he didn't care about that sort of thing, vanity was a sin he was disqualified from at birth. Bottom line was that he needed shoes and he didn't wanna shimmy his way up the tree to look for another pair just 'cuz the colors didn't line up right. That wasn't the sort of thing Carl would do. Carl would be just fine as long as he could get this dang blasted nail out without tearing them up too much awful worse. They looked pretty rugged as it was, but they were better than being bare foot, right?
Blaise was horrified at their actions. Slipping in deeper was a necessary evil but it was still evil, one that violated everything they stood for; Denim was one indignity and the ridiculous graphic on their too-big t-shirt was another, but at least they went together in a minimally acceptable way. These chromatic monstrosities were something altogether different. They wouldn't match anything, least of all themselves. Teal tongues and cross arch accents, magenta soles with random black jagged inserts, pale yellow bands on the heels, two completely different shades of blue in ill fitting patterns over the face and laces, all defacing an egg white base that could have been anything else. Anything at all. Someone had seen that most basic of starting points and decided embody artistic restraint into a living vessel, invite it out for the evening, and offer it some cold fast food leftovers from the floor of their van before prematurely ejaculating without so much as giving its now exposed anus the opportunity to be disappointed.
No one had ever or would ever sacrifice more for survival than they had. If it would not compromise their position they would state so as a matter of record for the public at home.
At least in a associative way they didn't have to imagine themself touching the abominations. That was Carl's job. One he was performing poorly, but at least it wasn't theirs. Eventually his hands would be theirs again, but by then surely they would be able to rob someone with better taste and put this whole thing behind them.