||Modest Mouse = This Devil's Workday
I need to scrub my brain. A wank about the infamous Nicky, oft times "victim" of LJDrama is wanked on. llama_treats comments that someone should slash Nicky and Mediacrat. This piece of
drivel artistic prose was born. Probably the only "prose" I'll stick up here. But here you are, Nicky/Mediacrat...
A Story of True Love
Nicky looked up as a body eclipsed the spare luminescence that lit his art. His ebon eyes raked, like sharp blades, over the figure before him. Who dared to disrupt his delicate creative process?
A Greek God, stood in golden flesh before his dilated eyes. His heart palpitated wildly in his chest cavity as if he were running a marathon to announce to his country, "Nike". His palms grew unexpectedly slick as he drank in the mysterious visitor like a tropical drink with a cherry and a pink umbrella on top.
"Who...who are you?" He asked, voice wavering, uncertain like a blushing virgin; though he wasn't, his virility was famed. Women swooned when they viewed his Hagrid-like figure gliding through dark alleys. Everyone knew that he was anatomically consistent, yet suddenly, his voice stuttered when confronted by the vision before him.
"I'm rich, and I'm beautiful." Came the soft lispy reply. It curled through the air like the bar smog and hung in a fog around his ears, ringing like small silver bells of the solstice.
Nicky caught his breathe at the musical sound, reminiscent of a sweet voiced eunuch. He opened his mouth to reply, but found that his mouth was like a desert; absent of all moisture, just arid. Endless sand and not a sound to be heard but his quite breath. Exhaling.
"Can you tell me where I can find the best place in town? I want to purchase a fine bottle of wine." The bright shade before him peered down curiously, his eyes bright like shining stars gone supernova.
Nicky's dark eyes traveled around the shadow packed bar, wondering how the angel before him had fallen into the squalid dirty hole of humanity.
"There's wine here," he quickly replied, not willing to let the heavenly creature from his sight.
"Is it any good?"
"We can find out together," Nicky said, gesturing to the cushioned stool that spewed forth its innards in colorless piles of cotton like so many sheep jumping over fences.
The incubus in human flesh glanced at the papers spread like abandoned feathers across the table and the man behind them. Long hair, black as a dying night. A beard reminiscent of a wicked villain, dark and greasy as it hung limply under his chin.
"What are you doing?" The fairy creature gestured to the thin sheets of dead trees littered with words, scrawled like insects swarming across the pages.
"I'm spilling my soul. This ink is my blood as I try to exercise the demons in my head. I am creating written art, flowing, dark, inky art." Nicky replied, hoping to capture this fae one's interest with his dark gothic mystique.
"I'm a model-photographer. My name is Grayden." The bright one offered Nicky his hand. Nicky stared at the perfectly formed fingers held out to him like some sacrifice to please the gods. He took it, grasping the equally clammy skin and grasping it close. Their hands seemed to burn one another, causing some dark stirrings to coil in his stomach. It was in that moment that a most unholy union was born. Cats yowled in agony and dogs howled in horror as they foresaw the future. The interweb would tremble before them when finally confronted with their true love.
Nicky + Mediacrat = OTP!
I need to bleach out my brain now.
P.S. Who knew it was so much work to turn out such utter shite. I was wracking my brains for so many over the top adjectives. Who knew that bad writers worked so hard to put out such crap?