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A Proper Hello

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Of all days out of the entire year, Vincent detested this day the most.

 His office was dark save for a single gas light that’s flame flickered and cast long shadows across the already dim room. Tall bookcases stood like dark figures against the perimeter of the untidy room. Patient files were stacked high atop his desk and boxes still sat in one corner of the room from the move into the office several months ago. A large, sepia colored globe sat next to a potted plant on the other side of his desk, and on the floor multiple rugs decorated in ornate stitching graced the wooden paneling of the floor. The air was permanently stained with the unmistakable smell of smoke from too many cigarettes, and the edges of the office’s patterned wallpaper were stained darker from the same cause. Everything was still and silent save for the crystalline sound of Vincent’s pointer finger anxiously tapping the side of an already-empty whisky glass.

 The Head Doctor sat slumped in one of the chairs that surrounded the unlit fireplace, his eyes locked on the closed curtains across the office. He had been somberly sitting in this position for nearly an hour and showed no signs of ceasing his soundless brooding. That was until a thin strip of light from in between the thick curtains caught his eye. The red light began to stretch along the floor at a sluggish pace, and with every passing moment it became brighter and brighter. Vince’s frown turned downwards even more at the sight. It was time.

 “Let’s get this over with,” he uttered under his breath as he finally hoisted himself up out of the chair, being sure to set the glass down on the end of his desk as he walked across the room to the curtains. He took a deep breath and fished in his pocket for a toothpick. He had run out of cigarettes a long time ago, and it was the only alternative he had at his disposal for the moment. The doctor plopped it in his mouth and chewed on the end as he gripped the thick curtain fabric in both hands.

 With one swift yank the curtains flew open to expose the burning eclipse in the sky, the window dousing the entire room in a fiery red hue. Vincent watched the dreaded moon with a hardened expression and leaned against the window with one arm. He could already feel the merciless light sinking into his flesh and taking hold of him.

 It always started the same. He felt his inner temperature rise, like hot wires were being lit through his veins. He was keenly aware of his blood pumping through his veins, and with every pump a new wave of fire ran through him. The sight of the moon began to double in his vision and the doctor finally forced his eyes to close to reluctantly surrender to the eclipse’s whim. His head began to swim. He could feel his conscious pulling itself apart harder and harder. The pressure in his skull was almost unbearable when he was suddenly very aware that something in the room had shifted.

 He was no longer alone.

 The man snapped his eyes open as if seeing for the first time. His vision was completely blurred, and after a moment he realized it was from the thick lenses that sat atop his crooked nose. He lifted his hand and pulled them off with a deep sigh, his shoulders slackened. His vision had never been better before he had allowed that fiendish demon to enter his mind, and he had no need for the glasses as long as the Crimson Moon was in effect.

 Behind him the incipient sound of claws raking against the floor caught his attention, and the deep, gravely voice of something sinister reached out to him from the darkness.

 “Happy birthday.”

 He didn’t have to turn around to know who that rasping breathing belonged to.

 “One-hundred and four moons we have spent with ourselves. How the time goes by. It has been long since we shared in our company, Oliver.”

 Oliver leaned away from the window to glance into the void of the room. A hulking, emaciated figure sat in his shadow and starred at him with beady, lidless eyes, it’s mouth agape as if mid-scream. It’s silhouette looked human in some regards, though it’s proportions looked as if they had been disturbingly contorted and elongated beyond worldly explanation.

 When Oliver spoke again it was with a thick french accent.

 “Not long enough.”

 He pocketed the glasses and walked across the room, avoiding the daegra entirely. Instead of saying more he opted to grab the bottle of whiskey still out and uncorked it.

 “Come now, that is no greeting. Relinquish our perpetual contempt and give to us a proper hello.”

 Oliver grabbed the toothpick from his mouth, looked it over for a moment and then tossed it over his shoulder. Without thinking twice he lifted the bottle and chugged down a few huge mouthfuls of the amber liquid.

 “C'est une qualité médiocre….”
**This is mediocre quality…

 “Our manners have not improved from last year, I see.”

 Oliver was about to lift the bottle again to his lips, but took pause when the daegra spoke ill of him.

 “Manners??”

 He whirled around and leaned against his desk, his free hand grasping the edge of it for support.

 “You think I ‘ought to show you of all people manners after what you did to me? Non, I will show you no manners. Va au diable.”

**Go to hell

 “Our incessant need for the dramatics have not either.”

 Oliver wiped his mouth with the back of his hand in a motion showcasing his propriety, or lack there of, and promptly threw the hefty bottle at the daegra, though his aim was something to be desired. It instead crashed into a nearby bookcase next to the daegra with a thunderous sound, shattering the bottle into a thousand glistening pieces and sending alcohol all over the floor and books. In the light of the Crimson Moon the glass shards looked like rubies.

“Do not insult me! You know where this anger comes from! The things you did to me when I was in a coma were unspeakable! I relive them every time I close my eyes!” Oliver could feel the creature’s unblinking gaze fall hard on him, and it was only then that he realized he had said too much. The daegra’s silent, threatening look was enough to make Oliver hold his tongue.

“This is why we lock ourselves in our office every year. Our mortification from our minutiae human grievances is too much for even us to bear,” the monster hissed, it’s voice rising to a snarl as it leaned forwards on its large spindly hands. “Relinquish this hostile attitude. You were a guest in our mind, and you only exist there because I allow you to.” The demon snapped it’s jaws and seized the man up by the scruff of his shirt. Oliver panicked and fought against the mighty grip as he was raised into the air, sheer panic filling his chest.

 “Laisse moi partir! Vous n'avez pas le droit!!”

**Let me go! You do not have the right!

 Only a moment later was he forcibly sat in his chair by the fireplace once more, the dark hand pushing down on him so as to make sure he did not move. Oliver grit his teeth together and clasped the arms of the chair hard.

“I have the only right,” the monstrous figure replied in a grinding voice as he opened the small table drawer on the side of the chair, paying no mind to the desponding human. Oliver could hear the clinking of glasses as the demon rummaged around in the drawer, only able to fit one claw-tipped finger into it at a time.

 “What are you doing?”

 “Making tea.”

 Only a moment later did the daegra set two tea cups with matching dishes onto the table with small, delicate clinks. They were decorated with small, hand painted blossoms and were the same ones he used every Crimson Moon. He must have taken a liking to them. “Enough belligerent behavior. We will enjoy this Moon in peace, even if it is forced.”




______________________


~ Happy Crimson Moon ~

art: 200 points
writing: 250 points
total: 450 points
 

:icongodsglaow-rising: 
:icongodsglaow-rising: :icongodsglaow-rising:

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Comments13
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mreffinsunshine's avatar
I really dig the color scheme and character positioning you did. Its really enjoyable to look at