lapwing: Ptolemy (That HAD to hurt)
[personal profile] lapwing
[On the network is what appears to be a young boy, about 12 or 13 years old. For a moment, he stares quite soulfully at the video output impossibly deep, black eyes, and then pokes at the screen with one fingernail.]

Not even a proper imp in there, how's that for you...?

[He pulls back and mimes clearing his throat. A voice far, far more booming than is fit for the child's face resounds across the feed.]

Right, broadcast. AHEM. This is just a friendly, non-suspicious question, inquiring on when the next coup or violent overthrow of this government is going to be. Not that I'm actually advocating it, I just know you humans really can't resist.

I'm pretty handy with a popcorn machine if anyone can provide good seats.
pummelgranite: (50K for a verse no album out)
[personal profile] pummelgranite
[ She doesn't show her face in this video. But the camera is facing a pomegranate resting in a well-manicured hand, so it's no big mystery who's morbid performance art the network is about to be subjected to. ]

So it's new years soon. 2017. Wow.

[ Does the fruit seem a little soft? Over ripe? ]

Made your resolution yet? Now pretend this will be your last New Years Eve. How's that resolution stand up?


[ It's obvious by now, the fruit is sagging in her hands, and a black spot of something is growing on one side. ]


No, more than that. Pretend it's someone you love's last New Years Eve. This'll be the last time they count down with the ball. Then they'll have their last bank holidays, their last birthday, last Halloween. Maybe they get another Christmas, but probably not. Maybe you should call this one the last, just to be safe.


[ As she speaks, the distending fruit splits up one rotting side, collapsing under its own weight. Remarkably blood-like juice runs down her hand and wrist. ]


How's your resolution now? Does it mean a fucking thing?


[ The flesh of the fruit itself is sloughing off now in disgusting clumps that splatter noisily on the unseen floor. ]


Death's coming. Not just for you, but for everyone you love.


[ When the whole thing is gone, she rubs her fingers together, feeling the viscous red slime the rotten fruit left behind. ]

Happy New Years. Memento-fucking-mori.
sincendiary: (not a prophet or a stone-age man.)
[personal profile] sincendiary
[ The imagery when the camera clicks to life would be familiar to anyone who's ever witnessed a certain Miami church, monochrome and pristine as the day it was left without a patron. But the girl centered in front of the stained glass window cuts an ethereal enough figure in her white suit and short-clipped platinum hair with a shock of black, as if she's a fixture of the place herself. ]

Peace and consumer joy be with you, America. Whether it's despite or because of being torn across dimensions, I trust some of you are having a most blessed holiday. As for those inconveniences among us who prefer less heavenly hosts? This year, I'd like to offer open doors.

[ It's all an appropriately solemn atmosphere until her lips quirk into a smile, and a clean snap of her fingers casts a warm glow as every candle lights up. ]

For formality's sake: yes, it's that Lucifer. Give or take a few mythological liberties. No, you aren't the first to be skeptical. I suppose that's as good a content warning as any?

That said, The Church of the Morningstar is under renewed management, and invites you to a wholesome Christmas Eve night of festive song and blasphemy. Any creator seeking inspiration, any persecuted looking to spark rebellion, or old-fashioned fans of excess are welcome to find a little sanctuary here by the fire. And as history will show, you can always do far worse than the Devil's music.

[The camera pans to the left, up towards the church's pulpit and what looks like a charming nativity scene beside it. There's a set of simple mannequins inside to represent the traditional figures; the three wise men, Joseph, a bundle of scrunched up cloth in the manger, and—well. That last one certainly isn't a mannequin.

Inanna straightens up from beside the manger with an impish grin, draped in the cloth robes of the Virgin Mary. In spite of the simple garb they still manage to look as radiant as always. ]


May we all have an unholy night to remember. We could certainly use it, couldn't we?

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