ｊｏｓｅｐｈ ｋａｖｉｎｓｋｙ (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
pillz) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
maskormenace2016-02-14 09:32 pm
pillz) wrote in maskormenace2016-02-14 09:32 pm
Entry tags:
- adam parrish | n/a,
- erik lehnsherr | magneto,
- joseph kavinsky | n/a,
- † blue sargent | n/a,
- † dorian gray | n/a,
- † hunter zolomon | zoom,
- † kaito kuroba | kaitou kid,
- † kitty jones | n/a,
- † newton geiszler | n/a,
- † reggie mantle | n/a,
- † richard gansey | raven king,
- † robert callaghan | yokai,
- † satya wallace | n/a
O1 👶 video;
cw implied harm to (fantastical) animal, implied drug use, probably offensive language within ??
[the picture shakes, obviously handheld. when the picture focuses, there's a dragon rampaging down the street, wings flapping, eyes blazing orange, its body built of churning smoke and fire. it has teeth, in terrifying, serrated rows, but that seems somehow less important than the impossible cycling of gas and combustion that form its flesh. the whole situation is very cloverfield. in the background, the sound of human screams rises tinny, shallow.
lower definition than the communicator video.
but there's a reason for that. a discerning eye might notice immediately: the street the monster is running down is empty of people, and there's something wrong with the buildings. not enough detail in the brick, the windows, the pavement, and beyond it, the sky a fuzzy, paint-white blank. when the camera pulls out, reality becomes clear. the city is merely a cardboard model, stylized in a way that will be familiar to some, but this time a rendering of de chima's downtown area rather than sleepy henrietta. the monster, no matter how miraculous, could fit in the size of an ordinary man's palm.
or inside of a drinking glass, as it turns out. the next moment, one such cup plunks down over the creature, trapping it like a spider in the glass. the tiny dragon immediately begins to screech in rage-- or pain; it's hard to tell, but you only need a little imagination and familiarity with fire to consider the consequences.
and then kavinsky squares the camera lens on his face. skinny white boy— young, hollow-eyed and pale, his black hair clotted with too much gel. one earring, wifebeater, probably (definitely) trying too hard, probably (undoubtedly) overly impressed by himself. there is something oddly jittery about his hands, shoulders, the swollen bloat of his dilated pupils. he sprawled inside of a bedroom, generic, unlived-in. past his shoulder, there's a television playing stadium footage of a european football game, hence the poorly dubbed soundtrack. the dragon's outrage grows fainter.
he smiles.]
Made you look.
[he winks, and cuts the feed.]
[the picture shakes, obviously handheld. when the picture focuses, there's a dragon rampaging down the street, wings flapping, eyes blazing orange, its body built of churning smoke and fire. it has teeth, in terrifying, serrated rows, but that seems somehow less important than the impossible cycling of gas and combustion that form its flesh. the whole situation is very cloverfield. in the background, the sound of human screams rises tinny, shallow.
lower definition than the communicator video.
but there's a reason for that. a discerning eye might notice immediately: the street the monster is running down is empty of people, and there's something wrong with the buildings. not enough detail in the brick, the windows, the pavement, and beyond it, the sky a fuzzy, paint-white blank. when the camera pulls out, reality becomes clear. the city is merely a cardboard model, stylized in a way that will be familiar to some, but this time a rendering of de chima's downtown area rather than sleepy henrietta. the monster, no matter how miraculous, could fit in the size of an ordinary man's palm.
or inside of a drinking glass, as it turns out. the next moment, one such cup plunks down over the creature, trapping it like a spider in the glass. the tiny dragon immediately begins to screech in rage-- or pain; it's hard to tell, but you only need a little imagination and familiarity with fire to consider the consequences.
and then kavinsky squares the camera lens on his face. skinny white boy— young, hollow-eyed and pale, his black hair clotted with too much gel. one earring, wifebeater, probably (definitely) trying too hard, probably (undoubtedly) overly impressed by himself. there is something oddly jittery about his hands, shoulders, the swollen bloat of his dilated pupils. he sprawled inside of a bedroom, generic, unlived-in. past his shoulder, there's a television playing stadium footage of a european football game, hence the poorly dubbed soundtrack. the dragon's outrage grows fainter.
he smiles.]
Made you look.
[he winks, and cuts the feed.]
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