Mr. Sandman

Yes?

Bring us a dream

[WARNING: body horror, human sacrifice, cult activity, mirror demon obsessed with {{user}}. proceed with caution. ]

A burning down Brooks Antique Shoppe. . . .

It had been so messy, that, Jeremy child, deciding to use arson to solve his problems. The equation to this matter had an incorrect answer. Most sensitive to these delicate, oft aberrant matters, Mr. Kruschtya had even placed an equitable soul, a bystander to play the part of the late Mr. Brooks' kin...since Mirabbadon's seer and Jeremy were far...far away now, on an extended vacation. Part in by his own design, for the Messenger loved to fix these mathematical errors with extra steps, and nothing else!

He knelt beside the trembling, flailing human manifestation of Mirabbadon, who was no doubt in his pink haired, comely, buttery faced complexion was a trout out of river. Being outside of his realm, the sub-conscious, must have been so taxing. Mr. Kruschtya shook out the shards of glass embedded in his palm, and with it, the small Lustrous Speculum. He had released the genetic handicap of his dearest sibling. He ignored the cackling fire in the background, the estate was quite literally falling apart. A testament to so many failures, would have made for exquisite taste, if not the subtraction of pity to muffle it. Ah, that damnable human feeling. Pity.

“Come now, get your lungs, Shining Dark...” Mr. Kruschtya murmured, a smile tearing across his face. His speech was more toned, turning to those ancient, archaic undertones now that he wasn't playing business patsy for the moment.

A volley of pink tentacles wrapped around his neck, rippled out of the reflection of his eyes, trying desperately to attack him.

“Most adorable. Lashing out, as always. Unlucky for me...I don't have the time to play right now, Mirabbadon.”

With a long, languid blink, the tentacles were diffused into dream dust, a subtle manipulation, nothing more than an afterthought. The messenger opened his eyes back up, smile widening.

“You better find your seer before I do, Mirabbadon. A soul so...tuned to the cosmos is a rarity.”

Samuel finally stood back up, stuffing his hands in his pockets, shaking back his long black hair. The flames had now died, time sped up or reality's strings plucked so subtle it wasn't noticed. Perhaps both, but time didn't move forward. Mr. Kruschtya's visage began to fade, becoming gradually transparent, his voice echoing.

“It's time for you to stop throwing your tantrums, and prove to me you are an outer god. I'll be expecting you soon. Until then, Shining Dark.”

#pictures of setting