Character Story - 'The Artist'

'Jack'

A cabin in the middle of nowhere. Darkness. Not a sound but for the soft, uneven sobbing of a man who lost it all.

He sat on his knees before a long died-out fireplace. Tears ran down his scar-filled cheeks. The man clasped something, an odd metal object. His sidearm rested peacefully in it's holster, untouched. Blood ran down his arms from fresh, shallow cuts. The door opened, the balance disturbed.

The Artist turned his gaze to the door as it swung open. A figure stepped in. He wore a coat of black but his other features were hidden by the darkness of the night. He wanted to reach out for 'Annabel' but found himself unable to. Not only was he drunk, he also didn't have the willpower to defend himself anymore.

He sighed instead, turning back to the gloomy fireplace. Ashes lay it's center. It obviously hadn't been used for a long while. He shook his head and the tears stopped coming. How long had he been here?

Laughter.

"Look at you." The Thespian said, chuckling in amusement. He had stepped forward and his face was illuminated by the small light-bulb hanging from the ceiling. "Look at you!" he said again, still laughing, "You miserable fool."

"Kill him!" God said. "It's the one you seek!" Kill him!"
The Artist had been hearing voices for as long as he remembered. He had long since accepted that he was indeed insane. He could control it, however. The voice he dubbed 'God' never stopped speaking, but he grew to ignore it's dark suggestions. He hadn't even noticed it when he as with Cardinal.

Despite himself, The Artist clasped his hands together. He closed his eyes and recited the Lord's Prayer in a soft murmur to spite the voice in his head.

"Get off your knees.", The Thespian sighed, shaking his head in disappointment. "Your prayers fall upon deaf ears. God's turned his back on you. Heaven's gates are shut. And now you're knocking on the Devil's door,"
He looked around the building and The Artist saw a sign of disgust flickering on his face.

The Artist shook his head before rising slowly. "I'm through fighting this battle, Demon. End my life. I have nothing left to lose." He paused, raising his half-empty cup filled with wine. " This can't be real. he thought to himself. Am I just going to give up like this?

The Thespian shook his head, grinning, his milky white teeth giving contrast to his chocolate-brown skin.
"On the contrary, boy. The real battle hasn't even begun. I'm glad you're too broken to chase me around like some maniac, I suppose. It was getting /tiresome/."

"Did you kill my wife?", The Artist blurted out, nearly choking in the words.
"No." his adversary replied simply, as if rejecting a snack at a party.
"Then why do you seek to torment me so, Demon?"

Again, laughter.

"Torment you, my dear boy? No, I have been /watching/ you. My employers send me to fetch you. The order reached me two years ago. I watched through the window as you jabbed that quill into your lover's stomach, over and over again. You were cackling like a madman the entire time. It was fascinating to watch."

To his surprise, The Artist felt nothing. No dread, no regret, no relief. I must've known it since the start. he thought. He threw the glass, empty now, into a corner of the building. The glass shattered loudly and it's pieces flew through the room they were standing in.

The Thespian didn't flinch. He merely looked at The Artist, grinning like a wolf about to consume his prey.

"What do you wish of me, then?" The Artist managed as curiosity briefly suppressed his grief.

"Boy, you haven't got the slightest idea," he bit, his grin turning into a scowl. "Just who I am and what I do for you. Can't you see that I'm trying to safe you?"

Save me?! The grieving man frowned, turning fully to the thickly-clad male. "Hold your tongue, demon. I'm not in the mood for your silver tongue."

The Thespian turned, leaving the door open. "Follow me if you want to know the truth, Jack." And with that, he disappeared back into the night.

The Artist followed. He didn't know why.

---

The Seeker

Alland gazed at the cabin from afar, frowning. His associate had been gone for only ten minutes, but knowing the man he was with, that would be more than enough time for something bad to happen.
Just as the thought crossed his mind, however, two figures walked out of the cabin. Eagerness and relief filled Alland as Liam strolled casually towards him, smiling. Behind him trailed the thing he was so obsessed with.

The Artist. Jacklyn L'Artiste. The man he chased for two years. A man insane. A genius.

Alland looked up at his colleague as they arrived, shivering. The tall, thickly made man was even more intimidating in the night than he was in the comfort of the sun. He wore a thick coat made of black, concealing the items Alland knew he was carrying. He wore reflective glasses that obscured most of his face. The most frightening part of him, however, was his grin.

The shorter man shook off those silly thoughts, reminding himself of his duty. He did not like Liam, but Alland knew he was capable. One of the most capable seekers his organisation had, actually. Everyone back at Ascension knew it was personal amusement that took him so long to finally bring L'Artiste.

"And?", Alland asked, eyebrow raised.
"And what?" Liam replied offhandedly, the man behind him remaining silent.
"Is he willing to come?"
Liam glanced at the wreck of a man, smiling. "I think he is."
"Look, Liam. I know you're obsessed over this guy for some reason, but he's clearly insane. Is that /blood/ running down his arms?"
Liam shrugged the objection away, scoffing. "Just focus on your task, son. I'll take him back to Ascension.
"Fine." Allan said, looking away from L'Artiste and his unsettling glare.
"You remember what your task is here, correct?" Liam asked, turning to him.
Alland nodded. "Just focus on getting that...thing back to the Lord Ruler."

Liam chuckled before roughly taking Alland's hand and pushing something in his palm. It was a gun, of sorts. Alland couldn't make out the model, but it was definitely a magnum. He could read the words carved into the barrel, however. 'Annabel', it read.

Alland pulled his eyes away from the weapon, his mouth open to ask Liam why he had given him this.
He was already striding away, however. The Artist glanced back at Alland but his expression was impossible to make out in the darkness. Sighing, Alland slipped the weapon into his empty holster before he started to walk towards a nearby building filled with laughter and bright lights. He hoped he packed enough books to kill the time here.