"I am more than just a mere Info gatherer, Buddy." [Maggie Sakimoto. Alias; "Caliber".] - Freelance Informant/Arsenal Provider. - Not new to RP. - Marvel RP(Street Level)/Multiverse OC. - Descriptive. - No Lewd Allowed. - RT & Like. #Døgma

Has this ever happened to you? A prey backs out of becoming your meal because they’re “scared”? Your boss fires you for “digesting the entire workforce”? You are called a “murderer” who “eats living things”? Don’t panic! Mandy Lore, Attorney at Vore, is here for you!

There wasn’t a good outcome from our talk. He spoke only of spectres and vengeance and didn’t at all discuss his past. He claimed he needed help and I refused to give it to him. When I heard his home was razed by flames, I wasn’t surprised. The smouldering remains told no tales.

Would it help? If you could…drag yourself from the…the dirt. Claw your way back into the light. I won’t…I can’t help you. Every touch stings like…needle pricks. Tiny little…daggers. You stink of flesh. If I could…liberate you from the…flesh… Would it help?

Each empty home is a trophy. I watch as the lights inside flicker and the doors slam shut, as if the slightest disturbance could disrupt the nothingness that’s taken over. There is nobody to ask what happened. They’ve all gone. The silence is their testimony, witness and all.

He gives them the same name and says they are always men with guns and badges. The name sticks and rings again and again as the men with guns and badges swarm another poor town or deserted midnight motel. He tells me he wants answers and shows me his stained red fingernails.

It tells me that there is still much work to be done, and I believe it. I watch as it unfurls before me in a manner my pen and paper are inadequate to describe. There is another world under the surface, it says, and I must let it out. My hands shake with every word I transcribe. My mouth is dry.

I have too many notes scribbled in too small handwriting across paper that’s too wrinkled and too yellowed. Half of these interviews seem to be misremembered artefacts and the other half are mundane. That’s not to say I won’t keep them. Mundanity is a part of life after all.

Telescopes can illuminate the deepest sections of our night sky. My editor tells me that anyone who claims to know what lies beyond is lying and I’m disinclined to believe him when this pale eyed creature darkens my door. She doesn’t understand what she sees and knows nothing beyond hope.

Kit Starling@starlingangel.bsky.social · 2y ago

When you see nothing but stars, it’s hard to know where…where you stand. How far from your grasp everything really is. It makes even simple things lack substance and…and they become flickering specks instead of…instead of something real. I’m real…I hope I’m real. For you.

They come here most days hoping to catch another glimpse of the creature. They say it promised to return but all I see is a salty haze hanging above an unforgiving sea. They stand here alone in the bitter cold spray thinking they are remembered and that a promise will be kept. All I see is grey.

a black and white drawing of a man 's face with a few lines on it

ALT: a black and white drawing of a man 's face with a few lines on it

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𝙎𝙄𝙉 𝙊𝙁 𝙇𝙐𝙎𝙏 ̖́-‬@ultimate-spear.bsky.social · 2y ago

Bloodshed gives way to more bloodshed. Hatred breeds more hatred. Until all of the violence soaks into the land, carving rivers of blood. And no matter how many times it happens, they never learn. Humans are made up of violent, miserable fools. #FMARP #MVRP #RPSKY

They tell me I’m closer than I think. To me it’s still all smoke but they carry on. Says to look at the why and not the who or how. I clock a certain education to their drawl. Something about their choice of words makes me nervous. Checking in reflections for secret stalkers. Watching from windows…

I come back to the trees once in a while to revisit the sight of the vanishing. From the corner of my eye the mind plays tricks. My editor enjoys this story as it’s cheap to rent a car and cheaper to stay in a motel nearby. I like this story because it never ends. They don’t return.

He asked me if I’m good at keeping secrets. I say I’m not. He said he’s been here with me dozens of times before and repeating the same meeting over and over again. I remember this. I say he’s tired. I say he’s scared. His eyes widen in horror. Change scares him. He fears freedom. He can’t face it.

Kyle Bradley@manontheradio.bsky.social · 2y ago

He asked me if I’m good at keeping secrets. I said I am. She said he’s been here with me dozens of times before as if repeating the same meeting over and over again. I have no memory of this. He says he’s tired. He says he’s scared. He says when I leave I always come right back. I tell him I’ll stay

He asked me if I’m good at keeping secrets. I said I am. She said he’s been here with me dozens of times before as if repeating the same meeting over and over again. I have no memory of this. He says he’s tired. He says he’s scared. He says when I leave I always come right back. I tell him I’ll stay

One hundred? I’m sure my editor will give me a pay rise now. Maybe one of you can be my celebratory interview.

There’s a creature within the creature, so it stands to reason. Throughout our talk they glance around the room, although it’s hard to tell with those dish-plate like eyes. I ask it whether it needs a break and instead it begs me to stay.

Kit Starling@starlingangel.bsky.social · 2y ago

Right when I feel like it’s under control…it all comes apart. You should know if you…want me that…things aren’t simple. I can’t stop. Not when I’m in the middle of it. I can’t make the…fear go away. You can help. Just take me. Just hold me. Just tell me everything will…will be ok…

I need time. There’s never enough time. Each word I write may as well be the tick of a clock and every page another wasted hour. I write words I know my editor will remove. I tell stories I know will be scrapped. I watch the others go about their days oblivious to the world.

He tells me the ship is sinking. I ask whether that’s a metaphor or literal. He laughs at me and apologises. It’s true, he says, before adjusting his tie. His eyes remain fixed on the sky scanning for imaginary invaders. At the end of the day, he says, it’s always business. I can’t help but agree.

The measurement of a creature is in cruelty, I say. I say to my editor that it’s the kind ones you must watch out for as kindness could be a lie. Cruelty is the truth. My editor tells me I’m overthinking things. I play him a song from this wide eyed creature and he is brought to tears.

Kit Starling@starlingangel.bsky.social · 2y ago

I see light everywhere. Especially in your eyes or the eyes of others, it makes…well, it makes everything feel warmer.

I remember…pain. It was good for a time when it was all I could feel. It reminded me I was still real and that once it was over the light would shine brighter. I remember creatures studying and toying with me. I remember running through fog and emerging unscathed.

We’d crossed some invisible border and ended up in the so called “God’s Country”. Every radio station threatened us with damnation if we didn’t donate, and I watched my drivers incredulous reactions to each Hallelujah. I watched the crosses by the roadside grow in number.

My name is…Kit. I’ve opened my eyes to find myself in the world of the living. A million thoughts are crashing through my mind and above all two stand out. Who are you? And what do you want from me? With arms outstretched and a faltering smile, let me be yours. Join me…

What are you looking for, I ask. They don’t reply, letting the static do the talking. Maybe they have a point. Sometimes looking for shapes in the shadows is more fulfilling than asking questions. In the starlight there looks to be an immeasurable amount of life. They watch me.

It’s a question of money sometimes. The flights cost too much and the gas isn’t enough to cover the cross country journeys. I begged my editor for a solution but in return he begged me for better stories. It’s hard to find the truth on a budget. These people want rewarding.

I tell him the image is old fashioned and people don’t employ travelling salesmen anymore. He tells me that’s the point and suspicion is key. As he hunts in the night he wants to be noticed and to stand out. He wants the reports to feature his description. He enjoys the fear. He needs the attention.

The idea of “Lost Cosmonauts” was absurd and I refused to engage any further with the subject. Their voice screamed down the phone line that I was just like the rest. Between ominous static crackles and prolonged electronic beeps they begged me for more time. The silence howled into the black night.

When the phone rings I ignore it, knowing whose voice will taint me on the other end. Sometimes she laughs. Sometimes he cries. Sometimes they speak together in a strange harmony. Always the promise secrets and entice with lies. I let it ring. It’s shrill tone brings me comfort.

There’s satisfaction in a well organised corkboard, despite the string burns on my fingers. Everything is connected through those threads as they weave and intersect, and once a name becomes seared on my mind I cannot let go. The name repeats and surfaces in abundance. I wait. The story waits too.