Tuesday, February 24, 2015


So, I want you to imagine being in a very deep sleep. The deepest sleep you have ever experienced. You remember, once, that you had a name, a purpose an identity... But none of it matters anymore. Because you are here. You are asleep. That infinite darkness is all that you care about, no more regrets, no more questions, no more wondering, and its gonna be that way forever. Just calm, safe. Quiet.

Then, all of a sudden, you get this... Little twinge of pain, coursing throughout your consciousness. You are hungry. You want to gnaw, you want to bite, you want to chew, gulp, slurp and devour. Soon you want to fill yourself up with the anything you can, because the hunger is unFUCKINGbearable. You feel around you, blindly, in soundless darkness. It is all you CAN do. So you crawl around and suddenly there is this... Familiar warmth. So familiar, like something out of a long forgotten dream, and not necessarily a good one. You feel something soft, at the center of the warmth, and there are... Vibrations coming from it. Like the beating of a drum.. Faster and faster. And at that point, the hunger overwhelms you and you taste something coppery and wet, as you envelop the warmth and make it a part of you. It feels SO Good. You aren't aware of time, or anything, so you do not know how long it takes to finish the morsel, but as the last wet puddle goes dry, you feel yourself, you own form, for the first time in ages. Arms, your head, a torso, and you can still hear the beating sound of drums enveloped in that succulent coppery warmth. You reach out those new arms of yours and you touch the ground, cold, hard and inedible. Slowly you drag yourself over to that second drum, feeling... No, BASKING in that long forgotten warmth... Ah... But you need MORE. The feast has barely just begun, and that appetizer has merely whet your appetite. You engulf this second writhing mass of wet, sweet liquid, tender meat and tough bone, and you feel yourself becoming whole once again. Legs, feet, toes and skin. In your hunger, you shove that succulent beating drum deep within yourself and hear its noise finally... Fall silent. Yet, there is one more still beating beside it... And something else farther away. You crawl on your half formed belly towards this final course of the feast, and gorge yourself on all the sweetbreads a body has to offer, finally gaining sight and sound once again.

You look down and see that slowly diminishing mass. That sagging sack of skin, as you take its innards into yourself. You can hear the muffled screams that are finally beginning to subside, behind a gag. Eeeeh. Disgusting. Cold, tasteless. You ignore it. You focus on the meal at hand, while your mind wanders and you remember who you are. As you remember, your body begins to mold itself back into place. Eyes that are blue, hair that is white-gold, skin that is pale and not shapeless black mass. You picture yourself as you were, in your clothes, your best tie, your favorite hat, the custom coat, pants and shirt/vest combo made just for you, so you can move around freely while still looking classy as hell. And your body shifts to give it all back to you, only its part of you now, as much as skin, eyes and the Azoth that forms your entire body. AND YOU LAUGH. HAHAHAHA. BECAUSE ITS BEEN SO LONG. SO FUCKING LONG.

And at the height of your elation, you notice that you have an audience. Brown hair and eyes, wearing her shitty red dress and hat, grinning and laughing at the sight before her. A fleshy little suit filled with delectable little organs, with the audacity to smile at me. But it wasn't just the act of smiling. Do you know how annoying that smile was? Like she watching a favorite pet eating a treat given by the master. Little did I fucking know at the time, that was exactly what was happening.

So what does this all mean? Well, I will tell you... Hey Gang. I'm BACK again. DID YOU MISS ME? Old Mishy must be SPINNING IN HER GRAVE by now. Heheheheheheheheh. Wonder how long it will last? But really, what does it matter? I am stuck here now, so I might as well take the opportunity to continue my... Mission, and serve Father.

Ah... I am not alone either. In fact, I now have a NEW little team of freaks and weirdos.

And I hate them.

First we have the bitch who resurrected me again, Cordelia. The Whore of Babylon herself. Our glorious leader, in the service of Father, and the bitch with my leash. I don't know how, exactly, but if I do not do EXACTLY what she tells me to, she can make me HURT. BAD. Which is fucking weird, given that she is not exactly a Crafter of any kind.

Then we have Jokes. Yes, that is his name and yes it is appropriate. But not because he is funny. Spineless shithead sycophant for the Bitch in the Red Dress herself. At least he is pretty fun to mess with. The same cannot be said for dear Vanguard, who I am not entirely convinced is anything more than a robot. Is he mute? I don't know. He has not said shit to me, which in some ways is a blessing, but makes him VERY boring in others. Miss Babylon sure picked a shitty right hand man. Aren't those typically supposed to talk, give ideas and generally do things beyond standing there like a statue?

We also have Gray, our newest little acquisition. A Coward, a pessimist, and completely useless at any task that might be helpful.

He is my favorite.

Not so much his occasional Split Personality, Kor. Who confuses the hell out of me. I didn't even think that was really a THING outside of Father's shenanigans. I would know. But evidently Kor's been around for a while, even before Father got involved with this sad sack of self-loathing.

The last notable, is... I don't even remember her fucking name. Screw her. Kleptomaniac bitch. Femme Arsène Lupin, basically, just without all likability. Gray compares her to Robin Hood. But Gray is a Moron. I miss my old team. They were competent. We got along well. They were not the most annoying, kill-worthy little shits I have ever met.

Ah... Right. This is supposed to be an introduction though, right? Back-story time? Get it out of the way? Fine. Sure. In case some of you morons don't know who I am, I am Morningstar. Professional trash disposal unit. I am... Well I mean. I died at age 19 I think. Or was it 20? Those were rough times. So... Do I count the birthdays I missed due to being dead? Fuck it. Doesn't matter. My history begins in the year 2011, if you know what is good for you. It was Winter' winter, and I had just tortured my Dear Mother and Father to death, messily. It was amateurish, honestly. I had quite the concept of pain at the time, you see, but I still had no idea how to inflict it EFFICIENTLY. Truth be told, torture is a lot of work. All these... Preparations. But the end result usually makes it all worth it.

I digress.

I joined up with Father, He That Is, The Great Tall One, The Arbiter of the Black Woods, etc etc, and became one of his Chosen Proxies. I was taught how to do my job by a Proxy named Nightscream, who is... Sadly deceased... And I amassed a body count that would make some dictators blush, although apparently Miss Babylon wants me to be Gandhi or some shit now. Not that... All the bodies could be found. Heheheheheheheh. See, I developed a taste for human flesh, which makes me a favorite of Cleaning Teams within our little family. Then I died. Then I was brought back by an asshole, and imprinted on a few dozen Hollowed out shells. Then I came back for realsies and helped KILL THE ASSHOLE and his ASSHOLE friends. Then I got mind wiped and effectively erased from life again.

Now I'm back, and here to stay. I have TOTALLY turned over a new leaf guys. Promise. Pinky Swear. Cross my heart and hope to... Well. Oops. Heheheheheheh. No killing for little old me, oh no. Can't make the Cat angry, no sirree. Expect my posts to be SUNSHINE AND FRIGGEN RAINBOWS from now ON.

Would I lie?

Sunday, February 22, 2015

The Usual Suspects

So, apparently blogging is a part of organized supernatural crime? Interesting.

My name is Justine. I'm formerly a professional thief. Talking about myself in a public venue therefore doesn't come naturally to me, but I'll give it a try. Up until very recently, I stole various paintings, jewels, and other interesting things and sold them to the highest bidder. It wasn't anything like the movies suggest, but it was a lot of fun all the same. I loved every minute of it.

My new line of work, I'm still not sure about. I'm told that most people involved in this mess started out getting followed by the creepy tall thing and then either start running or get recruited. I'm not sure what inspires people to go towards the tall guy instead of running away from it without outside guidance, but in my case, I never really had any of that. Cordelia hired me for my expertise, which unfortunately involved exposing me to all of this

It's pretty interesting, admittedly, if sometimes downright terrifying. I have to say, having some company for once is nice. The kid is good company whichever personality he has on at the moment. Jokes is sometimes good for some fun, though Morningstar is uncomfortably homicidal and doesn't seem to like me much. In addition, Vegas is a fantastic place to spend both money and downtime. There's literally nothing you can't buy here if you figure out where to look. And thanks to Cordelia, I don't even have to worry about lying low, as she's somehow managed to make my arrest warrants disappear.

Not sure if all of this is worth what seems like an inevitable early demise. The hardest part of all of this has been wrapping my brain around the fact that not only does my new boss apparently deal primarily in murder and kidnapping, but that the odds are good that I may eventually be a victim. I mean, I dealt with organized crime from time to time, which doesn't exactly have a high survivability rating, but at least they're just humans. Cordelia... is definitely not just a human. And that thing is much less so. Morningstar too, it seems like. I think I'd feel safer with superpowers like them. Maybe I'll get some eventually. Who knows.

Anyway, I think that's enough sharing for one night. I'll give someone else a turn.

Thursday, February 19, 2015

I'm Not the Funny One

Miss Cordelia said introduce myself, so I’ll introduce myself.

Hi.  My name’s Gray.  I’m fifteen years old, I like the color purple, I’m a high school dropout, I have an alternate personality named The Kor who says hi, by the way, and I’m a runner.

Look at me, summing up my entire self in a sentence.

I’m just kidding, I’ll go into more detail.  Oh that’s another thing about me, my jokes are terrible.  I’d leave the comedy to The Kor but his puns are just painful.  So really, don’t expect much humor from either of us.  I fail to see what there is to laugh at in life most of the time.

I have been a runner since like, September or so.  Actually, runner is a poor term for it since I am constantly staying in one place.  It tends to ruin everything, but that’s me.  I ruin everything.  I’ve killed my dad, I’ve basically killed my mom and I was well on my way to killing myself before Miss Cordelia found me.

If for some reason you care, or maybe you’re just morbidly curious, you can read it in more detail at the blog I kept. It's all there.  I’ll probably keep posting there too.  Call me sentimental, but it’s supposed to be my obituary and so I like keeping my more personal thoughts in my own personal place.  If you don’t feel like reading it then I’ll give you a synopsis:

A pathetic child huddles miserably in the corner of his room crying until he plays with fire and burns everything he’s ever loved.

I’m really on point with those one sentence things.  How convenient that my life is so compressible.

Miss Cordelia pretty much took me in after that, and she’s given me a home.  Even though I’m surrounded by proxies, which kind of terrified me at first, I’m starting to get used to it.  She’s so nice, and no one judges me that I barely come out of my room.  It’s a lot to take in.  I used to live in rural Maine.  The middle of Las Vegas is quite the change.  Overwhelming and noisy would be two good words for it.  Also hot.  Nobody told Nevada that it’s winter.  A lot of Cordelia’s people have been going out and about town, entertaining themselves, but I haven’t really dared to go too far from the house.  Plus I’m too young to gamble or drink so I don’t think that I would find much of this city very fun.

Speaking of the team, I got to meet most of them.  There’s apparently tons of others, but I’ve met all the ones that will be posting on this blog.  Pretty soon probably, because Miss Cordelia has been asking us to introduce ourselves here.

So, I’ll give you some thoughts.  Miss Cordelia first.  She’s super nice.  And she really cares about her team.  She even cares about me despite me not being a proxy.  She’s taken me in and she’s going to train me without asking anything in return.  Oh, the training thing.  She says that apparently I’m a Crafter?  I’m not sure if I believe her yet, but she’s super smart so I guess she’s right.

Vanguard was the second one I met, but less met and more encountered.  He’s super huge, like a football player.  Or a fridge.  But not much for talking.  Kinda really intimidating.  I don’t think I’d like to be in a room alone with him.

Justine is really nice.  She’s a thief apparently, but like, a gentlewoman thief.  Like Robin Hood, I guess.  The Kor really likes her, apparently, which is rare.  And she really likes The Kor which is even rarer cause he kinda has a…strong personality.  I’m happy that they get along.

Jokes I haven’t exactly talked to directly, but I’ve seen him around.  I don’t see him as much cause he doesn’t live in the house.  He seems friendly enough, I don’t know.  Maybe you can get that humor from him since it’s not coming from me.  His name is Jokes, he must be funny, right?

And finally, Morningstar.  This was not someone I ever expected to meet, let alone live under the same roof with.  Or rather, if I did meet him, I didn’t expect to live to type up a blog post about him.  Plus the fact that he died.  Multiple times.  Miss Cordelia said that people get a bit messed up when they die and come back, but he just has this weird feeling.  I can’t explain it like, I’m feeling him without touching him and he’s all squishy and it kinda weirds me out.  Like he’s made of jelly that slides around as he moves.  It’s disturbing, like watching a snake too hard.  I’ve read about him, murdering people and eating people and being generally terrifying but apparently he’s turned a new leaf.  I’m not so trusting that I’ll just believe him, but I also didn’t leave which I guess I could have.  I trust Miss Cordelia if I don’t trust him, and she won’t let him hurt me or anyone else.

We’ll mark him down as another one I don’t want to be alone in a room with.

But this is a group that’s against violence and killing and stuff and I can get behind that.  If we’re all going to die eventually I don’t think it matters whether someone is a proxy or not during their life if it’s what they believe in.  And what helps them be happy.  I have high hopes that I could be happy here.

Catch you later.

Wednesday, February 18, 2015

Enter at Your Own Risk

Fascinating, isn't it, how quickly information can spread these days? Every fool with access to a computer can infect every other fool with what they know, or what they think they know, and soon the truth doesn't matter anymore when stood up against the massive, powerful lie that has been constructed as gospel.

This sort of thing makes my mission akin to herding kittens, you see. Difficult, but not impossible, and still every bit as important as ever.

I'm getting ahead of myself. However, chances are that if you've found my little online den here, then you've heard at least a little bit about me and about what I do. Whether what you've heard about me is true or not, well... I'm here to set the record straight. My name is Cordelia, and I am a proxy.

More specifically, I am the leader of a sect of proxy, devoted to Father's Will, based out of Las Vegas, Nevada. I am the one they call "The Red Witch." Much has been made of that nickname, but I prefer not to dwell on rumors and superstition. I may be a witch, but much of my work is practical in nature, and I have no time or patience for a silly, internet-based game of Telephone. I'm too old for that sort of thing, these days. ;)

So! With that in mind, I'd like very much to clear the air, and speak candidly about what it is that I do. 

As I said before, I coordinate a proxy sub-faction out of Las Vegas. Our work emphasizes spiritual dedication to our Father, or "Slenderman" as He is often called. Studying His nature, His desires, His goals is our primary endeavor, as we seek to better understand and carry out His Will. This involves gathering our numbers to better coordinate our mission, strengthening His hold over the world through ritual and conversion of those who do not already worship, and collaborating with other servant groups, such as the Free Market.

If that all sounds religious to you, then you are beginning to understand my operations some. 

See, I have been with Father for some time. I am older now, and I have seen many different forms of proxy come and go. But none have been so infamous as the Bureaucracy of old, which held power more strictly and for a longer period of time than any other proxy regime in existence. Understand: this was no accident. Father's Will reigns, and it was by Him that the Bureaucracy stood the test of time. 

Understand this also: when it fell, it was also by Father's Will. The organization had grown fat and grotesque in nature, serving itself rather than its supposed Master. I know this, because I was there. Ingrained in that hierarchy. I helped to keep that ship afloat, along with so many countless others. I watched them all burn. I felt the fire myself. Nothing has ever been so painful.

The Fall was meant, in essence, to be a great purge. The numbers, the paperwork, the acountants, had turned the Bureaucracy away from its own meaning. Away from Father. Their rebellion produced yet another Redlight, one who fancied himself a second coming of sorts, a usurper to Father's throne. This warped organization was the face of proxyhood for many, many years. And although the war between the Runners of old and Redlight was what eventually toppled it, Father's displeasure was the true catalyst for all that fire. Many, many of our number were culled to burn us down to our essence again.

Which is precisely why I, along with my followers, strive to carry out Father's Will with more spiritual devotion than our predecessor. My own nickname was earned due to the nature of my private work. I collect artifacts, books, and instructions for rituals which help strengthen Father's presence and power in our world. I have been told this evokes the image of a witch over her cauldron, and I can't say I don't see the resemblance. So be it. If I'm a witch, I am Father's Witch. Wouldn't want to earn His wrath once more, now would we~? ;)

My mission is simple: to serve Father. I have seen what He does to those who dare defy Him, or worse, disobey direct orders. Their fate is always the same, no matter how much time it takes. Those of us who follow would take care to listen carefully to His Will. For my part, I invite any and all proxies interested in renewing their faith with vigor to join us in Las Vegas and see what it means to be a proxy these days. We keep Fracture's Ethics, and strive to find new and better ways to serve Father as He engages with us. All are welcome.

...I've said my piece, I think, and hopefully cleared up any and all misconceptions about what it is I, and my order in turn, do. If there are questions I would be happy to answer them, provided they are polite and grammatically correct. If there are none, I'll gladly sit here sipping sherry and being a spooky witch in peace. Cheers~ :)