Dancing Tongues

A story during which you either make other's lives better, or lead them to absolute ruin as you listen to some guy play an accordion. I hope you enjoy.

OC forms
For those interested in having their own character featured in the story, fill in this here beautiful form and post it in the comments bellow;

OC’s name:

Gender (preferred pronouns etc.):

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Personality (include their level of honesty, loyalty, selfishness & persistency- you can add anything else as long as you have those four down):

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Preferred color; A- Aqua    B- Brick Red   C- Castleton Green

Preferred story genre; D- Dystopia    E- Epic (heroic adventures etc.)    F- Folklore (myths & tales)

Preferred personality trait for a pet elephant; G- Grumpy    H- Huggable    I- Initiative

Preferred death; J-Overeating (tearing your oesophagus)  K- Sleep Deprivation

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Your job is starting in negative three minutes, hurry on now.

Red Ties and Tired Eyes
Storms at sea are quite terrifying; they rock your boat, bite at your masts and rip apart your sails until all that’s left are empty, hollow carcases of what’s once been. Until all that’s left is lifeless meat to act as fodder for whatever horrors living under the raging waters.

But storms on land are something entirely different; they’re more obnoxious and troublesome, pulling at trees, flooding farmlands, tearing at houses and misplacing boulders. The occasional thunder really gets you going, too. It keeps you from slaking on the job, keeps you up and about so that your manager can see all of the not not-working you’re doing instead of all of the not not-sleep that you could be doing.

The sea gets very prissy around this time of year, though. The storms keep rolling in, bringing in even more water, even more rain, soaking the already overflowing sea with more of their tears. And even though the deep blue throws its waves around in rage, even though it seethes and fumes until it boils all of its inhabitants alive; the storms never listen. They just keep coming.

A never-faulting accordion can be heard from in-between the howls and screams of the wind, never stopping, never missing a single note. Not even when the winds tear apart trees, not even when the waves devour cities whole. Once in a while a voice joins in to chant some words in a tongue that nobody understands. In a tongue made of leaves and thorns, the sounds so off-putting and vile they manage to become a language so foul, and yet so addicting.

You’re sitting in a cramped wooden booth, your open window facing away from where the wind is steadily assaulting the little compartment with the never-ending rain.

Through the thick fog you can see one of the tanker boats stationed at a nearby port; a single lantern hanging off of the railing, as per usual. Lightly illuminating the relentless musician of a poisoned tongue, it made for a good beacon.

A few songs pass by before your first customer comes.

Was is night, or was it day already? The clouds haven’t cleared the sky for quite a while now and you’ve been having trouble keeping the clocks up to date lately.

The bulk of a bear slowly eases out of the fog, looking like a mess with sunken in eyes and soaked fur. He takes shelter under your stall’s roof, shielding himself (and by extension you) from the angry rain.

There’s a crimson tie around his neck, and you wonder if it’s always been like that. After all, some stains are trickier to wash out then others.

You would know.

He glances up from underneath the soggy hood of his sweater, and you would have felt sorry for the poor guy, had he not been your costumer. But those who come for your advice rarely deserve pity, so you keep your thoughts to yourself.

“Hello”

The wind picks up, and the accordion grows a bit fainter.

''“…Um… I’ve… been told I should come here? If I… If I needed an answer?”''

You nod.

''“…Okay. Um. Do you… when do we start? Do I ask you now, or-“''

You nod once more.

“…Oka-okay… so there’s no forms I need to fill out, nothing I need to-“

You shake your head.

“…okay, so, um, here goes nothing-“ He looks around, looking almost like he expects someone to be listening. Almost as if the storm isn’t loud enough already. Almost as if the raging waves are going to stab him in the back when he least expects it. Almost as if he isn’t smack-dab in the middle of nowhere, trembling and soaked to the bone.

Almost as if he’s worth someone’s precious time.

''“Is it okay to… feel these feelings? These weird things that nobody ever talks about? Is it okay to feel things that… aren’t necessary acceptable? I… every time I feel them, I feel like there’s a huge, deep hole that I’m about to fall into; like I’m standing off the edge of a cliff, like I’m about to fall and never see the light of day again. I can’t explain them, I- there’re slowly killing me, I know they are- they don’t love me, they never did, they’re using me but I can’t prove it- I can’t prove that I’m just a pawn to them. I can’t. Because all these are, are simple hunches, just senseless ramblings of a stray mind and I don’t know what to do with myself, I just- I want these feelings to stop. I want to stop whatever… Whatever THIS is-“'' He grabs at his face with his massive paws, jaw slack but his stance stiff, uncomfortable.

“I want THIS to go, I don’t want… I don’t want to live by their rules, I don’t want to do everything they say but I can’t actually tell them that, because… Because from the outside, ''it looks like they’re doing me a favour. It looks like they’re taking care of me- taking care of us. But it just feels so… wrong. I don’t know what I am to them, I don’t know who I am to myself, oh dear, dear Missa I just don’t know what to do anymore. Nobody else feels this, and even if they do, they don’t dare voice their thoughts about it. I just… feel so trapped. This… coming here, to this wasteland, even that hasn't lessened the feeling of someone trailing after me- You… you aren’t one of them,'' right?”

You shake you head.

Negative.

You’re not one of them. You’re you. He’s a customer. That’s all the knowledge this time and place requires from the both of you.

''“…Even just being listened to is… making me feel lighter. Or is it the weird freedom this place offers? I’m not sure. But I… I really don’t want to go back to them. I don’t want to feel… feel like coughing up my throat and gulping down soap just to get rid of the words they make me say. They taste so horrendously, so… revoltingly. They stab and poke at my tongue and I really can’t take it anymore, I-“''

His eyes search your hooded figure for something. He looks less worried than before. You might even consider him… relaxed.

''“-I’m sorry, I seem to have taken things too far. I came to ask a question, so I must do just that; Will going againced them get me killed?”''

You shake your head.

He hesitates for a moment.

“…I know this costs extra, but I want another answer; Will… will the consequences be worse than death?”

You nod.

''“…I see. I’ll… I’ll have to think this over then. I’ll… decide what I’m going to do eventually. I just… Just really don’t want these thoughts anymore. This mind. It’s painful. I hate it. I’m sorry, I’m talking to much-“'' He shuffles a bit, paws digging around his hoodie. He pulls out two gems and plops them into the bag on the counter.

''“Thank you for your service. Have a good day”''

And with that, he steps out into the raging wind, and soon enough his frame is engulfed by the thick mist.

You carefully pick out the gems he’s given you from the stash you’ve already collected, and watch as the eyes that were scribbled across the surface bounce around, searching for their previous victim.

No wonder the bear was still feeling watched when he came here.

You listen to the accordion hum out a pretty melody as you wait for the eyes to finally take notice of you. It usually takes a while, since they tend to get too focused on their prey.

But once they do, their pupils widen and swallow their own frame, leaving you with normal, everyday gems.

This is your least favoirite type of customer (sometimes the eyes last a good day or two, blinking dazedly from gem to gem, before eventually crumbling away. Getting rid of them is a real headache), but gems are gems and you can’t really afford to be picky about it, can you?

-WIP-