Crazy Jane + 63 more (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
fuckregularpeople) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
dualislogs2019-12-02 10:04 pm
fuckregularpeople) wrote in dualislogs2019-12-02 10:04 pm
Entry tags:
when we die we will die with our arms unbound
WHO: Crazy Jane/the Hangman's Daughter and OPEN
WHAT: An alarming painting on the side of a building
WHERE: The Gallows
WHEN: December 2
WARNINGS: Gore/executions
The Hangman's Daughter [CW: gore/death]
It started off as a landscape.
The Hangman's Daughter knows it's important, that she has to get the image out of her head and painted immediately. She rushes a rough sketch, grabs her paints and brushes, sets up the pulley system that Drifter had fashioned after Jane provided a wealth of takeout, and begins her work on the Gallows' graffiti wall.
Dualis is a beautiful city. She knows Jane hates being there, that it was as much a prison to her as the mental institution had been, but the Hangman's Daughter tries not to look beyond the surface of good things, beyond the neon lights and the stark geometrical designs of the buildings. She always tried not to, and always failed.
That was why she has to paint in the dark parts of Central Square Park. It was there right under the surface, on the very next page, and she winced as she added vibrant yellows and reds, grays, crimson, maroon, dull pink, white, pale yellow to figures that shouldn't have been there. She feels her stomach drop but doesn't stop, absorbed in the act of purging this image from her mind.
It takes hours. People might have stopped and gaped at her efforts, she doesn't know, but when she hoists herself back up via the pulley system and places her paints on the roof she's shaking. Getting down to ground level again and observing the full building-sized painting does little to comfort her.
It's technically lovely. She certainly captured the Central Square Park well, and the colors were vibrant. The red and yellow of a flaming pyre under a staked figure; grays in an impaled form hoisted high, ruby red blood dripping down the black spear; splashes of crimson across wan skin on the gladiators' bodies; muddy pink in the torn flesh of a drawn and quartered figure with a noose around its neck; the dull gray of a guillotine blade streaked with brown and vibrant red; the brilliant yellow-white of muzzle flash on the firing squad.
The Hangman's Daughter looks up at it, tears gathering in her eyes.
Crazy Jane
After taking a good look at the painting on the graffiti wall, Jane retreats into the Gallows and considers what she's just seen. It's undeniably provocative. She doesn't know what it means, how the iterations will react when they see it, but she knows something will happen. People will see it, might come in to ask what the painting meant, she might get arrested and get who-knows-what done to her. She goes for her stash of spray paint, considering how the wrong message might put a target on her and that it'd be easier for her to just cover up the whole thing, or at least the executions.
She pauses and grabs a can of gold spray paint, retreating to the graffiti wall only for a second before returning to the safety of the gallery. In the lower right-hand corner where the artist's signature often goes, she's left the message ᴄᴏɴᴛʀᴏʟ ɪs ᴀ ᴡᴇᴀᴘᴏɴ ꜰᴏʀ ꜰᴀsᴄɪsᴛs.
WHAT: An alarming painting on the side of a building
WHERE: The Gallows
WHEN: December 2
WARNINGS: Gore/executions
The Hangman's Daughter [CW: gore/death]
It started off as a landscape.
The Hangman's Daughter knows it's important, that she has to get the image out of her head and painted immediately. She rushes a rough sketch, grabs her paints and brushes, sets up the pulley system that Drifter had fashioned after Jane provided a wealth of takeout, and begins her work on the Gallows' graffiti wall.
Dualis is a beautiful city. She knows Jane hates being there, that it was as much a prison to her as the mental institution had been, but the Hangman's Daughter tries not to look beyond the surface of good things, beyond the neon lights and the stark geometrical designs of the buildings. She always tried not to, and always failed.
That was why she has to paint in the dark parts of Central Square Park. It was there right under the surface, on the very next page, and she winced as she added vibrant yellows and reds, grays, crimson, maroon, dull pink, white, pale yellow to figures that shouldn't have been there. She feels her stomach drop but doesn't stop, absorbed in the act of purging this image from her mind.
It takes hours. People might have stopped and gaped at her efforts, she doesn't know, but when she hoists herself back up via the pulley system and places her paints on the roof she's shaking. Getting down to ground level again and observing the full building-sized painting does little to comfort her.
It's technically lovely. She certainly captured the Central Square Park well, and the colors were vibrant. The red and yellow of a flaming pyre under a staked figure; grays in an impaled form hoisted high, ruby red blood dripping down the black spear; splashes of crimson across wan skin on the gladiators' bodies; muddy pink in the torn flesh of a drawn and quartered figure with a noose around its neck; the dull gray of a guillotine blade streaked with brown and vibrant red; the brilliant yellow-white of muzzle flash on the firing squad.
The Hangman's Daughter looks up at it, tears gathering in her eyes.
Crazy Jane
After taking a good look at the painting on the graffiti wall, Jane retreats into the Gallows and considers what she's just seen. It's undeniably provocative. She doesn't know what it means, how the iterations will react when they see it, but she knows something will happen. People will see it, might come in to ask what the painting meant, she might get arrested and get who-knows-what done to her. She goes for her stash of spray paint, considering how the wrong message might put a target on her and that it'd be easier for her to just cover up the whole thing, or at least the executions.
She pauses and grabs a can of gold spray paint, retreating to the graffiti wall only for a second before returning to the safety of the gallery. In the lower right-hand corner where the artist's signature often goes, she's left the message ᴄᴏɴᴛʀᴏʟ ɪs ᴀ ᴡᴇᴀᴘᴏɴ ꜰᴏʀ ꜰᴀsᴄɪsᴛs.
no subject
"No one was ever looking out for me so I had to do it myself. That's why they're here. Not because anyone stepped in to keep the bad man out." And they can't keep the bad man out, not really. What he'd done tore Kay's psyche too far apart and he'd left too many imprints to banish. All they could do was try to contain him as much as possible.
no subject
"Just askin'. Sometimes your brain decides to deal with stuff however it can. Me? I uh... starved to death a few times. More than a few. Never plan to die on an empty stomach again, if I can help it."
If that explains the hotdogs he just scarfed down.
"You stab me and I'll heal right up. I get sick? Or hungry? Or poisoned? It's nice and slow. It just waits it out to bring me back clean rather than tryin' to fix it."
But that's beside the point. "You look a little different between 'em, I noticed. Not that I've seen you in more than a couple."
no subject
The healing part is handy. Seems more than a little unfair that it doesn't kick in until after wear's been done, though. "So it just fucks off unless someone tries to make you bleed. Why's it only doing half its job?"
She shrugs. "They don't all look like me. Most don't." In the Underground the physical differences are enormous, but a lot of those are lost when everyone's using the same body on the surface. "You'll see."
no subject
That's ominous, though.
"You got some plannin' on payin' a visit?"
no subject
He didn't answer her question but for now she figures it's for a good reason, giving him the benefit of the doubt.
"Probably. I don't control when they come out. Stick around long enough and you'll meet 'em all." Not that anyone ever had. Even if someone stuck with her for years some of her would never surface.
no subject
"Well, no harm meant, but I hope we ain't stuck here long enough for all of 'em to make a visit. But so far I haven't been offended by none."
He's got a high tolerance for dicks, and she's less of a dick than the edgelord zealots he fell in with.
no subject
"Really? None of them?" Jane isn't offended, just confused. "You've met more than me, right? And I'm still a pain in the ass." Many people have told her this, it's a solid fact. She kind of tries to be a dick, because it pushes away the people who don't really care.
no subject
He shrugs, rolling his shoulders and spreading his hands. "Besides, look at me. I'm perpetually stuck in middle age, the only damn I give about my appearance is a motif, not impressin' anybody, and I'm older than most people I've met even in my world.
"Your scathin' insults ain't half as bad as what I've been beat with already, and even then you ain't even had nothin' foul to say about to me."
no subject
"Yeah, well, you haven't done anything to fuck me over yet." Drifter had been nothing but helpful so far, in fact. Even the paranoid and pessimistic Jane had to admit that.