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31_days2005-08-03 01:17 pm
p0t-0-g0ld.livejournal.com) wrote in 31_days2005-08-03 01:17 pm
[Aug 3][Carnivale] Freak Show 31, Chp 3
Title: Freak Show 31, Chapter 3
Day/Theme: Aug 3/Like Hamlet
Series: Carnivale
Character/Pairing: Henry Scudder and Evander Geddes
Rating: PG
“God has given you one face, and you make yourselves another.” -Hamlet Act 3, scene 1
The blonde man stood on the porch, one hand holding his hat, the other rapping lightly on the door. A moment later it was answered, by a portly man with brown-white beard and sparkling eyes. “Ah! Hello. You must be here about Mr. Scudder. I am Evander Geddes.” The introduction was sealed with a handshake. “Do come in, have some tea.”
“Simply lovely weather lately, isn’t it? Not a cloud these past few days…” Geddes brought the tea for the blonde man, who was sitting as stoic as could be. Perhaps this was not the sort of man for small talk. “Well then,” Geddes said, taking a sip of tea, “Perhaps it’s time for me to meet this Mr. Scudder. Where is he, then? Let’s have a look.”
For the first time the blonde man spoke; it was prefaced by a low chuckle and a condescending smile. “I am Henry Scudder.”
Geddes blinked, squinted, removed and replaced his spectacles. “…Excuse me?”
“I am Henry Scudder.” Hack took a sip of tea, then cup and saucer were set back on the table. “And I have come to have a mask made.”
“You are…?” Geddes took a moment to process this, and then he laughed politely. “Oh, dear. Oh, my. I’m sorry, but perhaps I wasn’t clear enough on the procedure in our letters. I had thought you wanted a death mask—“
“Oh, I am quite aware of the procedure.” Scudder’s voice was growing grave. “And a death mask is precisely what I want. At least, by all outward appearances.” He picked up the teacup and saucer again, and took a conclusive sip.
Geddes blubbered, he hemmed and hawed. “But, sir—surely you don’t—the procedure—you will surely—“
“I said I have come to have a mask made.” And now the mask-maker cowered, he trembled in his shoes; for Henry Scudder’s eyes, whites and all, had turned black as the night sky. “And you will let me worry about the procedure…”
. . .
“It is finished.” He held it up with reverence, examining the curve of the nose, the crease of the lips, the subtleties of the skin. “My best work,” he whispered to himself.
The black-eyed prophet rose from his sear on the operating table, and approached Geddes, and spoke to him in commands as he slid a piece of paper toward him—a piece of paper bearing an address. “Send it to my mother. She is blind.”
“Yes. Yes… of course.” And somehow this made perfect sense. “Of course… Prince.”
The irony in Scudder’s smile was tangible as he allowed the mask-maker to kiss his hand. “You have done well. Remember—“ the hand that Geddes had kissed turned over to take his chin. “—your new abilities, and use them well. Your object is to capture the soul.”
“Will I ever see you again?” Geddes grasped at Scudder’s hand, begging him to stay, or to at least return once he had gone.
“You will,” came the reply. “Some way or another.”
. . .
Evander Geddes awoke startled, staring down into his cold tea. His glasses lay on the table before him. All was silence.
He tried to remember the dream he’d just had—a very extraordinary dream. “Odd,” he said to no one, as he perched his glasses on the edge of his nose, and glanced about him. “Very odd.” Or was it truly a dream; had any of it really happened? There was one way, he could think, to be sure. At once he rose, went to the address record on his mantle. But a thorough search proved there was no Henry Scudder among the cards.
Satisfied with this, he picked up his now undrinkable tea and went to brew a fresh pot. As he puttered around the kitchen, he saw the card resting on the table. A glaze came over the mask-maker’s eyes as he picked it up, reading the name and address again and again and again.
“Very odd indeed…”
Day/Theme: Aug 3/Like Hamlet
Series: Carnivale
Character/Pairing: Henry Scudder and Evander Geddes
Rating: PG
“God has given you one face, and you make yourselves another.” -Hamlet Act 3, scene 1
The blonde man stood on the porch, one hand holding his hat, the other rapping lightly on the door. A moment later it was answered, by a portly man with brown-white beard and sparkling eyes. “Ah! Hello. You must be here about Mr. Scudder. I am Evander Geddes.” The introduction was sealed with a handshake. “Do come in, have some tea.”
“Simply lovely weather lately, isn’t it? Not a cloud these past few days…” Geddes brought the tea for the blonde man, who was sitting as stoic as could be. Perhaps this was not the sort of man for small talk. “Well then,” Geddes said, taking a sip of tea, “Perhaps it’s time for me to meet this Mr. Scudder. Where is he, then? Let’s have a look.”
For the first time the blonde man spoke; it was prefaced by a low chuckle and a condescending smile. “I am Henry Scudder.”
Geddes blinked, squinted, removed and replaced his spectacles. “…Excuse me?”
“I am Henry Scudder.” Hack took a sip of tea, then cup and saucer were set back on the table. “And I have come to have a mask made.”
“You are…?” Geddes took a moment to process this, and then he laughed politely. “Oh, dear. Oh, my. I’m sorry, but perhaps I wasn’t clear enough on the procedure in our letters. I had thought you wanted a death mask—“
“Oh, I am quite aware of the procedure.” Scudder’s voice was growing grave. “And a death mask is precisely what I want. At least, by all outward appearances.” He picked up the teacup and saucer again, and took a conclusive sip.
Geddes blubbered, he hemmed and hawed. “But, sir—surely you don’t—the procedure—you will surely—“
“I said I have come to have a mask made.” And now the mask-maker cowered, he trembled in his shoes; for Henry Scudder’s eyes, whites and all, had turned black as the night sky. “And you will let me worry about the procedure…”
“It is finished.” He held it up with reverence, examining the curve of the nose, the crease of the lips, the subtleties of the skin. “My best work,” he whispered to himself.
The black-eyed prophet rose from his sear on the operating table, and approached Geddes, and spoke to him in commands as he slid a piece of paper toward him—a piece of paper bearing an address. “Send it to my mother. She is blind.”
“Yes. Yes… of course.” And somehow this made perfect sense. “Of course… Prince.”
The irony in Scudder’s smile was tangible as he allowed the mask-maker to kiss his hand. “You have done well. Remember—“ the hand that Geddes had kissed turned over to take his chin. “—your new abilities, and use them well. Your object is to capture the soul.”
“Will I ever see you again?” Geddes grasped at Scudder’s hand, begging him to stay, or to at least return once he had gone.
“You will,” came the reply. “Some way or another.”
Evander Geddes awoke startled, staring down into his cold tea. His glasses lay on the table before him. All was silence.
He tried to remember the dream he’d just had—a very extraordinary dream. “Odd,” he said to no one, as he perched his glasses on the edge of his nose, and glanced about him. “Very odd.” Or was it truly a dream; had any of it really happened? There was one way, he could think, to be sure. At once he rose, went to the address record on his mantle. But a thorough search proved there was no Henry Scudder among the cards.
Satisfied with this, he picked up his now undrinkable tea and went to brew a fresh pot. As he puttered around the kitchen, he saw the card resting on the table. A glaze came over the mask-maker’s eyes as he picked it up, reading the name and address again and again and again.
“Very odd indeed…”