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Doctor Gabriel · Posted 01-10-2016, 11:52 PM

Mr. Kite’s teeth sank deep into the burger he’d procured from a local bistro he hadn’t bothered to get the name of. The deep crimson of the ketchup blob that oozed its way onto the corner of his mouth mirrored the hue and shine of the blood that danced from his palm like steam caught in a breeze above a hot spring in mid December. It swam through the air, conforming to the shape of the circle he’d found in his father’s journal before gently descending upon the same image caked in dried blood from the previous nights.

He’d spent almost every night in this fashion since his arrival in Avignon. Standing in the crudely furnished garage he’d procured to serve as his lodgings, illuminated by a menagerie of candles and lamps as his blood danced through the air before falling into the necessary shape and alighting on the concrete floor.

Hypothetically, he could have finished the circle in one night, but the journal had strongly warned against it. The repeated rituals served two purposes:

Firstly, ensuring that he didn’t risk dying of blood loss.

And secondly, ensuring that circle would be all the stronger from the layering.

It was the same principle as using multiple coats of paints. Ensuring the first wouldn’t be stripped away by the elements and adding to the deepness with each additional layer.

Shoving the last bits of beef and condiments into his mouth, Mr. Kite wiped his face with a thin paper napkin and bandaged the gash in his palm. He fell into one of the numerous armchairs that littered the abandoned auto repair shop and compared the symbols on the ground to the ones in the journal. Satisfied, he snapped the old leather bound tome shut and let out a deep sigh.

“Seven should be enough,” he muttered to himself before taking in the stage for the most important part of the ritual.

He liked Avignon. Having spent the majority of his adult life working in alleys, the cramped nature of the city felt welcoming to him. Originally, he’d rented an apartment to serve as his base of operations, but upon seeing how small the accommodations were and thinness of the complex’s walls, he informed the super he would not be staying there after all and shook her hand with an apology. The trickle of blood unleashed by the small prick on the underside of his ring told him that the woman also managed this abandoned mechanic’s shop and after some persuasion, he was able to convince her to rent him that space instead.

Thankfully, the space still had the running water and bathroom the workers and customers had used in it’s hayday. And though the plumbers had been hesitant and more than a tad perplexed when he asked them to install a shower in the old garage, a handshake and hefty sum of Euros was all he’d needed to assuage their concerns. So he’d spent his days furnishing his secret base with all the used furniture and appliances he could get his hands on and his nights repeating the ritual to craft the strongest summoning circle he could manage.

He eyed the clocks that adorned the walls around him. Nine out of twelve of them proclaimed the time 11:58 PM. He rose from his seat wearily and flipped to the needed page in the journal.

“Alright, let’s see if this works,” he spoke to the empty room.

He was about to begin before remembering that he’d forgotten an important detail. His bandaged hand grabbed a remote from a nearby table and a button press later the garage was filled the cacophonous thumping and guttural wails of Rage Against The Machine.

“Perfect,” he grinned to himself as he stretched and adjusted his posture to ensure the blood and magic circuits that it utilized would flow easily.

He extended the hand that had minutes before unleashed the dancing blood that made the circle he now loomed over and raised the journal to his eyes before he began reciting the words of the summoning between the cries of the ever enthusiastic Zach de la Rocha.

“Heros antiguis.”

“Fuck you, I won’t do what ya tell me…”

“Audient vocem sanguinis mei.”

“Fuck you, I won’t do what ya tell me…”

“Veni foras! Enim sanguis meus novi postulata…”

“Fuck you, I won’t do what ya tell me!”

“Victoria!”

“Fuck you, I won’t do what ya tell me!”

“Servus meus es tu! Et ego…”

“FUCK YOU I WON’T DO WHAT YA TELL ME!”

“VIR DOMINUS!”

The red glow of the circle illuminated the smug grin upon Mr. Kite’s face as he quivered in anticipation to see what great hero his blood had called forth.

Doctor Gabriel nostalgic			#27
	Mr. Kite’s teeth sank deep into the burger he’d procured from a local bistro he hadn’t bothered to get the name of. The deep crimson of the ketchup blob that oozed its way onto the corner of his mouth mirrored the hue and shine of the blood that danced from his palm like steam caught in a breeze above a hot spring in mid December. It swam through the air, conforming to the shape of the circle he’d found in his father’s journal before gently descending upon the same image caked in dried blood from the previous nights. He’d spent almost every night in this fashion since his arrival in Avignon. Standing in the crudely furnished garage he’d procured to serve as his lodgings, illuminated by a menagerie of candles and lamps as his blood danced through the air before falling into the necessary shape and alighting on the concrete floor. Hypothetically, he could have finished the circle in one night, but the journal had strongly warned against it. The repeated rituals served two purposes: Firstly, ensuring that he didn’t risk dying of blood loss. And secondly, ensuring that circle would be all the stronger from the layering. It was the same principle as using multiple coats of paints. Ensuring the first wouldn’t be stripped away by the elements and adding to the deepness with each additional layer. Shoving the last bits of beef and condiments into his mouth, Mr. Kite wiped his face with a thin paper napkin and bandaged the gash in his palm. He fell into one of the numerous armchairs that littered the abandoned auto repair shop and compared the symbols on the ground to the ones in the journal. Satisfied, he snapped the old leather bound tome shut and let out a deep sigh. “Seven should be enough,” he muttered to himself before taking in the stage for the most important part of the ritual. He liked Avignon. Having spent the majority of his adult life working in alleys, the cramped nature of the city felt welcoming to him. Originally, he’d rented an apartment to serve as his base of operations, but upon seeing how small the accommodations were and thinness of the complex’s walls, he informed the super he would not be staying there after all and shook her hand with an apology. The trickle of blood unleashed by the small prick on the underside of his ring told him that the woman also managed this abandoned mechanic’s shop and after some persuasion, he was able to convince her to rent him that space instead. Thankfully, the space still had the running water and bathroom the workers and customers had used in it’s hayday. And though the plumbers had been hesitant and more than a tad perplexed when he asked them to install a shower in the old garage, a handshake and hefty sum of Euros was all he’d needed to assuage their concerns. So he’d spent his days furnishing his secret base with all the used furniture and appliances he could get his hands on and his nights repeating the ritual to craft the strongest summoning circle he could manage. He eyed the clocks that adorned the walls around him. Nine out of twelve of them proclaimed the time 11:58 PM. He rose from his seat wearily and flipped to the needed page in the journal. “Alright, let’s see if this works,” he spoke to the empty room. He was about to begin before remembering that he’d forgotten an important detail. His bandaged hand grabbed a remote from a nearby table and a button press later the garage was filled the cacophonous thumping and guttural wails of Rage Against The Machine. “Perfect,” he grinned to himself as he stretched and adjusted his posture to ensure the blood and magic circuits that it utilized would flow easily. He extended the hand that had minutes before unleashed the dancing blood that made the circle he now loomed over and raised the journal to his eyes before he began reciting the words of the summoning between the cries of the ever enthusiastic Zach de la Rocha. “Heros antiguis.” “Fuck you, I won’t do what ya tell me…” “Audient vocem sanguinis mei.” “Fuck you, I won’t do what ya tell me…” “Veni foras! Enim sanguis meus novi postulata…” “Fuck you, I won’t do what ya tell me!” “Victoria!” “Fuck you, I won’t do what ya tell me!” “Servus meus es tu! Et ego…” “FUCK YOU I WON’T DO WHAT YA TELL ME!” “VIR DOMINUS!” The red glow of the circle illuminated the smug grin upon Mr. Kite’s face as he quivered in anticipation to see what great hero his blood had called forth.
		Posted 01-10-2016, 11:52 PM