supreme_being81 (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
supreme_being81) wrote2013-05-05 04:40 pm
supreme_being81) wrote2013-05-05 04:40 pm
Fic: The Hobo Clown's Journey. Fandom: The Devil's Carnival, Rating: Gen.
Rating:pg13
Category:Gen
Fandom: The Devil's Carnival
Character: The Hobo Clown
Summary: The Clown's Journey was just as important as his destination. It made him who he was.
Warnings: mention of domestic violence, alcoholism. Rated for these mentions.
The Hobo Clown wasn't always a Hobo. Before the Carnival, before death, before the great depression had brought him low, he had been a rich man. Powerful, smart, quick witted and with a feeling of being invulnerable. He had enjoyed his life, his wealth allowing him to go where he liked, do as he wished. He had been proud that he had pulled himself from the ghetto of Irish immigrants he had been born into through hard work, the ability pick up on the 'next big thing', and the knowledge of who would make the best friends. The fact that he was willing to stoop to blackmail and extortion was by the by and to be expected. He was from the mean streets after all.
He would never forget the day he married his beautiful wife. Slim, blonde and absolutely stunning, she was the perfect trophy. The best statement of his wealth and standing. From an old money family, she was demure, submissive and seemed grateful for the jewels he presenyed on a regular basis. He knew now she was unhappy, feeling trapped, disregarded and resentful of the position as pretty doll that he had relegated her to. That she had thrust the knife in his back that had brought his death was really the only time she had shown her strength.
They had lived in a mansion, filled with beautiful things he cared for only as shows of wealth. The servants well paid but badly treated. He saw that now.
But his life had been good.
When Wall Street crashed, so did his life. His money gone, he turned to alcohol as a crutch, and his doll as his punching bag. Every stress was taken out on his beautiful wife. The night they died, he had gone too far. Ruined her lovely face under his drunken fists, bone snapping and blood pouring. His death was deserved, he realised now.
Waking up in the carnival, traipsing through dressed as his worst fear, replaying his sins over and over again with the company of a snake faced man who tempted, tormented and teased was, we, Hell. He tried so many times to escape. He cajoled, tried to bribe and in the end begged. It took him a long time to accept that Sinners had no escape.
Acceptance of his punishment brought a release of a kind. Brought his Master with an offer of purpose, a family and an end to his suffering. That he would be bringing suffering to others was not important.
So the clown settled, accepted his new existence and played the Carnival games.
Category:Gen
Fandom: The Devil's Carnival
Character: The Hobo Clown
Summary: The Clown's Journey was just as important as his destination. It made him who he was.
Warnings: mention of domestic violence, alcoholism. Rated for these mentions.
The Hobo Clown wasn't always a Hobo. Before the Carnival, before death, before the great depression had brought him low, he had been a rich man. Powerful, smart, quick witted and with a feeling of being invulnerable. He had enjoyed his life, his wealth allowing him to go where he liked, do as he wished. He had been proud that he had pulled himself from the ghetto of Irish immigrants he had been born into through hard work, the ability pick up on the 'next big thing', and the knowledge of who would make the best friends. The fact that he was willing to stoop to blackmail and extortion was by the by and to be expected. He was from the mean streets after all.
He would never forget the day he married his beautiful wife. Slim, blonde and absolutely stunning, she was the perfect trophy. The best statement of his wealth and standing. From an old money family, she was demure, submissive and seemed grateful for the jewels he presenyed on a regular basis. He knew now she was unhappy, feeling trapped, disregarded and resentful of the position as pretty doll that he had relegated her to. That she had thrust the knife in his back that had brought his death was really the only time she had shown her strength.
They had lived in a mansion, filled with beautiful things he cared for only as shows of wealth. The servants well paid but badly treated. He saw that now.
But his life had been good.
When Wall Street crashed, so did his life. His money gone, he turned to alcohol as a crutch, and his doll as his punching bag. Every stress was taken out on his beautiful wife. The night they died, he had gone too far. Ruined her lovely face under his drunken fists, bone snapping and blood pouring. His death was deserved, he realised now.
Waking up in the carnival, traipsing through dressed as his worst fear, replaying his sins over and over again with the company of a snake faced man who tempted, tormented and teased was, we, Hell. He tried so many times to escape. He cajoled, tried to bribe and in the end begged. It took him a long time to accept that Sinners had no escape.
Acceptance of his punishment brought a release of a kind. Brought his Master with an offer of purpose, a family and an end to his suffering. That he would be bringing suffering to others was not important.
So the clown settled, accepted his new existence and played the Carnival games.