01 -- PERSONAL ENCORE The neon burnt out like a supernova, a pop of excruciating red light searing into white, and then -- nothing, no lingering whisper, he was gone. The stage was once more visually made of metal and wood, bent in its bridging curve, concrete and earthen. Baphomet's illusions had vanished along with him. The chill of the Pennsylvanian night seeped back into the atmosphere, creeping along the absence of a god. You might blink, take a breath, you might compose yourself with the thought of a cold drink -- and then he's there, right at your side, his hand offered in greeting.
Suddenly.
"Saw you from the stage," he said. "Need just a touch more of it?"
02 -- AFTER PARTY The post-show haze. Baphomet wouldn't partake in the Hunt for the Goatman himself; he was a magician proved jaded by his own tricks. He wasn't here for the dead, or the imaginary, he sought only the living. The living provided the best company, in his experience. Water bottle in hand, Baphomet sat down on the slope of his bridge-stage, close enough to the edge so that his leather boots keep solid contact with the grassy ground. His mind was on his image golems, what they could be, how they could affect people. What they could mean to those who knew personal loss too well.
"Hey there," he said, glancing at you. "What's the one thing you'd want to see, right now?"
Baphomet | The Wicked + The Divine || ota
The neon burnt out like a supernova, a pop of excruciating red light searing into white, and then -- nothing, no lingering whisper, he was gone. The stage was once more visually made of metal and wood, bent in its bridging curve, concrete and earthen. Baphomet's illusions had vanished along with him. The chill of the Pennsylvanian night seeped back into the atmosphere, creeping along the absence of a god. You might blink, take a breath, you might compose yourself with the thought of a cold drink -- and then he's there, right at your side, his hand offered in greeting.
Suddenly.
"Saw you from the stage," he said. "Need just a touch more of it?"
02 -- AFTER PARTY
The post-show haze. Baphomet wouldn't partake in the Hunt for the Goatman himself; he was a magician proved jaded by his own tricks. He wasn't here for the dead, or the imaginary, he sought only the living. The living provided the best company, in his experience. Water bottle in hand, Baphomet sat down on the slope of his bridge-stage, close enough to the edge so that his leather boots keep solid contact with the grassy ground. His mind was on his image golems, what they could be, how they could affect people. What they could mean to those who knew personal loss too well.
"Hey there," he said, glancing at you. "What's the one thing you'd want to see, right now?"