Screaming loud enough to turn back the wind. (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
whatawaytoburn) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
rainbowfic2012-05-17 05:18 pm
whatawaytoburn) wrote in rainbowfic2012-05-17 05:18 pm
Quill Grey: It is necessary to write, if the days are not to slip emptily by.
Name: Charley
Story: And The Devil Makes Three
Colors: ill Grey (It is necessary to write, if the days are not to slip emptily by.)
Word Count: 280
Rating: PG
Warnings: Past drug use
Summary: How Percival started writing.
He started writing in rehab.
It was more like dictation at first, him sitting down and writing out bits of conversation he heard. He would piece them together, collect the stories of the lives around him. It felt a little voyeuristic and a little bit like stealing but he didn't care. There weren't many stories in his head and the ones that were proved to be hazy and drugged musings and nothing more.
The stories he had weren't worth telling.
But eventually, he remembered the stories that his brother told him in his youth, about angels and the Horsemen of the Apocalypse, about the world Above and Below. He didn't think he wanted to play with the Christian myths and yet, when he thought about it, things seemed like they wanted to play with him.
And that's how he started to work with stories, in that rehab center, pouring over notebooks and scribbling the stories from his childhood. They were rough and more like sketches than anything but there was potential in them. He crafted outlines and plots and series in that center, he told stories of angels and wars and the world falling apart to the sound of wings.
It never crosse3d his mind, not for a very long time, that he would be building his career on his brother's back, on his wings and the wings of every angel he would meet afterward.
Story: And The Devil Makes Three
Colors: ill Grey (It is necessary to write, if the days are not to slip emptily by.)
Word Count: 280
Rating: PG
Warnings: Past drug use
Summary: How Percival started writing.
He started writing in rehab.
It was more like dictation at first, him sitting down and writing out bits of conversation he heard. He would piece them together, collect the stories of the lives around him. It felt a little voyeuristic and a little bit like stealing but he didn't care. There weren't many stories in his head and the ones that were proved to be hazy and drugged musings and nothing more.
The stories he had weren't worth telling.
But eventually, he remembered the stories that his brother told him in his youth, about angels and the Horsemen of the Apocalypse, about the world Above and Below. He didn't think he wanted to play with the Christian myths and yet, when he thought about it, things seemed like they wanted to play with him.
And that's how he started to work with stories, in that rehab center, pouring over notebooks and scribbling the stories from his childhood. They were rough and more like sketches than anything but there was potential in them. He crafted outlines and plots and series in that center, he told stories of angels and wars and the world falling apart to the sound of wings.
It never crosse3d his mind, not for a very long time, that he would be building his career on his brother's back, on his wings and the wings of every angel he would meet afterward.