( name ) Elliot Claxton ( age ) Eighteen ( date of birth ) 6.24.90 ( blood type ) AB ( height/weight) 5'10.7"/52kg ( homeland ) England, UK ( location ) California, USA ( occupation ) Not employed ( favorites ) Not applicable ( dislikes ) Not applicable ( status ) Taken ( orientation ) Not applicable ( secrets) 100% prince, 100% oblivious to the fact
noise
Backseat Goodbye Technicolor Eyes Attack Attack! Assorted The White Tie Affair Assorted Electric Valentine Assorted Breath Carolina Assorted The Kids are RADIOACTIVE Higher I Set My Friends On Fire Assorted And Then There Were None Assorted Stereo Skyline! Heartbeat Marilyn Manson Seizure of Power
Song of the Week Welcome to Savannah by Breathe Carolina
Benumbed, aphotic, remote. It scared him, causing involuntary tremors of nerve spasms to erupt beneath his delicate skin. He could not describe the room; just holding his hand out a few centimeters in front of his sweat covered cheeks was something he could not even witness. He did know it was a room for when he called for someone, he could only make perceptions of the audible noise which, he later concurred was his distinct vocals that ricocheted viciously back and forth from stone corridor to corridor. This enclosure confused him terribly. Where did it begin and did it even have an end? He decided, after a great deal of merely sitting on the damped floor, that he would take a look-see around what he thought to be a circular room. The first step was highly timid--he feared the very floor he stood upon. Immediately, however, after his first step, he became overly confident and began to stride forward, taking no caution in his step until his foot sunk into nothingness. Alarmed, he fell back onto his ass, crying out softly as his pelvis bone came in contact with the cement. Hand outstretched, he reached forward, feeling for the floor which he thought was there but, upon length, discovered that in the very center of the room was a enormous pit that, from it, leaked vapor and engulfing darkness. He could only use but one word to describe it clearly: it was terror itself, calling out to him.
A set of empyrean cobalt eyes glanced up and seemed to be the only visuals that could possibly be seen from the depths of the entangling pit. They belonged to him--he had become curious after discovering the large crater in the center of the room. A sudden light flashed from the heavens drew his attention to the ceiling. At first, he could not make out what was above him but soon enough it made itself clear. Without his knowledge, the angel of death had descended into the deep cavern and had hand delivered his death: a crescent blade attached to thick sets of chain came down at him with full speed.
(This probably now sounds like The Pit and the Pendulum and it is relatively similar however it does have some contrast. There are no rats, no whatever else you think there will be. Just a pit and a rather large blade.)
He could hear their menacing voices within his head, crying out to him, "Kings are not born, they are made by hallucinations" as he dodged out of the way of the speeding steel that, when it came to contact with the concrete, shattered it without hassle. He felt terrified and alone as though he were a little adolescent again, wandering around a department store of clothes that lacked fashion. What sort of warning was that? Kings are not born? Who gave a shit about royalty now a days? In his conscious, he knew that he had once been highly interested in the topic of nobility but during this moment in time, he was not the least bit thrilled with wanted to learn about them.
The steel contraption was forcefully yanked out of the concrete leaving him standing upon the rubble. As it reached the ceiling, it hovered for a moment as though it was a bird of prey waiting for the last strike. Swiveling his head to look up, he could only pray that it would stay suspended like that--hauntingly suspended within the stilled, dusty air. But, of course, it plunged back towards the already corrupted ground. This time, however, it went directly towards him, into his little corner. A sudden gasp was all he had time for before jumping to safety on the other side of the pit. Could he possibly escape this ghastly blade by ducking into the crater in the middle of the room? His eyes adverted toward the center of the room, horrified to find the crater had been covered up by the rubble and...where had the blade gone? He glanced around the room, morbidly shocked and petrified that he could not spot the gleaming steel anywhere. It had gone back up, had it not? Timidly, near having a fatal heart attack from being so damn scared, he shot his ethereal eyes upwards toward the ceiling from where he stood, now in even more woe to find the blade missing from its perch. Panicking, he darted around the cubical, searching for an exit when the horrid sound reached his ears.
It sounded like a soft whistle that someone could make by puckering their lips together. Then, as a bit of time slipped by, the whistle became more of a pronounced hiss. And, from the hiss, it became a loud sound of wind being cut. Stiffly, he turned his head in the general direction that he heard all this. Wide eyed, he saw his fate. The large blade of crescent-shaped steel raised its horrendous head and descended upon his quivering frame.
All Elliot could do was close his pretty blue eyes and wait for the impact.
