A short burst of complete idiocy
Things you KNOW are not running through Larva's head
Larva roamed in little circles around his room. He wanted a chocolate bar. He sometimes felt he WAS a chocolate bar. All hard and dark on the outside, sweet and squishy in the middle. With nuts. He sometimes fancied himself a glass of lemonade, too. Shiny on the outside, making a good, hard appearance, but bitter and yellow on the inside.
He shook his head. 'Yellow?' This recalled to him the color of Miyu's eyes. He thought of them as a sandwich. He couldn't for the life of him remember why. The image instantly came to him of one of Miyu's eyes on a toothpick stuck in a deli sandwich. He shuddered. "Grody."
He suddenly shot upward into the air, slamming against the ceiling, propelled by the force of his own self-disgust. "GRODY? GRODY?? AAAAACK! I said GRODY!!" He fell to earth, as objects with mass are prone to do. For some reason this recalled to him the days of his youth, meaning his childhood, not the small tow-headed boy which had begun inexplicably following him a few centuries back and who Larva had eventually had to throw out a window during a Barbara Streisand concert and which was the REAL reason he wore a mask; the psychotic woman was still after his blood.
He thought of his old all-boys boarding house, and of little Davy, who had a disturbing and fleeting obsession with the idea of an anal wash using a mix of shaving cream and toothpaste. He had lain awake many nights listening to the screams of the boy as he unsuccessfully tried to perfect his product. Larva had received many a whuping from the headmaster, who had blamed him for the missing shaving cream he didn't find in his cabinet each morning, since among the teenage boy population, Larva was still the only one who had failed to grow facial hair, the logic of which disturbed Larva to such a point that he was sent packing with an old sandwich and a battered suitcase full of foam someone had found in a closet and had been given to him since they thought it would be too pitiful a sight to see him walking out of the grounds carrying only a sandwich. Someone had apparently thought the sandwich should not have been provided, as they had mugged him with a small pointy object hidden in a pocket and stolen his sandwich, for which the past twenty minutes he had been entertaining himself with by fantasizing about how many of his headmaster's loathsome orifices he could fill with it.
He had slunk home defeated after that only to find his foster father had been diagnosed with some rare disease, which later turned out to be bad breath, and that his three year old cousin kept herself up nights burning with surprisingly mature desire for HIM. He decided this would not do, and took off with a random entity he had first thought was an old prostitute but who had later turned out to be his childhood friend Lemunia, who had informed him their trip was to kill a little girl halfway across the world, which was news to Larva but inexplicably seemed rational to him. The rest was history.
Miyu walked in the room, spying Larva waiting for her, his usual look of stoic calm on his face, as if he were lost in divine thought, and went to hug him. He came to slightly and smiled down at her. She was proud of herself for being able to break through his cold demeanor.
He titled his head slightly to the side and peered deep into Miyu's golden eyes, once again having the vision of them adorning a sandwich. Miyu giggled, having not the slightest idea what thoughts ran through his mind. He smiled at her naïveté, and put a hand on her shoulder reassuringly.
"How about I treat you to a sandwich?"
Things you KNOW are not running through Larva's head
Larva roamed in little circles around his room. He wanted a chocolate bar. He sometimes felt he WAS a chocolate bar. All hard and dark on the outside, sweet and squishy in the middle. With nuts. He sometimes fancied himself a glass of lemonade, too. Shiny on the outside, making a good, hard appearance, but bitter and yellow on the inside.
He shook his head. 'Yellow?' This recalled to him the color of Miyu's eyes. He thought of them as a sandwich. He couldn't for the life of him remember why. The image instantly came to him of one of Miyu's eyes on a toothpick stuck in a deli sandwich. He shuddered. "Grody."
He suddenly shot upward into the air, slamming against the ceiling, propelled by the force of his own self-disgust. "GRODY? GRODY?? AAAAACK! I said GRODY!!" He fell to earth, as objects with mass are prone to do. For some reason this recalled to him the days of his youth, meaning his childhood, not the small tow-headed boy which had begun inexplicably following him a few centuries back and who Larva had eventually had to throw out a window during a Barbara Streisand concert and which was the REAL reason he wore a mask; the psychotic woman was still after his blood.
He thought of his old all-boys boarding house, and of little Davy, who had a disturbing and fleeting obsession with the idea of an anal wash using a mix of shaving cream and toothpaste. He had lain awake many nights listening to the screams of the boy as he unsuccessfully tried to perfect his product. Larva had received many a whuping from the headmaster, who had blamed him for the missing shaving cream he didn't find in his cabinet each morning, since among the teenage boy population, Larva was still the only one who had failed to grow facial hair, the logic of which disturbed Larva to such a point that he was sent packing with an old sandwich and a battered suitcase full of foam someone had found in a closet and had been given to him since they thought it would be too pitiful a sight to see him walking out of the grounds carrying only a sandwich. Someone had apparently thought the sandwich should not have been provided, as they had mugged him with a small pointy object hidden in a pocket and stolen his sandwich, for which the past twenty minutes he had been entertaining himself with by fantasizing about how many of his headmaster's loathsome orifices he could fill with it.
He had slunk home defeated after that only to find his foster father had been diagnosed with some rare disease, which later turned out to be bad breath, and that his three year old cousin kept herself up nights burning with surprisingly mature desire for HIM. He decided this would not do, and took off with a random entity he had first thought was an old prostitute but who had later turned out to be his childhood friend Lemunia, who had informed him their trip was to kill a little girl halfway across the world, which was news to Larva but inexplicably seemed rational to him. The rest was history.
Miyu walked in the room, spying Larva waiting for her, his usual look of stoic calm on his face, as if he were lost in divine thought, and went to hug him. He came to slightly and smiled down at her. She was proud of herself for being able to break through his cold demeanor.
He titled his head slightly to the side and peered deep into Miyu's golden eyes, once again having the vision of them adorning a sandwich. Miyu giggled, having not the slightest idea what thoughts ran through his mind. He smiled at her naïveté, and put a hand on her shoulder reassuringly.
"How about I treat you to a sandwich?"