Disclaimer: I don't own anything Vasquez here (namely Johnny), I don't get
paid blah blah blah it straight out your ass. Just let me stand to the side
first.
Author's Note: A ficlet on Johnny's origins, different from the first blasphemous little bit I came up with. More realistic I guess. Satanic stuff! That's what Slayer as background music gets you.
Satan Told Me To
A wary looking youth with sallow beige skin and an empty amber gaze sat before the questioner, tautly restrained by a sweat-stained straight jacket; fidgeting against the canvas and biting his lip till he bled. He appeared off in his own haze as most of his crazy blue-haired type do. "Mr. Colt," the questioner snapped at him. The sharp sound of the walrus-like man's voice brought the sixteen year old to reality, but didn't do much to focus the thoughtful young man on the questioner. This place itself made him nervous as most places besides his room in his home did. The blank smoke-yellowed walls closed into his fractured blinking vision, bringing him and the hefty thickly-mustached questioner seemingly closer.
"Y-yes?" he asked suspiciously forcing a smile from the questioner's face. It was cruel malicious, only too happy to see him cower. 'Colt' wasn't cowering at all; the questioner saw what he wanted to see. He was impatient as if wanting to get his sentence quickly. He had been very conscious of what he was doing and its repercussions. He had been prepared for it, and simply didn't feel the point in the preliminary intimidation.
"Jonathon, my name is Gregory Samson. We're going to have a little talk and then you'll be returned to your cell for the night. Ok?"
The voice communicated only condescension and mockery to this Jonathon character. The use of his full name irritated him, as much as the three syllables of it did. "Yes fine. Whatever," the youth responded. His physical unbalance had brought him sitting a little bit further up in the seat than he would have. He steadied himself before the questioning began, feeling very self-conscious as usual.
"Good good. Now then I suppose we'll start with the sickeningly obvious. Now Jonathon why did you shoot those three boys and then drain all that blood? Wasn't that a little gross and time-consuming? I'd like to get to the bottom of the blood thing. Do you believe you're a vampire Mr. Colt?" the questioner said, sitting back in his chair; getting conformable as if this would take a very long time. He was probably just trying to communicate bodily that if Jonathon Colt was going to be obstinate then Mr. Samson would take all the time it needed.
"In fact, draining the blood was a bit of overkill. I probably wouldn't have done it had I not needed to," Jonathon replied looking off to the side a little wistfully, sincerely reflecting on his actions. "But you know I really wanted them dead, and the monster-he's well, getting bigger you see. I can't handle him alone anymore, not without dying myself. *That* would be rather counterproductive, wouldn't you agree Mr. Samson?"
The questioner quirked an eyebrow at the lad observing with a certain unease the simple change of personality. Mr. Colt was now chatty and animated, an open book to speak. For the time being Gregory was going to take advantage of Jonathon's talkative shift. He spoke intelligently, though Gregory couldn't identify intelligence if it became a trend.
"Why yes. Yes I would agree. Why did you feel you needed to kill those three promising boys? What did they do to you that you felt deserved such retaliation?"
Jonathon smiled, appearing glad he had finally been asked that. "Mr. Samson, whatever I get for killing them-the act in itself will ruin me for life right?"
Gregory raised an eyebrow, feeling as though this were a segue at a lecture. "Multiple homicides tend to do that."
The boy nodded as though making strong note of that. He continued struggling for composure as he spoke. Several times he began to speak, but paused. Finally Jonathon decided on something. "Well psychologically detrimental things tend to do that as well. So what's the difference if I got even for it or not? None, that's what," he uttered coolly.
"That's how you feel Mr. Colt. The rest of the world believes that no matter how damaged a person is, that they can be healed through therapy and if necessary medication."
"Then you've contradicted yourself Mr. Samson. I'm still quite damaged thank you very much, so no matter what I do about it there's always a way out."
Gregory was taken aback for a moment. The boy was either very mentally damaged or just trying to cop out. "Murdering someone is different than just being hurt. Now explain why you felt you needed to kill those three young men."
Jonathon sighed. This was getting more hopeless by the minute. His pending life behind bars wasn't what he cared about. His entire existence had been dedicated to getting a point across. It was all so hopeless, the only people who understood lay cold dead and mutilated. "I killed *them* because..." the boy blushed furiously and was ready to cry. He didn't want to talk about it. He didn't want to tell it to this fat man who would just go home and joke about it to his stinking wife. His children would overhear the conversation, ask what the word 'rape' meant if they were younger or make some nasty homosexual comment about him. Jonathon wouldn't be there to defend himself; he'd be sitting in prison with his ass still sore.
Resolute and composed, Jonathon calmly informed Gregory Samson, "I shot them so that I could drain their blood and sacrifice it to Satan."
Author's Note: A ficlet on Johnny's origins, different from the first blasphemous little bit I came up with. More realistic I guess. Satanic stuff! That's what Slayer as background music gets you.
Satan Told Me To
A wary looking youth with sallow beige skin and an empty amber gaze sat before the questioner, tautly restrained by a sweat-stained straight jacket; fidgeting against the canvas and biting his lip till he bled. He appeared off in his own haze as most of his crazy blue-haired type do. "Mr. Colt," the questioner snapped at him. The sharp sound of the walrus-like man's voice brought the sixteen year old to reality, but didn't do much to focus the thoughtful young man on the questioner. This place itself made him nervous as most places besides his room in his home did. The blank smoke-yellowed walls closed into his fractured blinking vision, bringing him and the hefty thickly-mustached questioner seemingly closer.
"Y-yes?" he asked suspiciously forcing a smile from the questioner's face. It was cruel malicious, only too happy to see him cower. 'Colt' wasn't cowering at all; the questioner saw what he wanted to see. He was impatient as if wanting to get his sentence quickly. He had been very conscious of what he was doing and its repercussions. He had been prepared for it, and simply didn't feel the point in the preliminary intimidation.
"Jonathon, my name is Gregory Samson. We're going to have a little talk and then you'll be returned to your cell for the night. Ok?"
The voice communicated only condescension and mockery to this Jonathon character. The use of his full name irritated him, as much as the three syllables of it did. "Yes fine. Whatever," the youth responded. His physical unbalance had brought him sitting a little bit further up in the seat than he would have. He steadied himself before the questioning began, feeling very self-conscious as usual.
"Good good. Now then I suppose we'll start with the sickeningly obvious. Now Jonathon why did you shoot those three boys and then drain all that blood? Wasn't that a little gross and time-consuming? I'd like to get to the bottom of the blood thing. Do you believe you're a vampire Mr. Colt?" the questioner said, sitting back in his chair; getting conformable as if this would take a very long time. He was probably just trying to communicate bodily that if Jonathon Colt was going to be obstinate then Mr. Samson would take all the time it needed.
"In fact, draining the blood was a bit of overkill. I probably wouldn't have done it had I not needed to," Jonathon replied looking off to the side a little wistfully, sincerely reflecting on his actions. "But you know I really wanted them dead, and the monster-he's well, getting bigger you see. I can't handle him alone anymore, not without dying myself. *That* would be rather counterproductive, wouldn't you agree Mr. Samson?"
The questioner quirked an eyebrow at the lad observing with a certain unease the simple change of personality. Mr. Colt was now chatty and animated, an open book to speak. For the time being Gregory was going to take advantage of Jonathon's talkative shift. He spoke intelligently, though Gregory couldn't identify intelligence if it became a trend.
"Why yes. Yes I would agree. Why did you feel you needed to kill those three promising boys? What did they do to you that you felt deserved such retaliation?"
Jonathon smiled, appearing glad he had finally been asked that. "Mr. Samson, whatever I get for killing them-the act in itself will ruin me for life right?"
Gregory raised an eyebrow, feeling as though this were a segue at a lecture. "Multiple homicides tend to do that."
The boy nodded as though making strong note of that. He continued struggling for composure as he spoke. Several times he began to speak, but paused. Finally Jonathon decided on something. "Well psychologically detrimental things tend to do that as well. So what's the difference if I got even for it or not? None, that's what," he uttered coolly.
"That's how you feel Mr. Colt. The rest of the world believes that no matter how damaged a person is, that they can be healed through therapy and if necessary medication."
"Then you've contradicted yourself Mr. Samson. I'm still quite damaged thank you very much, so no matter what I do about it there's always a way out."
Gregory was taken aback for a moment. The boy was either very mentally damaged or just trying to cop out. "Murdering someone is different than just being hurt. Now explain why you felt you needed to kill those three young men."
Jonathon sighed. This was getting more hopeless by the minute. His pending life behind bars wasn't what he cared about. His entire existence had been dedicated to getting a point across. It was all so hopeless, the only people who understood lay cold dead and mutilated. "I killed *them* because..." the boy blushed furiously and was ready to cry. He didn't want to talk about it. He didn't want to tell it to this fat man who would just go home and joke about it to his stinking wife. His children would overhear the conversation, ask what the word 'rape' meant if they were younger or make some nasty homosexual comment about him. Jonathon wouldn't be there to defend himself; he'd be sitting in prison with his ass still sore.
Resolute and composed, Jonathon calmly informed Gregory Samson, "I shot them so that I could drain their blood and sacrifice it to Satan."