Arts and Sacrifices in Las Vegas
Summary: Now to take a brief detour and meet this stories OC! Before you roll your eyes let me reassure that this isn't a self-insert character.
The city of Las Vegas was known to the world as a pleasure-filled playground where anyone with the right amount of cash could fulfill almost any fantasy they wanted. While the crowd of tourists that visited in throngs were happy to indulge, many criticized the Sin City for allowing drunks, gamblers, and prostitutes a place to satisfy their depraved cravings and had been so for decades.
The many employees who staffed the luxurious resorts, however, couldn't care less and went about trying to attract more customers. One such strategy was through artwork with the hotels creating vast murals or elaborate sculptures to wow people during their stay. And such was the case with one GMG Resort representative traveled outside of the main city to an unassuming one-story house.
Inside the company car, the concierge triple-checked the address. She only started some few weeks ago and thus was quite nervous as she straightened out her knee-length skirt and readjusted the collar on her dark green blouse. She checked the address again and again even as she walked out the pathway to the porch and its small overhang to get some relief from the afternoon desert sun.
Several knocks on the door later, she was starting to get worried that she pulled up to the wrong house only for the door to swing open to someone that made her jump. A tall, gangly-looking man in his mid-twenties peered at her with distracted green eyes and his brown hair half-hanging over his forehead.
"Oh, good, you're here early," the unkempt man noted, "That or I haven't looked at a clock for several hours. Eh, c'est la vie. Come in."
He disappeared inside leaving the frazzled young lady outside for her to slowly follow after him. Her first impression of the place was dismay at seeing what used to be the living room that was turned into an art studio by way of multiple easels while the furniture was haphazardly scattered along the walls and stained with paint.
"Erm, does your home normally look like this, Mr. Winslow?"
"Salem," he said immediately, his eyes already back on a sketchpad in his hands, "Call me Salem, everyone else does. I assume you're here on behalf of the hotel management to discuss a new project?"
"Y-Yes. They said they had contacted you a few weeks ago about a painting for the new celebrity restaurant?"
Salem just grunted an approval, giving the nervous lady more time to take in the eccentric in front of her. A smock that had clearly seen better days as draped on the disused couch behind him, his bright purple sweatpants were pilling all over and his yellow and red checkered-t-shirt looked as worn as everything else. She was seriously hoping she hadn't wandered until the local kook's house by accident.
And then there was his coat behind him. The young lady had no idea how someone could even mix that many patterns and colors onto one piece of clothing, let alone even remotely consider making it a good idea. Her only consolation was that it was slumped on the top of the couch cushions instead of on his body. She hoped it was to catch paint spills like a rag made to catch oil in a garage?
Several minutes of silence later filled only with the sound of Salem's pencil moving against the paper until he suddenly flipped it around with a much more visible warmth in his expression.
"So, what do you think of this?"
The concierge's jaw dropped at the sight of a gorgeous image of a regal woman's face in a smoldering glare drawn entirely in the grays of graphite. Everything from her high cheekbones, slight pucker in her deeply colored lips and the look in those eyes that seemed judgmental but also commanded a man's attention.
"I was thinking have her in the center of the caldera of a volcano, the plumes of smoke parting around her," Salem explained rapidly, "To accentuate her curves and to create an eye-catching effect on the striking black ball gown and gray flakes of ash to contract against the star-studded night above and the searing lava only inches away from her feet. All of it to make a striking, powerful figure that draws your eye. Well?"
The lady was downright speechless now, trying to keep up with this whirlwind of ideas when she noticed a detail on the drawn woman that made her head tilt.
"Are those… horns coming out of her hair?"
"Hm? Oh, yes," he shrugged off, already flipping to another page to doodle something else, "That's just what I like drawing. Now then, I also had this in mind…"
He went on some more which gave her some time to look to the walls of the makeshift studio where paintings and drawings of varying sizes. And sure enough, all of them featured people with curved horns crowning their heads, bat wings out of their backs or pointed tails emerging behind their bodies. Some of the figures were cutesy-looking children dressed in popping colors and others looked like glorified servants of the Devil himself spreading misery or even slaughtering angels.
In that moment, the young concierge was very grateful that she was presented something relatively PC. She doubted anyone would have an appetite looking at half of this man's work.
"Shocking, isn't it?"
She snapped to attention at that, trying to stutter out an apology but Salem just waved her off.
"Yes, I know, I must be some sick soul to portray the servants of all evil as anything remotely beautiful or worth admiring but that's just it. Finding the glamor and nuance so stereotypically evil is something I feel for. I have been called a Satanist, a pagan and bunch of other ridiculous names for it but that's my expression."
He then handed her several pages from a notebook and started leading her back towards the door. "Please, let me know the GMG that I'd be interested and that we can negotiate something further as long as I don't get another lecture about how I'm going to Hell for this. That sounds like a joke but it's only funny the first time."
She hastily turned around to bid him goodbye only to be struck silent. He was actually wearing the patchwork nightmare she saw before. Every few inches of fabric was another eye-searing swatch of neon colored pain. She settled for a wave and trying to piece together how a man who could make such beautiful art could stomach wearing that.
"Hm, she seems nice," Salem noted to himself, heading to his slightly more organized kitchen for something to eat, "Thank goodness she wasn't one for small talk…"
He decided to go for something simple with coconut macaroons, the artist noting that his food supply had started to become sparse. He sometimes liked to joke that he was semi-starving artist with how art supplies were his first priority when spending money but also made a mental note to go shopping after he snack.
Sitting on his barstool and eating his chewy delicacy, Salem contemplated what to do next. That lady was clearly put off but this was far from the first time. Inside, though, he was wracking his brain hoping he made a positive impression. He tried to come across as confident instead of biting his nails at the thought of losing the biggest break he had yet.
Once he finished the last of his snack, he gathered up his wallet and other items before heading out for those groceries. The boiling sun hit Salem like a freight train as soon as he left his house. He at least took the fresher than normal smelling air as a sign of good luck.
A mile-long walk to the store later, Salem rushed inside and towards the nearest water fountain to rehydrate before passing out. The store staff and a few onlookers gave him and his technicolor jacker bug-eyed looks but he had long since stopped paying attention to them. The next thirty minutes was the typical shopping spree: finding the foods he needed while resisting the temptation to grab as much unhealthy snacks as he could to curb his lasting sweet tooth.
Once his checkout was done, the sun was noticeably starting to dip over the horizon. Legends were made about Vegas's wild nightlife. Salem wasn't going to risk being out late so that a drunk bunch of tourists doing 90 started driving along the sidewalk until an idea popped in his head.
What is there was another route? He could find something to cut across to spare him from becoming someone's story that never left the city limits and that thought alone convinced him.
Soon he was away from the streets but also away from all signs. By nightfall, he had to admit he was lost.
"Damn," he muttered, "Out of one problem and into another. At least I have food and drink like this…"
He scanned for someone to get directions from but it seemed like he ended up near some half-completed development where the construction crews were on break. A bit of focus did reveal sounds for him to follow, eventually finding a circle of bright lights being rapidly flipped on and off along with raised voices and clapping.
"Well, I've never been a party animal but it's still somebody…"
As he approached, the sounds grew louder to the point he guessed the unfinished court must have had 100 or more people in it with more arriving from all around. Some had their faces painted ashy white while others wore all black clothing, together creating an ominous feel even for the artist even if he avoided judging others. He did think the medieval torches along with the miniature spotlights were a bit much but maybe this was some new type of rave?
Salem kept his guard up as he started wading into this crowd to get some answers along with some direction back home. The crowd was getting larger and louder as those spotlights suddenly swerved to point at a raised platform he missed before, an upside-down cross now basking in the glow. The young man felt a pit in his stomach at thought, now realizing this was no ordinary mosh pit.
And if they were loud before, Salem had to clap his hands over his ears as the rowdy bunch roared as a tall, well-built in a full body black cloak stepped onstage. He bowed and that alone let out a second wave of thunderous cheers before standing in front of a podium.
"My brothers and sisters of the Mojave Desert, welcome to our annual ceremony!"
The new MC took a moment to soak in yet more cheers before continuing. "I bring great news! Our demonic overloads have been greatly pleased with our sacrifices…"
Someone then brought out a banner showing the hulking beasts these people apparently considered demons. Salem cringed at their grotesque features and beastly demeanors. In any other case he would've rolled his eyes at this cliché and felt insulted if this whole bout wasn't so surreal.
"Tonight, we shall satisfy our chaotic destroyer's bloodlust. It is only through this exchange that we will be spared from an unholy wrath… Now then! Who brought a partner so that we may pacify our demonic betters?"
Several cultists raised their hands clamoring to offer their shocked friends or companions up to be sacrificed. Gasps and terrified screams could be heard throughout the clearing. Now Salem's legs were shaking. This was officially the worst decision of his life!
"Quiet!" the head honcho called, instantly silencing the crowd, "I see some nice candidates waiting in the wings but… Why not make this a special occasion? Perhaps we have someone entirely unprepared? Someone guided here by, dare I say, divine providence?"
A laugh ran through the followers before the cloaked man started eyeing the crowd for someone out of place. His colorful wardrobe now felt like a straitjacket on Salem's body as he tried to slink away. There was an abandoned house a few feet he could get behind and from there…
"How about you?" Salem felt his blood run cold as everyone shifted their attention to him, a spotlight literally shining on him. "You seem a long ways from home, young man. Have you ever considered becoming a blood donor?"
"I'm good!"
Two especially burly men in all black proceeded to leave the sides of the stage with the crowd parting to make a path straight towards Salem. Moments before they could grab him, the artist leapt straight into the air, flooring the audience as he reached seven feet. As soon as he landed everyone, including Salem, were speechless.
More roughnecks gathered around Salem, one of them moving in for a punch. By some miracle Salem dodged every blow until one finally landed on his nose. The artist lashed out on instinct, managing to send his much larger attacker several feet.
"What the heck is going on?!" he thought, now staring at his own arm like it was a loaded shotgun, "I've never even been in a fight before!"
Before he could dwell on that, a quartet of thugs decided to gang up on him and went for a dogpile. Salem did the natural thing and ducked down onto his knees only to find himself rising second later and flinging the goons aside. He then bolted in a random direction, thinking he could finally get out of this mess, only for the entire crowd to move in before his superhuman feats could continue.
All of the power from before didn't make much difference against dozens of foes at a time. Someone managed to knock him to the ground which let the spectators easily pick him up and carry him to the altar.
The two assistants from before, while flustered and scuffed up, recovered enough to tie Salem's hands behind his back while the leader of this whole ordeal sneered at him.
"Goodness me, such unnecessary hostility! We were only trying to have our little get-together in peace! Is that so wrong?"
Salem glared back as the priest made to strike him only for his unbound leg to jut out and kick the unknowing ringleader's privates.
"Oh crap, I'm so sorry!" Salem fretted, "I-I have no idea…"
Someone then slapped a rag soaked in chloroform and suddenly it was hard for the young man to make out anything. Soon he was tied to the cross as the leader realized he had to act fast.
"Guards! Get me a rocuronium syringe! If we are to do this, he needs to be paralyzed!"
A prepped syringe arrived minutes later, the priest slowly injecting it into Salem's arm. A grunt of pain escaped the young man's lips before his whole body froze.
"Now then, without anymore unsightly outbursts, we can carry on!"
The priest reached into his robe for a matchbook before lighting one and chucking it to just below the mast and Salem. The artist watched in silent horror as flames formed a pentagram around his feet, the rest of the timbers quickly catching fire while the priest, now a few feet away to avoid being burnt, recited a priest in some hideous tongue from a book bound in black leather. The crowd proceeded to join in even as the ground beneath Salem began to shake.
Sirens suddenly pierced the air along with flashes of red and blue light. Salem prayed to whoever called the cops as the cultists dispersed, making a beeline into the desert as officers chased after them and incapacitated whoever was around. The chaos was so great that nobody noticed that the quakes from before only grew more intense. The wood at Salem's feet was alight but somehow it only touched the ropes keeping him bound.
He was about to thank the powers that be until he saw that he was already falling into a spiraling red vortex, the world above fading to blackness as his voice carried through nothing.
Notes:
Thank you all so much for reading! Feel free to leave comments or questions below.