Video // un; E.A. Poe - Forwarded a bit to 10/7 late night

[quotetheraven]

A toast, to this most auspicious night! Though I'm uncertain as how I could have potentially traveled back... or perhaps forward, in time. The actual way that time works in this purgatory confounds me to no end. It was the seventh of October a month ago for me, yet now it is that same time again a month later.

[His sense of time's out of whack. He takes a swig from a bottle, also obviously buzzed. The sound of other people talking and drinking, and eating in the background could be heard. He was at a bar.]

To experience it yet again after only a single month has passed is distressing in and of itself, and a mockery at best. Nevertheless! I'm an entertainer at heart, so I submit to your ears, for this, the month of the dead and witchcraft, "The Conqueror Worm".

[He takes another drink.]

Lo! ’t is a gala night
Within the lonesome latter years!
An angel throng, bewinged, bedight
In veils, and drowned in tears,
Sit in a theatre, to see
A play of hopes and fears,
While the orchestra breathes fitfully
The music of the spheres.

Mimes, in the form of God on high,
Mutter and mumble low,
And hither and thither fly—
Mere puppets they, who come and go
At bidding of vast formless things
That shift the scenery to and fro,
Flapping from out their Condor wings
Invisible Wo!

That motley drama—oh, be sure
It shall not be forgot!
With its Phantom chased for evermore
By a crowd that seize it not,
Through a circle that ever returneth in
To the self-same spot,
And much of Madness, and more of Sin,
And Horror the soul of the plot.

But see, amid the mimic rout,
A crawling shape intrude!
A blood-red thing that writhes from out
The scenic solitude!
It writhes!—it writhes!—with mortal pangs
The mimes become its food,
And seraphs sob at vermin fangs
In human gore imbued.

Out—out are the lights—out all!
And, over each quivering form,
The curtain, a funeral pall,
Comes down with the rush of a storm,
While the angels, all pallid and wan,
Uprising, unveiling, affirm
That the play is the tragedy, “Man,”
And its hero, the Conqueror Worm.

[Another longer drink.]

And yes, I'll do requests if any of you phantasms know any of my other works.

Comments

Video; UN: Roseofdawn

[beautyrest]

You are an excellent bard, sire.

[quotetheraven]

Well of course, it is as I said when I arrived. I am the Great Edgar Allan Poe.

[He's also getting a bit sloshed.]

But... I still thank you for your kind words, madam. And am glad that you seemed to have enjoyed my macabre creation.

[beautyrest]

I am Aurora. A pleasure to meet you, Sir Poe. [She does not usually give her title, though some have figured it out.]

With the recent events of late, I am not sure jubilation would be the best choice. It seemed most apt.

[quotetheraven]

The pleasure... the pleasure is mine, Miss Aurora.

[He does a slow bow of his head. So. Very. Slow.]

Indeed, now is not a time for joy! Perhaps the end of the month may see more enjoyment. But not currently. [Especially since, well, this was his Death Day.]

Indeed, while adding a bit of levity to a situation is needed, the form of levity must be taken into account. It's not every day that a dead man may celebrate the date of his death. Less so during a mass crises involving a dragon and giant!

[He takes another drink.]

[beautyrest]

I... beg your pardon? You have passed away back home?

[quotetheraven]

What? Oh, yes! I believe I have, or I am currently in throws of my end. The last few moments before my body shuts down.

[Yes, he's ded. D-E-D. Ded.]

I perished about a month ago.

[beautyrest]

My deepest apologies, I am sorry to hear that. But here, you have a second chance, yes?

[quotetheraven]

A second chance? Or a delay of the inevitable. In either case, I am alive now. As are you and others.

[A deeper drink before he calls for another.]

So madam, lets change the topic before the drinks turn sour.

[beautyrest]

I am awake, here, to be sure.

We can discuss where you gained your gift for poetry, if you like?

[quotetheraven]

Oh yes, where indeed? Years of practice, of reading, and writing, and studying. There is no one singular place beyond, perhaps, the library of one Mr. Allan, my godparent.

I'm quite a voracious reader you see, and devoured whatever I could.

[beautyrest]

I am very fond of books as well. We even had five of them in my home. [Which, when you're just before the invention of the printing press? That's actually ridiculously impressive.]

[quotetheraven]

[Ah books, the original super computers. To be fair, even in Poe's time books weren't all that cheap either. With the main reason for him to have as many as he had being his work and love for them.

So yeah, he gets it. Having even five books could be quite an achievement!]

Really now? Did you have any preference for any?

[beautyrest]

I prefer poetry or tales of romance. I have the whole of The Canterbury Tales, do you know them?

[quotetheraven]

But of course! It'd be a crime for one who studies the written word to not have at least skimmed through Chaucer's work.

“Love will not be constrain'd by mastery.
When mast'ry comes, the god of love anon
Beateth his wings, and, farewell, he is gone.
Love is a thing as any spirit free.”

[beautyrest]

Ah, The Franklin's Tale is quite a good one, I prefer The Wife of Bath's Tale myself.

video; un: 7😆H!TA1

[arf]

Whoa... you're like some kind of genius poet or something!

[ He's not good at school, but a performance is a performance and this theater nerd is impressed. Even if he didnt' really get it. ]

[quotetheraven]

Ah--! Another one with good taste in poetry.

[Said after drinking a mouthful of whiskey. Yum.]

Indeed, you are looking at... at an authentic, American literary voice! For I...! I am the GREAT Edgar Allan Poe!

[arf]

[ As someone who is pretty dumb, but at least aware of it, Taichi immediately dashes to ask his professional tutor friend for help not making a fool of himself almost immediately after this man announces himself as someone famous in literature. ]

Poe-san! Can I ask you a question? It seems like you've got time since you're sharing!

video; un: lilmonix3

[peninhand]

Another masterpiece!

[ She'd not read all of his work, so getting introduced to this poem by having the poet himself read it? Was a treat. But something in particular caught her attention. Namely, the date and him having experienced it not too long ago. ]

It was the 07th of October when you were taken from your world, Mr Poe? [She marked a pause. She was probably one of the few people who would recognize the importance of that day in particular.] Does that mean you are already...?

[quotetheraven]

Should you expect anything less?

[Ah~! Influencer-chan☆ has arrived! He perks up... or at least as best the alcohol would allow.]

Yes, I am quite dead. Or perhaps near death. I was not of whole mind at the time, and the only thing I remember was all around me going dark and cold. And... Reynolds... I told them his name was Reynolds.

[He takes another drink.]

Mark me well, his name... his name was Reynolds! [A few faces at the edge of the camera cast him a sidelong glance.]

[peninhand]

Ahaha, indeed~!

[ And her suspicions were confirmed. Dead already, huh... She knew something about that. At least on her end, she was lucky enough to not be aware of the date her death had occurred on, beyond the year. ]

I'm so sorry to hear it. I—

[ She had been about to try comforting him by revealing that she, too, was dead back home— Not that it'd comfort anyone really. But then, wait... Reynolds? That sounds familiar... Unfortunately, Monika isn't a qualified Poe professional so she doesn't remember the exact details of his death— That mystery in particular she'd never even read about. ]

Reynolds? Who was Reynolds, Mr Poe?

[quotetheraven]

[Well of course she was sorry, but what else was there to say to a guy who died? Normally you don't say anything to them, because... well they're dead. This was some real M. Valdemar crap. And the potential for irony was not lost on him, even his alcohol-addled state.]

Reynolds... I told them, to tell Fields, that his name was Reynolds. [He sighs rests himself down on the table.] Reynolds... was a typesetter.

[locked]

[peninhand]

[ A typesetter, huh? Well, that explained more or less nothing at all. Obviously, he was drunk. She wasn't going to get anything out of him in that state, and she wasn't sure if was even her place to know about that. Regardless-- ]

Mr Poe, um, I think you ought to rest...

[ She locks the conversation, just in case anyone snoops in. ]

I'm dead too back home, ahaha! [Yes, that laugh is very forced.] And I wouldn't do well if I knew the day to celebrate my, um, death.

[quotetheraven]

Perhaps, the fools here are insisting on cutting me off. As if my coin might dirty them with my gut filled to the brim with their swill.

[He huffs, it wasn't even last call...! Okay, maybe it was getting close, but still!]

Ah-- so you've perished as well. [It was always quite a thing indeed, the death of a young woman. Poe grows a bit silent after that.]

Not knowing the time does not make it any less easy to know.

[peninhand]

I know. [She knew all too well.] But at least I don't have a day when it's worse than others.

[ And at least she, they, were alive in this world. And would hopefully remain so for a very very long time. She didn't intend to give up on her newfound life. ]

We should make sure to organize you a grand birthday party in January. Better than the deathday, right?