Post by Damon Walker on Mar 3, 2007 6:27:24 GMT -5
It was late in the night, dark in the theater, and quiet in the small world of acting. A young man stood with a hand held out and his hidden eyes staring at it in concentration. His eyes were hidden behind darkened sunglasses, unseen by the world, and soon closed while the thoughts behind them stayed focused. The young magician stood in the middle of the stage of the empty theater, wearing his usual black shoes that went well with his black pants, belted at the top with a leather belt, though his chest was bare and showed his thin, creamy pale skin, as well as the white rings of cloth that were wrapped around his left shoulder, vertically, horizontally, and diagonally. Where the three cloths intersected, a feint red tinge was visible, showing that it was covering a spot that recently had a deep wound or had been bleeding.
At that time, though, the young man seemed to care not what the shoulder contained and simply allowed the arm to lazily hang from it. His other hand, held only an empty palm in front of him, was all that he seemed to care about at that time, even if his eyes were closed to it. Soon after a moment of deep concentration, smoke began to form within the hand. It floated and collected into a cloud of blackness before moving and slithering in a snakelike fashion. Smoothly, the smoke weaved through the air and then began to shape into a small bag, so small that it was able to fit in the center of his palm like a fifty-cent piece would. The smoky bag then soon solidified in his palm, collecting first at the bottom where it made contact with his skin and slowly stretched up the cloth to where it was tied with a thin piece of string. Though what was visible had finished solidifying, the young magician continued to concentrate. Inside of the black bag, he knew hundreds of black powder particles were still forming, pouring together until it was completely full.
Seconds after the process was complete, the Demon Walker opened his eyes and stared down at the tiny pouch, black as midnight, smaller than a golf ball, and light as a key, that he created. A small smirk crept lightly into his lips that didn’t stay for more than a moment when he tossed the small back onto the wooden floorboards in front of him. He stared down at the bag and lifted his right, once again, empty hand to where his fingers were next to his ear. Between the fingers that were closing together, as if beginning to close among something, more smoke began to appear that quickly formed into a single match. The wood was a light gray, almost a silver, and the top was a darker gray, almost black but not quite there. After it was formed, Damon brought the match in front of him and he gazed at it, moving his thumb up toward the top while his fingers tightened a little around the rest of it. With a swift flick of his thumb, the nail of it swiped against the top, forcing friction amongst it and pushed the heat to burst into a small flame.
It was an event that he had picked up after watching an elderly man light a match by swiping it across the side of a match box where it was rough to induce a great amount of friction on the end. While he wasn’t swiping the match across the side of a box, it was the same concept and made perfect sense. The first few times that he had tried it though, it hadn’t worked, and when he finally got it to work, he had burned his fingers a couple times. After the science experimentations though, he hadn’t acquired burns as easily.
While the small flame flickered lightly on the match, held by the young man in the center of the empty stage, Damon looked past the light gray sliver of wood toward the black bag of powder. Tossing the match forward, he watched as the flame moved through the air and fell to the bag. Almost as soon as it made contact with the black bag, the item exploded with a loud bang. Red, orange, and yellow sparks flew from the bag, scattering in various directions, but mostly upward. After a few seconds, the sparks and noise subsided but smoke still remained. It wasn’t as dark as the smoke that Damon used to create his objects, but that wasn’t noticeable, at least not for the most part. At that point in time though, he was simply proud of what he created.
A wicked grin spread across his lips while he stared at the spot that the bag had been sitting before it exploded into his fireworks. Unfortunately though, there was a heavy black mark where the explosion took place. He would need to clean that after he finished experimenting, practicing, and playing around. Alright, he thought silently to himself as he let his hand fall to his side like the other had been. Now, I just need to do that, a whole lot faster. The thoughts were obvious if he were going to use the fireworks in his performances, but telling himself what needed to be done seemed to give him order to what he would need to do. While this gave no order truly, it allowed him to analyze the situation in his mind, as he was forced to do when creating new items such as the black bag of gun powder he had just made, and with all other types of thoughts, he allowed the analization process to continue. By then, the process was quick and almost instantaneous in his mind simply by constant practice.
If he were to use the fireworks within his performances, then he would first need to create the gunpowder, send it to where he wanted the firework to explode, create a match, light it, and send it to the gunpowder, all within one second to make it seem like one swift magic trick. After a silent nod, Damon swiftly lifted his right hand as smoke quickly trailed with it and inside, a small black bag began to form almost instantaneously, though before it had finished, the young man threw his hand to the side and allowed the smoky bag and gas to disappear from it and reappear about ten yards to the magician’s right. As the bag was reappearing on the stage floorboards, a small sliver of smoke filtered in his hand and quickly shaped into a match, though before it completely solidified, Damon began to flick and struck a flame just as it finished. Instantly after the flame lit, it vanished into another puff of smoke and the bag exploded just like the first one had. The sparks shout upward and outward, though the young magician didn’t seem satisfied.
Unfortunately the process seemed like it took longer than he had hoped, so he needed to find a way to make shortcuts within. While he knew that it would be faster to create both the match and the powder at the same time, he also knew that lighting the match while the powder was still in his hand could lead to devastating results if he made a mistake. He gazed over at where the second explosion happened and saw the deep black mark. Whenever Sébastien would see what he had done to the stage, the owner would more then likely go crazy. Shaking his head with a slight smile, Damon told himself that he needed to continue practicing. The owner was still waiting for an answer as to whether he would be ready to perform within the next five days due to the fact that the other magician was out of the country. As he remembered that fact, the young man gazed down at his left shoulder and reached up to gently touch it with his right. Though he didn’t touch the wound directly, the spots that he did gently press around it stung with each touch. A soft sigh escaped Damon’s lips, but he allowed his hand to fall to the side again and his gaze to return to the empty chairs that the audience would normally have sat in.
Slowly, Damon flexed his left hand into a fist and felt the light pain tingle through his arm and collect heavily in his shoulder. With the same slow, steady speed, he allowed the palm to open and stretch, sending more of the pain through his arm. Okay, he thought to himself when he let his hand relax by his side. One, he counted, two. As soon as the number Three went through his mind, the thick reminiscent of black smoke collected in both of his hands, more-so in his left but instantly vanished while his right thumb flicked outward at the tip of the match that had formed that also vanished with his hand that shot to the right. An explosion of a newly made firework was set off just in front of the previous explosion as more smoke collected in both of his hands and another flick was made with his thumb before he threw it forward. Sparks and bangs appeared high over the center seats, sending a rain of reds, oranges, and fiery lights over it and left only the light smoke in the air to remain. Smoke swiftly collected in his hands again, and he flicked his thumb once more, but this time shot his left arm to the left just as fast as he had moved his right to the other side.
Pain shot through his arm so intensely that a small yelp escaped his lips in a tight groan. His teeth clenched and his right arm shot after his left, clasping it and pulling it back down to his side while he knelt down to the floorboards just after another explosion happened on the stage about five meters from where Damon was. Inhaling through tightly clenched teeth, he noticed that his eyes had shut heavily with the pain, so he loosened the amount of stress he had involuntarily put on them.
At that time, though, the young man seemed to care not what the shoulder contained and simply allowed the arm to lazily hang from it. His other hand, held only an empty palm in front of him, was all that he seemed to care about at that time, even if his eyes were closed to it. Soon after a moment of deep concentration, smoke began to form within the hand. It floated and collected into a cloud of blackness before moving and slithering in a snakelike fashion. Smoothly, the smoke weaved through the air and then began to shape into a small bag, so small that it was able to fit in the center of his palm like a fifty-cent piece would. The smoky bag then soon solidified in his palm, collecting first at the bottom where it made contact with his skin and slowly stretched up the cloth to where it was tied with a thin piece of string. Though what was visible had finished solidifying, the young magician continued to concentrate. Inside of the black bag, he knew hundreds of black powder particles were still forming, pouring together until it was completely full.
Seconds after the process was complete, the Demon Walker opened his eyes and stared down at the tiny pouch, black as midnight, smaller than a golf ball, and light as a key, that he created. A small smirk crept lightly into his lips that didn’t stay for more than a moment when he tossed the small back onto the wooden floorboards in front of him. He stared down at the bag and lifted his right, once again, empty hand to where his fingers were next to his ear. Between the fingers that were closing together, as if beginning to close among something, more smoke began to appear that quickly formed into a single match. The wood was a light gray, almost a silver, and the top was a darker gray, almost black but not quite there. After it was formed, Damon brought the match in front of him and he gazed at it, moving his thumb up toward the top while his fingers tightened a little around the rest of it. With a swift flick of his thumb, the nail of it swiped against the top, forcing friction amongst it and pushed the heat to burst into a small flame.
It was an event that he had picked up after watching an elderly man light a match by swiping it across the side of a match box where it was rough to induce a great amount of friction on the end. While he wasn’t swiping the match across the side of a box, it was the same concept and made perfect sense. The first few times that he had tried it though, it hadn’t worked, and when he finally got it to work, he had burned his fingers a couple times. After the science experimentations though, he hadn’t acquired burns as easily.
While the small flame flickered lightly on the match, held by the young man in the center of the empty stage, Damon looked past the light gray sliver of wood toward the black bag of powder. Tossing the match forward, he watched as the flame moved through the air and fell to the bag. Almost as soon as it made contact with the black bag, the item exploded with a loud bang. Red, orange, and yellow sparks flew from the bag, scattering in various directions, but mostly upward. After a few seconds, the sparks and noise subsided but smoke still remained. It wasn’t as dark as the smoke that Damon used to create his objects, but that wasn’t noticeable, at least not for the most part. At that point in time though, he was simply proud of what he created.
A wicked grin spread across his lips while he stared at the spot that the bag had been sitting before it exploded into his fireworks. Unfortunately though, there was a heavy black mark where the explosion took place. He would need to clean that after he finished experimenting, practicing, and playing around. Alright, he thought silently to himself as he let his hand fall to his side like the other had been. Now, I just need to do that, a whole lot faster. The thoughts were obvious if he were going to use the fireworks in his performances, but telling himself what needed to be done seemed to give him order to what he would need to do. While this gave no order truly, it allowed him to analyze the situation in his mind, as he was forced to do when creating new items such as the black bag of gun powder he had just made, and with all other types of thoughts, he allowed the analization process to continue. By then, the process was quick and almost instantaneous in his mind simply by constant practice.
If he were to use the fireworks within his performances, then he would first need to create the gunpowder, send it to where he wanted the firework to explode, create a match, light it, and send it to the gunpowder, all within one second to make it seem like one swift magic trick. After a silent nod, Damon swiftly lifted his right hand as smoke quickly trailed with it and inside, a small black bag began to form almost instantaneously, though before it had finished, the young man threw his hand to the side and allowed the smoky bag and gas to disappear from it and reappear about ten yards to the magician’s right. As the bag was reappearing on the stage floorboards, a small sliver of smoke filtered in his hand and quickly shaped into a match, though before it completely solidified, Damon began to flick and struck a flame just as it finished. Instantly after the flame lit, it vanished into another puff of smoke and the bag exploded just like the first one had. The sparks shout upward and outward, though the young magician didn’t seem satisfied.
Unfortunately the process seemed like it took longer than he had hoped, so he needed to find a way to make shortcuts within. While he knew that it would be faster to create both the match and the powder at the same time, he also knew that lighting the match while the powder was still in his hand could lead to devastating results if he made a mistake. He gazed over at where the second explosion happened and saw the deep black mark. Whenever Sébastien would see what he had done to the stage, the owner would more then likely go crazy. Shaking his head with a slight smile, Damon told himself that he needed to continue practicing. The owner was still waiting for an answer as to whether he would be ready to perform within the next five days due to the fact that the other magician was out of the country. As he remembered that fact, the young man gazed down at his left shoulder and reached up to gently touch it with his right. Though he didn’t touch the wound directly, the spots that he did gently press around it stung with each touch. A soft sigh escaped Damon’s lips, but he allowed his hand to fall to the side again and his gaze to return to the empty chairs that the audience would normally have sat in.
Slowly, Damon flexed his left hand into a fist and felt the light pain tingle through his arm and collect heavily in his shoulder. With the same slow, steady speed, he allowed the palm to open and stretch, sending more of the pain through his arm. Okay, he thought to himself when he let his hand relax by his side. One, he counted, two. As soon as the number Three went through his mind, the thick reminiscent of black smoke collected in both of his hands, more-so in his left but instantly vanished while his right thumb flicked outward at the tip of the match that had formed that also vanished with his hand that shot to the right. An explosion of a newly made firework was set off just in front of the previous explosion as more smoke collected in both of his hands and another flick was made with his thumb before he threw it forward. Sparks and bangs appeared high over the center seats, sending a rain of reds, oranges, and fiery lights over it and left only the light smoke in the air to remain. Smoke swiftly collected in his hands again, and he flicked his thumb once more, but this time shot his left arm to the left just as fast as he had moved his right to the other side.
Pain shot through his arm so intensely that a small yelp escaped his lips in a tight groan. His teeth clenched and his right arm shot after his left, clasping it and pulling it back down to his side while he knelt down to the floorboards just after another explosion happened on the stage about five meters from where Damon was. Inhaling through tightly clenched teeth, he noticed that his eyes had shut heavily with the pain, so he loosened the amount of stress he had involuntarily put on them.