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Striker by family_staralternate_emailEbusuku

posted 9 months ago, edited 9 months ago

i think this was the piece that made me realize i needed to start working on backgrounds, even simple ones

fanart furryartist helluvaboss helluvabossfanart striker strikerfanart

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FragileHis name was in shining lights. His reputation danced through the seven rings of hell. His face was plastered on cereal boxes for crying out loud! He was famous. He was far above from where he had begun. He had crawled his way out of the ashes and been born anew. So why did it feel as if there was a hollow feeling eating him alive? It started within his chest and crept its nasty way towards his mind. He could dance his heart away, spitting nasty slurs and punchlines at anyone making them the butt of his jokes. But that only ever helped for mere seconds. It was as if that hollow feeling was ever at the forefront of his thoughts and actions. It was a hidden fuel that he used to dig into the secrets that all of Hell tried to hide. Damn the poor souls that waltzed their ways into Ozzie's. That was his domain and it was where he preyed on those too weak to hide. It was what thrilled him. It gave him everything he wanted. Everything he adored. It was enough to make him forget for a few moments of everything that laid behind that backstage curtain. But tonight wasn't in his favor. The empty stage with the soft cerise hued lights that always stayed on gave no comfort tonight. The soft strain of mechanical legs swinging was a harsh echo of the empty club as the Jester sat on the edge of the famous stage of Ozzie's. It seemed tonight he was preying upon his hidden secrets. Pink hues danced within lime sclera as he looked out across the empty club. Normally poor suckers would be there for him to dash their hopes and dreams, but tonight he could only see echoes of his own mistakes coming to light. He had everything and yet this hollow feeling only continued to tear him apart. He was an entertainer but at the end of the night when the quiet took over and the sensation of a well done performance wore off--it was back to the memories. He placed a cool mechanical hand to his cheek as he wiped harshly. He jerked his hand away as the white paint came with it. His pink hues glaring at the hand with the ivory tone upon it. Did anyone truly see him for who he was? Did they only see the Jester that danced his way into so many sex driven dreams at night? Did they only care for the harsh jokes and nastier side of himself? Fizz heaved a heavy sigh as he knew the answers. They saw the performer. They saw the entertainer. They didn't see the broken Jester that laid his heart on his sleeves in the hope that the hollow feeling would find another to consume. Though it never did; instead clinging to him like a rain drenched shirt. It curled within the cracks and snaked roots deep within. Some were too painful to remove on his own as much as he hated to admit it. He called another broken clown a mistake but even he had to admit that he could look in the mirror and see the same. The high always wore off at the end of the night and the quiet always revealed more than the spotlights could ever wish too. The swinging of the mechanical legs met their end as the Jester forced himself to his feet once more. He was tired of looking out at memories that danced across the empty tables, that sat at the bar and ordered another round of pain for him to endure, and those that waltzed across the floor as if snakes that were ready to strike his being. Those pink hues darted around as he wanted them to leave but instead finding he was staring at the Lord of Lust's sigil as it seemed to give a soft glow. He shook his head as he spun on his heels. He'd had enough for tonight. Fizz felt himself pause at the back curtain. His mechanical hand, still smeared with ivory, paused in mid air neither touching nor shifting. The imp knew of the memories that clung to the shadows backstage. He tried his damndest to avoid them but their sweet whispers were intoxicating. Maybe another night he could handle their whispers of doubt, of unworthiness, of self-control giving way to the high of the performance. But tonight wasn't that night, Fizz knew that. "Just give me a reason. Any reason at all," his shattered voice pleaded into the dark fabric of the curtains. Tell me Fizzy, does the high ever out way the lows? The Jester spun around quickly as his pink orbs darted around, though finding no one there. He turned back towards the backstage curtain, though casting a look over his shoulder as he couldn't shake the hollow feeling once more. He pressed his teeth together with enough force to feel his jaws starting to ache as he threw the curtain aside to disappear behind it. The glow of his lime sclera guided his way to his dressing room. Though most of the performers would have called it an apartment with how large it truly was. Everyone knew it was due to the love that the Lord of Lust held for the imp. But tonight even with the massive space it felt like the walls were closing in on him. His pink hues looked around the room before he closed the door behind him. It shut softly as if the calm before the storm that was just on the horizon. The storm broke as soon as the soft click echoed within the room. A scream erupted from a sore throat that held silent tears from every performance. Hands gripped the fluffy chair at the vanity as it was flung across the room, crashing into the closet with all of the fancy costumes for each performance. The mirror stood no chance as Fizz picked up the side table by the couch and gave a hollowed cry as it was sent flying. The shards of glass scattered across the vanity and into the floor. He couldn't stop himself as he grabbed clothes from the closet that he could reach, hearing stitches pop and snap with his force. His mechanical arms extended as far as he pleased as he ripped fabric from fabric. His eyes were blurred as he felt tears coming. It seemed to only fuel that storm that was bellowing and pleading to escape. Fizz gave in as the destruction was a blur. He knew he had broken so many things. The shards of glass, the splinters of wood, the shreds of fabric being his only clue as he continued his onslaught. His heart was broken and that dam he had built all but came apart in a shower of tears as they streamed down his face. Their trails ate away at the ivory paint that covered his face. He reached for the vanity as he swiped his hands across the surface. Shards of glass danced in their pathway as one flew up towards his face. The Jester froze as he felt the glass slide across his cheek. He felt his entire body freeze as he stared into the few pieces of glass that clung to the mirror. The blood flowing was enough to send him back to the present. The destruction of the room he saw behind him had tears coming once more. He hung his head as he wished not to see any of it. The Jester knew the true reason: he couldn't stand to see the broken imp in the mirror. He had risen above the rest. He had been born anew. He had climbed his way out of that shithole of Mammon's circus and found his way into the heart of the Lord of Lust. And yet, there in that destroyed dressing room he knew the truth. The horrid truth that always clung to the darkened corners of his mind.