Post by John Dee on Aug 19, 2021 8:53:19 GMT -5
Participants: Roy G. Bivolo | Hartley Rathaway | John Dee
Open/Closed: Closed
Location(s): Mainly Roy’s mindscape
Time of Day: N/A
Weather: N/A
Summary: A tale of self discovery through torment. Rainbow Raider will have to determine for himself if “I am thou!” or “You are not me!”
His world was colorless and empty. Void of benign pleasures and vibrancy. The luscious strokes of life, love and friendship were dull streaks of grey running across a torn canvas. John Dee, who was king to the miserable and prophet to the forsaken had been robbed of all good colors. Sure, he could feel rage and madness but nothing else. When Dee had been stripped of his dreams he’d been stripped of everything. To be robbed of a dream is to be robbed of hope. To be robbed of hope is to be robbed of empathy. To be robbed of empathy is to be robbed of humanity. He had no dreams, he had no hopes, he had no aspirations, or loves, or even the tiniest speckles of humanity left. He was a hopeless monstrous thing. The cruel hand of fate took his dreams, and so Doctor Destiny would rob humanity of its hopes and wonders. His mind conjured up a desolate world, a world of rot and ruin. But he could not dream it up....
All John could do is conjure and consume. Create nightmares in other dreams and watch and gawk at the results as though it were television. Consuming the entertainment as well as consuming the dreams and hopes of his prey. The mind munching psychic vampire which could never slumber. He chewed on the purple excretions of dreaming like a cow munching on grass. Teeth grinding and pounding against the dreamplasm like galloping horses. Munching and chewing, champing and stamping rubbery purple ground and gnashed and torn asunder. He slurped slippery eel like purple up, the slippery ooze leaving an oily sensation across his lips as it slithered into his mouth like ropes of spaghetti. He was satiated, but all too bored. Beady red irises scanned the bedroom for anything of note, but it was a feeble effort. The world around him always was so very droll. The ghoulish dream weaver abandoned it’s meal and drifted off elsewhere. Bare feet marched from the bedroom and lurched into a shabby kitchen where he was met with a folded bit of newspaper clippings of the classifieds with a few circled job offerings and an open laptop on an unemployment tab. Fiery eyes pierced the papers and a clammy hand coiled five jagged digits around the articles. Disinterested in the job offerings, the ghoul instead flipped to the funny pages. They were also dull. Front page news was dull. As was second page, and third. But then the fourth... It was a review page on local modern art...
”Amidst a myriad of gorgeous brushwork and stunning visuals, I am sorry to say that I have found what is, without a doubt, the ugliest painting I’ve ever seen. Colorblind artist (an oxymoron, I know) Roy G. Bivolo has showed the world that not only do you not need eyes to paint, but you also don’t need talent. The clashing bright tones almost gave me a seizure, and his dull personality almost gave me a snooze. About the dullard in question: by day he offends the art world, and as it so happens, by night he insults the supervillain community. A bizarre z-list rogue, he dons a tacky rainbow spandex unitard and calls himself the Rainbow Raider. I firmly believe that Rainbow Raider steals good art because his rainbow vomit canvas will never be as successful, and for good reason. Put simply, the assault to my eyes has left me scarred and deformed and I think I should sue.” - Vance Cho Cullm
The vile disgust and cruelty of the words dazzled Dr. Destiny to his very core. Hatred was so powerful, so wonderful, so... Interesting. Spindly fingers pitter pattered the name Roy G. Bivolo into the neighboring laptops keyboard. The mouse scrolled just lightly to the very first link.
r/Art
How’ve I never heard of this Rainbow Raider guy!?
Look at his costume!
->He looks like his clothes were originally black but then he ate a bunch of starbursts and puked
->XD
-> He’s a walking laffy taffy
->the shade and crazy quilt fused together
Bruh, his superpower is wearing glasses wtf, I could do that!
->I think they shut lasers
->they shoot color lasers
His brushwork actually isn’t that bad, but man those colors....
->he really did go spastic with the colors tho
Guys! I think I found his stand irl! Check it!
->omg I wish I was in central city
->I gotta see this freak in person lol
->I’m gonna buy one his paintings, they got their own kinda charm, ya know?
->brb gonna splash pain thinner over all this dudes paintings
Red eyes glistened like starlight before a wall of vitriol and hateful comments. A wall which felt so homely and inviting to a creature like him. A wall with which he belonged. With a glitch and a sputter, the vitriol and the hate faded out of the laptop screen, leaving a vacant blue glow in its wake. The maroon of Dee’s eyes danced with the turquoise screen with some vague resemblance to glee. Purple ooze dribbled and drooled unto the keyboard, and the ghoulish nightmare king heaved out a hazy:
Purple clouds and a pink horizon declared that it was sunset in peaceful sleepy Keystone City. Light and dark blended in the background of a high rise cityscape, orange beacons rising high upon a purple backdrop. But the canvas of bright and hopeful colors was muddied by a black stain. A shadowy black which hobbled before the sunset in a scarcely human shape. A skeleton lumbered forwards, a gaunt shriveled up face with flakes of grey skin sewn together like patchwork over red muscle and discharged yellow biofilm. But all of it, the corpse hid behind large black rim glasses with no frame and a bulbous plastic nose. It lurched towards a quaint little art stand, one which vile creatures of a similar stature to it had discovered. Bridge dwellers of the web pointed this monstrous form to it’s prey... ”Roy..... Biv...O...Looooooo......” Limp feeble legs marched to the art stand in snazzy shined black shoes which led up to green trousers which in turn rose up towards a black turtleneck and a bespoke green blazer which accentuated his chest. ”Hsssssssssss” The well dressed spook slobbered and drooled like a dog, gravitating towards a Roy G. art piece with vile salivating ooze trickling down it’s cheeks.
“Thiss... Hisss... An opus!” A decrepit claw traced the wooden frame of the painting. Another reached out, a mere inches away from the canvas. He reached towards it, realizing halfway that his spindly fingers came too close to the canvas. Sharply, with a crack of his carpels the hand retracted. The bulbous tip of his plastic nose faintly glanced back towards Roy, and beneath it his lipless fangs gleamed a tight and contorted grin. What little flesh plastered between teeth and cheek stretched like writhing leather, woven and bound to a near breaking point. ”I’m sorry. I don’t mean to startle. My name, hssssk, is Gustav Van Munch. The Art Collector.” The beast sharply turned, drool drenched chin face to face with Bivolo. Then daintily, it extended a frail almost limp hand with wild spindly fingers. Short reddish strings of bristly hair strung out from the beginning of the phalanges, each finger like disgusting spider legs with arachnid hairs around the knuckles. The tips of the fingers were flat and creased, with long gnarled nails which had the complexion of burnt oak. The lofty but oh so hideous hand had in the fourth finger, a girthy copper signet ring with a massive uncut red gem held in place by copper tendrils molded into its surface. The iridescent ruby shimmered in a manner that could only be described as paranormal in nature. “Van Munch” loftily gestured his hand into a position such that Bivolo could kiss the glistening ruby surface of the ring. His pride. His joy. His precious.
The skeleton stepped away, feigning to be drawn towards the painting once more. It loftily drifted, hand hovering before the canvas with a toothy drooling grin. ”Your art... It speaks to me... It whispers to me.... It calls to me...” Lensless glasses peered back to Roy, and behind the empty plastic frame were massive blood red eyes. Eyes which danced like lava lamps, bouncing dark maroon circling gaudy yellow irises shaped almost like a star. ”I can relate to your sorry tale, I’m an artist too, you know.” It looked away timidly, spidery digits rubbing the back of an opposing hand with a morose tune to the skeleton’s hoarse chirp. ”-And my art reflects me, but I’m... I’m not every well liked, and so neither is my art.” There was an element of truth peppered into the tall tale. He called himself an artist, and his canvas: this island earth. With a brush of blood death madness and horror Doctor Destiny strikes fiercely at his canvas. The Bob Ross of Jeffrey Dahlmer’s, no mistakes only happy little sanity shattering horrors. ”I think we are... Hsssssskindred ssssspiritsss... It’s not fair to be shunned and ostracized.” It saddened him that not everyone was as deeply licentious as he. Children could laugh and play on the streets without being mauled and ripped to shreds by the tendrils of an eldritch abomination, and that was a deeply disturbing thought to him. But he was alone in these miserable horrific fantasies. He just wished others were as awful and confused as he. ”Your work is beautiful.” “Van Munch” feigned a sympathetic grin towards Roy. Though his lipless toothy expression mottled the gesture, what little skin that remained creased in a way that attempted to look reassuring. ”I would like you to come to my studio. I want to order a commission. Perhaps even a collaboration.” He extended a white card with only a hand written address and nothing else. Drooling once more, the gaunt creature shuffled off into the fading sunlight. ”Card.” Was it’s final word to the Rainbow Raider.
Open/Closed: Closed
Location(s): Mainly Roy’s mindscape
Time of Day: N/A
Weather: N/A
Summary: A tale of self discovery through torment. Rainbow Raider will have to determine for himself if “I am thou!” or “You are not me!”
His world was colorless and empty. Void of benign pleasures and vibrancy. The luscious strokes of life, love and friendship were dull streaks of grey running across a torn canvas. John Dee, who was king to the miserable and prophet to the forsaken had been robbed of all good colors. Sure, he could feel rage and madness but nothing else. When Dee had been stripped of his dreams he’d been stripped of everything. To be robbed of a dream is to be robbed of hope. To be robbed of hope is to be robbed of empathy. To be robbed of empathy is to be robbed of humanity. He had no dreams, he had no hopes, he had no aspirations, or loves, or even the tiniest speckles of humanity left. He was a hopeless monstrous thing. The cruel hand of fate took his dreams, and so Doctor Destiny would rob humanity of its hopes and wonders. His mind conjured up a desolate world, a world of rot and ruin. But he could not dream it up....
All John could do is conjure and consume. Create nightmares in other dreams and watch and gawk at the results as though it were television. Consuming the entertainment as well as consuming the dreams and hopes of his prey. The mind munching psychic vampire which could never slumber. He chewed on the purple excretions of dreaming like a cow munching on grass. Teeth grinding and pounding against the dreamplasm like galloping horses. Munching and chewing, champing and stamping rubbery purple ground and gnashed and torn asunder. He slurped slippery eel like purple up, the slippery ooze leaving an oily sensation across his lips as it slithered into his mouth like ropes of spaghetti. He was satiated, but all too bored. Beady red irises scanned the bedroom for anything of note, but it was a feeble effort. The world around him always was so very droll. The ghoulish dream weaver abandoned it’s meal and drifted off elsewhere. Bare feet marched from the bedroom and lurched into a shabby kitchen where he was met with a folded bit of newspaper clippings of the classifieds with a few circled job offerings and an open laptop on an unemployment tab. Fiery eyes pierced the papers and a clammy hand coiled five jagged digits around the articles. Disinterested in the job offerings, the ghoul instead flipped to the funny pages. They were also dull. Front page news was dull. As was second page, and third. But then the fourth... It was a review page on local modern art...
”Amidst a myriad of gorgeous brushwork and stunning visuals, I am sorry to say that I have found what is, without a doubt, the ugliest painting I’ve ever seen. Colorblind artist (an oxymoron, I know) Roy G. Bivolo has showed the world that not only do you not need eyes to paint, but you also don’t need talent. The clashing bright tones almost gave me a seizure, and his dull personality almost gave me a snooze. About the dullard in question: by day he offends the art world, and as it so happens, by night he insults the supervillain community. A bizarre z-list rogue, he dons a tacky rainbow spandex unitard and calls himself the Rainbow Raider. I firmly believe that Rainbow Raider steals good art because his rainbow vomit canvas will never be as successful, and for good reason. Put simply, the assault to my eyes has left me scarred and deformed and I think I should sue.” - Vance Cho Cullm
The vile disgust and cruelty of the words dazzled Dr. Destiny to his very core. Hatred was so powerful, so wonderful, so... Interesting. Spindly fingers pitter pattered the name Roy G. Bivolo into the neighboring laptops keyboard. The mouse scrolled just lightly to the very first link.
r/Art
How’ve I never heard of this Rainbow Raider guy!?
Look at his costume!
->He looks like his clothes were originally black but then he ate a bunch of starbursts and puked
->XD
-> He’s a walking laffy taffy
->the shade and crazy quilt fused together
Bruh, his superpower is wearing glasses wtf, I could do that!
->I think they shut lasers
->they shoot color lasers
His brushwork actually isn’t that bad, but man those colors....
->he really did go spastic with the colors tho
Guys! I think I found his stand irl! Check it!
->omg I wish I was in central city
->I gotta see this freak in person lol
->I’m gonna buy one his paintings, they got their own kinda charm, ya know?
->brb gonna splash pain thinner over all this dudes paintings
Red eyes glistened like starlight before a wall of vitriol and hateful comments. A wall which felt so homely and inviting to a creature like him. A wall with which he belonged. With a glitch and a sputter, the vitriol and the hate faded out of the laptop screen, leaving a vacant blue glow in its wake. The maroon of Dee’s eyes danced with the turquoise screen with some vague resemblance to glee. Purple ooze dribbled and drooled unto the keyboard, and the ghoulish nightmare king heaved out a hazy:
”Rainbow........Raider”
The Next Day
Beware the Friendly Stranger
Beware the Friendly Stranger
Purple clouds and a pink horizon declared that it was sunset in peaceful sleepy Keystone City. Light and dark blended in the background of a high rise cityscape, orange beacons rising high upon a purple backdrop. But the canvas of bright and hopeful colors was muddied by a black stain. A shadowy black which hobbled before the sunset in a scarcely human shape. A skeleton lumbered forwards, a gaunt shriveled up face with flakes of grey skin sewn together like patchwork over red muscle and discharged yellow biofilm. But all of it, the corpse hid behind large black rim glasses with no frame and a bulbous plastic nose. It lurched towards a quaint little art stand, one which vile creatures of a similar stature to it had discovered. Bridge dwellers of the web pointed this monstrous form to it’s prey... ”Roy..... Biv...O...Looooooo......” Limp feeble legs marched to the art stand in snazzy shined black shoes which led up to green trousers which in turn rose up towards a black turtleneck and a bespoke green blazer which accentuated his chest. ”Hsssssssssss” The well dressed spook slobbered and drooled like a dog, gravitating towards a Roy G. art piece with vile salivating ooze trickling down it’s cheeks.
“Thiss... Hisss... An opus!” A decrepit claw traced the wooden frame of the painting. Another reached out, a mere inches away from the canvas. He reached towards it, realizing halfway that his spindly fingers came too close to the canvas. Sharply, with a crack of his carpels the hand retracted. The bulbous tip of his plastic nose faintly glanced back towards Roy, and beneath it his lipless fangs gleamed a tight and contorted grin. What little flesh plastered between teeth and cheek stretched like writhing leather, woven and bound to a near breaking point. ”I’m sorry. I don’t mean to startle. My name, hssssk, is Gustav Van Munch. The Art Collector.” The beast sharply turned, drool drenched chin face to face with Bivolo. Then daintily, it extended a frail almost limp hand with wild spindly fingers. Short reddish strings of bristly hair strung out from the beginning of the phalanges, each finger like disgusting spider legs with arachnid hairs around the knuckles. The tips of the fingers were flat and creased, with long gnarled nails which had the complexion of burnt oak. The lofty but oh so hideous hand had in the fourth finger, a girthy copper signet ring with a massive uncut red gem held in place by copper tendrils molded into its surface. The iridescent ruby shimmered in a manner that could only be described as paranormal in nature. “Van Munch” loftily gestured his hand into a position such that Bivolo could kiss the glistening ruby surface of the ring. His pride. His joy. His precious.
The skeleton stepped away, feigning to be drawn towards the painting once more. It loftily drifted, hand hovering before the canvas with a toothy drooling grin. ”Your art... It speaks to me... It whispers to me.... It calls to me...” Lensless glasses peered back to Roy, and behind the empty plastic frame were massive blood red eyes. Eyes which danced like lava lamps, bouncing dark maroon circling gaudy yellow irises shaped almost like a star. ”I can relate to your sorry tale, I’m an artist too, you know.” It looked away timidly, spidery digits rubbing the back of an opposing hand with a morose tune to the skeleton’s hoarse chirp. ”-And my art reflects me, but I’m... I’m not every well liked, and so neither is my art.” There was an element of truth peppered into the tall tale. He called himself an artist, and his canvas: this island earth. With a brush of blood death madness and horror Doctor Destiny strikes fiercely at his canvas. The Bob Ross of Jeffrey Dahlmer’s, no mistakes only happy little sanity shattering horrors. ”I think we are... Hsssssskindred ssssspiritsss... It’s not fair to be shunned and ostracized.” It saddened him that not everyone was as deeply licentious as he. Children could laugh and play on the streets without being mauled and ripped to shreds by the tendrils of an eldritch abomination, and that was a deeply disturbing thought to him. But he was alone in these miserable horrific fantasies. He just wished others were as awful and confused as he. ”Your work is beautiful.” “Van Munch” feigned a sympathetic grin towards Roy. Though his lipless toothy expression mottled the gesture, what little skin that remained creased in a way that attempted to look reassuring. ”I would like you to come to my studio. I want to order a commission. Perhaps even a collaboration.” He extended a white card with only a hand written address and nothing else. Drooling once more, the gaunt creature shuffled off into the fading sunlight. ”Card.” Was it’s final word to the Rainbow Raider.
| Roy G. Bivolo |
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