Vox Mortis- Radiohead (A Geist: The Sin Eaters Character Concept)

Molly felt cold. It wasn't the sharp, immediate cold of the wind outside, or the chilly, winter claws that scrabbled at the corners of the cracker box of her studio apartment, though. It was the sort of cold that marked an absence. It was how you felt when there were no more laughs or tears inside you. It was how you felt when you'd been clinging to your diet for so long your stomach had gone quiet, and even your tongue couldn't be bothered to complain. It was how you felt when the water around you went pink, and the panic had ebbed out along with your blood.

"Time's a funny thing, isn't it, kid?" a voice asked. It was a strange voice, with an old-timey accent she'd only ever seen on clips from black and white movies and news broadcasts.

Molly blinked, using what little energy she had to turn her head on her pillow. She glanced at the cracked TV with the cardboard shims to keep it even sitting on the old dresser she'd found in an alley. Her eyes slid over the kitchenette, where the empty fridge hummed on, and her one set of dishes sat ready to be used. Her laptop was open on the rickety desk she'd gotten from a neighbor who didn't want to pack it up. The old machine's screen was dark, but a single, green eye pulsed in the dimness. That was the closest thing there was to another person in the room with her, as usual.

"Hearing things..." Molly muttered, her eyes falling closed again.

"That's the nature of the spoken word, Molly Mouse," that voice said again. "Hearing is the first step to understanding."

Molly's eyes shot open, and adrenaline pumped through her veins. She sat up fast enough to give herself vertigo, her head whipping around. That voice hadn't come from inside her head; it had come from the tiny clock radio that sat on the milkcrate she used as a bedside table. She hadn't turned the thing on since she'd moved in, but she just hadn't had the give a damn to move it. She blinked, trying to focus, peering at the speaker.

"Can... can you hear me?" she asked in a small, soft voice.

"Of course I can hear you, Molly," the radio said. Then, from across the room, the same voice leaked out of her busted TV. "The question is, dearest heart, are you hearing me?"

Molly's mouth went drier than dust, and her eyes opened wide enough that her lids practically disappeared. Hissing, electric laughter echoed on the air, emanating from every speaker in the room. Molly shook her head, putting her hands up to cover her ears. She shut her eyes, as if not seeing the room would mean she couldn't hear what was happening. Then, just as suddenly as it had started, everything went silent. Molly opened her eyes, and stared in open-mouthed silence at what she saw.

A man was seated in her rickety old desk chair. He wore polished shoes with dark spats, and a crimson lounge suit with barely-there silver pinstripes. His legs were crossed, and his long-fingered hands were laced together over one knee. A watch chain snaked out of his breast pocket, hanging like a coiled serpent that hissed and shushed against itself. His tie was like a piece of a dream, shifting colors with the light every time he moved, as if the wan beams of winter sun were revealing deep, dark secrets. His face was strangest of all, though, in that he didn't have a face. He didn't have a head either... not really. Instead, sitting atop his neck was an old-fashioned radio. There was one dial for volume, and one for tuning, and a band filled with numbers beneath the off-black speaker. Molly frowned, trying to make out the numbers, but they seemed to blur and change, taking on shapes and patterns that made no sense. The figure raised one hand, and snapped his fingers; it sounded like the volume coming back on.

"I've got a limited time offer for you, Molly," the figure said, tilting its head forward slightly. "And I need you to listen very carefully. Because you've been here too long, and this may just be your one chance out of that bed."

"I don't need-" Molly tried to say, her words slipping over numbed lips, but the bizarre figure interrupted her.

"On the contrary, my dear, you very much need," he said. "You've done without for far too long. Friends, family, fulfillment, purpose, love, and even food... you've told yourself you don't need for so long that you almost believe it. But if that were true, then you wouldn't have those scars on your wrist, now, would you?"

Molly groped for her wrist, cupping the places where she'd cut deeply, but not deeply enough. The tuner on the radio spun, and static flickered with a dozen different voices before the thing spoke again.

"You have cut yourself in more ways than that," he said, his voice lowering conspiratorially. "You have carefully carved away every part of yourself that needs. Every part of yourself that wants. Maybe you thought it was safer to deny yourself, rather than to be denied by someone else. Maybe denial is the one thing you felt you had control over, until you realized that you didn't. Whatever the reason, though, your window is closing, and this is your final opportunity."

"Opportunity for what?" Molly asked in a hoarse whisper.

The dials spun again, and this time they were accompanied by a flash of color. It bathed Molly's face, and a dozen emotions flooded her mind. Anger. Joy. Lust. Pain. But atop all of them, like the tart frosting on a sour cupcake, was a single, overriding emotion. An emotion Molly had almost convinced herself she didn't feel; Want.

"An opportunity to raise your voice," the figure said, leaning in close enough that Molly could hear the hiss of static from the speaker. she swore she heard other voices in that static... a thousand times a thousand people, all talking at once, from somewhere very, very far away. "Let me be your microphone, and turn that whisper into a demand. What do you say?"

Molly raised one hand. She hadn't realized how thin she'd grown... or how weak she'd become. She swallowed, and she heard a hollow click from her throat like a gun cocking. A tremor ran through her, and she ran her dry tongue over dry lips.

"What are you?" she asked.

"Vox Mortis," the figure said, holding out a hand. "Now tell me, Molly... do we have a deal?"

This isn't where your story ends... not if you don't want it to!

Molly "Mouse" Madrigal and Radiohead

Molly Madrigal was a lurker in her own life. A product of environments she found threatening, and social cliques that were always looking for victims, she moved through her life choosing safety and security. Forgotten about by her classmates, and even her parents, she had two great loves in her life; music, and the Internet.

As a young woman, Molly consumed everything she could find. Songs, music videos, tutorials, ASMR, affirmations, storm chasers... no matter what it was, she wanted it. Being able to consume emotions vicariously, and to watch the interactions of others on forums without every getting involved, gave her a feeling of connection in a way she'd never had before... even if the connections were parasocial at best.

Old habits died hard, though, and Molly's were the sort of habits that could kill you if you didn't yank them out by the roots. As more of her happy spaces were taken over by aggressive trolls, scam artists, and worse, she soon found she had nowhere to retreat to. Every social media page, forum, and fandom was being poisoned, and it was all too much. She lost herself in the comfort of old voices, but soon even those faded away to noise. Food was bland and tasteless in her mouth, and even the warmth of her bed was less of a comfort, and more of something she was simply too tired to try escaping from.

She would have died there, and likely remained undiscovered until the slumlord who owned her building came to investigate why she was behind on rent, if not for the intervention of the geist calling itself Vox Mortis... a creature she often refers to simply as Radiohead.

Since that time, Molly has embraced life again. Not only that, she's become one of the more recognized voices on the local Twilight Network. The smoky tones of her broadcast are well-known to most Sin Eaters in the Chicagoland area, and those in the know tend to keep an ear out for when she and her associated geist make vital information known to people.

Would You Like To See More of Them?

While this is a brief introduction to this Sin Eater and her geist, I would like to make a pitch to all my readers out there this week. Because I would like to do more with these two... in fact, I think they would make ideal hosts for season two of Windy City Shadows, which I mentioned a while back in the post talking about Dead City Blues, which is my tentative title for the Geist season.

Now, Dead City Blues as a season would wrap up the story of Johnny Hammer, the Six Gun Saint, and their grudge with the mage Cyprian who wronged both of them. However, the sheer scope and scale of that revenge story is going to involve a lot of factions in Chicago, with both sides looking for allies, and trying to counter their enemies. Even the tentative plot I have right now is a significant step up from the very small and personal stakes I have for the Changeling season, which is slated to go up before that.

However, Molly and Vox Mortis would fill the role for season 2 that would be held by Mr. Nowhere in season 1; the voice of our announcer, and characters who are still part of the story as it unfolds, getting more and more involved in the events they'd previously been mere commentators about.

If these two represent an interesting addition to the cast that you'd like to see/hear more from, then all you have to do is help me get the Azukail Games YouTube channel monetized so that I can finally start in on making these episodes! We're just over 900 hours of watched time away, so check out the Chronicles of Darkness audio dramas we've already made, and maybe check out some of our other shows like Discussions of Darkness or Speaking of Sundara while you're at it! Also, if you're someone who's a fan of Geist in general, consider grabbing a copy of my supplements 50 Geists and 100 Mediums, which planted the seeds for this entire season of the show I'm practically champing at the bit to make!

And for those who got this far and are curious, yes, I finally got around to watching Hazbin Hotel. Inspiration strikes from the oddest of places, doesn't it?

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