and silver blood poured down the streets as I called you back to me.

**Invité**

– Yeah, sure, there's a pawn shop, down South. Don't go hangin' 'bout there 'round night time, though. That's when shit gets real, you hear me ? That's when shit gets real.

* * *

C'est ... différent, par ici. Je ne saurais vraiment le décrire. Tout ce que je sais, c'est que l'air y est plus lourd. Le silence, plus perçant. La solitude, plus inquiétante. Effectivement, je ne voudrais pas me perdre ici la nuit. Seize heures, mais déjà voilà que pas un chat ne rode ... Et ce ne serait pas plus mal. On m'avait parlé d'un prêteur à gages. Quelque part de discret, où l'on ne me poserait pas trop de questions. Quelque part où je pourrais gagner un peu d'argent, pas trop difficilement. J'étais entré dans un bar, à l'aveuglette, sans réelle direction ... Pour qu'on m'en indique le chemin. J'ai une mission. La montre enroulée autour de mon poignet pèse davantage à chaque pas que je fais. Elle représente un amour de plus en plus mal en point. Cet amour qui asservit et ensevelit tout ce qui se dresse sur son passage, avant de se noyer dans sa propre grandeur, consumé par sa gloutonnerie. Je l'ai vécu, cet amour. Il est laid, lorsqu'il révèle ses véritables couleurs, exhibant ses crocs tranchants comme des lames. Je l'ai vécu, cet amour, et j'en ai versé des larmes. Il m'a emprisonné dans cet amour. Aujourd'hui encore, je suis derrière les barreaux de la prison construite par toute son affection.

Montre en argent. Argent comptant. Compte-en banque. Banqueroute. Route pour l'enfer. Enfer vivant. Vivant le jour. Jour fatal. Fatalité de la vie. Vie et destinée. Destinée perdue. Perdu dans la nuit. Nuits sombres. Sombres desseins. Desseins d'enfants. Enfants innocents. Innocence légère. Légère comme la brise. Brise les.

Brise les.

Brise les, ces rêves ancrés dans le passé.

Finalement, je semble arriver à bon port. Je ne reconnais rien, mais le quartier correspond à cette description offerte au coin d'un bar, avec nonchalance. Je n'aimerais pas vivre par ici. Le seul mot qui me vient en tête, à présent, c'est le chaos.

Confusion.
Destruction.

Ruines.

Et d
é
s
o
r
d
r

e

.

Un chaos qui ne cesse de s'accroître au rythme de mes pas. Avant qu'un barrage de symboles ne m'interrompe sur mon chemin, barrant le passage destiné à m'emporter vers mon objectif. Des hommes discutent, avec sérieux. Sourcils froncés, regards intenses, leurs corps trahissant leur importance. Quelque chose ne va pas.

Je m'approche un peu.

Un regard perçant qui glace le sang, jeté avec désinvolture de façon latérale. Je crois l'éviter, mais il me frappe de plein fouet.

Je m'approche davantage.

Ses deux lèvres s'embrassent et s'éloignent avec langueur, et pourtant, je peine à en déchiffrer les mots qu'elles partagent discrètement avec son interlocuteur.

Je m'approche encore.

Jusqu'à être tout proche, assez pour entendre, sans parler ni interrompre. De ce que j'entends, je ne comprends rien.

Puis je ne bouge plus.

**Invité**

AND SILVER BLOOD POURED DOWN THE STREETS

AS I CALLED YOU BACK TO ME

Elliott & Silver

When the car pulled over, a callous vision welcomed him. His first step out on the pavement echoed with crunches of glass and other debris. He had that feeling that he was witnessing a ruthless scene of destruction without any of the perpetrators here to bear witness. A sort of scene, a painter could have created while forgetting to include any human presence. Only bare inklings of life could be spotted. The shops, bus stops and restaurants had all been shattered with the same indiscrimate rage. The windows had been smashed, probably by bullets and most of the openings still intact had been barred with metal shutters or cardboards. No trace of a potential shooter and yet, people seemed to want to protect themselves from the vision of this mutilated street. By keeping out of sight, they may have wanted to keep it out of their lives. Like people looking the other way thinking that the invisible sin becomes an unreal one. But Silver knew perfectly well that each sin would be counted. Not by a God, obviously, his universe was way to heavy and fragile to be able to bear a presence as hefty as this one. Moreover, a probable vicious and ruthless presence. But in the universe in which he had drowned so many times, he knew that the end was not death and all the permanent resolutions it brought. Human beings had the amazing capacity of drifting trouble anywhere in their path, whether they be dead or alive. What he was witnessing was nothing more than the epilogue of a chapter that probably unveiled many scenes. A chapter from a book that did not know any end yet.

“The insurance companies are pushing to get the reports and photos. They don’t want to drag their asses down here and they are filling for the city to pay for everything.” Explained the other cop. An old guy who did not seem impressed by anything he could see. Growing used to violence had also the propensity of making you cynical. Silver knew perfectly well what kind of job this was today. The kind that meant nothing at all. The king that would just look good in a report: job done. And then, like the rest, it would rot on a shelf in some crooked judge’s office. Big deal. One should not have ambitions when working in the police. He did not enjoy being a pawn in a game way bigger than anything he could imagine, but he got over it by simply picturing himself as a cog in a bigger, greasier and sketchy machine. At least, if everything was to collapse, he would not be the only one to fall… It honestly seemed like a fair ending after knowing the grimy beginning he had had.

A previous team had already closed some of the perimeters with yellow banners. Silver approached one of the shop that seemed to have taken most of the bullets from the shooting. It was a kitchen appliance store. Everything would probably need to be replaced. Silver sighted and looked at the other cop. “Any risk of it happening again?” he enquired. The old man shrugged “I don’t think so… The central did not seem too concerned when they told me to come here. But if you’re asking if it might happen again anywhere. Well… You know how it is…” he stopped and frowned. His eyes were darted towards something behind Silver. He turned around to see a man, stopped behind the yellow banner. Walking cautiously towards him, he purposefully pulled his coat to reveal the handle of his gun, appearing to simply straighten his top. “Can we help you, sir?” he asked, staring down the unknown man with his icy blue eyes. Whether he be from the mob or any other suspicious organisation, inspector Langmore did not like being bothered on the field, on a cold morning.

**Invité**

Ne pars pas, s'il te plait !
Je n'ai pas le choix.

I'm a wanderer. It's in my DNA. I roam, I walk, I run, and everywhere I go ... I discover. Things about the world. Things about people. Things about me, even. You never cease to learn. That's something my mother always told me.

Mom taught me many things.
She told me stories,
Of ghosts and fairies,
The kind of creatures who haunt your sleep.

She held my hand and kissed my cheek,
As I cried in bed,
Feverishly.

She sang songs
Of old folklore,
To which I harmonised, of course,

But most of all,
Mom taught me
All about the world's hidden beauty.

It lies in nooks,
Hides behind crannies,
And cuts your breath with its sheer uncanny.

People never truly understand what motivates me. How I get up in the morning. Why I plaster a smile on my face, every single day, as if my life depended on it. They don't know. They can't know. What it's like, I mean. To be me. To feel loved and blessed, on a daily basis, before witnessing horrors unfurling all around you. I had a happy life. I lived a beautiful dream. My childhood was unrivalled in its simplicity. Many were not as lucky. I grew up surrounded by the pain of my friends, children torn by loveless parents and self-loathing. I saw the pain and touched it too : kissed its face, and held its hand, cradled its head on my own two knees, lulling its sobs till it came to a standstill. It was never enough. My luck rapidly felt like a curse. Too good to be true, too beautiful to be real. A life that felt so contrived no pleasure could be born from living it. I had no other choice but to act as a beacon of hope, a strand of beaming light, for all those lost souls stumbling through life.

Bliss was consuming me.
I needed to share it.
Please, I beseech thee,
Don't make me discard it.

He does mot want to discard the watch. If anything, he would rather keep it with him forever. Not due to its monetary value, of course, but for the sentiment attached to it. The watch is a symbol of the love Drakan and he built over the last three years, with meticulous care ... Until it all came tumbling down in the all-consuming flames. Things changed, after the fire. It devoured the innocence of their relationship. It scalded their dynamic, burning the edges of a picture-perfect moment, turning it ashen with grief and distrust. Yet still, he fails to resent the very man responsible for all his current misery. Still, he fails to blame the man who threw their happiness away, forcing him to debase himself to the most humiliating scenarios for a few spare dollars. Still, he fails to undo himself of Drakan's love, to which he was bound for what can only be described as a forever that never came. He does not want to discard the watch, but he will, for lack of a better option. Bills need to be paid, plates need to be filled. Watches need to be pawned off for a stranger's gold.

Upon arriving in the South side, Elliott's optimism gives way to weariness. The sheer darkness of the area sends chills up and down his spine as he retains his composure in his feeble attempt to remain in control. He is a brave one, of that there is no doubt. But bravery can only lead you so far.

Guerrier courageux,
Guerrier farouche,
Ne t'aventures pas davantage dans ces endroits louches.

Disparais, déguerpis, rebrousse-chemin,
Repars là où tu appartiens,
Et ne te retourne jamais,

Où on te coupera la bouche.

Can we help you, sir ?

His voice shows strength, and not much else. No warmth. No openness. Nothing to hold onto. Nothing more than a man, doing his job, working nine to five, just to stay alive. I never know how to act around people like these. Drakan was like that, when we first met, it's true. But Drakan is different. He always was. He always will be.

Our gazes meet and engage one another.
A staring contest,
A game of distrust,
A fight for the truth, buried in dust.

What's going on around here ? I ask, gently. No agression in my voice, no show of force, no animosity. I'm just a simple man on a quest of curiosity. What happened ? I ask again, when I see the broken glass. Who did this ? Is everyone ok ?

Thousands of questions dance in my skull.
I'll ask them all when the time is right.
Thousands of thoughts keep me up at night.
I'll talk about them, someday. Maybe. I might.

**Invité**

AND SILVER BLOOD POURED DOWN THE STREETS

AS I CALLED YOU BACK TO ME

Elliott & Silver

His eyes do not seem as serious as Silver thought they were. His expectations of any encounter he would make in this city were not very high. When he was out as a cop, people would either avoid him all together or despise him. If any Capulet was around, it was even worse: they would not even try to hide the amount of ownership they felt for the police of the city. This feeling of being dragged around like a ragged doll, unable to decide, unable to move and, more importantly, unable to care. Silver had, at one point in his career, some hopes about his job and his role in the world. But as the time went by, he realised that that thick dirtiness that had smeared his whole childhood was all over the city, only in different forms. What could a lonely little soul like his could do against a giant like that? He had already decided that he would not find out. He would just play the game as others were playing it and try to survive as long as possible.

But here was a soul that seemed like an untainted one. But Silver knew that much could hide behind innocent eyes. He had seen them before and he had been hurt by them. He frowned and just showed one of the busted windows next to them “A shooting. We are investigating the area.” He said. What else was there to say? Anybody who knew the city knew that if the Capulet were involved, nothing would be done. It would be hidden under a very tall pile of other files and would be forgotten or even lost... Most probably burnt at the back of a police station somewhere.

“You did not hear about it? Where are you from?” who would come to this place? Who would want to come here? What was there that would have been interesting to see? Silver stayed because he simply knew this area. The horror of the unknown seemed even worst than just staying with the same misery and pain. This one, he could deal with. He knew where his place was, and he knew the rules. The idea of stumbling on a completely new place, not knowing what to do and what not to do was a scary thought that he did not allow himself to even imagine. He was born here, and he would probably die here as well. He never really fancied going anywhere else, the thought had not even crossed his mind.

**Invité**

I stare into your face in search of a soul,
But all I can find is a mirror image of myself.
Impenetrable, your gaze strikes back
aiming my heart as its bullseye.

The silence crackles and fizzes in the air ominously of something dark to come. Or perhaps that something dark has already come, and this is just the aftermath. There is an uneasiness to this place. I can sense it. I can hear it. I can feel it. My bones tingle with the desire to flee but all I can do is stay. I need to know. What other secrets hide around here ?

Curiosity has always been an ugly personality trait.
I was often told to reign it in,
When I could.
I was often told to deny myself
Who I was.

But how to resist the sweet call of the unknown
Or the passionate thrill of the question
Which can only be satiated
By the sincerest of answers ?

A shooting. We are investigating the area.

I stare at him intently, thoughts racing through my mind. A shooting ? Here ? In Nightvale ? My gaze betrays my confusion as I stare at him, hoping, no, praying for answers. My skin always crawls when I hear about violence. It's one of those things I cannot tolerate. It's one of those things I cannot condone. I cannot stand by acts of terror, as they are nothing more than the games played by the weak. For nothing is more challenging than a declaration of peace, through which only real strength prevails, in the end.

How is that possible ?

I finally ask. There are no judgments in my gaze. No calls for blood, no declarations of war.
Merely the incomprehension of someone who finds himself lost in a world that rarely makes sense. I was warned of the violence that would someday be. I shrugged at the thought of it, back then. I was told of the sorrow yet to come. I never knew how it would strike, nor when.
He does not wear a uniform but his demeanour speaks for him. This man knows things. I want answers.

When asked about the shooting, Elliott shook his head vigourously. Obviously, he had not heard of the tragic succession of events that took place a few hours - or was it days ? - prior to his journey to the Southside. Evidently, he was unaware of the rules of this town, and its inner workings. He never understood why his cousin paid so much close attention to his plans and future whereabouts, oblivious to all the dangers laying in waiting on these desert roads.

I'm from Phoenix. I say, unsure why it matters. Is the fact that I'm foreign plastered on my face ? Is it so blatantly evident that I do not belong ? What is it, about this town, that seems to evade me ? Everywhere I go, people look at me strangely. I could have said Calgary, but that rang less true. I haven't been there in years. I might not be American, but my life is here, now. A citizen of the United States. That's what I am, now, and that's what I'm proud to be.

Isn't it strange, though, how Americans are Americans, but Canadians are Canadians ?
Aren't we all Americans, both Northerners and Southerners ?
Semiotics and linguistics make my mind dumb.

Is everyone ok ? I finally ask in silence.
The idea people have suffered here rips my heart in two.
I can already imagine the loss and the pain, as if it were my own.
I can already feel the sweet kiss of death on the forehead of a stranger
As he falls asleep in a pool of his own vigour.
The blood in his vains flowing outwards like a river,
Enshrining him in a bed of liquid roses.

The stranger's silence compels him to speak once more.
He repeats, more assertively :
Is everyone ok ?

**Invité**

AND SILVER BLOOD POURED DOWN THE STREETS

AS I CALLED YOU BACK TO ME

Elliott & Silver

The young man seems a bit surprised and shocked. His eyes are darting at his face, as if he was looking for an answer, another answer. But Silver had nothing else to give him. If he would have wanted to, he could have really investigated and found that, per usual, the same usual suspects would come up. The same weapons, the same bullets, the same shooters, over and over again. But Silver was not bothered. More precisely, he was not interested in finding out something he already knew since the start. He was used to it; every bit of extra money slipped in police officers’ pockets was only confirming that nothing was worth it. He could spend hours on end gathering evidence (that they were barely hiding now), investigating suspicious places, asking questions… All of this, in order to make a compiling file about everything that was happening in Night Vale… And then what? He could not send it to any prosecutor just like this. His boss, a crooked cop like the rest of them, would never sign or confirm anything. This case would be dead before it would even start. Silver had no time to give to a vain cause like this. He just played the part, like the rest, pretending that everything was fine and everything was happening according to plan. Which plan? He was not sure. Their plan, that was the only thing he knew about it. And he knew that he was expected to not look too closely and to not ask too precise questions, That’s it. That was all his own part was about.

But the man in front of him did not seem to understand that. He seemed to take the news with the gravity people would take such news in another city. A city with a brighter past and future. Here, people welcomed these events with a muffled discomfort, glad that they were not a victim of collateral damages and uneasy at the thought that they could be next. The man seemed way too shocked for an inhabitant of Night Vale. He asked how it was even possible. Folding his arms, Silver observed the man a couple of seconds before shrugging and saying simply “It’s Night Vale… It happens sometimes.” . He did not even know what “sometimes” entailed… It was not too big of a word while still implying it was happening on a regular basis. Altogether, none of this was a lie. He young man then said that he was from Phoenix. A nice place from what Silver had heard, no wonder why this boy was so impressed by a little shooting.

Then the man asked if everyone was okay. Silver smiled apologetically and said simply “I can’t tell you that sort of information. But if you buy the local newspaper they’ll probably report on the state of the survivors and the injured.” He looked quickly over his shoulder. His colleague was taking pictures and filling in some forms. He turned once again towards what appeared to be a tourist. “You may want to go back to Phoenix a bit earlier than planned. You’re here for what? Business? Holidays?” Holidays would have been surprising given that there was close to nothing to see around here, but why not…

**Invité**

I stare into your face
Looking for the promise
Of safety and security
You were born to inspire.

But all I can see is a darkness
That swallows all, and takes no prisoners.

Silver
like the clouds in the sky
Bathed in moonlight
Sweet caresses on your cheek
A dance of shadows
In your sleep.

There's a crispness to the air. It could shatter with a blink. As I breathe, in and out, the cool winter gust, the silence envelops us like a suffocating fur coat. Luxurious and unapologetic, it wraps us as a ribbon would, binding us to this game of stares which has no concrete rules.

I refuse to lose.

Soft and gentle as the breeze, yet firm and steady like the sea, I refuse to give in or to submit to anything. I don't bite, I don't fight, but I never back down. You can try to break me but I will never let myself drown. I defy you with a gaze from my piercing baby blues, burning through the bark you use to hide yourself. Yet what lies beneath the shell that protects you like a shield ? I will not bow down until you answer my queries.

It’s Night Vale… It happens sometimes.

I blink and shake my head, from left to right, in disbelief.

I'm sorry ... What ?

I am compassion, forgiveness and love. I am the cheek turned twice, after a slap from above. I move past and forget the mistakes that you make. But I never stand by idly when innocents suffer in your wake.

What does that even mean ?

Shock and disbelief grow within me, it's true. I could argue why what you said is wrong until my face turns blue. You're a man who seems accustomed to this brutal tragedy. But that does not mean that life is a game you witness silently. Violence arose and broke lives, right out here. Are you going to do anything about it, instead of waiting, my dear ?

You speak with the cool confidence of a sultry movie star,
A James Dean or a Marlon Brando,
Or some other clown on the Silver Screen,
Pretending to be things he cannot begin to know,
Playing characters whose sufferings will evade him forevermore.

____

He asks me where I'm from and I give him the name of the place to which my heart and I still belong. But when I ask him if everyone is okay, his smile makes my skin crawl with sheer disbelief as his answer strikes me tauntingly. I see ... I don't see. All I can see is the broken glass and the aftermath of the chaos that broke out here. All I can see is what I can imagine took place, wrecking lives and futures through a brutal act of senseless violence. All I can see is all for which I sometimes lose faith in the world. And this man represents that loss. He asks me where I'm from, his curiosity intrusively invading my personal space. Yet I respond, challenged by his quick dismissal of my presence here. I live here. Perhaps Night Vale is not my home, but that doesn't mean I can't be here. You speak as if these things, I gesture at the debris all around us, Happens all the time. I finally remark.

Spoiler:

**Contenu sponsorisé**

» TOPIC COMMUN .☾. BLOOD FOR BLOOD
» there's a storm on the streets (blaze)
» it's called love sweetie #Lola
» flood silver v2
» Screaming without a sound (silver)