Omnibapes theatre presents:
RAYMOND VS. PREDATOR
an Usher fanfiction by mz. eggsy
Chapter 1
It was a dark night in December. Chicago's mean streets cooled off with the winter snow, and exhaust was coming from Usher's hotel bedroom. A gnarlish smell had formed from the sexual healing he needed and just received. He stared at the ceiling; the edge was taken off, however he was still especially sensitive to a foul omen that befell him. The anonymous lover at his side was still breathing heavily. He paid no attention to her.
As he burrowed his stone-face eyes into the plaster above, he conceived several scenarios. These visions were important to him, gameplans, of the things to come. He soon found himself frustrated that he couldn't come to a successful conclusion. Stirring from bed, he whipped the linens from his way and stood up.
“come back 2 bed baby... I ned u” said the anonymous lover. Realizing he hadn't gotten her name (or true importance to him, for that matter), he made a mental note there to call her “Katrina”, because she was fast, wet, and he didn't give a shit about it.
“Sorry babe. I'm done with you. You've served your purpose. You can stay in bed.” Usher replied, tossing her 3 $20 bills, each of them bearing his insignia. He moved to the window and lit up a Dunhill. The moonlight glistened off his shirtless body, chiseled carbonic abs like black diamonds on a windshield. His muscular, Olympian body looked similar to a vivid cobblestone road, though more accentuated. Simply looking at his physique could move a person more fully than 69 Odessa Step scenes combined. He was entirely out of her league. “I have to do some shit.”
“no plz dont go yall. Not yet. We has the nite.”
“This has nothing to do with you baby. Shit I gotta do is a long time coming. In every man's life, there's something they just gotta do. This is my shit.” he paused. “Seems I'm always crossing a rickety bridge over troubled water.”
He looked at the streets below, thinking of the Graceland he couldn't reach. One could almost smell the evil. The moon blazed and continued to dance about his frame, pleased of where it lay. All of a sudden, in a somber tone, Usher spinned an old chestnut:
“wyth wynne
where werre and wrake and wonder
bi syþez hatz wont þerinne
and oft boþe blysse and blunder
ful skete hatz skyfted synne”
His uncultured date sat in confusion. Usher took notice and walked to the bedside as he took another puff.
“Oh. That's uh, French, baby. It means you were... incredible.” She seemed pleased, yet restless. Before she could say anything, Usher sauntered about and grabbed his things.
“y u going... What's Going On....” she said containing her hysteria. She was desperate. “U don't have to face it, whatev it is. Talk 2 me.”
“Sorry.” he said, throwing his leather jacket over his shoulder, “April is the cruellest month, baby. And right now, I'm April. You just gotta let it Burn.” He never saw her again.
He went to Geoffey's, the corner diner. That was his usual spot for a cup of cafe noir and a bagel. Out-house quality, but he'd acquired a taste for them, and pretty soon he was a regular. “Ushy” they call him now. They also went well with a smoke. Sometimes he'd write lyrics here, at Geoffey's. He was pretty sure he coined the phrase “hot coffee” here, but “Who Really Cares,” was his conclusion.
The stark wistfulness Usher seemed to bore caught the eye of Trish, the gal at the counter. She was a thirty-something who worked twice as long as she lived, but the diner was her home. Usher never knew much about her, other than she was a dame with a mean Countertop Palm. Though her green eyes hid behind her dishwater blonde bangs, she could still spot a shaken soul at the bottom of a trashcan.
“Hey shug. What's the deal. Just Blaze?” as they called smoking in Geoffey's sometimes.
“Shiet, darlin. Don't you got some eggs to fry? Like your own?” Usher said playfully.
“Ha, too late for that. I'm already drier than the Sarlacc pit.” they both smiled. After a brief pause as Trish looked him over, “What's wrong? You're wearing your sunglasses and it's 11:34pm”
“I wear my glasses everywhere, Trish, you know this. I just infiltrated some slut 20 minutes ago, still had em on because I couldn't bear to see myself on this gal. Did it because I felt sorry for her. That's not why I feel like shit though.”
“Oh? Talk to me. You need another cup?”
“Sure, thanks. I could do with another cup of this trog sludge you ferment in the orc barrels.”
“Hey, this is artisanal trog sludge.”
She left for the kitchen, returning a few minutes later. In this synapse, Usher fell deeper into his depression. Somewhere out there, his Doppelganger ran free. A real life, physical manifestation of his inner demons, and he was a most dangerous alchemy of carnal, vicious, and swag. The Other Raymond. What a bastard he was, taking everything in his life he held dear. All in an instant. He soon went over his memories again.
To be continued.....,
RAYMOND VS. PREDATOR
an Usher fanfiction by mz. eggsy
Chapter 1
It was a dark night in December. Chicago's mean streets cooled off with the winter snow, and exhaust was coming from Usher's hotel bedroom. A gnarlish smell had formed from the sexual healing he needed and just received. He stared at the ceiling; the edge was taken off, however he was still especially sensitive to a foul omen that befell him. The anonymous lover at his side was still breathing heavily. He paid no attention to her.
As he burrowed his stone-face eyes into the plaster above, he conceived several scenarios. These visions were important to him, gameplans, of the things to come. He soon found himself frustrated that he couldn't come to a successful conclusion. Stirring from bed, he whipped the linens from his way and stood up.
“come back 2 bed baby... I ned u” said the anonymous lover. Realizing he hadn't gotten her name (or true importance to him, for that matter), he made a mental note there to call her “Katrina”, because she was fast, wet, and he didn't give a shit about it.
“Sorry babe. I'm done with you. You've served your purpose. You can stay in bed.” Usher replied, tossing her 3 $20 bills, each of them bearing his insignia. He moved to the window and lit up a Dunhill. The moonlight glistened off his shirtless body, chiseled carbonic abs like black diamonds on a windshield. His muscular, Olympian body looked similar to a vivid cobblestone road, though more accentuated. Simply looking at his physique could move a person more fully than 69 Odessa Step scenes combined. He was entirely out of her league. “I have to do some shit.”
“no plz dont go yall. Not yet. We has the nite.”
“This has nothing to do with you baby. Shit I gotta do is a long time coming. In every man's life, there's something they just gotta do. This is my shit.” he paused. “Seems I'm always crossing a rickety bridge over troubled water.”
He looked at the streets below, thinking of the Graceland he couldn't reach. One could almost smell the evil. The moon blazed and continued to dance about his frame, pleased of where it lay. All of a sudden, in a somber tone, Usher spinned an old chestnut:
“wyth wynne
where werre and wrake and wonder
bi syþez hatz wont þerinne
and oft boþe blysse and blunder
ful skete hatz skyfted synne”
His uncultured date sat in confusion. Usher took notice and walked to the bedside as he took another puff.
“Oh. That's uh, French, baby. It means you were... incredible.” She seemed pleased, yet restless. Before she could say anything, Usher sauntered about and grabbed his things.
“y u going... What's Going On....” she said containing her hysteria. She was desperate. “U don't have to face it, whatev it is. Talk 2 me.”
“Sorry.” he said, throwing his leather jacket over his shoulder, “April is the cruellest month, baby. And right now, I'm April. You just gotta let it Burn.” He never saw her again.
He went to Geoffey's, the corner diner. That was his usual spot for a cup of cafe noir and a bagel. Out-house quality, but he'd acquired a taste for them, and pretty soon he was a regular. “Ushy” they call him now. They also went well with a smoke. Sometimes he'd write lyrics here, at Geoffey's. He was pretty sure he coined the phrase “hot coffee” here, but “Who Really Cares,” was his conclusion.
The stark wistfulness Usher seemed to bore caught the eye of Trish, the gal at the counter. She was a thirty-something who worked twice as long as she lived, but the diner was her home. Usher never knew much about her, other than she was a dame with a mean Countertop Palm. Though her green eyes hid behind her dishwater blonde bangs, she could still spot a shaken soul at the bottom of a trashcan.
“Hey shug. What's the deal. Just Blaze?” as they called smoking in Geoffey's sometimes.
“Shiet, darlin. Don't you got some eggs to fry? Like your own?” Usher said playfully.
“Ha, too late for that. I'm already drier than the Sarlacc pit.” they both smiled. After a brief pause as Trish looked him over, “What's wrong? You're wearing your sunglasses and it's 11:34pm”
“I wear my glasses everywhere, Trish, you know this. I just infiltrated some slut 20 minutes ago, still had em on because I couldn't bear to see myself on this gal. Did it because I felt sorry for her. That's not why I feel like shit though.”
“Oh? Talk to me. You need another cup?”
“Sure, thanks. I could do with another cup of this trog sludge you ferment in the orc barrels.”
“Hey, this is artisanal trog sludge.”
She left for the kitchen, returning a few minutes later. In this synapse, Usher fell deeper into his depression. Somewhere out there, his Doppelganger ran free. A real life, physical manifestation of his inner demons, and he was a most dangerous alchemy of carnal, vicious, and swag. The Other Raymond. What a bastard he was, taking everything in his life he held dear. All in an instant. He soon went over his memories again.
To be continued.....,
Spoiler