The Sea Monster
Doom Patrol - The Song of Love - Epilogue
The darkness about Madame Pamplemousse’s basement has never been gloomier. Night never falls, and therefore morning never comes, but Brain and Mallah force themselves into a restless and unsatisfying slumber nonetheless. Mallah watches a draft gently blow a cobweb in the void’s non-existent breeze and gradually feels the welcoming solace of sleep creep over him. His master isn’t so lucky.
Brain stares ahead at the wall, his mind empty. He could think of a way out of here, surely? He’d get out, find those who had wronged him, make sure they pay for the torment they had caused. But his mind is empty, and such thoughts do not come. From above he hears movement, and soft footsteps begin to grow louder as they approach the basement. Madame Pamplemousse come to check up on them, Brain reasons. The footsteps stop before the door and Brain listens carefully as he hears someone struggling to unlock it. Something isn’t right.
Brain: Mallah! Mallah!
But the sleeping Mallah doesn’t hear. The jangling of keys ceases and Brain listens as the door slowly swings open. He can’t be sure, but if he had hairs they would most likely be stood on end. Clumsy footsteps fill the air behind him as someone descends into the basement, and he realises suddenly whoever it is trying not to be heard. The footsteps reach the last step and vanish, and a few moments later a face just about appears within Brain’s view. It’s a toady looking thing, round and squashed with small button eyes and a mouth that must be as dry as the Gobi Desert from the amount of time it constantly hangs open. Relief floods over Brain as he realises it’s only Little Pierre. He considers addressing him out of politeness – after all, this is the first time he’s come down here – but holds his proverbial tongue as he realises Little Pierre hasn’t come down here for a chat.
Brain says nothing, watching intently as Little Pierre frowns unhappily and reaches into his pocket. He so wants to speak, to shout as loud as he can for help, but knows no one will hear him. No one, that is, who would care.
Humiliated by a small child, how degrading.
Little Pierre removes his lump of a hand out of his pocket, producing a black marker pen. He looks up at Brain, a glob of saliva dripping from his mouth, and places his feet on the base of Brain’s casing. Steadying himself, he removes the lid of the pen, thinks for a moment and scrawls something across the Brain’s jar with what could only be described as a dim smirk across his face. After a few seconds he steps back, admiring his handiwork.
Little Pierre: Smile.
And with that, he pockets the pen, skips carefully up the stairs and closes the door slowly behind him, leaving Brain once more alone in the torment of the non-existent night.
Doom Patrol - The Song of Love - Epilogue
The darkness about Madame Pamplemousse’s basement has never been gloomier. Night never falls, and therefore morning never comes, but Brain and Mallah force themselves into a restless and unsatisfying slumber nonetheless. Mallah watches a draft gently blow a cobweb in the void’s non-existent breeze and gradually feels the welcoming solace of sleep creep over him. His master isn’t so lucky.
Brain stares ahead at the wall, his mind empty. He could think of a way out of here, surely? He’d get out, find those who had wronged him, make sure they pay for the torment they had caused. But his mind is empty, and such thoughts do not come. From above he hears movement, and soft footsteps begin to grow louder as they approach the basement. Madame Pamplemousse come to check up on them, Brain reasons. The footsteps stop before the door and Brain listens carefully as he hears someone struggling to unlock it. Something isn’t right.
Brain: Mallah! Mallah!
But the sleeping Mallah doesn’t hear. The jangling of keys ceases and Brain listens as the door slowly swings open. He can’t be sure, but if he had hairs they would most likely be stood on end. Clumsy footsteps fill the air behind him as someone descends into the basement, and he realises suddenly whoever it is trying not to be heard. The footsteps reach the last step and vanish, and a few moments later a face just about appears within Brain’s view. It’s a toady looking thing, round and squashed with small button eyes and a mouth that must be as dry as the Gobi Desert from the amount of time it constantly hangs open. Relief floods over Brain as he realises it’s only Little Pierre. He considers addressing him out of politeness – after all, this is the first time he’s come down here – but holds his proverbial tongue as he realises Little Pierre hasn’t come down here for a chat.
Brain says nothing, watching intently as Little Pierre frowns unhappily and reaches into his pocket. He so wants to speak, to shout as loud as he can for help, but knows no one will hear him. No one, that is, who would care.
Humiliated by a small child, how degrading.
Little Pierre removes his lump of a hand out of his pocket, producing a black marker pen. He looks up at Brain, a glob of saliva dripping from his mouth, and places his feet on the base of Brain’s casing. Steadying himself, he removes the lid of the pen, thinks for a moment and scrawls something across the Brain’s jar with what could only be described as a dim smirk across his face. After a few seconds he steps back, admiring his handiwork.
Little Pierre: Smile.
And with that, he pockets the pen, skips carefully up the stairs and closes the door slowly behind him, leaving Brain once more alone in the torment of the non-existent night.