[Chapps Gluck] Underneath the mud
Feb 6, 2024 2:49:27 GMT -5
Mongo the Destroyer, edwarddubin0604, and 3 more like this
Post by Old Line Jeff on Feb 6, 2024 2:49:27 GMT -5
The Glucks may claim to hail from the Mudflats of Mississippi, but as of a minute ago, they’d never chosen to drag a W:UK or XHF camerman out into the actual mudflats.
But a minute ago and now are two different things, and now, the scene opens up on the eerie scene of the mudflats in winter.
Mississippi doesn’t experience winter the same way the rest of the US does, let alone the way the UK and Canada do, but it does have things that at least loosely resemble seasons. Let’s call them summer, super-summer, still-summer, and not-quite-winter. And in not-quite-winter, the mudflats are eerily quiet. It usually gets cold enough to kill off most of the bugs and silence the bugsong until summer. The water moves too slowly to make noise. And even the birds have retreated into the bayou out of the (relatively) cold wind.
So right now it’s just acre after acre of still, silent mud and glassy puddles under an eerie, gray-orange sunset.
The Gluck truck is parked. Engine off. Tailgate down, two lawn chairs set in the back. The Brothers Gluck brought the Gluck Sister with them. Or more likely - as you’d know if you watched the last Gluck Promo - it was her idea. Carlton and Cherie are sitting in the chairs. Or Cherie is sitting. Carlton is laying back and may just be asleep. Chapps is sitting on the edge of the tailgate. The Gluck Truck is deep enough in the Mississippi mire that his heels nearly touch the top of the mud.
“Hey, cameraman… c’mere.”
The camera shakes a bit.
“If’n Ah meant you harm Ah would’ve just stole your camera at the airport. Now c’mere. Sit yerself down and just listen to the stillness.”
The cameraman awkwardly walks out from behind the camera to sit next to Chapps on the tailgate.
And then it’s so quiet that you can just hear four people breathing.
Carlton briefly ruins the mood by making a skronk kind of noise and rolling off his chair, without even waking up.
“So what’dyou think is underneath all that mud, cameraman?”
The cameraman can’t seem to find his voice.
“Cos here’s the thing. Whatever you think might be under there? Probably is. The mudflats preserve. There’s stuff under there we’ve forgotten. There’s stuff under there that we never knew about.”
“There’s stuff under there that you don’t WANT to know about.”
“Lord Dominicus likes to talk about evil. Thinks he’s a supervillain. Wesley Rage’s idea of evil is the Confederate battle flag and a red hat. Nic Cage’s is probably just someone getting high in front of him and not offering him a hit. See - Ah was always told that evil is just a reflection of the person looking at it. Ain’t that deep? So here’s the funny thing about evil out here on the mudflats. It’s the one thing we might have in common with ol’ Wokesley.”
“To us, evil is White.”
Chapps stares out over the mudflats. The sun is almost down, the mud has turned black and the puddles reflect the last bit of orange in the sky.
“Evil is white?”
“Round here? Yep.”
“Yep.”
“Ah know that look.” Grinning jaggedly, Chapps looks directly at the cameraman’s face. “It’s skepticism. Jes you wait. Ain’t gonna be much longer now.”
“‘Member last time when me an ‘Carlton talked about the feu-follet?”
“What exactly is the feu-follet?”
“Heh. Alright, turn away from the sun. Look where the mud’s the darkest and wettest. And just keep watchin’. You’ll know it when you see it. Here in Mississippi, we got a little bit more of a nuanced take on race than y’all libruls and cityfolks might think. See, even we think slavery was evil. But of all the white people in Mississippi? For every one of ‘em descended from a plantation lord, thousands of ‘em are descended from sharecroppers. At least slaves got fed. White sharecroppers could starve to death while a landowner with a white face counted money and laughed in his face.”
Silence, maybe awkward, reigns for a bit.
Then…
“Those lights? What are those, are they real?”
“Turn yer camera to ‘em.”
And the camera does. Wispy white lights are hovering over a puddle.
“That’s the feu-follet.”
“It’s pretty similar to that thing y’all cityfolk have in your Dungeons and Dragons and call the will-o’-wisp.”
“Couple differences from the wisp, though. See, the willowisp is itself the monster. The feu-follet is a, ah, what’s a good word for it.”
“Glamour.”
Everyone looks at Carlton, who just grunts and rolls over.
“Yeah. Them lights are bait. The real feu-follet is under the mud.”
“Is it white?”
“Nobody knows. Ain’ no one ever seen the actual feu-follet itself. But people who don’t know any better go chasing the white lights, and if you ever find them again, it’s gonna be as a mummy buried in the mud. The real feu-follet sucks them down, eats their fear and drinks their blood.”
The cameraman shudders in spite of himself.
“Yeah, things are a little different out here in the mud.”
“Hey, Cherie, we ain’t forgettin’ about the Rougarou, are we? Tell the boy.”
“C’mere boy. You’ve heard of werewolves, haven’t you? Well, how bout an undead werewolf with a skull for a face and no flesh on its hands? Born from a curse and the body of a murdered heretic, with nothing but hate in its heart it stalks the flats and bayous looking for things to kill.”
“We told Dominicus, the High Rollers, and you alike boy, there’s REAL evil out here in the mudflats. And we’re not doin’ this to fit in with Dominicus. We’re doin’ it to show him how it’s done.”
“Doing what? I-AIGH!”
In the moonlight, Chapps is dressed in pale gray and white, and his head is shrouded by a mask of sorts, with a wolf’s skull over the face and antlers sweeping back. The cameraman, fallen to his backside, is panting in fear/shock.
“If you all didn’t hear me last time? My boys are gonna make those cityslickers learn.”
But a minute ago and now are two different things, and now, the scene opens up on the eerie scene of the mudflats in winter.
Mississippi doesn’t experience winter the same way the rest of the US does, let alone the way the UK and Canada do, but it does have things that at least loosely resemble seasons. Let’s call them summer, super-summer, still-summer, and not-quite-winter. And in not-quite-winter, the mudflats are eerily quiet. It usually gets cold enough to kill off most of the bugs and silence the bugsong until summer. The water moves too slowly to make noise. And even the birds have retreated into the bayou out of the (relatively) cold wind.
So right now it’s just acre after acre of still, silent mud and glassy puddles under an eerie, gray-orange sunset.
The Gluck truck is parked. Engine off. Tailgate down, two lawn chairs set in the back. The Brothers Gluck brought the Gluck Sister with them. Or more likely - as you’d know if you watched the last Gluck Promo - it was her idea. Carlton and Cherie are sitting in the chairs. Or Cherie is sitting. Carlton is laying back and may just be asleep. Chapps is sitting on the edge of the tailgate. The Gluck Truck is deep enough in the Mississippi mire that his heels nearly touch the top of the mud.
“Hey, cameraman… c’mere.”
The camera shakes a bit.
“If’n Ah meant you harm Ah would’ve just stole your camera at the airport. Now c’mere. Sit yerself down and just listen to the stillness.”
The cameraman awkwardly walks out from behind the camera to sit next to Chapps on the tailgate.
And then it’s so quiet that you can just hear four people breathing.
Carlton briefly ruins the mood by making a skronk kind of noise and rolling off his chair, without even waking up.
“So what’dyou think is underneath all that mud, cameraman?”
The cameraman can’t seem to find his voice.
“Cos here’s the thing. Whatever you think might be under there? Probably is. The mudflats preserve. There’s stuff under there we’ve forgotten. There’s stuff under there that we never knew about.”
“There’s stuff under there that you don’t WANT to know about.”
“Lord Dominicus likes to talk about evil. Thinks he’s a supervillain. Wesley Rage’s idea of evil is the Confederate battle flag and a red hat. Nic Cage’s is probably just someone getting high in front of him and not offering him a hit. See - Ah was always told that evil is just a reflection of the person looking at it. Ain’t that deep? So here’s the funny thing about evil out here on the mudflats. It’s the one thing we might have in common with ol’ Wokesley.”
“To us, evil is White.”
Chapps stares out over the mudflats. The sun is almost down, the mud has turned black and the puddles reflect the last bit of orange in the sky.
“Evil is white?”
“Round here? Yep.”
“Yep.”
“Ah know that look.” Grinning jaggedly, Chapps looks directly at the cameraman’s face. “It’s skepticism. Jes you wait. Ain’t gonna be much longer now.”
“‘Member last time when me an ‘Carlton talked about the feu-follet?”
“What exactly is the feu-follet?”
“Heh. Alright, turn away from the sun. Look where the mud’s the darkest and wettest. And just keep watchin’. You’ll know it when you see it. Here in Mississippi, we got a little bit more of a nuanced take on race than y’all libruls and cityfolks might think. See, even we think slavery was evil. But of all the white people in Mississippi? For every one of ‘em descended from a plantation lord, thousands of ‘em are descended from sharecroppers. At least slaves got fed. White sharecroppers could starve to death while a landowner with a white face counted money and laughed in his face.”
Silence, maybe awkward, reigns for a bit.
Then…
“Those lights? What are those, are they real?”
“Turn yer camera to ‘em.”
And the camera does. Wispy white lights are hovering over a puddle.
“That’s the feu-follet.”
“It’s pretty similar to that thing y’all cityfolk have in your Dungeons and Dragons and call the will-o’-wisp.”
“Couple differences from the wisp, though. See, the willowisp is itself the monster. The feu-follet is a, ah, what’s a good word for it.”
“Glamour.”
Everyone looks at Carlton, who just grunts and rolls over.
“Yeah. Them lights are bait. The real feu-follet is under the mud.”
“Is it white?”
“Nobody knows. Ain’ no one ever seen the actual feu-follet itself. But people who don’t know any better go chasing the white lights, and if you ever find them again, it’s gonna be as a mummy buried in the mud. The real feu-follet sucks them down, eats their fear and drinks their blood.”
The cameraman shudders in spite of himself.
“Yeah, things are a little different out here in the mud.”
“Hey, Cherie, we ain’t forgettin’ about the Rougarou, are we? Tell the boy.”
“C’mere boy. You’ve heard of werewolves, haven’t you? Well, how bout an undead werewolf with a skull for a face and no flesh on its hands? Born from a curse and the body of a murdered heretic, with nothing but hate in its heart it stalks the flats and bayous looking for things to kill.”
“We told Dominicus, the High Rollers, and you alike boy, there’s REAL evil out here in the mudflats. And we’re not doin’ this to fit in with Dominicus. We’re doin’ it to show him how it’s done.”
“Doing what? I-AIGH!”
In the moonlight, Chapps is dressed in pale gray and white, and his head is shrouded by a mask of sorts, with a wolf’s skull over the face and antlers sweeping back. The cameraman, fallen to his backside, is panting in fear/shock.
“If you all didn’t hear me last time? My boys are gonna make those cityslickers learn.”