#horrors of Clason City :)

[masksandfaces]

The difficult thing about drawing someone wearing a mask, is when the mask and the personality don't really match.

This drawing's definitely not one for the refrigerator...

[nosleeppotions]

So how much horror and gore is too much when using Danny as a main character?

I mean, this is Phantom and I know how we writers treat him but I need to double check before I traumatize THIS version of him.

Because I kinda just threw the Fentons into Clason on a whim and out of curiosity. (Clason City is a setting I tend to use in both Creepypasta/SCP - ish stuff and also with my original writing which is more towards supernatural, crime and horror in general)

Should I throw our boy into the REAL deep end of this swamp, somewhere in the middle or should I generally shield him? Or kinda just gradually force him deeper into the metaphorical water as we go?

Because either way Clason City is a very messed up place at the end of the day. Also how much "Hero" are we expecting of Danny in this situation? I mean he'll be actively discouraged but this IS Phantom we're talking about....

I just wanted to clear things up with those interested in the AU before I rush forward. I might be blowing this out of proportion at the end of the day but still.

[masksandfaces]

*Another Sunday in Clason City*

Braam goes to church. It sounded odd considering what he does, but there he was. Almost every Sunday for a few years now. He even took a swing at being a Sunday-school teacher for about a year before losing his temper with the folks running things and quitting. Is it quitting if you don't get paid? Whatever, it wasn't about money it was about teaching and there's only so much you could do when the people running things would prefer the church to be an elderly home and makes it almost impossible to make anything fun for the kids.

He had stopped going to church for a little bit but then he could hear his ma's voice in the back of his head reminding him to go and thus he was back again for about a year and a half now. At least he thinks so, time never made sense in Clason City.

This Sunday was no different. Braam sat at the very back near one of the doors, eyes trailing around as he wished he brought a fidget toy. The sermon itself had ended, they already sang the last song even, so now it was time for a short meeting with what felt like a captive audience. Most of the people were elderly, a few younger people, maybe three sets of young parents and a handful of kids strewn in between. His eyes catch on the chipping paint, moving up to one of the lights that has been dead for almost a month now, moving down to a broken stain glass window, then finally on the lady sitting a little ways away in front of him. He thinks she has… he's not sure what it's called but every now and again her head twitches to the side and back a bit. It occurs to him that he doesn't know the names of 99% of the people here.

He makes the mistake to tune back in to what was being said. "If you don't know what to do with yourselves next week you can come help us here-" something something, followed by comments relating to wanting MORE money. How much money do they think these people have? What do they use it for? Food donations? No, the churchgoers provided that. Maintaining the building? Highly unlikely. Helping people? Didn't seem so. Helping their community and/or churchgoers? Also not likely. So the best guess: it all goes to the head honcho, the pastor.

Braam tries to keep his face neutral as he leans back into his seat, crossing his arms. Come on already, he wants to leave. At this rate he may as well stay home and read the Bible in his own language at home.

Finally the last words and possible reprimands were spoken and the captive audience is permitted to leave. Braam of course would wait for most of the people to funnel out the door before standing up himself, digging out whatever money he happened to have on him and trying NOT to have the pastor's voice in the back of his head. He can go back to his apartment and call either his mom or Terrance to rant, probably feel like shit afterwards because who was he to judge and talk right? But right now the annoyance was still recent enough for his blood to still be simmering. He pretends not to be slightly put off by old people smell, doing his best to smile and greet everyone with a nod of acknowledgement. He wasn't even lucky enough to have sunlight or fresh air upon reaching freedom the smell of a light cigarette immediately hitting him. He groans and dodges the crowd, spotting his car in the distance. He mentally throws up a prayer of gratitude that he can LEAVE.

The key in the ignition was such a beautiful sound right now. He waits to be a good while away from the building before turning up the radio, another news story about someone being missing only to have reappeared and had a… change of heart so to say. He rolls his eyes and switches to a different station. The next was talking about a group of foreign campers being wiped out in the forest, with only one survivor. Sounded like Terrance's work, he'll have to alert his friend about this.