(Something I wrote a couple of months back. I saw the Character last night at a gig, he dedicated a song to me which was sweet.)
Many many moons ago I met a character performing in a strange little nook on a drizzly grey Mancuninan evening. He appealed to me in many ways with his tales of hatred fueled by love, love fueled by hatred, and each time I happened upon him a new coat of velvety treacle, sticky tar-like deliciousness showed itself to me.
I would imagine the violence, the fight, the passion of an encounter, and then I would shelve the fantasies until next time. And next time would come and yet more electricity would spark as he spun tales to the crowd of dark romance, love that dragged you to hell, and men and women who were up to no good.
This rhythm worked well and I enjoyed it as such, until recently I decided to engage a persuit. It didnt take much and he assumed it his doing (I’m not entirely unskilled, y’know.) The spirits poured and I drew back my claws…
to discover I’d captured a mouse. As his character fell away he revealed himself to be… Dave Jones (Well, not exactly, but near as dammit that nobody cares)
Dave fucking Jones?!
And not far from everything that the name conjures up. The darkness deserted, the wit it slid, and the well-crafted poetry of blackest romance turned to babble. (Though that may have been to do with the whiskey, or the rum…) Too late! The bubble on my less wholesome, less Disney Cap’n Jack has been burst.