Casting a finding spell at the club was not a good idea. Maybe because I wasn’t looking for anyone specifically. Maybe I was too “open”. I don’t know why.
I’ve never felt rattled like that before. I was caught off guard. I felt the sick desires of the people that congregated there. Feelings that were so base and revolting that I feel filthy and violated sharing them.
I felt the agony of the victims that were imprisoned here. I felt their hopelessness. I was drowning in ghost emotions like sticky tar.
They have no shame. They make no effort to fight their contemptible and wicked nature. They should die. Even if it won’t bring Stella back. They shouldn’t just die. They should be unmade. Never to have existed.
After I tried the spell, I spent a couple hours at a bar Bainbridge drinking and staring at nothing. I must have looked like I had just been assaulted. No one said anything to me.
A few hours after that, I was sleepwalking through a match with Ambrosia. I snapped out of it when I realized that she was stiffing the shit out of me. A time honored tradition in the biz when your opponent is stoned, beat them up for real. The idea is that it will sober them up.
I felt something take a hold of me. I can’t say that I wasn’t in control of myself. I was. Something was stuck to me. Squeezing on me. I could have resisted that influence. If I had tried. I didn’t.
I knocked her jaw of its socket. She had to get 26 stitches. I saw the referee pick a couple of her teeth out of a gob of blood on the mat and put them in his pocket.
I went to the emergency room to try to apologize to her. Some of the GTW guys were there. They said if I left right then and never came back, they wouldn’t run me off the road and kill me in a ditch. I think one of them was her husband.
I don’t blame them.
Rocket Cat 