Handsome Susan

From Changeling Venue

Cruel gods! The serpent sheds his years and is renewed;
to beauty Fate has granted no reprieve.
—Albius Tibullus, I.4

Roses are beauty but I never see
Those blood drops from the burning heart of June
Glowing like thought upon the living tree
Without a pity that they die so soon
—John Masefield

"O mother, mother, woe is woe,
And lost is lost for ever!
By death comes peace, and only so;
O born had I been never!
Go out, go out my bootless light!
Die, sink in black and endless night!
God has no mercy, none—
All that I prize is gone."
—Bürger, Leonore

I tell ya, life ain't easy for a boy named Sue.
—Johnny Cash

Alias: Christopher Dwight (Mask only)

Location: Seattle, Washington

Apparent Age: mid-30s

Concept:

We did not make fair Susan right, we know and own it well:
Her hair and eyes still sparkle, but her gait, you'll understand
Has changed a bit from walking down the Thorny road to Hell
And Susan, once a maiden, now is shaped into a man
—The Ballad of Handsome Susan

Entitlement: The Scarecrow Ministry

Mask: A handsome caucasian man in his mid-30s. Poised, articulate, and calm, he seems to draw the interest of others whether he wishes it or not—mostly the latter.

Mien: A highwayman in black and silver, imposing and silent in a storm of frostbitten leaves.

Seeming	Darkling Leechfinger
Court	Autumn Court ••••
Freehold	Freehold of the Seven Hills
Player	Matt Smith

1 "Naughty darling."
2 To everything there is a season...
3 Shadowpuppets: Loving Rivals & Friendly Enemies
4 Myths & Legends
5 Soundtrack
6 Rumors & Lies

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"Naughty darling."

Stares. Whistles in the street. Cheap come-ons and tacky one-liners. Creeps of every sex and gender coming out of the woodwork.

Being the prettiest was never easy.

I figured out early that I could get what I wanted with a smile and some eye contact, but mostly I just wanted to be left alone. I learned the hard way to walk in the middle of the street, because alleys were all too dark and often crowded. The one time I filed a complaint, the judge told me that looking how I did, I was "asking for it." The U.S. in the 1930's was gentler then, but still not a kind place for extremes: too ethnic; too effeminate; too pretty; all of these were invitations for the wrong kind of attention.

Then I met her.

It was simple enough: I was working behind the counter in the department store when she came in, and for the first time in my life, everyone's attention went somewhere else. She was ravishing—literally. She took attention and made it her own, forcing it out of the crowd and dragging it through their eyes. For all that I saw it so much, I can't remember her face; all I remember is red, everything red. Her clothes, her hair, her shoes, her bag, her lips, even her eyes, as vibrant and startling as fresh carnage.

She reached over the counter, took my hand in hers, then we were out the doors, chattering gaily—even me, words and opinions on the most trivial things spurting out of me like arterial blood. Off we went in her sin-colored sedan, down to the wharf, off the pier, into the water, struggling into euphoria, awakening in luxury to make a Tsar blush. After so many years of poverty—of what people now call the Great Depression—it was like opening my eyes in heaven.

Everything was luxury; everything. Every breath was like a killer's last on the gallows. Every morsel of food impoverished a town. Every song broke hearts. Every sight sprouted a moist garden of hopeless envy. Every touch, every brush, was like succeeding at some secret adultery. I was her favorite, she said, and the best of everything must be mine. It had the force of imperative, an undeniable truth. I ate and drank and fucked so much, I slowly began to forget everything: my name; my home; why it mattered to remember.

I struggled to understand why I offended her so constantly, and how. Sometimes a look brought her tut-tut; sometimes a question; other times, silence; but never the same thing twice. Every sin, every transgression, demanded punishment. Never mine, though; oh no. I was her precious darling, her sterling jewel, her own dearest treasure forever.

Always, always, it was the Whipping Boys. They were all male, all beautiful, and all horribly, messily dead. She forced me to watch, seated on a couch upholstered in the down of an extinct species, dressed in the riches of broken dreams, sipping the cool wine of fond revenges. Every time, the same words to me: "Naughty darling." How I hated them! Reacting to the savagery, the butchery, only made it worse—unless she had it in mind that I was too calm, too removed, which made it the worst of all. I only ever recognized one whipping boy, Tommy, the garage boy who came back from the Great War impossibly handsome and an ocean sadder. I never worked up the nerve to talk to him. I never did. He died more quickly than some, more slowly than most, stomach burst on his own blood.

I think one day, she just forgot me, as simple as that. I took the necklace from the last Whipping Boy—a snowflake, poor man—so that I would never forget. Only I did...where his face should be, there is only a distant ache like a missing tooth. Anyway, I ran—through the whole palace, back to my room, into my own reflection—what did I look like?—right through the marvelous, glittering splinters of my dressing-room mirror.

The journey back was...rough. Whoever I'd become, it wasn't who I'd been. So much was missing: my own name; my parents' faces; my own face; and even whether I'd been male or female. I'd been and seen so many horrible things that it was like spilling a bag full of riches into a sewer, and trying to fish it back out clean. The trip shredded me to pieces, ground my flesh back out onto the streets of San Francisco, in a town whose memory not even seventy years could alter too much.

Now I am a cautionary tale: the second mouse gets the cheese. I am what happens when the light shines too brightly. I remember too little. I remember too much.

The poor Whipping Boys...

[edit]

To everything there is a season...

Basic Information:

Born: 1914, Arcata, CA (USA-SW-LC-0709-78347)
Taken: 1935
Returned: 2005

Current Activities: Handsome Susan wanders, living off of theft and thuggery. S/he struggles to find more of the Lost, to help make sense of all that's happened.

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