Information


Grail has a minion!

Echo the Rhinko




Grail
Legacy Name: Grail


The Custom Common Experiment #357
Owner: Pagan

Age: 11 years, 6 months, 3 days

Born: September 24th, 2012

Adopted: 10 years, 1 month, 1 week ago

Adopted: February 17th, 2014


Pet Spotlight Winner
March 21st, 2017

Statistics


  • Level: 464
     
  • Strength: 1,160
     
  • Defense: 1,158
     
  • Speed: 1,156
     
  • Health: 1,156
     
  • HP: 1,130/1,156
     
  • Intelligence: 571
     
  • Books Read: 556
  • Food Eaten: 0
  • Job: Search Specialist


And over in The burnt yellow tent
By the frozen tractor,
the Music was like electric sugar
And Zuzu Bolin played
'Stavin' Chain'
and Mighty Tiny on the saw and
he Threw his head back with a
Mouth full of gold teeth
And they played 'Lopsided heart'
And 'Moon over Dog Street'


And by the time they played "Moanin Low"
I was soakin' wet and wild eyed
And Doctor Bliss slipped me a
Preparation and I fell asleep with
'Livery Stable Blues' in my ear
How hot the light can burn the unseeing eye...she knew this. Knew it well. The gilt paint of her harness was peeling, and the golden flecks would tangle in her lashes. The afternoon sun would reflect on the gilt and burn her painted eye mercilessly. By this burning, she knew that night was coming.

The late summer afternoons were the most silent time on the midway. Soon the clubfoot man would fire the steam generator and the calliope on the carousel would begin its slow hiss into life. In better days the midway would have been in full swing in the bright afternoon, but now the shabby show held its breath in silence and waited for the long shadows to fall over the treeline. Tethered to the carousel, now, then, always, she held her place. The burning in her eye was a madness without relief.

The carousel had been a thing of beauty when it was the queen of the day! Each prancing pony, each grotesque were carved by hand, painted by hand. The gilt panels were painted with dancing courtiers and ladies! And she was an outside grotesque-the carousel's only rhinoceros. An outside was the best to be! As she pranced and danced around the revolutions of the merry go round's predictable roulette, everyone could see the outside creatures the best. "Mamma! Mamma! I wanna ride the rhino!"

You don't think those beasts, pierced through by silver poles and by gold poles can hear. And in the best times, they could not hear. They were beautiful monsters hand-crafted by men to delight children. But as times became harder, as management became more secretive, more willful, the beasts of the carousel began to awake in yearning. The cries of children, the tiny hands grasping their painted manes and caparisons had become a food to them, source and sustenance. And the food of joy began to dwindle. The souls of the creatures spiralled up to consciousness. Longing and need became the parent of awareness.

No late night carnival is entirely wholesome. The fragrance of cotton candy is tainted with the tang of cheap beer. The screams of little children are not to be heard although a girl who is not very childlike will occasionally scream. The good things will eventually die, or they won't die. But after enough time, everything decays. Pierced, shabby, mostly forgotten, the rhino stood silent burned by the sun.

She had been there long enough to know that the burning was better than the shade.

What would it gain me,
If I was to go
Like Jacob of old
To the well of the world
To wax halls where candles
Burn on through the day
To light you a path
So you'd never lose your way

I was down in the valley
Where the shadows are long
The birds in the harp tree
Were singing this song
There is time to deliver
Time to receive
All that you're lacking
Of whatever you need

Turn around - by the by
You'll still see the sea
As it was in the dawning
As it always will be

Raise up your bottles
And drink down the blood
You planted the vine here
In spite of the flood
Turn an ear to the harp tree
An eye to the wall
The songs in the singing
Or nowhere at all

No where to come from
No place to retire
No shelter nowhere
Except in the fire
The birds in the harp tree
Can finish their song
Then rest in its branches
Which is where they belong

But where can a man go
That's sweet to his soul
When his time is not ready
But he's still turning old
Here's a dram for the piper
And a tune for his lady
Outside the thin wall
The waves are still raging

Here's one for the harp tree
And one for his song
One for the morning
When the night was too long
Here's one for the candle
That lights you to bed
And one for the sword
That hangs over your head

Credits

Overlay by Alphys

This Art by User not found: christ

Profile by Shantal

Original Story by Pagan

"The Harp Tree's Lament" written by Robert Hunter. Recorded by Jefferson Airplane, The Grateful Dead, and The Jerry Garcia Band

"Circus" written by Tom Waits. Recorded by Tom Waits.

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