- Arvo Mustonen was last seen:
- Sep 16, 2017
Arvo Mustonen's Quick FactsGender / Pronouns
Neon City, Digital WorldOrigin
Helsinki, FinlandClass (Digivice)
The Biker, Hotline Miami
Amon's Quick FactsBase Form
ImpmonGender / Pronouns
Arvo Mustonen's Freeform3:23 PM: Wake up. Hungover. Can't remember drinking anything last night but the pain is too intense for a regular headache. Roll off the futon. Take two Tylenol. Almost take a shower but reconsider. Have other things to do, it can wait until before the show. Text Jenn, see if she's down to hang. If not, that's fine. Have better things to do anyway.
3:57 PM: Slaving away at the mixer, trying to get this just right Not sure why. Not like the set's going to be anything special. Just another bullshit basement party. Venue doesn't matter, though. As long as it's personally satisfactory, everything's fine. The audience can go to hell too for all you care. Hunger pangs. Too busy to cook, heat up a hot pocket halfway and nibble on it for awhile.
4:46 PM: Head still hurts. Tempted to just down the whole bottle but that wouldn't solve anything. Didn't help in university, won't help now. Try to focus up, keep tweaking, making minor adjustments until everything's just the way it should be. Put on Terminator 2 in the background as white noise. The original English version, obviously. Look over sometimes to watch the T-1000 in all its goopy cg glory, see Arnold shooting off stilted one-liners. Not a fantastic movie by some standards, but it's comfort food.
5:26 PM: Sun's starting to set. It's obvious even through shuttered windows, bright shafts of light fading to dusky oranges. Send some emails about the new album art. Looks fantastic, you say, but the pentagram doesn't look quite right and the color of the neon lighting isn't quite what you'd envisioned and really they should just start over from scratch. Think you might be a litle terse, reconsider tone, send it anyway. Sifting through messages from your old music theory teacher, asking what you've been up to. Haven't talked since you dropped out.
6:40 PM: Time to go. Place is two, two and a half hours away. Better take the metro. Street clothes only, stage outfit a big travel bag, helmet and all. Try not to look out the windows, or at anything really. just space out. Helsinki's not a bad place to live, but a little too crowded. Feel lucky to live the way you want to live, near people that understand and a theater that screens old 80's stuff every weekend. Not as healthy as you could be, but it's good enough for government work.
8:50 PM: Showtime. Come in around the back, helmet and vest on before anyone greets you. Straps pinch your neck. Too tight. Can barely see anything through the visor. Can hear people a few rooms over, shuffling around. A party without music. Slip in as quick as you can, already ten, fifteen minutes late. Get a couple things set up and go. No words, just music, old-style synth, samples of action movie dialogue, bits of soundtrack from a couple SNES games. Relics of an era you never lived. You immerse yourself in it, blocking out the sounds of the crowd, staying focused. It doesn't matter what they think, just that they heard it. That it's in their heads now. That's the part that matters.
11:59: Don't bother sticking around. Party's already starting to die down, better things to do than slum it up with these chucklefucks. Got places to be. Say no words, just take the check they give you with a nod and start packing up. If you leave early, take a shortcut, you could catch the train home just before it leaves. Cut through back alleys and dim sidestreets, until urban architecture starts to twist in on itself like a snake and you find yourself walking the same paths over and over again and everything starts to look all jagged and out of synch and you're wondering if this is a flashback or you're going crazy and everything is dark.
??? PM: There's a devil here. Not a demon, a devil, like some old cartoon, glowing eyes and horns and pointy tail. Try to scream, run, freak out about whatever this thing is supposed to be, but... nothing. Like someone scooped the "feeling" part of your brain out and left a big gaping hole there. The devil bows. Real gentlemanly. His name is Amon, and he's here to help you. You're lost, he says, and only he can guarantee safe passage. For a year and a day, he will serve, after which he may extract his payment. You don't ask what he means by that.
You shake hands instead, in that lightless place.
The Seventh Spirit is Amon. He is a Marquis great in power, and most stern. He appeareth like a Wolf with a Serpent's tail, vomiting out of his mouth flames of fire; but at the command of the Magician he putteth on the shape of a Man with Dog's teeth beset in a head like a Raven; or else like a Man with a Raven's head (simply). He telleth all things Past and to Come. He procureth feuds and reconcileth controversies between friends. He governeth 40 Legions of Spirits.
Amon makes deals. It's in his nature. He's not evil, though he has a deep capacity for cruelty, but he rarely does anything out of charity. If Amon is doing you a solid, it's because he expects you to pay him back later. Tit for tat. It works the other way, too, and Amon is loathe to leave a debt unpaid.
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- The Biker, Hotline Miami