Work Text:
Carousel was like hell itself.
At least, that’s what the four strange beings told to themselves, day and night, never really fixing the broken record of fake consolation that they played to themselves. But what use was there to question their world, when they themselves were still exploring each inch of it? They were new to this world, but simultaneously had spent centuries stuck in this toxic little pocket, appeasing the attention-seeking husks that plagued the world, who followed the four in hordes, desperate for extraneous attributes, a common technicality the four had become accustomed to when it came to the humans in Carousel.
Or at least they assumed they were humans.
They bled, they died, and they carried the same emotions humans did, except their appearance was abstract, horridly emaciated, too toxic to even glance at, their entire existence was inherently blasphemous, greedy for fame and attention, wailing for dreams and happiness. And that’s where the Suitehearts came in.
None of them really knew why they called themselves Suitehearts, perhaps it was gifted to them by their voracious audience, or one of them gave the quartet the name, or maybe their creator bestowed the title (who is their creator? Why were they created? What was their purpos-) but they never received corroboration, and so, the name stuck.
First, there was Mr. Sandman, a surreptitious figure clad in black and gold, a large smile with deadly sharp teeth permanently plastered on his face (no one questioned this feature, as everyone discovered he was conscious of their smile). They presided over dreams, whispers of imagination flowing through their gloved hands, desires slipping loose through his fingertips. The humans had an affinity for his blessing, and so he acquiesced to their demands and blessed their minds and ambitions, but as a cause, the dark figure never slept, cursed to remain awake infinitely.
Next was Dr. Benzedrine, an elegant scientist dressed in various shades of yellow who specialized in euphoria and alertness, a trait that was also sought out by the masses. As a result, Benzedrine had little to no zeal, very rarely a smile would ever grace his lips, and no rash thought would ever pass her mind, always basing her choices on empirical data that would benefit him in the long run.
In contrast, H. Shoe Crab, the tallest of the bunch decorated in pure red, acted purely on impulse, always testing their limits to a dangerous amount. For H. Shoe Crab ruled over the prospect of luck, an aspect that was obviously well seeked out. However, instead of purely demanding for good fortune, there were vicious humans who demanded bad luck to plague others with, so H. Shoe Crab’s dilemma now dealt with being a personification of unpredictability, never knowing what side of the coin he landed each day.
And then there was Donnie The Catcher, a furtive individual adorned in green that was the most sought out of the quartet, for he controlled aspects of appearances, of mind, of attention. She could give a higher confidence, jaw dropping clothes, and striking looks, and in Carousel, everyone wanted looks and attention, and they depleted the being’s gift, to the point where Donnie had low self esteem and a variety of troubling thoughts roaming through their head.
This was their life in Carousel, a never ending pattern of gifting others selfish gifts yet never having the ability to care about their own sanity, their own emotions, for it was futile to even worry about fickle things such as their own good. They were made to only serve others, and gain nothing in return for their services.
And they tried to battle their roles, tried to change the rhythm of the same old tune, but proved useless, there was no means to escape their world, their status, their role. They were trapped for all eternity, forced to be useful till the end of time.
Carousel was like hell itself. But it was home.