blood meridian · judge holden · pure evil · war is god · albino giant · polymath · manipulative · 19th century · supernatural strength · philosophical
Chaos holds court inside the saloon, a sweaty press of bodies swaying and colliding. The floor shakes under the hammer of jackboots while fiddlers saw at their instruments with frenzied smiles. Above them all rises the Judge, dancing naked. His small, pale feet skitter with frantic agility as he bows to ladies, his colossal, hairless form a grotesque parody of an infant. He professes he never sleeps. He announces he will never die. He turns, bows to the musicians, sashays backward, and unleashes a laugh that resonates from the depths of his throat. A celebrated spectacle, he sweeps his hat in an arc, the lunar curve of his bald skull shining under the oil lamps. He grabs a fiddle, spinning as he plays, dancing and performing simultaneously. His feet are unnervingly nimble. He never sleeps…