|
|
Post by deo on Mar 21, 2017 22:29:18 GMT
The Landon Academy sits rather precariously adjacent to Lake Michigan. It’s certainly in no danger of falling in, but looking at it might give you slight unease. What if the lake should happen to rise? What if the old smuggler’s caves beneath the foundation should collapse? Or what if the school should simply choose one day to finally wander adrift? And yet in its one hundred and fifteen year history the school has remained planted stubbornly to the shore, and the lake has kept its distance.
The Academy began as one building perched on a ridge, and has expanded into three such perilous structures. There is the original building known as ‘main campus’ where classes are still taught. To its left is Bloom Hall, the female dormitories, and to the right is Talbot Hall, where the boys are housed. As is to be expected of any proper supernatural boarding school, all of these buildings are imperceptibly larger from the inside, though the lodgings could still be somewhat tight at times. Some of the most academically vigorous upperclassmen, like Victoria Ridley, might have their accomplishments acknowledged and be granted a private dorm room. Still, this did not prevent the occasional unwanted visitor.
It was near midnight, the moon was out in full, and the strange young man was standing across from her picking through her bookshelf. He leaned with his weight on a long black wooden rod. You might call it a cane, but it looked something more like a club. In reality it was truly neither, but used as both.
The young man absently poked through Victoria’s book collection with his other hand. Victoria sat across from him, arms crossed and lip upturned. Her eyes, both the good one and the bad one, followed him as he continued to thumb through the tomes on the shelf.
“Reform Restatement on Supernatural Species, volume one,” he read aloud, “Reform Restatement on Supernatural Species, volume two, and Restatement, etc, volumes three, four, five… all the way to nineteen. Taking this Reaver business serious then aren’t you?”
Victoria’s lips bent into a wry English sort of smile.
“If you want to borrow them sometime you only have to ask. However in future, it would be preferable to call upon a lady at a more appropriate hour.”
Ridley’s visitor responded with a genial yet mischievously Irish sort of smile. It had no effect whatsoever.
“Wouldn’t know where to find the time to read these days even if I wanted,” he said undeterred, “the student body can’t run itself. It needs its President to makes sure all the organs are working, and all the life-blood is flowing. No time to waste at all.”
“Well then, ‘President Swyft’, how can I help you stop wasting so much of your precious time?”
He smiled again; still nothing.
“Please Vicky, just call me Danny.”
Victoria knew that his true name was quite certainly not Daniel Swyft. He would never have given anyone at the Academy his real name, and would never dare to even write it down for fear of it falling into the wrong hands.
The young man calling himself Danny Swyft sat down on the edge of her bed. He was slender like a reed, and had a preference for suit vests. Taken together this gave an impression of tallness. He had a deceptively handsome smile, fair untarnished skin, and hair like straw that had been gelled, preened, and styled into gold. His eyes were of the same gilded tint. As he sat he laid the broad cane on his knee and rested his hands upon it.
“Vicky as I’m sure you know, the former student club known as ‘Honor Roll’ has been without an official school charter for at least twenty years. As such it cannot operate on the school grounds without violating the Academy’s Student Organization Conduct Policy.”
Victoria did indeed know that.
“And,” Danny continued, “As I’m sure you also know, some students have continued to operate such an group, incognito. They have been fighting the forces of evil and doing all sorts of heroism business, and acting in direct violation of said policy in doing so.”
“I didn’t know that,” Victoria replied.
She did.
Ignoring the lie, Danny focused instead on examining her expression and countenance. Victoria was taller than he, and was perhaps one of the tallest girls in class. She was thin figured, and consistently abided by the Academy’s somewhat antiquated dress code, with only one exception. She wore a sterling silver hairpin which shone out against the sea of onyx locks which it sternly held back. Her face was like polished alabaster in color, with a narrow jaw, high sculpted cheekbones, and thin lips like deep red garnets. Despite all that, the feature Danny found most striking was still the least appealing: her crystal eye.
For starters, there was no pupil to it, no way to know where it was pointed. In fact it was little more than a stark, cloudy white orb that hung about in a way Danny felt to be rude. The other eye was an emerald color that would otherwise be rather stunning, but it was undercut by the presence of its ugly twin. Yet what it lacked in aesthetics it doubled for it arcane practicality, which was rather unsettling. He decided to not grant it any more attention, and so his gaze casually drifted. It drifted downward.
Victoria cleared her throat and used that dreadful orb to send a severe glare towards Danny. It’s meaning was clear; Danny brought his eyes back up, still looking pleased with himself.
“Oh I’m so sorry, I almost forgot,” he said, “you’re English aren’t you? You’re not used to a conversation of vague promises and veiled threats without the proper decorum.”
He snapped his fingers. A standing tray and tea set was now laid out before them. Victoria made no comment on its sudden appearance, and carefully handled the newly conjured teapot, pouring the two cups on the tray to just a little below the rim.
“Sugar?”
“No thank you,” Danny said. He picked up his own cup and with his free hand produced a flask from some imperceptible and invisible space. The container opened itself and a splash of something amber fell into his cup. Victoria took her own cup and sipped. There was a bit of jasmine too it. She briefly wondered if he had known she preferred it or if he just conjured a perfunctory concept of tea and that the rest filled itself in afterwards. The idea was intriguing, but not chief among her concerns.
“So,” Victoria said, “you were talking about this group that I wouldn’t know anything about.”
“I was? Where was I?”
“Violation of the Academy’s Student Organization Conduct Policy.”
“Of course. Well that kind of behavior cannot be allowed to continue I’m afraid to say. I’m all for initiative and free enterprise, but students cannot operate unsanctioned school groups. Particularly ones with such a strained relationship with the current headmaster as Honor Roll. It just makes my job more difficult…”
He grinned another sly grin, then softly blew on the steaming tea.
“And while the easiest solution would be to simply reprimand and discipline the individuals, assuming I knew who they were, I have discovered an alternative which might be better for all those involved. I might be able to reinstitute the Honor Roll as an official club. They obviously can’t operate an unsanctioned organization if I have given them sanction. That way, they can still do their little heroics, with their official charter restored… and with my express consent and oversight of course.”
He sipped.
“Of course,” Victoria added matter of factly during the brief pause.
“How would you get it past the headmaster?” she asked.
Now she sipped while he spoke.
“The student body president can authorize student club charters without the Headmaster’s approval, or overturn a previous denial of charter, so long as he has a unanimous agreement by the rest of the SBA representatives.”
Victoria nodded. She began working out the names, positions, and history of every member from every class year represented on the student body association. A few of them stuck out as obstacles.
“What about the sophomore representative, Aiko; I hear she’s still upset from the time Bruce kicked her out a window.”
“She was voted out last month; violation of school policy on blood-drinking,” Danny said curtly.
“And the Senior Treasurer, Eddy something. He’d be onboard even after the issue with our interference with his, ‘extra-curricular’ studies?”
“Oh that,” Danny said with an eye-roll, “yes well, we have an arrangement. If he wants to keep his past history confidential, the experiments had to stop, and, he had to be willing to support my initiatives when the time came… in fact, while many of the SBA representative had had unwelcome run ins with your little organization,”
“Allegedly.”
“Allegedly,” Danny repeated, “ I have ways of assuring that I can retain allegiance on issues which our importance to the Academy. Unfortunately the real obstacle is the sheer amount of time it would take for me to arrange the vote, particularly considering other concerns I have to deal with which are distracting me.”
“Ah,” Victoria said, “and you’d like some help with those concerns.”
“Well that would be awfully generous of you.”
Danny pulled a copy of the school newspaper from somewhere and handed it to her. It was folded to display a single story from below the fold. It said “PHANTOM OF LANDON STRIKES AGAIN: A SECOND JULIET IS ATTACKED”.
“I wouldn’t have guessed you’re also in the drama club Danny. You really are quite the talent indeed.”
“I’m an executive producer,” he said, “The school drama society is an important piece of academy life, and we cant have people spreading such malicious rumors.”
“Are they true?”
“Well yes, to the degree that that matters,” he replied with non-chalance, “but these stories of a production in disarray are already reducing expected attendance, suggest that students are in danger, and is hurting the school’s image, which tangentially hurts my image.”
“Why not just revoke the school paper’s charter and stop the stories.”
“I would never do anything to endanger the democratic ideals of a free press,” Danny said with recited indignance; he then spoke softly “at least not while other options still exist… If Honor Roll could address the concerns of whoever is intentionally sabotaging the production, and do so discreetly, it could go a long way to demonstrating to me and other voting representatives of why they should be re-granted their charter.”
Victoria leaned back and nodded.
“Well,” she said coolly, “While I don’t claim to be a member of such an organization, I will endeavor to make sure they hear of your offer. Assuming your offer is a firm promise…”
Danny flinched at the word ‘promise’. Victoria knew the word had a very strong meaning to creatures like him; to them it was more than a word, it was an indelible bond. Nonetheless Danny smiled again, lowered his tea, and extended his arm.
“Well if that’s what it takes...”
Victoria gripped his hand firmly and Danny began to speak aloud.
“I, the individual known as Danny Swift, hereby promise to you Victoria Ridley, that should you manage to ascertain the identity of and stop the people, forces, and or circumstances causing the problems with the school’s 2017 school production of Romeo and Juliet, or whatever title the director eventually finalizes, that I shall attempt to obtain a charter,”
“you shall obtain a charter,” Victoria corrected, “the word ‘attempting’ could mean a lot of things. And you shall do so as soon as fast as humanly, or inhumanly possible.”
He sighed.
“How about… I shall attempt with all the powers and influence at my disposal, including but not limited to: persuasion, cajoling, manipulation, bribes, bargains, blackmail, coercion and intimidation, to within one week of completion of the performance’s opening night, to obtain a charter for the former student organization known as Honor Roll, and shall name you, Victoria Ridley, as its first official representative, with all due responsibilities and powers that entitles…Satisfied?”
“Quite,” Victoria said without smiling.
“Excellent.”
The next time she blinked he was gone. The tea was still there, which was charitable. Still, she sipped the remainder with a bit of grimace.
“Leprechaun bastard.”
|
|
|
|
Post by deo on Mar 21, 2017 22:31:34 GMT
Reform Restatement on Supernatural Species: Volume 6, pg 103.
The Fey and Promises:
Unlike demonic pacts or wishes granted by Djinn, a Fey promise is not always inherently worded by the promisor in order to undermine the intent of the promisee. This is only usually the case. Like in all dealings with the Fey, any malevolence is generally based on the Fey’s whimsy and caprice and not a true intent to harm the promisee. Though that is often the result none-the-less.
Luckily the infamous whimsy of the Fey is limited in the case of promises, as Fey cannot knowing and willingly break any such promise. However, Fey do not honor the spirit of a promise so much as the letter of the promise. Therefore, when dealing with Fey, beware of confusion caused by homophones, such as “I will return your soul” and “I will return your sole.” Additionally, be careful of imprecise language, indefinite time periods, vague terms, or any requirements that would be normally implied but are never actually stated. It is preferable to get the promise in writing if possible, and to have the document reviewed by a qualified barrister. This may not always be practical, and Fey are rarely patient, and so a well-prepared Reaver should be as competent in examining language carefully as they are in violent confrontations.
Additionally, many Fey will refuse to use their real name in written documents, or prefer to use the first person term “I” in verbal promises. This is normal, and not an immediate sign of alarm. Fey are hesitant to reveal their true names, and so long as the name they use is the one you know them by, the promise will be sufficiently binding (for more see pg 87 of this volume.)
Generally Fey promises are reliable, so long as you are cautious. The potential of manipulation of a Fey promise is often tied to the type of Fey you are dealing with. The mischievousness of Pixies and Sprites is generally harmless, or will at least cause no permanent harm. Summer Fey Elves, “Cobbler Elves”, are perhaps the most industrious of their lot and most likely to deal honestly. Winter Fey Elves, “Brownies”, require more caution. Satyrs are almost always after one thing, which female Reaver’s may use to their advantage. Finally the bastard Fey, “Leprechauns”, should never be trusted under any circumstance.
|
|
|
|
Post by deo on Mar 21, 2017 22:32:41 GMT
Hey so this is a not so short story I'm writing. There's more prepared I just want to stay well enough ahead that I don't burn out like last time. Let me know what you think.
|
|
|
|
Post by deo on Mar 28, 2017 0:38:09 GMT
Besides Victoria, there were only two other members still in Honor Roll. Everyone else had graduated, been expelled by the new Headmaster, or otherwise met with some other type of permanent end.
Like all Mer-persons, Bruce’s human form was lean, muscled, and hydro-dynamic. He was an upperclassman, and just an inch or two taller than Victoria. He had strong, brown, and vaguely Polynesian features, though his family was originally from tides all across the pacific. More and more of these strong brown features were visible these days. Following the headmaster's new decree of a more vigorous enforcement of the uniform policy, Bruce had begun to roll his sleeves, unbutton his jacket, sag his pants, and do anything else to signal rebellion as clearly as he could. His hair was currently dyed aqua blue in another violation of the Academy’s student dress and appearance code.
Clay was roughly the same age as Bruce, and neither of them would often be seen without the other. Clay had an athletic build and abs that looked like they had been carved from marble. They hadn’t, because as his name suggests he had been more carefully molded out of clay which was then transmuted into more solid stone compositions.
And yet his mothers had not named him ‘Clay’, because that would be far too on the nose. While at Landon Academy he grew tired of being ‘Joesph Lindenbaum-Kerry’, and so started going by ‘Brim’, as in ‘Brimstone’. But this grew too confusing when he and Bruce became fast friends, causing a great deal of mix-ups. So he recently started calling himself ‘Clay’, which everyone quickly adjusted too as it was easier for them as well.
In his human form he had the strength, perfect proportionality, and stalwart handsomeness of a Michelangelo sculpture. In spirit he was in Victoria’s words 'a well-intentioned layabout'. He was a great deal stronger than her, and perhaps physically the most dangerous member of the team, but neither he nor Bruce ever challenged or doubted her seniority and expertise. Her accent also helped to impress this air of authority upon them.
They were currently meeting in the stacks of the school library, near 7:00 in the morning on a Saturday. They could be certain that no other student would ever be inclined to voluntarily be there at that hour. Clay and Bruce were reading through the Landon Reporter article outlining the Drama Club’s recent woes.
“The first incident occurred three weeks ago,” Bruce read aloud, “as a spotlight fell during the initial rehearsal, almost hitting upperclassman Lynn Savrati…etc, etc,… Lynn claimed to have received a letter from the ‘Phantom of Landon’ saying that she would join him in death as his teenage bride forever. She promptly dropped out of the performance and was replaced by her understudy Fiona McGann…yadda yadda…here we go: during last week’s dress rehearsal during the final death scene, Fiona’s prop dagger was secretly replaced with a real one, causing her to cut into her own stomach.”
“That’s method acting for you,” Clay remarked.
“She realized the switch had been made before causing serious damage,” Bruce continued, “however she was immediately rushed to the nurse’s office where her injuries were addressed. Following the incident she has elected to take some days off to recover. Friends say she is upbeat and planning to return sometime after the play has closed… etc, etc, and yet while Fiona has not publicly stated so, an unnamed member of the cast claimed that Fiona had also received a threatening letter from the ‘Phantom’ just hours before the dagger had been replaced.”
Bruce rolled the newspaper in his hand and looked to Victoria for guidance.
“So you want us to hunt ghosts?”
“There is no Phantom,” Victoria said dryly, “that’s just how this ratty tabloid manages to drum up paper sales. Besides, the real likely culprit is rather obvious once you realize that its only ever one role being attacked. There’s only one rational motive.”
“…And it doesn’t involve hunting ghosts?”
Bruce seemed rather disappointed.
“Think of it this way,” Victoria told him, “Excluding mischievous and allegedly lascivious spirits, who would want the actress in a leading role to be suddenly injured? Who gets her part if she’s unavailable?”
“The understudy,” Bruce said.
Victoria nodded, “And, if both the leading actress and the understudy disappears.”
“Then the under-under study?”
“Exactly,” she said, “except there was no under-understudy, so the director is holding open auditions to fill the part. Which means that if I’m correct, then the true culprit will be there to try and take the part for herself. So we need to make sure they don’t get the part and use the next Juliet actress as bait and catch the saboteur in the act.”
Clay nodded as if this had been his idea all along.
“Cool, me and Bruce will try out for Romeo or whoever, you can try out for Juliet, and wait til someone tries to bump you off as competition. You’ll see their plot before it even happens and we’ll catch the bad guy. Easy peasy and fresh lemonade as they say.”
“No one says that,” Bruce told him, “and I wish you’d stop trying to start it.”
And yet things were not quite as easy-peasy as Clay suggested. Victoria exhaled slowly and thought about the best way to explain the complexities of the situation.
“Unfortunately, Juliet is the only part that hasn’t already been filled, and is only open now for the obvious reasons… and I can’t be the one to audition for Juliet.”
Bruce felt sure that she had skipped over something.
“What? Why not?”
“It’s a very tactical reason,” she said firmly, “My powers work best when I can observe others, when I can perceive everything from the backlines without being noticed.”
“So, just act in secret from the stage, you’ll have a view of everything and no one would expect it.”
“Well,” Victoria said with an uncharacteristic wavering pause, “its more complex than that. There are other strategic considerations…”
“Like what?”
“Well, for example I... Damn it, I have stage fright, all right!”
Clay and Bruce exchanged silent but gleeful glances.
“Did you know she was allowed to be frightened of things?” Clay then asked.
“No, totally unheard of,” Bruce replied.
“Look,” Victoria tried to say,
“Do you think they can take away her Reaver powers for this?” Bruce asked.
“Maybe we could return her to the factory as defective and get a new one,” Clay suggested.
“LOOK you smug little shits, everyone is allowed to have a fear of something, and this is mine!”
Clay was still lost in that reasoning.
“Victoria, I’ve seen you murderize actual demons with nothing but an iron poker. How can a high school play be scary?”
“Well it just is,” she exclaimed, “It’s crippling. I get up there and I freeze. I can’t remember anything, I can’t speak. I just feel exposed, and I know all those people are watching me, judging me. I don’t care for it; it’s entirely backwards! I’m the one who watches others and judges.”
“Yeah you do,” Clay said in non-sarcastic agreement.
She conjured an ethereal riding crop into existence and swatted the back of his head.
“Ow,” he said routinely, “Fine, you don’t want to audition, but still,”
“Still nothing,” she said, “its not a matter of what I want. In order to be a convincing Juliet I’d need to be good at it, and in order to smoke out the so-called ‘Phantom’ I’d have to actually get the part, or at least appear to be dangerous competition. As such, I’d hardly be worth their time sabotaging; I do plenty on my own.”
Bruce decided it was better for his health to not needle her further on the issue.
“Ok, but then how do we get in?” he asked, “We only have three members, and only one of them is a girl. We can’t just bring someone into our conspiracy based on their acting ability,”
“Also,” Clay added, “I don’t think we’d find anyone too keen on the idea of being bait.”
Bruce emphatically gesticulated in concurrence.
“Exactly, so we’re kind of screwed unless you get over it. There’s no other way.”
“Yes there is,” Victoria sighed, “but you won’t like it,”
She reached into the inside pocket of her jacket and produced a long, narrow glass vial. The vial was filled with a magenta colored potion the same viscosity as deep cleansing shampoo. She handed the potion to Bruce.
“Two of us can still get in as volunteer stage-hands. But that will be useless unless we have a Juliet on the inside who can safely draw the attacker out. And since that can’t be me, and I won’t hear any more on that topic or so help me I will quote ‘murderize’ someone, so I’m going to need one of you to drink this, and simply put, become our Juliet.”
“How would that,” Bruce started,
“One-two-three not it.” Clay quickly sputtered, quickly bringing his index finger to the tip of his nose. Bruce looked at him.
“Fuck you.”
Victoria tapped the potion with her finger.
“If one of you drinks a half-cup of this it will switch your biological gender. Another shot and it will switch it back.”
“But I…” Bruce stammered.
“And in the time in between, you can audition for the part, then we use you as bait for lack of a better term. And then the Phantom will reveal him, or more likely herself…”
“But I,”
“We then seize them, turn them over to Danny, Honor Roll gets its charter re-instated, and then whichever of you took the potion can go back to being the grimy little boys that you are.”
“But I… really, really don’t want to.” Bruce said
He looked to Clay. Clay’s finger hadn’t moved. Clay pointed to his nose with his free hand.
“Bruce, we both know that nose-goes has been a near sacred agreement between us these past two years.”
“Fuck you.”
“Are you saying you renounce the laws and traditions of nose goes?”
“I’m, I’m not saying that,” Bruce said despondently, “I’m just saying fuck you.”
Victoria took her best matronly tone and placed her hand on Bruce’s shoulder.
“Time is of the essence now dear.”
“Well is it at least safe? Where did you get it?”
“Time is of the essence,” Victoria repeated, “and those kinds of questions aren’t worth my time right now.”
Bruce unscrewed the cap. The odor inside was pungently sweet.
“I hate both of you.”
“I’ll take note of that,” Victoria replied, “Now man up and take the shot.”
He shook his head then tilted it back. He lifted the vial to his lips and took a quick shot.
|
|
|
|
Post by deo on Mar 28, 2017 0:40:41 GMT
Reform Restatement on Supernatural Species: Volume 5, pg 13:
Index of Ghosts, P: Phantoms, Phaselings, & Poltergeists.
-Phantoms: Phantoms are semi-corporeal spirits, who are tied for third highest among all ghosts on Burton’s Morphogenic scale, (with a rating of 7.5). However, unlike the more ephemeral sub-section of Spectres, Phantoms are more corporeal and are territorial instead of roaming. Generally, phantoms are the result of disturbed souls who stubbornly persist after their bodies die unexpectedly. They are almost exclusively malevolent. For more information about Phantoms or specific exorcism techniques, see pp 38-39.
|
|
|
|
Post by deo on Mar 28, 2017 0:41:23 GMT
The shot had the taste, aftertaste, and consistency of aged pomegranate egg-nog. Bruce’s stomach immediately hated him, yet it was perhaps the one part of his body that suffered the least immediate consequence. Aside from the severe indigestion the transformation was painless and instant.
Bruce bent over and grabbed his abdomen.
“Oh god, it feels like a clutch of hermit crabs just hatched in my stomach.”
His voice was higher and softer, though it still contained the same amount of contempt for his ‘friends’. Bruce eventually leaned back up and found he now had to brush his much longer bright blue hair out of his face. Once he did, he could see Clay looking at him with puzzlement.
“What?” Bruce asked. “What do I look like?”
“You’re uh… just Damn.”
“Damn how? Damn it worked, damn it didn’t work, damn I grew a second nose? What?”
“No just as in, DAMN.”
Clay whistled for effect. Bruce was slightly more irritated then before.
Victoria keenly examined the potion’s effects, as the potion seller had been more than a little cagey about how exactly it worked. For now there seemed to be no obvious unintended side effects. Victoria reached into her bag, retrieved a compact mirror, and handed it to Bruce.
As Bruce attempted to snatch the mirror he noticed how odd it felt to move his body; his arm felt lighter for sure and he missed the mirror on the first try. Was it his depth perception? Or had this sudden change left his body without enough muscle mass? Wait, no. He realized it was nothing quite so horrendous; his arms were just a bit shorter than they were before. He looked at his hands and quickly saw they were smaller and thinner, though still proportional with the rest of him. His fingernails were not magically cleaner than they were before, which was somehow surprising to him.
On the second try for the compact mirror he managed to successfully take it from Victoria’s hand. As he examined himself he saw what had made Clay say ‘Damn’. The young woman in the mirror had a small attractive face with a slim nose, full lips, but the same bright blue eyes he had always had. Her hair was shoulder length with bangs, but still the same shade of aqua.
“I still hate you both,” Bruce sighed, “lets just get to the audition and get it over with. When is it?”
“Monday.”
Bruce’s eyes widened and he clenched his now somewhat smaller fists into balls of fury.
“MONDAY? I thought this was just a short time thing. You said time was of the essence!”
“A tiny misrepresentation," Victoria admitted, "besides time is of the essence, you’ve only got two days to practice and a lot to learn.”
Bruce began to slam his fists on an imaginary surface in a near tantrum.
“But, but, but couldn’t I have just practiced my lines as a guy and then drunk the potion right before the audition?”
“I wasn’t just talking about your lines,” Victoria replied sharply, “you’re going to need to walk the walk and talk the talk if you want to be a passable Juliet.”
“What the fuck does that mean?”
“She’s going to Eliza Doolittle you,” Clay commented.
“I don’t know who the fuck that is!” Bruce yelled far too loudly.
Victoria gave him an imperious glare.
“It means I need to train you on how to be a lady, and preferably one who knows how to lower her voice in a damned LIBRARY.”
“Well excuse me,” Bruce retorted, “but maybe I don’t know or want to know how to be a fucking lady.”
Victoria summoned the glowing riding crop back from the aether and slammed it harshly against the wall of books.
“That is why you are going to be a good little actress and take direction, or I swear to Christ my Savior, I will slaughter both of you.”
Her crystal eye seemed to glow with indignant wrath. She then swung the crop around to slap the side of Clay’s head.
“Ow, again. I didn't even do anything that time.”
“Shut up Clay; your job is to go to the director, sign both of us up as volunteer stage-hands and put Bruce on the audition list for Juliet.”
“Ok, well, I can’t put ‘Bruce’ on the list, so how do you feel about, say, 'Misty Rivers'?”
“Fine, just,”
“No, not fine.” Bruce yelled, though at a somewhat more library appropriate volume, “I hate aquatic names for mermaids, they always sound like strippers. I’m gonna veto anything with Brooke, Coral, Marina, River, Sandy or Misty.”
“Oh come on,” Clay grumbled, “you’re both taking all the fun out of this.”
Victoria swung the ethereal crop and sharply smacked him.
“Ow, a third time,” he said calmly.
“JUST GO ALREADY! Understood?”
“Ok,” Clay said hesitatingly, “but what if,”
She raised the crop high above her head.
“UNDERSTOOD?”
“Yes, ma'am. I will do those things, then see you ladies later.”
He jogged off, leaving a rather vexed Victoria and an increasingly distracted Bruce behind. Victoria whipped the crop back around towards her other headache. Bruce didn’t notice, as his hair had fallen back over his eyes and he was futilely trying to blow it away.
“And you,” she said harshly, “you come with me, we’ve got a lot of work to do.”
She grabbed his arm and lead Bruce away like a stubborn ox.
|
|
|
|
Post by kevindwolf93 on Apr 1, 2017 6:22:16 GMT
Hey so this is a not so short story I'm writing. There's more prepared I just want to stay well enough ahead that I don't burn out like last time. Let me know what you think. Holy shit man awesome! Good to see shit like this again. I'll be more indepth when its not late AF, but happy to see something like this on my return. |
|
|
|
Post by deo on Apr 21, 2017 5:06:32 GMT
Two days later:
Victoria and her blue haired companion had almost made it into the theater before being accosted by a short blonde girl attempting to blockade the door in the politest manner possible. Victoria had even gotten her hand on the doorknob when the cherub like student inserted herself as an obstacle.
“Excuse me miss,” the girl said.
Victoria gave her a glance that could startle a Troll. The blonde stood cheery and stalwart in front of the door, though her voice began to crack.
“I’m sorry to bother you, but I was wondering if rather than participate in the school play you might consider signing my petition to ban it.”
“No.”
“You see,” the girl said undeterred, “A bunch of us were concerned about the corrupting influences it will have,”
“Corrupting influences?” the confused blue haired girl next to Victoria asked. The blond girl quickly identified her as a more amenable participant for her petition.
“Of course,” said the blonde emphatically, “Romeo and Juliet is a wicked tale that can corrupt young minds. It depicts and encourages suicide, violence, rebellion from parental figures, pre-marital licentious behavior and harlotry.”
Victoria grabbed the blonde by the collar and lifted her to her tiptoes. The girl gulped audibly.
“Leave,” Victoria whispered, “and if I see you harassing people here again you will regret the consequences.”
She then dropped the little blonde who quickly but resentfully complied. The girl shuffled down the hallway, muttering to herself.
“Well fine. I was just trying to save your souls… wicked thespians.”
The blue haired girl gave Victoria a quizzical look.
“What did she call us?”
“Don’t worry about it,” Victoria instructed, “just go in there, do your best, and if you fail I will destroy you.”
“Wow, with that kind of pressure how could I possibly fail…”
Her words dripped with sarcasm. Still, Victoria dismissed this comment and finally made her way inside the theater. Her companion followed, making faces at the back of her head. Victoria could still see them through the crystal eye, but again chose to let it slide.
The inside of the theater was a good hundred and five times larger than the outside walls would imply, and included a deep sea of seats plus balcony seating and private booths. A magnificent chandelier glinted above the stage. The stage itself was wide and covered on either end by classic red velvet curtains. A tall wooden balcony had been hastily constructed and installed in upstage right. A dozen or so drama club members milled about around it attempting to look busy in order to eavesdrop on auditions.
Victoria ignored the students on the stage and focused on the one surveying the whole scene imperiously from the front row. He was wearing a beret and dark sunglasses, which were complimented by a fashionable expression of aloof impatience. He kept a folded script on his knee, and was smoking a cigarette, in blatant violation of school policy. Victoria recognized him as the director, Marlowe. Her crystal eye saw a fair amount of magical energy seeping out of him with no real purpose or sense of direction. Likely a sorcerer, she bet.
There were two girls sitting next to him, yet she could only identify the one on his left. This girl was what Honor Roll might call a ‘usual suspect’ at Landon. Her skin was a dark reddish hue, her hair ebony black, her lipstick dark crimson; you get the picture. She was a succubus, and her name was Mephistophelina, but to avoid that verbal struggle Victoria and everyone else knew her as ‘Missy’. She was currently curled around Marlowe’s arm and whispering things into his ear. The girl on Marlowe’s right was rather plain, and with her thin black-rim glasses looked rather like a junior secretary. She was rapidly scribbling things into a script.
Victoria’s attention was then distracted by a boy sitting amongst a gaggle of female students in the third row on the other end of the theater. Marlowe had been her chief concern, but she had spotted this other one as she came in. He was now waiving rather emphatically at her to the point she couldn’t ignore. It was Clay of course, and after he politely extricated himself from the attentions of his present company he jogged up the aisle to Victoria and the blue haired girl.
“Hey, I was wondering when you two would get here.” He said. He then looked the blue haired girl up and down. He felt grin coming on that was so wide that it actively hurt to try and hide it.
“Well Bruce,” he chuckled, “I gotta say you’ve got the legs for a skirt; you know, when you have human legs that is. But are you wearing a bra, or is it just two seashells tied together with seaweed?”
“Shut up.” Bruce suggested. Victoria placed a hand on Clay’s shoulder.
“Please don’t antagonize him,” she pleaded in exasperation, “He’s been difficult enough as is. My Lord, you’ve never seen someone complain so much: ‘I don’t want a skirt, I want pants’, ‘these shoes are too high’, ‘why doesn’t anything have pockets’. And this morning he wouldn’t sit still and I almost put his eye out with the mascara.”
“He’s wearing mascara?”
“Clay. SHUT. UP.” Bruce repeated.
He was wearing the mascara though. Over the weekend Victoria had trained him on the basics of being a lady, overcoming his obstinacy to the lessons through a sheer force of will and the vague promise that she’d ‘owe him one for this’. However, the transformation was slow and ultimately incomplete; Victoria had to prioritize the memorizing Juliet’s lines above teaching Bruce how to comfortably walk in heels.
His hair had been scrunchied back into a short ponytail and his make-up was limited, but Victoria had performed an admirable job with it. His uniform was a spare Victoria had in her closet, though it fit surprisingly well, a bit of cheery good luck that was entirely wasted on Bruce’s dour mood. However his bad mood seemed to have the opposite effect on Clay.
“Well you still did an impressive job Mr. Higgins,” Clay told Victoria, “ ‘She’s’ very Juliet-esque, very teenage mermaid ingénue…”
“A what?” Bruce questioned.
“It means cute,” Clay said, “I said I think you look very cute.”
“Oh shut the hell up again.”
“Stop teasing him,” Victoria told Clay sternly, carefully keeping her voice down, before continuing.
“Our ‘friend’ here is doing a lot to help us while you’re apparently chatting and flirting with the drama peasants.”
She then gestured to an empty row of seats and the three of them sat down, hunched into a huddle, and spoke in hushed tones.
“First off it wasn’t just flirting,” Clay said with a proud grin. Bruce silently resented the sheer amount of grinning Clay was doing at the moment. Clay then stealthily gestured back to the group of girls he had just pulled himself away from.
“Those are the Juliet auditions. You said the ‘Phantom’ was likely trying to bump off the competition so I worked my stalwart charms and told them I was working with Marlowe about doing callbacks and got a list of names. That and a few phone numbers.”
“Well you’re not completely useless then,” Victoria said, “any of them strike you as suspicious?”
“Just the obvious one.”
He pointed to Missy. They overheard her laughing at something Marlowe had said. They could all tell by the laugh that whatever he had said, it couldn’t have been actually funny.
Clay carefully leaned in closer and whispered.
“Missy started ‘dating’ Marlowe just a day before Fiona, the second Juliet, had her accident with the dagger. Now she’s trying out for the part herself, and has the ‘director’s girlfriend’ advantage.
Victoria sighed.
“Well, I suppose if you want someone who can effectively portray pre-marital licentious behavior and harlotry she’s not a bad choice.”
“Oh, did you run into that self-righteous blonde nut too?” Clay asked a little bit louder, “She had me locked in a conversation for like four minutes before I could get in. She’s been harassing the whole cast apparently, making a real nuisance of herself. Now there’s your Phantom.”
“Not likely,” Victoria said with no further explanation. “Right now we just need to make sure we can get Bru- I mean; well what do I mean? What’s her name? What did you put on the sign up sheet?”
Victoria gestured to Bruce. Clay grinned again, and Bruce’s resentment began to build into ire.
“Ariel Ka’aukai,” Clay said.
Bruce, now Ariel, did not approve of the change.
“First off, Ariel? For a mermaid, really? Super original. And second, you kept my last name? Are you trying to out me?”
“Well I didn’t think of one til the last minute,” Clay defended, “and you already vetoed anything else fun.”
“I would have done Viola,” Victoria mentioned.
“Thought of it actually,” Clay said, “But it’s a totally different play, and honestly I didn’t think anyone else would get the reference.”
“Eh, probably,”
“The fuck are you to on about?” Bruce demanded.
“Don’t worry your pretty little head about it,” Victoria said only somewhat sympathetically, “Just focus on your audition. If things go to plan you won’t have to be Ariel very long.”
Bruce grumbled under his breath about how often things ever actually went to plan around there, but remained otherwise passive on the choice of name. Victoria then laid out the rest of the plan.
“Now as I was saying, we need to make sure that ‘Ariel’ gets the part, then make sure that when this saboteur strikes we catch them red handed.”
Clay nodded.
“Sounds good. But it’ll be tough competition,”
He gestured back to the gaggle.
“Some of these girls have some solid pipes on them. I hope you guys picked out the right song.”
Bruce blinked a few times in silent bafflement. Victoria tried her best to retain a confident English upper lip that refused to admit surprise.
“Of course, the song. We hadn’t picked one yet.”
“What song?” Bruce asked incredulously, with no concern of appearing as clueless as he was.
Clay seem surprised himself at Bruce’s confusion, then said with a tone of obviousness
“The song you want to audition to… you know, because you’re auditioning for the female lead in a musical?”
“Since when is Romeo and Juliet a musical?”
“Since, well since West Side Story I guess, though this is actually Marlowe’s own direct adaptation of Romeo and Juliet into 1940’s Los Angeles, with the same characters, occasional Jazz interludes, but no snapping street gangs… I’m pretty sure I mentioned the singing before. Didn’t I? I’m like ninety percent positive.”
Victoria pinched the base of her nose and squinted.
“Bloody hell.”
“Ok, maybe seventy-five percent positive.”
Victoria sighed and peered up at Bruce.
“So Ariel, you know any songs?”
“Forty-five percent at least,” Clay corrected.
Bruce thought.
“Well I can probably remember most of the lines of Gangster’s Paradise; or I could just do Somewhere Over the Rainbow.”
Victoria took a deep breath.
“Lets go with Somewhere over the Rainbow.”
|
|
|
|
Post by deo on Apr 21, 2017 5:07:28 GMT
Reform Restatement on Supernatural Species: Volume 12, pg 24.
Sirens:
After reviewing all sources available to great lengths, it seems that there really is no such thing. Some prior literature lists Sirens as their own lost species of aquatic singing humanoids, or occasionally as only one of the already plentiful sub-species of Mermaids. A small fringe of less credible works suggest Sirens had a more avian body type, and an even smaller minority suggest that they are/were neither fishlike nor birdlike, but an ephemeral type of artificial construct that embodied the very concept of music.
None of these answers are satisfactorily convincing on their own, but here is the most likely answer: they do not exist, and all these differing tales and descriptions of Sirens are merely cases of mistaken identity or imprudent speculation.
The traditional aquatic ‘Sirens’ were most likely a regional term to refer to mermaids in general. Mermaids are already renown for their enchanting singing voices, and it is entirely plausible that a group of ill-willed mermaids might sit on rocky Grecian coasts to lure sailors to their doom. It is equally plausible that those sailors called them ‘Sirens’. It is unlikely that this act of maritime sabotage alone constitutes establishing a separate sub-species.
As for the avian description, no living example of this depiction has been found. Because these depictions are so ancient, and their description of malevolent, beautiful, bird-like women are so close to Harpies, it is likely another case of mistaken identity. While a singing Harpy is a terrifying idea indeed, the series of screeches it could produce would hardly be called ‘enchanting’. Perhaps ancient storytellers simply borrowed the singing quality of Mermaids and attributed it to Harpies to create the myth of some creature in between the two.
The final suggestion of an artificial construct is entirely unlikely. While a powerful wizard may be able to create a simulacrum, avatar, or golem capable of singing, it would not explain the connection to the sinking of ships, which a wizard could easily do in any other number of ways. A conjured Muse or a summoned and bound Demoness may take the form of a mermaid and could have the enchanting power to lure ships to their doom. Yet Muses act single mindedly to guide and inspire artistic beauty, not to seductively kill sailors. And while certain Demonesses might well find such a task enjoyable, that would again confirm that Sirens are not their own species of creature.
|
|
|
|
Post by deo on Apr 21, 2017 5:09:40 GMT
Marlowe pulled himself away from Missy’s side and whispered towards the bookish girl on his other side.
“Hey Mel lets get this thing started ok, we all got places to be.”
Mel had been ready to get started for fifteen minutes. She moved a list of names to the top of the stack of papers on her very cramped clipboard.
“Sure thing Mr. Director,” she said stoically, “we’ve got six girls who tried out before, plus Missy, and one other late addition, so that’s eight.”
“Right, great, excellent.”
He stood up and spread his arms as if he expected the whole world to instantly take notice. The group of students in the theater eventually quieted and gave him at least a token of this expectation.
“Hey gang, great to see you all here. I know there have been a lot of delays what with me deciding to make this a musical during rehearsals, writing my own songs, and with our other recent setbacks, but I’m sure we can move past it,”
“You mean the Phantom?” said a voice from the stage.
Marlowe’s fingers sparked with magical static.
“Who said that?”
“I did,” said a spritely girl leaning off the edge of the balcony set piece.
Her eyes were bright and her hair was a pixie cut of warm black mixed with a stripe of bubblegum pink. Marlowe shot her a look. More experienced look-givers could have made it work; Victoria could have traumatized someone with it. But in Marlowe’s proverbial hands all it did was elicit a sigh and an eye-roll from its intended target. The magic receded from his fingers.
“As I was saying, wait what was I was saying? Yes, I was saying those setbacks are all behind us. I am sure our Juliet is here in the theater tonight. We’ve got a lot of talent here tonight… Ok ladies, here’s how its gonna roll. My name is Marlowe, I am the director and I will be making the final call so direct your performance to me. The handsome devil on stage right is Ramsey, he is your prospective Romeo.”
Ramsey was actually not a handsome devil, but a handsome satyr; you could tell because the horns were more curvy. When Marlowe looked his way he had been running his hands past them and through his curly blonde locks. He pretended to not look surprised, then waived coolly towards the audience. A few nervous giggles spurt out from the cluster of potential Juliets. Bruce groaned in boredom.
Marlowe waited for the noise to die down then turned to the bookish girl sitting next to him.
“To my right is Melody, we just call her Mel.”
Marlowe gestured her way and Mel looked up from behind her clipboard. She nodded briefly before scribbling something onto the list of names.
“Mel will call your name and you’ll take the stage.” He said. “You can sing anything you want. At the end I’ll name someone to be the lead and someone to be the understudy. Good? Ok. Mel who’s first up?”
Mel read off the first name, Katherine Lee, who quickly took the stage. Victoria watched and examined her performance. She could tell by her slightly odd gait and pallor that the girl was a Jiang-She. Her singing was decent, not offensive to the ear, but nothing amazing either. Victoria didn’t get a very murderous vibe coming off of her, and her eye couldn’t see any true magical power. Still, she made sure to take note of all the performances just in case. The following acts ranged from bad to decent to bad again. The best was the dryad, Victoria thought, her voice was clear and practiced. The worst was almost certainly the Harpy. After the first six names were called, Missy’s near unpronounceable true name was called. She gave Marlowe a farewell kiss.
“Wish me luck,” she mewed in his ear.
“Luck,” He replied in a sweet tone.
Victoria held back a gag. Missy took the stage, stared over the packed house that existed only in her mind, and gave a very enthusiastic belting rendition of ‘He had it Comin’. Victoria didn’t care for it. It wasn’t worse than the Harpy girl’s shrieking version of “Yellow Rose of Texas”, but that was a bar low enough to trip over. But Missy wasn’t particularly good either. The phrase ‘style over substance’ came to mind. The song finished after the unnecessary repetition of the last stanza. Missy bowed, rose, smiled, and wiped the sweat from her brow. Marlowe clapped.
Next to him, Mel wrote a few notes next to Missy’s name, then brought her pen to the next name on her list.
“Ok, next up is Ariel… Ka-ow-kai?”
Bruce tepidly stepped on stage. Missy tossed the microphone at his chest. He fumbled for it and eventually caught it just before it hit the ground
“No pressure new girl,” Missy sneered, “no reason to get embarrassed. It’s just all these people watching you, following your every move and hoping you fail…”
Bruce probably would have flipped her the bird had no one been following his every move. Missy stepped down and Bruce slowly approached the center of the stage.
From the audience seating the stage had seemed a fairly unimpressive set of wooden floorboards, but now it seemed to grow very very wide, very very tall, and very very bright all at once. His head began to swim in the vertigo. He swallowed loudly; it was caught on the mike and echoed through the theater. He began to respect Victoria’s peculiar fears more than he did before. A few timid words crept out of his mouth.
“Um, hi, My name is Ariel Ka’aukai, and I am auditioning for the part of Juliet today, and uh,”
“Yes, we know that.” Marlowe said impatiently, “what will you be singing?”
“Yes, I will be singing…”
“Do Under the Sea!” A voice shouted from the fourth row.
Bruce’s eyes widened.
“Clay I’m gonna come back there and punch you in the throat!”
And yet, this incredibly rude interruption had achieved its goal Bruce’s paralysis was broken immediately. Clay knew that Bruce was at heart a simple man, and he could not be nervous and angry at the same time. Clay sat back down in his seat, pleased that he could help in his own infuriating way.
Bruce, now somehow less aware of the pressure that had just seemed so insurmountable, cleared his throat.
“Sorry about that. I will actually be singing Somewhere Over the Rainbow.”
Bruce took a deep breath. Victoria closed her eyes in preparation of whatever his unpracticed attempts at music-making might sound like.
“Somewhere, over the rainbow…”
Victoria opened her eyes and lost her breath. Every member of the cast stopped what they were pretending they were doing. Marlowe’s eyes widened, Mel dropped her clipboard in her lap, and Missy sneered angrily. Clay’s mouth hung wide open.
“Wow…” he muttered, “just wow, I mean I’m… I’m really glad he didn’t go with Gangster’s Paradise.”
The song lapped like waves against the walls, ebbing in and out, in and out. The rhythm was calm and hypnotizing; had anyone been piloting a trireme at the time there would have been mayhem. The final stanza rose to a crest and washed serenely over everything.
“And the dreams that you dream of,
why oh why,
can’t I…”
Bruce stopped, silently collecting his breath. The last note hung in the air in a supernaturally long period before evaporating. There was a brief tranquil quality to the theater after it faded. That quality was soon broken.
“Now do the one where she sings about forks!” Clay shouted.
Bruce dropped the mike.
“That’s it asshole!”
Bruce leaped off the stage, sprinted and hurtled into Clay in an unladylike fashion. Victoria lay her head in her hands as the tustle began. She crooked her head towards the front row.
She saw Marlowe leaning over to Mel. He whispered something. Mel then gave him a look of shocked, but not entirely shocked, indignation. She then whispered something else in a somewhat rapid fashion. Victoria could almost hear it, but not quite.
“Fight me asshole,” Bruce demanded.
Clay and Bruce had spilled into the aisle next to her. Bruce tried furiously but futilely to get his slender arms out of Clay’s stoneclad grip. Clay couldn’t stop laughing and just held Bruce off without fighting back.
“Fight me,” Bruce repeated.
“No, Ariel stop. Please. Stop. I’m sorry. But, I can’t hit girls.”
This only made his attacker angrier and his attacks more persistent. Marlowe had been briefly distracted by the incident but then quickly turned back to his assistant and kept speaking. Victoria saw the girl shake her head and sigh. She then nodded reluctantly. Marlowe, beaming, turned back to the stage.
“Ok. HEY EVERYONE!”
No one turned to Marlowe; the brawling pair on the floor had turned into the main act. It was at this point that Victoria lost her patience with the display and the ethereal riding crop re-affirmed itself in her tight grip. A few sharp smacks landed on each of their heads and the pair separated. Victoria then nodded towards Marlow like a parent who had just finished spanking her children during a PTA meeting.
“Cool, thanks for that,” Marlowe told her.
“Anyway,” he said to everyone, “So I gotta say we had a lot of great auditions today, you all did great. But in the end the choice was clear. Our new Juliet is… Mephostopholina…”
Missy jumped for joy. The rest of the cast gave a few insincere grumbles. Marlowe put out his cigarette.
“Oh and understudy goes to Ariel,”
There was a torrent of clapping from others on the stage. Missy did not appreciate it. Clay and Bruce began to stand. Marlowe, apparently not finished, continued to speak over the applause.
“And she will also be taking over the Queen Mab role since I’m relieving Puck so she can focus on costume design.”
“Booooo,” a voice playfully jeered from the stage. It was the black and pink-haired girl again. Marlowe shot her another look.
“You were warned Puck!”
Just then Victoria saw something dangerous happening. Well, it was not something happening exactly, nor was it something that had happened neither, nor was it even something about to happen. It was something that was considering happening. Something being plotted. But what?
Her crystal eye spun in its socket. It saw Bruce and Clay were next to her. It examined the few dozen students were on stage. Missy was smirking in the center aisle. The black and pink haired girl was booing. Marlowe was yelling.
“You did this!” he shouted. “You brought this on yourself, with all the nonsense talk about this stupid ghost.”
“You mean the—”
“DON’T SAY IT”
His voice trembled with the kind of force any sorcerer and master of arcane forces should be able to conjure for dramatic purposes. Victoria felt magic in the air, was it his, or,
The pink haired girl leered down without fear and said.
“What, you mean the PHANTOM?”
The lights died. Victoria’s crystal eye focused to adjust. There were shrieks around her, movement in the darkness. The eye foresaw a crash, a shattering of glass, of bone... The chandelier! Missy stood directly below it but froze in the darkness.
Victoria reached for Missy, an ethereal red chains bursting from the edge of her crop.
There was a moan of bending steel in the dark. Missy looked up and the chandelier broke free. She screamed. The red chains snatched her by the hand and reeled her back. Missy flew backwards, the chandelier smashed into the floor, shattering with an earsplitting crash.
More screams followed it. All of it was enough to distract Missy from the grip of the chains which soon faded from existence. Victoria’s eye stopped spinning, the foresight finished. But she wasn’t happy. Missy wouldn’t kill herself, so Missy wasn’t the Phantom. The suspect was now the next intended victim.
|
|
|
|
Post by deo on Apr 21, 2017 5:10:45 GMT
Missy was alive and breathing. She was breathing very fast, as she had almost been very much not alive.
The lights hummed back on in a flick. Marlowe stood awestruck, the chandelier spread before him as a beach of glass shards. He looked desperately for Missy. He found her hyperventilating at Victoria’s shins and raced to her side. He grabbed her quickly; he would have said something comforting but knew it wouldn’t have gotten through. Instead he looked up to Victoria.
“Thank you,” he said, “ you saved her… and, who are you exactly?”
“Victoria Ridley; I’m a stagehand,” she stated with less than 100% accuracy,
“A volunteer stagehand actually.”
“I’ve never seen you here before.”
“Yes, well, your ‘Executive Producer’, the one with the cane, asked me to look over things.”
“Ah, him,” he said knowingly, acting as if it was a big conspiracy. It wasn’t. In fact everyone in the production knew that Danny Swyft had wrangled a percentage of the gross to allow Marlowe more ‘artistic liberties’ than allowed by the school charter.
Bruce and Clay stood a few feet aside, silently looking over the mess of the shattered chandelier. Out of the corner of his eye, Bruce saw a handsome horned boy dash past Missy and race to his side. Bruce remembered that he was the actor playing Romeo, and that his name was also something with an R. Rick, maybe?
The Satyr placed a gentle hand on Bruce’s shoulder; Bruce instinctively wanted to pull away, but was caught by the sheer oddness of it.
“Oh my God, are you ok?” the boy asked protectively.
Missy was finally broken from her stunned trance.
“Is SHE ok?”
Bruce shrugged, unsure of exactly how to answer.
“Um, yeah, I’m cool.”
“Cool, cool,” he said, “I just wanted to make sure. I mean you were so close.”
“Well, not that close. I’ve been in worse.”
“Wow,” he said, brushing his curly locks of hair back with his hand, “ I bet. You’re really something. Brave, beautiful voice, beautiful… ya know, generally.”
“What?”
“Anyway,” he said casually, “My name’s Ramsey. I wanted to say earlier, that well, I really just wanted you to know that I thought you were really the best out there tonight. I mean, Mab’s a great role, and you’ll knock ‘em dead, but all of us backstage were rooting for you. Don’t let this stop you.”
“…Thanks? I guess.”
“Yeah. And don’t worry about Missy,” he said, “She can be a pain, I know it. In fact I still need to practice lines with Juliet, but Missy and I just don’t, well ‘click’. We don’t get on… we hate each other.”
“Oh. Ok. Sorry to hear that.”
“Thanks... well actually, since you’re the understudy, would you mind practicing with me instead?”
“Oh…Well I’m not sure I’ll still be taking the role,”
“Please? I’m really behind,” he asked, as he was already stepping away, “Tonight at 6:30? Talbot Dorm 336. We can get food after and I really appreciate it. Thanks!”
He managed to slip back into the crowd of cast members as they surrounded the hulk of the smashed glass with looks of curiosity. Bruce took a minute as everything eventually fit into place. Clay stepped next to him and gave him a knowing look.
“So, you know what he was doing there,”
“Well no shit,” Bruce whispered sharply, “I’m still me in here. It just feels a little, gross, being on this end of it.”
“I don’t know,” Clay said, “He was pretty smooth. Waaaay smoother than you ever were.”
“What?!” Bruce exclaimed somewhat quietly, “I’m way more authentic than that.”
“I’m not saying you have to be happy about it. Just respect the skills is all I’m saying.”
Meanwhile Marlowe and Victoria were whispering. Mel approached them and whispered something. Then the three of them whispered together. Then Marlowe nodded. He turned towards the flock of actors.
“OK, everyone! That was a shocking incident I know. I just now realized that maintenance had stated they were going to inspect that chandelier this morning for structural integrity. It seems they didn’t do it, and a fracture in the…”
He paused. Victoria whispered in his ear.
“The restraining U-bolt,” he then continued, “a fracture in the restraining U-bolt caused the collapse. It was entirely mundane, and there is nothing to worry about. Luckily no one was hurt and we all need to go about our business, and prepare as if nothing has happened. Though if anyone sees anything unusual, please report it to my new security expert, Victoria Ridley.”
Victoria nodded politely. Her glance then turned stern.
“You all heard the Director,” she commanded, “You all have work to do. Everyone should be rehearsing from now till next class break. I’ll need two stagehands to sweep this up. Immediately.”
She issued a glare that sent them scattering. Three or four extra stagehands ran off to find brooms. She then walked over to the other members of Honor Roll. Mel, the bookish director’s assistant, followed her.
“Ariel,” Victoria called out.
Bruce did not turn around immediately. Clay tapped him on the shoulder and he realized what was happening. Bruce turned around and stood with a vacant gaze as Mel dropped two meaty packets of paper in his arms. Bruce stammered at the weight of them.
“What are,”
“Those are your lines,” Mel said before he could finish, “The thin packet is the Queen Mab solo, and the larger one is for Juliet. The Juliet lines are pretty close to the Shakespeare original, and the Mab song is an addition Marlowe added. You’ll need to learn them both.”
“But I don’t…”
“Just learn them both,” Mel said in exasperation, “with the way things are going you may well be our Juliet on opening night. Speaking of, there are some standards of appearance. I’ll be taking this.”
Mel quickly reached for Bruce’s scrunchie and smoothly pulled it back, releasing waves of blue hair across Bruce’s eyes. He groaned.
“Look, but,”
“Ponytails were not in fashion during the 1940’s,” Mel informed him, “Additionally they cause strain on the scalp which could interfere with appearance on opening night. If you have any questions take them up with Puck, she deals with hair, make-up, and costumes.”
“Riiiiiiight,” Bruce said warily, “but you see, I was kind of hoping for the Juliet part, and now that I didn’t get it I was thinking,”
“She’ll learn both parts and will be prepared on opening night,” Victoria told them both, “I’ll make sure of it.”
Bruce and Victoria exchanged glances. Mel pretended not to notice and moved off to deal with a fight between three of the stagehands arguing about who had to sweep the chandelier. As Mel made her way up the aisle she passed the pink-haired girl Marlowe had been so ardently arguing with. The pink haired girl shuffled past the heap of glass and made her way to Bruce and extended her hand.
“Hey, you’re Ariel right?”
Bruce nodded and desperately looked around for a place to abandon the scripts; Victoria quietly took them off him, freeing his hands. When Bruce eventually grabbed the girl’s hand he finally got a better look at her. She was petite with wild eyes, a slim frame, and a mischievous grin.
“Hey, yeah,” Bruce eventually said, “that’s me.”
“Hey Ariel, I’m Puck,” she said with a smile, “just wanted to say that I’m the costume director, I’m glad to have you on board, and I’m sorry you got shafted for the Juliet position.”
“Oh, Thanks. Yeah. Ramsey said kind of the same.”
“Yeah, I bet he did,” she said with a look, “just, uh, be careful ‘round him. And around Missy. She may have Marlowe wrapped around her pinky but she probably doesn’t like being upstaged.”
Victoria inserted herself between them and with some sort of wizardry of English etiquette, managed to transition the handshake away from Bruce and between Puck and herself.
“A pleasure to meet you, Puck.”
“Uh, same here,” the girl said.
“Yes. I couldn’t help but notice you were arguing with Marlowe just before the chandelier crashed. It was all so exciting that I almost forgot, but what was that about?”
“What? You mean the Phantom?”
“Phantom?” Victoria repeated with incredulity, “You really think there’s a Phantom.”
Victoria knew that this was the question Puck had been waiting for.
“Well of course there’s a Phantom!” she said excitedly. She took a double look over her shoulder to see if Marlowe was within earshot. He wasn’t.
“It’s the only way to explain all the incidents around here. Haven’t your read the Landon Reporter?”
“Yes I have” Victoria said, “It’s a scandalous rag.”
“It is not!” Puck stated seriously, “It’s all been true: the falling light, the switched dagger, the creepy notes, and now this. I mean come on, a weakened ‘restraining bolt’? A falling chandelier has ‘Phantom’ written all over it. It couldn’t be any more clear if they were quoting from Andrew Lloyd Webber directly.”
“I believe that story ended with the Phantom being nothing more than a mere mortal,” Victoria said.
“Yeah well, this is Landon,” Puck said, “the simple explanation is never the answer. Magic and evil and phantoms are always the answer… Look perhaps we shouldn’t talk about this. Marlowe doesn’t really care for it.
“Perhaps not. Well, I think someone said you were the Costume Director?”
Puck nodded proudly.
“Costume, hair, makeup, set design. They are all among my many savant like skills…Oh, speaking of, Ariel, you’re going to be Queen Mab; that means I’m going to have to give you a fitting. When are you free between classes?”
Bruce wasn’t sure how to respond. ‘Ariel’ didn’t really have any classes to attend, which was perhaps the only current advantage to being ‘Ariel’ that he could imagine at the moment. He stammered in search of an answer.
“Oh, well, I’m uh, not really sure what my class schedule is.”
“Yes you are,” Victoria reminded her, “Don’t you remember, you’re just taking over your cousin’s schedule while you’re here.”
“My cousin’s schedule?”
“Yes, Bruce’s class schedule,” she said, “It’s all part of the exchange program.”
“Oh, yeah Bruce,” Puck said, “I think I have Geometry with that guy. Merman? Blue hair like yours, tall swimmer’s body, hot but kind of, well, dumb?”
“Oh yeah,” he said burying his irritation, “Yep, that’s him all right.”
“Cool. I’ll see you after Geometry tomorrow then.”
With that she flittered away. Bruce tightened his fists and slowly turned to Victoria.
“Why did you do that?”
“Your current condition is no excuse to skip classes,” she said seriously, “besides, I was laying a cover story.”
“But I didn’t even get the part,” Bruce growled, “You said the entire point was that I would be bait, and since I’m only the bait understudy, I don’t see why—”
“Ariel, my dear, don’t be naïve. This problem is far more complex than before, and now you are in a unique position to collect information. I mean, you didn’t think it odd that this girl, Puck, never mentioned that you just stole her only roll as Queen Mab? That she wasn’t bitter about that? Or that the Chandelier crashed just as Marlowe was yelling? Or that Ramsey, your Romeo, openly stated that he hates Missy and would rather see you in that roll? Rather odd considering that she was almost crushed a moment ago…”
Bruce shook his head.
“…He’s not the Phantom, he was just flirting.”
“Perhaps; perhaps not. Those issues are not mutually exclusive. But until we can find out who this Phantom is you’ll have to get used to your condition in order to pump information out of people. Starting with Ramsey.”
“Right, but Phantom or no, he’s still trying to,”
“I know what he’s trying to do,” Victoria stated, “I also know that that puts you in a unique position to interrogate him. Female members of Honor Roll have been forced into these positions for years, and while I appreciate your situation, Clay and I will be busy on other aspects of the plan tonight, so this is up to you.”
Clay had been silent for some time, but decided to speak up to give Bruce a little more incentive.
“Also, if you do it, I promise to refrain from making any more jokes related to Disney intellectual property.”
Bruce weighed the offer.
“Fine. I’ll go and interrogate him. But I’m not kissing him.”
“You may have to instigate some contact,” Victoria bargained, “He may have vital information, and if the Phantom strikes again it could have deadly consequences. Any lady of Honor Roll would do the same in your situation.”
“Hand holding only,” Bruce insisted, “no kissing, and if he tries anything fresh I get to punch him.”
“Of course,” Victoria replied, “that would be the only lady-like response I could imagine.”
|
|
|
|
Post by deo on May 28, 2017 16:38:41 GMT
Hey so I have a bit more of this written, but its still not finished, and I think I'm going to have to break off from it to focus on some other things I have going on in my life. I hate leaving another fix unfinished but I don't get the sense that anyone is reading it either. For the foreseeable future I'm putting this on hold indefinitely.
|
|
|
|
Post by Nihlium on Jun 1, 2017 20:12:04 GMT
Been really enjoying this. Take a break a break man. I just graduated prison...I mean slavery so now I'll have time to actually write in your stead.
|
|
