![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Midnight Update
Sep. 1st, 2012 12:00 amThe clock begins to count in midnight, and within the ballroom the faint sound of music ceases. A roar of applause can be heard, an unseen crowd enthusiastically giving thanks to the musicians who had been playing. It fills the room, still seemingly empty, and All Guests feel drawn to it. They gather, stand and join in the appreciation of the invisible players.
From within The Theatre, however, new music begins.
The Little Girl vanishes from the Parlour, taking with her the Hellhounds and the Art Enthusiast.
The Burning Man stays within his fireplace, although he seems more confident now that he is alone -- more willing to strike out at Any source of heat or open flame.
The applause dies down slowly and the invisible crowd begins to murmur to each other, moves through to the theatre and carries the guests with it. The stage is lit up, ready for the start of a performance -- and guests find themselves taking seats to watch if they like it or not. In fact, the seats are quite insistent -- seeming to meld themselves around each of their victims, black vines of thick, rope-like creeper growing out and tying them in place. Once the performance starts there is no leaving, and there will be no intermission.
The Drowned Woman appears to have vacated her spot temporarily, for she stands central -- the stage behind her draped with fabric in varying shades of blue. She seems confused, more so than usual. She is out of place, and she is being watched. Watched by many, many people. Her rotting arms reach out towards the audience, grabbing at thin air helplessly.
Beside her stands The Art Enthusiast, fingers still broken but slightly more himself than he was in the parlour. At his feet is a Lantern, flame safely caged tonight. He looks momentarily nervous, eyeing the crowd before he glances up at something they cannot see and centres himself -- takes a deep breath and looks sideways at his companion. He veils himself in confidence, and begins to speak.
There once was a woman who was in love with the ocean, in all its splendid freedom. Its endless tides called to her and she went, touched every inch of it and learned its passions. She knew it better than any other mistress ever could, for she was the best in the land at her art -- to redraw her love so that others may know it. To share its splendour. People would come to her from far and wide, and she to them, so that she could share her tales and her love. She and the sea had their differences but she would not begrudge it this, would still come back year after year.
Don wets his lips, glances down at the stage for a moment while he prepares himself to continue.
But, like many love stories, it could not last always in happiness.
From behind them both the blue pieces of fabric begin to be unceremoniously ripped down, dragged away off stage to reveal the bare wall behind. Slowly, The Torso crawls onto the stage -- dragging with it one of the pieces of blue fabric. It pulls it across the front of the stage in a thin line, seeming to look towards Don for a moment -- although such a thing should be impossible -- while he watches the progress.
She was invited to play a game. A game where if she won, she could be-- happy forever. If she lost, she would know nothing but unending misery. She went, and for a while she was happy. Her new love was not perfect, but it was new -- it was different, exciting, and she learned it. Saw that there was brightness in it too. She learned how to please it, how to avoid its wrath and how to wait out the worst of it when she must. She learned to hold her tongue when corrected, how to take what little moments of happiness she could -- how to sing to the darkness and dance through the long nights.
But her love was fickle. Their relationship grew stale and she pleased it no more. Her songs caught in her throat, and rhythm faltered in her waltzes. She had forgotten she was playing a game and fallen behind, was so bewitched by her love that she had lost track of time.
Her love tempted her, encouraged her to give in and throw the game-- her chance at happiness. End her lonely nights where it would not talk to her, would not let her make her art. It would not let her be happy. She was so far from winning now, and her fairy tale ending too far to make it on tired feet.
It whispered to her to lose, to forfeit, it gave her an opening and --
Don falters, wets his lips again and frowns. His voice is growing hoarser, and he seems distressed -- almost nauseous although controlling it.
It does not play fair.
One of the lights illuminating the stage extinguishes itself, sending half of it into darkness.
The woman on the stage turns to Don -- and for a second her eyes seem intelligent, understanding. In a brief instant she seems to smile sadly, and he returns it with a grimace, regret written on his face. A curtain depicting a wide, blue, twilight sky is dragged across the back of the stage while the two stare at each other -- then Don turns his stare out on the audience. He seems calmer, although his voice is strained and he seems to be forcing himself to project more.
She lost. This is what happens if--
The other light is forcibly extinguished, and the stage descends into chaos. In the darkness, the chairs release their captors -- but something else has also been released. The faint sound of something swishing can be heard, the patter of hundreds of tiny paws. The Rats have descended on the theatre, crawling over all its occupants -- biting any guests who try to stop them. The shadow of one is thrown on to the back of the stage as it stands beside the lantern on hind legs, looks about before it seems to turn and push it. The lantern tips, flames flickering out and catching the line of blue fabric -- a wall of flame rushing across the the front of the stage. The rats set to work ripping apart the set.
The Art Enthusiast, Don, disappears from the stage along with The Drowned Woman. She re-appears at her post in the bathroom as glassy eyed as ever, and he re-appears within The Gallery -- eyes fixed upon the paintings on the far wall. He has been returned to his worsened state, neck hanging broken and unresponsive.
In All Kitchens the rotting food appears to have vanished. Now, there is simply nothing at all.
From within The Theatre, however, new music begins.
The Little Girl vanishes from the Parlour, taking with her the Hellhounds and the Art Enthusiast.
The Burning Man stays within his fireplace, although he seems more confident now that he is alone -- more willing to strike out at Any source of heat or open flame.
The applause dies down slowly and the invisible crowd begins to murmur to each other, moves through to the theatre and carries the guests with it. The stage is lit up, ready for the start of a performance -- and guests find themselves taking seats to watch if they like it or not. In fact, the seats are quite insistent -- seeming to meld themselves around each of their victims, black vines of thick, rope-like creeper growing out and tying them in place. Once the performance starts there is no leaving, and there will be no intermission.
The Drowned Woman appears to have vacated her spot temporarily, for she stands central -- the stage behind her draped with fabric in varying shades of blue. She seems confused, more so than usual. She is out of place, and she is being watched. Watched by many, many people. Her rotting arms reach out towards the audience, grabbing at thin air helplessly.
Beside her stands The Art Enthusiast, fingers still broken but slightly more himself than he was in the parlour. At his feet is a Lantern, flame safely caged tonight. He looks momentarily nervous, eyeing the crowd before he glances up at something they cannot see and centres himself -- takes a deep breath and looks sideways at his companion. He veils himself in confidence, and begins to speak.
There once was a woman who was in love with the ocean, in all its splendid freedom. Its endless tides called to her and she went, touched every inch of it and learned its passions. She knew it better than any other mistress ever could, for she was the best in the land at her art -- to redraw her love so that others may know it. To share its splendour. People would come to her from far and wide, and she to them, so that she could share her tales and her love. She and the sea had their differences but she would not begrudge it this, would still come back year after year.
Don wets his lips, glances down at the stage for a moment while he prepares himself to continue.
But, like many love stories, it could not last always in happiness.
From behind them both the blue pieces of fabric begin to be unceremoniously ripped down, dragged away off stage to reveal the bare wall behind. Slowly, The Torso crawls onto the stage -- dragging with it one of the pieces of blue fabric. It pulls it across the front of the stage in a thin line, seeming to look towards Don for a moment -- although such a thing should be impossible -- while he watches the progress.
She was invited to play a game. A game where if she won, she could be-- happy forever. If she lost, she would know nothing but unending misery. She went, and for a while she was happy. Her new love was not perfect, but it was new -- it was different, exciting, and she learned it. Saw that there was brightness in it too. She learned how to please it, how to avoid its wrath and how to wait out the worst of it when she must. She learned to hold her tongue when corrected, how to take what little moments of happiness she could -- how to sing to the darkness and dance through the long nights.
But her love was fickle. Their relationship grew stale and she pleased it no more. Her songs caught in her throat, and rhythm faltered in her waltzes. She had forgotten she was playing a game and fallen behind, was so bewitched by her love that she had lost track of time.
Her love tempted her, encouraged her to give in and throw the game-- her chance at happiness. End her lonely nights where it would not talk to her, would not let her make her art. It would not let her be happy. She was so far from winning now, and her fairy tale ending too far to make it on tired feet.
It whispered to her to lose, to forfeit, it gave her an opening and --
Don falters, wets his lips again and frowns. His voice is growing hoarser, and he seems distressed -- almost nauseous although controlling it.
It does not play fair.
One of the lights illuminating the stage extinguishes itself, sending half of it into darkness.
The woman on the stage turns to Don -- and for a second her eyes seem intelligent, understanding. In a brief instant she seems to smile sadly, and he returns it with a grimace, regret written on his face. A curtain depicting a wide, blue, twilight sky is dragged across the back of the stage while the two stare at each other -- then Don turns his stare out on the audience. He seems calmer, although his voice is strained and he seems to be forcing himself to project more.
She lost. This is what happens if--
The other light is forcibly extinguished, and the stage descends into chaos. In the darkness, the chairs release their captors -- but something else has also been released. The faint sound of something swishing can be heard, the patter of hundreds of tiny paws. The Rats have descended on the theatre, crawling over all its occupants -- biting any guests who try to stop them. The shadow of one is thrown on to the back of the stage as it stands beside the lantern on hind legs, looks about before it seems to turn and push it. The lantern tips, flames flickering out and catching the line of blue fabric -- a wall of flame rushing across the the front of the stage. The rats set to work ripping apart the set.
The Art Enthusiast, Don, disappears from the stage along with The Drowned Woman. She re-appears at her post in the bathroom as glassy eyed as ever, and he re-appears within The Gallery -- eyes fixed upon the paintings on the far wall. He has been returned to his worsened state, neck hanging broken and unresponsive.
In All Kitchens the rotting food appears to have vanished. Now, there is simply nothing at all.
