Closed [The Crooked Playhouse] A Curtain Call's Refusal

[Allister]

FALL 20, 517AV

Allister was nervous as he passed through the daunting tunnel for the first time. The shadows felt warm and the pale man clung to the damp wall of stone. His bones rattled as the nerves shook him but he managed to remain upright. Black eyes peered cautiously past the archway which opened into the giant amphitheater. A performer in the dirty backrooms of Kenashian storehouses was hardly of the caliber to keep pace with such a massive structure. The Kelvic must have hid just a few steps away from the open lawn for over ten chimes before finally inching his way into the Crooked Playhouse. From somewhere deep inside, he felt that pull- a tug of strength that jarred him in the right direction.

Madeira was with him. She was always there but Allister was learning that her presence was most noticeable when she filled in his shortcomings. Her strength and bravery often drove him to overcome his own fears. Silently, he wondered when she felt him most. Was it when he was afraid? Confused? Gods knew that those two things happened quite often. Regardless of the trade off, the hyena was beyond grateful for his bond mate. One loosely tied boot followed the other as Allister hunched and slunk his way into the wide open space and instantly felt much smaller than his six foot frame eluded.

There was a huge buzz of activity that seemed to shift from one cloud of people to another. Small groups huddled around one person or another as lines were repeated, makeup was dabbed and outfits were modeled and swapped. It was as if each crowd was its own city; independent and isolated from the rest. Through all of it, the ghastly fellow with hollow cheeks couldn’t help but let his metal grin show as he admired the insane architecture. Nothing made sense around him as walls and benches seemed to appear and disappear in lines that made the young Kelvic think that they were designed to look like optical illusions. The smile was replaced by a slack-jawed expression of wonder as the sight of a perfectly designed stage filled his black gaze.

Nerves were replaced with excitement and anticipation while almost automated steps brought him closer to the platform. Suddenly, a small woman with round cheeks and angular glasses erupted from the musicians’ pit and cut him off with her boisterous garb, explosive voice and ceaseless movements.

“Well, bless my bottom! Look. At. You.” She was touching Allister and pulling at the hem of his jacket cuffs and yet somehow getting her fat fingers to alight upon his striped hair and tattooed skin. “You’re PERFECT!” She slammed a stack of papers into his chest before he could speak and knocked the wind from his lungs. The heavy hand was directing him off to stage left while jabbering about his part and how he’ll blow people away without going through the budget for makeup. “Cocochin! Cocochin!!”

A small man with big, yellow eyes and an open-top pack overflowing with costumes and scrolls hustled up with a bright grin that was shy a few teeth. “Yes, madame?”

Allister watched the interaction from a perspective similar to a fly on the wall. The two strangers went back and forth in a language that was scarcely Common because of the amount of professional slang and the rapidfire delivery. In a flash, it was over and Allister was being whisked away by this Cocochin person who was humming a haunting melody that, apparently, was the main tune of Allister’s solo. The black eyes began to shift through the papers and everything became a blur. Once the duo reached a corner behind the stage’s main platform, the assistant seemed to reach an understanding of his new project. Quietly and with slow phrasing, Cocochin explained what was going on as well as the basic premise of the show. He was blown away that Allister had never heard the story of the Valterrian and the betrayal of Aquiras. The hyena had been type cast for the part of the mad magician, Sagallius.

The small human was actually a half-Isur who was over a hundred years old. The black eyes went wide as the Kelvic absorbed all that was being laid upon his boney shoulders. The information was not even given a chance to sink in, however, as Cocochin stood up and held a copy of the music that Allister was supposed to sing. “Let’s begin!” He hummed the melody once, twice and then sighed. “Sing, Pasty McBoneychest.” Cocochin began to hum the tune once more while holding out the words for Allister. The hyena began to beat a descending beat upon his thighs to compliment the humming. The half-Isur smirked but didn’t stop his musical prompting and encouraged the additional rhythm with a nod from his thick head. When Allister did begin to sing, he was quiet. The shallow tone held a gravely tone that felt more like the rasp of dry leaves. The words melted into the hummed melody but rose above the pounding of his fists as they beat against his thin legs.

“Trust me.
There’s no need to fear.
Everyone’s here
Waiting for you to finally be one of us.

Come down.
You may be full of fear.
You’ll be safe here.
When you finally trust me
Finally believe in me…”

Cocochin beamed. He clapped and hugged Allister. The Kelvic shrnk back but could not hided from the embrace. “Oh-h-h-h, your voice frightens me! Well done, uhh… what’s your name?”

“Allister. Allister Useless.”

Thanks to Asterope for the Images

[Asterope]

The previous night, at Ionu's Mercy

Aster had just finished with her last patient for the day and was tidying the room, ready to leave for the night, when Irene suddenly came bustling in. Aster glanced up in surprise, watching as the head healer of the Mercy escorted a rather flamboyantly dressed middle-aged man into the room.

"Oh, Aster. I didn't realize you were in here. You can leave, if you were going to."

Aster glanced to the man, who had taken a seat on the edge of the bed and was grimacing in pain, a gold tooth flashing in his mouth with the expression, and gave a slight shake of her head. "That's alright, I'll stay and help."

The man, it turned out, was a manager at the Crooked Playhouse, and had been injured when one of the sandbags used to anchor a prop had fallen on him.

"I'm lucky to be alive," he half-sobbed, as Aster held his hand (per his request) while Irene reset his shoulder. He squeezed Asterope's hand tightly when Irene pushed the bone back into its socket, crying out. Aster was sure she could feel the bones in her fingers grinding together.

"It hit my shoulder, had I been a few inches to the right, it would have landed on my head, and I'd be dead!" He wailed. "As it is I took a nasty bump when I fell."

That caught Aster's attention, who had been mostly bemusedly half-listening to the man's dramatics and watching Irene work. "You say you hit your head?"

The man nodded tearfully, and Irene made a soft 'tsk' sound as she straightened up. "If that's the case, you should stay at least twelve hours to make sure there wasn't any serious damage to the head or brain."

The man's mood took a sharp turn immediately. "Oh, no, no, no! That won't do! I have work to do, you know, there's a show to run! It can't stop simply because I was hurt, there's a very important rehearsal tomorrow, and what will they do without me?!"

Irene sighed, rubbing the spot between her brows, "Very well."

Which is how Aster found herself accompanying the stage manager the next morning to the Crooked Playhouse.

20th/Autumn/517

Aster followed the man through the streets of Alvadas; she had mixed feelings about her...assignment. On one hand, she would be exploring more of the city, and with someone who knew it, which intrigued her. On the other hand, she knew she could be doing much more useful things at the Mercy. Either way, she had no choice in the matter.

"Here we are, dear."

Aster glanced up, blinking at the impressive figure the entrance to the Playhouse cut. It was a wonder she hadn't seen it yet, really. Then again, ever since she got a job at the Mercy, she'd mostly been focused on that; she could get rather singular-minded about things, in that way. She followed the manager through the large stone archway, their footsteps echoing down the tunnel until they finally emerged into the amphitheater.

The interior of the Playhouse made Aster's head ache somewhat; the architecture seemed to make no sense. Sharp edges protruded from where there should be curves, and where there should be neat, straight angles there were instead those missing curves. The longer and more intensely she looked, the more wrong the interior seemed, so after a moment Aster simply gave up on trying to piece it all together. Streamers blew above them, dancing in a breeze that only they could feel.

The manager was already bustling over to a group of equally flamboyant-looking people, talking hurriedly before he even reached them. Aster ignored the few odd looks she got, clearly out of place, and trailed after the man.

He was in a heated discussion with a woman, gesturing wildly as he spoke. "You can't make those kinds of decisions without consulting me!" With his chest puffed out, Aster felt that he was trying to seem intimidating, but the fact that he was whining like a child who had been denied their favourite dessert took away from the effect.

He huffed, turning away, muttering under his breath about casting decisions. "Better be good," he grumbled, as he set off for backstage. Aster made to follow, and he stopped her by holding up a hand. "Oh no, love, you can't come backstage if you aren't part of the production."

Caught off guard by the way he pushed his hand at her, Aster stopped abruptly, then hesitated before gingerly pushing his wrist down until he dropped his arm. "I'm supposed to be monitoring you."

"Yes I know, but it simply isn't allowed except in very special circumstances." Aster stared at him for a moment; she could see now why Irene had so easily and quickly given in to the man's demands.

"I understand, but I really believe it would be best if I could keep an eye on you. You did say you hit your head fairly hard," Aster reminded the man, patiently.

"Well! It wasn't that hard, and I feel fine. Besides, there are plenty of people around. If I don't feel well, I'll simply have one of them come fetch you. Go on, have a seat, dear." He motioned behind her, then twirled around and disappeared into the throngs of people.

Her patience went from thin to non-existent in a mere moment, and frustration seized Aster; she wasn't even going to be keeping an eye on the man, she was going to be sitting, doing literally nothing. She narrowed her eyes at the spot where the man had stood. The people around her seemed to sense the divine being's irritation, and gave her a slightly larger berth than before as they skirted around her.

Turning on her heel, she moved to the back of the amphitheater, where the rows of benches began, and sat with a thump; the movement had as little grace as she could muster, as if to announce to anyone who was watching that she was quite unpleased. The hard, loose movement seemed out of place on the Eth's body.

Asterope knew she was perhaps being slightly childish, not unlike the manager had been mere moments ago, but she felt more justified in her actions; she hated being useless. There weren't many people in the theater as of yet, seeing as the actual rehearsal wasn't for another few bells at the very least, and most of the cast were simply setting up. A few people sat scattered near the top rows of seats, likely theater fanatics, and a pale woman sat several seats down on the lowest level, the same as Aster.

Barely a few chimes had passed, Aster sitting rather sulkily, when suddenly there was the sound of a muffled commotion and a cry rang out, following by a crash, both sounds echoing out from behind the stage. Aster was on her feet in a moment, sulkiness forgotten. With long, quick steps she bounded down to the stage. People were milling about in confusion, but Aster's strides had enough purpose that despite being out of place, people moved out of her way, not stopping her. She was surprised by that for a moment; though, if she bothered to think about it, she supposed in any kind of emergency people would defer to anyone who seemed to know what they were doing.

She ducked through a door leading backstage, looking for the source of the commotion, hoping nobody had been too seriously hurt;I should have brought some basic supplies at least, she cursed at her own failure to think ahead. She was here on business for the Mercy, and though it was nothing urgent, she should have at least had a first aid kit on her.

"Common" | "Nari" | "Pavi" | Thoughts
"Other People's Speech"

[Madeira Dusk]

The Crooked Playhouse was a temple. Every Avalad would agree. This was where devotions and praise for Ionu were projected from a stage in the form of art and madness. This was where many Avalad's came to pray. And a year ago Madeira would have been one of them. But things had changed.

The heavy tap of her cane on every alternate step, and the soft drag of her dead leg, stalked her down the unlit entrance tunnel. The last time she was here, almost three seasons ago, she had exorcised the ghost of a murderer. She thought she had dragged the memories of that night down to the deepest pits of her mind to drown. But now, with the night fevers and insomnia born from the plague, things were creeping back. The screaming of dying doves, the press of poisonous fangs on top of her dry lips, and the hot wash of blood over her hands. These things crawled up from the depths and nestled in the hollow spaces of her sleepless mind, they kept her awake and screaming as she relived stabbing her possessed friend.

Even as early as last season she would have laughed to be told she would ever come back willingly. Especially as she was now; with insomnia sketched under her eyes and hiding a paralyzed limb under her long skirt. But now, as she reached the bottom of the long tunnel and the light of the amphitheatre opened before her, she felt a low, purring hope.

Allister was already on stage, being poked around by a colourful cast of characters. The bafflement, excitement and nerves that came sparkling through his bond were innocent and clean. It washed away her darker thoughts and made the grand, cavernous space fresh and new again. He was the perfect antidote to her narrow, driven mind. He slotted neatly into everything she lacked, and brought out things in her she didn’t know she had. Living in his mind, she could leave the past behind and exist in his present.

She had hoped to come and see the Kelvic audition. She had been unsubtly pressuring the ex-slave to get a job for weeks now. But it seemed she missed her chance. A bundle of papers had been pushed into his chest and a duo of theatre workers circled him like clucking chickens. They seemed pleased, though her poor bonded still looked like a nervous wreck.

Not wanting to disturb him, she made her way around the front of the stage to get a seat. She was aware she gathered attention in the colourful chaos of the theatre, in the same was a spot of black ink drew the eye in a colourful ceiling fresco. With her long, high-collared and washed out dress and her hair neatly pinned behind her head, she was fascinatingly mundane. She leaned heavily on her cane, and dragged her useless left leg as she made her slow way to the nearest seat. Every line of her body spoke of exhaustion, but she held it straight and high and with every piece of dignity that could be salvaged from her disease wracked body. She was still a Craven. Such things were not only expected, but demanded of her.

She lowered herself into a seat just as Allister began to sing. His voice was scratchy and unrefined, and so soft she could barely hear it. He was tucked away far left of the stage, sandwiched between two theatre workers. Madeira was squinting in concentration, leaning forward in her seat to better hear. But even focused and welling with a fierce sort of pride, she did not miss the beautiful creature who collapsed into the seat a few paces down. She had met an Eth before, yet she still couldn't help but stare like it was the first time. The woman radiated a hot, angry frustration, yet it did nothing to dampen that otherworldly beauty that shimmered over her like a haze.

When Allister finished his song, Madeira wasn't the only person to applaud. The short little man that was pecking around the Kelvic moments ago was slapping his hands together like he was hopping to propel himself into space.

To her own surprise, when the man wrapped his arms around the boney Kelvic in an enthusiastic hug, something possessive in Madeira raised its ugly head and snarled. Embarrassed and slightly alarmed, she buried the feeling under her delight. She did not own him. The whole point of his new life with her was that he was free. Right?

Madeira didn't shout her praise, but simply clapped demurely and smiled for her bondmate. Through their bond she brushed her pride and satisfaction, and dusted away whatever anxieties reached her. Well done, she longed to say.

At that moment a crash was heard, and every head swivelled to the back of the stage. Like lightning the Eth beside her was on her feet to investigate. Not one to be passive in such a situation, Madeira climbed laboriously to her feet and followed.

Through a backstage door was a world of props and paint, fake swords and dusty ladders. All of it horrifyingly familiar. Madeira pushed past a wall of concerned bystanders, leading with her cane and smacking the shins of people in her way, until she broke through the centre.

The Eth from before was crouched in front of a terrified woman in a fancy silk dress. The woman was moaning into the hands clapped hard over her mouth, and her striking blue eyes were crossed as she stared down her nose in horror. She had fallen into a rack of fake swords, which had collapsed around her to reflect her own terrified face back at her from a dozen different directions.

Through either force or cajoling, the Eth managed to get the woman's hands away from her mouth. Immediately a gasp went up from the crowed, and a buzz of gossip sprang up like a tapped well.

"Oh my gods, she's glued her mouth shut!"

"What? Why was she eating glue? Has she gone mad?"

"It must have been the pressure. She had an important role in the play!

"First the mechanical failures, then the manager’s accident, and now this? It feels like this play is cursed!"

Everyone was looking at the woman, eyes alight with confusion, sympathy and greed. With the exception of the limping woman in the long dress, who's eyes roamed the ceiling. Her tongue ran over her teeth, and her nostrils flared. A familiar kind of presence was fading from the room like an aftertaste.

The Crooked Playhouse was haunted.

Again.

The Crooked Playhouse was haunted and she was half paralyzed and hadn't slept in several days. A rising, trembling panic burned in the back of her throat, but she forced it down. At her feet she saw a pile of bloody feathers, and she blinked hard until that disappeared too.

Petch.

She couldn't do this. Not as she was. She silently called Allister to her, demanding his presence. Then, with as much grace as she could muster, she attempted to kneel beside the Eth, brushing the fake swords aside.

"Are you a healer?" she asked, already knowing the answer. Only a healer would put themselves at the centre of a crisis. "She was possessed by a ghost. She’s probably in shock. Do you think she should go to the Mercy?"

[Allister]

Allister was ready to shift into his canine form and flee for his pitiful life. The little man was overbearing and made the Kelvic wholly uncomfortable in his own skin. Yet behind the loud pops of his grimy and chubby hands was another sound. It was like listening to rain fall upon the cobbled stones while the crushing sound of boots cracking his ribs filled the air –one had to let go of the present and let the world come to him. It was this soft sound that drew his beady black eyes into the amphitheater. Like a wilting rose among a garden of marigolds, she was there. Other things around her were brighter but they just looked tacky. The class born of a perfected lifeform was simply too much for the regular folks that filled the Crooked Playhouse to measure against.

In the bond, her pride and satisfaction filled him like a home-cooked meal; Madeira. She was food for the hyena’s soul. He clawed at the walls when she was gone and cursed the gods for taking the use of her leg. He didn’t know the gods, any of them, but he was sure they hurt her out of jealousy for the way that she radiated greatness. The smile she wore was for him and it was more than he could hold inside. His pale skin split across his face in a wide grin that revealed his metal teeth. His eyes had a weird way of reacting in the midst of a smile. It was like they widened and even seemed to bulge a bit. This frightened the man in front of him but the chubby piece of wrapping paper just grabbed his chest and chuckled.

“Oh, lad. You’re more perfect for this part than you realize.” He turned the page and then frowned. “We’re missing a sheet. Wait right here.” With that, he toddled off to go holler at some other workers. This gave the Kelvic a chance to find a prop made to look like a boat anchor. Its curled end looked perfect for the task Allister had in mind. Twisting at his waist and stretching his arms in an odd way, he used the anchor to scratch his back just under the shoulder blades. The look of bliss on his face was unrivaled in the history of satisfaction. Mouth agape and eyes shut in the most relaxed way, one might mistake the ghastly fellow for enjoying the act a bit too much. Sadly, this was all interrupted by some huge commotion on the other side of the stage. Black eyes looked that way but the hyena continued to dig at his body with the painted wood against his leather coat.

The anchor clattered against the stage floor. A tug at the invisible band that connected Allister’s being to the small blonde awakened his animal instincts. There was no hesitation as the long body shifted around the curtain. His legs pumped up and down while his core tightened to drive more power into the loosely laced boots. The thin arms churned at his sides which caused the long jacket to swish and sway against the tattooed back. From a distance, it was likely a sight to see. Allister was shocking in his appearance with bleached skin and black striped hair all offset by a horrid smattering of tattoos. His clothes were too big for him including the jacket of leather made from some kind of crocodile or granadile then dyed an off-purple. This trotting travesty didn’t take long to cross the stage and disappear behind the curtain once more. The black eyes quickly found the blonde hair pulled tight into a neat and orderly bun. The seemingly out-of-date style gave way to a thin neck that was elegant like the stem of a delicate vase. Porcelain skin tucked into a high-collared dress which would blend into any shadow but here, amidst the throng of colorful rags and personalities, stuck out like a dove among an unkindness of ravens.

Allister practiced the art of silent steps as he moved closer to her. He felt her vulnerability and longed to put his arms around her; to tell her that she had nothing to fear. Even though the Kelvic knew he was not a skilled man, he would offer his life for hers and that was something he could never convey in words. Recently, he had discovered that the bond allowed him to share that feeling-the way it intoxicated him when she demanded his proximity in ways that filed him with joy. Allister Useless longed to be useful and so he stepped from heel to toe. Eyes down and back crumpled in a slouch, the hyena pretended like he was in animal form and padded with minimal shifts in his weight towards his bond mate. The boots scuffed slightly if he didn’t lift his knees so the next set of steps almost made it seem like he was creeping in plain sight. If any saw they might have laughed but the more he did this silly dance, the quieter his steps became and that made the man happy.

After a long stretch of questions and speculation, Allister felt a shudder run through Madeira. He caught her with his long, bony fingers on his shoulder in a brief but firm dual squeeze. He let his hands fall back to his sides and stood directly behind the spiritist in wait of her direction. When his hands dropped, the inside of his jacket scratched him. With a furrowed brow, Allister bent his chin to his chest then lifted his left hand up to inspect the garment further. The scratch was caused by what appeared to be some kind of metal tip. Fingers traced the line and found it to be sharp but then the black eyes went wide and his metal grill exposed itself in an expression of surprise and wonder. “Well, look at that.” He whispered to himself. His sleeve held a razor blade within a specially made fold of the fabric. His mind worked quickly on this and he checked the other sleeve to see if it, too, held a tiny weapon. Sure enough, there was a second blade. Allister missed anything else that happened around him at this point as his scavenged jacket had become a treasure trove.

WC1058

Thanks to Asterope for the Images

[Asterope]

Aster burst into the backstage area, her eyes scanning around and finally falling on a woman sitting on the ground, surrounded by fake swords; they must have caused the crash she heard. Aster made her way to the woman and crouched in front of her; she had her hands clasped tightly over her mouth, and was breathing hard through her nose. Her frame trembled visibly.

"Hello. Are you okay?" Aster asked, gently. She kept her voice low and calm, as if trying to soothe a frightened animal. The woman only gave a small moan, muffled through her hands. "I'm not going to hurt you."

Aster reached her hands up slowly and carefully. The woman flinched back. "I'm here to help. I'm an herbalist, I work at the Mercy. I can help, but you have to let me. Show me what's wrong." She didn't have any visible signs of injury; Aster couldn't for the life of her imagine what was wrong. She steadfastly ignore the gathering audience and the whispers, focusing only on the young woman in front of her.

Aster cautiously wrapped a hand around one of the woman's wrists and gave a soft tug. The woman tensed up, keeping her hands firmly in place. "Let me help you, please." After a pause, Aster gave another small tug, and this time the woman let her hands go slack and fall away from her mouth. Shocked gasps rang out around her, and Aster could only stare, her mouth falling open slightly.

The woman's mouth had been glued shut, thick blobs of the substance drying on her lips and even on her chin. How would one even go about fixing that? Trying to pry open her jaw risked damaging the skin and maybe even her jaw. Perhaps soaking in hot water? But would it be possible to melt the glue without burning the poor woman's face?

A presence kneeling beside her drew her from her thoughts, and Aster looked up to find a sickly looking blonde woman kneeling clumsily beside her. "Yes, I'm a healer. I - what?" She couldn't have possibly heard that right. Possessed by a ghost? Then again, she knew firsthand simply from her own existence what sort of things were possible, especially given their location.

"The Mercy? Yes, absolutely." She stood in one fluid motion, helping the poor girl up; she managed to stand on shaky legs, one of her hands having returned to cover her mouth. She then offered her hand to the mysterious blonde stranger; if she took it, she would help her to her feet. A man had seemingly appeared from thin air, standing protectively behind her, almost hovering over her; it was clear from his stance that he knew the woman, but Aster didn't know what he had to do with anything. He was twitchy, too busy looking around for Aster to catch a good look at his face, but his body was worryingly thin. Focus, priorities.

Aster took the arm of the girl, ready to take her to the Mercy, but the stage manager had appeared as well. "You're not leaving, are you?"

"I'm taking her to the Mercy." Aster's tone was clipped; she was impatient, wanting to get the girl there as quickly as possible.

"But you're supposed to be watching me!" A whining tone crept into his voice. Aster stared incredulously; for one of the first times in her short existence, she could feel genuine anger creeping up her chest and into her throat. It wasn't a feeling that she liked. Thankfully, she was saved from it by a tall woman striding forward.

"I will take her." Her voice was gruff with an unfamiliar accent, but her tone was gentle, as was her gaze on the girl. Either she knew her and was affectionate, or she felt genuine sympathy and pity. Either way, it was enough for Aster to trust her with the girl's well-being. She was too shocked by the audacity of the stage manager and the sudden surge of anger to really protest, in any case.

The two women walked off, the taller one carefully guiding the smaller. Aster narrowed her golden eyes at the manager sharply and pointedly turned on her heel without a word. She had more important things to worry about, even if she wasn't going to be heading back to the Mercy just yet.

The blonde woman and the strange man that hovered over her were still standing there. Aster strode back over to them, her face set with determination. "You said she was possessed by a ghost," Aster kept her voice low, but spoke with urgency. "Is it going to happen again? Are other people going to get hurt?" She searched the stranger's face. "I can't let that happen, if so. Do you know how to fix it?" She would willingly do all she could to help; more than one person had already been injured during the production of the play, and if it was the ghost at fault, then it had to be stopped.

"Common" | "Nari" | "Pavi" | Thoughts
"Other People's Speech"

[Madeira Dusk]

There was something fascinating about watching a healer work. The Eth was on her feet and once and taking command of the situation. While a crisis might make the average person flounder in uncertainty, this woman was decisive and quick. She cut through the confusion like a knife but was nothing less than gentle as she did.

Allister slunk in behind Madeira and stood looming like a spotted shadow. She felt her fear shy away from his presence. His mind was a balm for her frayed nerves.

When the Ethafel offered her a hand Madeira waved it away. She got to her own feet by way of her silver headed cane and a skinny arm wrapped around Allister's narrow waist. As she did, a short little man with a face as sour as curdled milk materialized like a ghost. He seemed to feel he was justified to the Eth's time.

As they argued about what was to be done with the living girl, Madeira focused on the dead. She curled into Allister's side, and spoke softly to his collar where a dead bird made of ink lay nestled between the bones.

"I'm sorry to hijack you on your first audition, love. But something is wrong here and I need your help." she neglected to ask his permission to pull him away from his new job. Like the stage manager, it never even occurred to her that Allister's time belonged to anyone but herself. "Can you feel that? That chill? The stage is haunted, I’m sure of it."

A smear of blood and glitter, Fabel laughing his crooked laugh as he spun away, the screaming of a man lost to madness.

Madeira blinked the memories away, holding steady to the skittish, equally ill Kelvic.

The Eth was back, all sparkling indignation and determination, having handed the wounded girl off to a tall kind-hearted stranger. “You said she was possessed by a ghost", she said. It wasn't a question. She wanted to know if it would happen again, and if anyone else was going to suffer. Her gaze was steady and her voice low to make sure they did not attract unwanted attention. Though really, the three of them could not have stood out more. "I can't let that happen, if so. Do you know how to fix it?"

"It will probably happen again", Madeira confirmed. Looking over the Eth’s shoulder, she saw little man the woman had argued with was watching them closely. "And I can fix it." I hope. She had no tools on her, was half dead with exhaustion and every nerve was on fire. She had never been so unprepared for an exorcism in her life. Yet at the same time, she had never had Allister with her, who knew her best. Or a steady healer who seemed so determined to help.

"But I need your help, if I can count on it. We need to find out who is haunting this place, then we can figure out how to get rid of them. We need to be able to look around undisturbed.”

With that, she leaned around the beauty and waved to the stage manager, who had not taken his eyes off of them.

"Hello there, sir! That was such a tragedy, what just happened. I hope this wont affect the play too badly." Madeira was all cooing sympathy and pitying smiles as she motioned for him to join them. If he was so self centred as to demand the healers presence when another was so obviously in need of help, she figured he would appreciate being babied. "My name is Madeira Craven, and this is my bonded Allister
Useless, he was just hired to be in your play."

"Basil. I'm the manager here" he puffed out his chest importantly. "I won't pretend that this wasn't a set back, but I have the intrepidity to pull through. I’ve been putting on feats of art since before you were born, I know how to handle such unexpected hardships in the world of preformance. Oh, and this is Asterope, my nurse." he tacked on absently at the end of his martyred speech.

Madeira glanced up at Asterope, mentally putting a name to the beautiful face.

“Then have you had an accident too, sir?"

"Indeed. My nurse here said herself I'm lucky to be alive." he nodded solemnly, quite forgetting he made that dramatic pronouncement himself. "I was standing right there, under the lights, when the sandbag holding the moon up untied and fell on me! We've had our fair share of mysterious accidents over the years. You, boy", he suddenly turned on Allister. "You any good? I only want the best for my production."

"Oh, Allister won't let you down, sir!" Madeira cut across, her peppy voice at odds with her dour mode of dress and insomnia sketched under her eyes. "Why don't you show him what you can do, Alli? Maybe the man would appreciate a show?"

With her eyes burning into his, she willed Allister to catch on. They needed the manager to be occupied if they were going to investigate backstage.

[Allister]

The man just stood there, fascinated by everything but enamored by the tiny blonde thin in front of him. No matter where he looked or what new distraction he came across, his eyes and his mind always bent back to Madeira. When she reached up for him, his body almost shivered as he bent closer so the spiritist could pull herself upright once more. The arm around his waist and the way she folded her body against him sent Allister reeling as he tried to process the words she had spoken. Most of it was close to foreign. The hyena didn’t know what hijack meant but it sounded fun especially given the tone of rising emotion in the voice of his bonded. Then she talked of haunted stages.

Something clicked for the man. Allister put an arm around her in a loose kind of hold. The embrace was awkward and hesitant even though he would have liked nothing more than to squeeze her dainty form against his for bells. She seemed to fit in the sloped cavity that ran from his drawn in ribcage and hollow pelvis. For a split-tick, the kelvic was lost in the warmth of her feverish body touching him and the overwhelming sense of being needed that lingered in the bond. The fool might have only recently been freed from the bondage of slavery but he was smart enough to know that some things were worth the fight. Madeira was just such a person so Allister began to focus harder on the events that were unfolding before him.

Just because he tried doesn’t mean he succeeded. Allister was soon playing with the new toys he found his jacket when Madeira’s voice cut through the noise of the world around him. She was discussing something with a feisty trinket of a man who proclaimed to be the manager. The word had some meaning but not a ton and Allister was about to tune out again but was soon confronted by the angry sounding fellow. Without a prompt, the former slave coiled back into himself, his spine curling which reduced his height significantly. Was he in trouble? Had he done something to anger the man? Was he no longer to be in the production? Fear plastered itself across his face as a grimace accented by metal teeth stared back at the interrogating individual.

Like a goddess from children’s stories, the wily Craven interjected herself between Allister and this new threat. They locked eyes, the bond mates, and the hyena knew he was being asked to provide a service. He couldn’t let Madeira down- he wouldn’t! What had she said? ‘Let you down’? Won’t… The confusion flooded his feeble mind for a tick then the lights came on for the kelvic.

“A show, of course!” Allister’s voice cracked in his excitement, his volume was inappropriately loud for the sudden outburst. Basil flinched from the combination of surprise and the basic shock factor of a tall, skinny man covered in tattoos sporting metal teeth and a huge grin. The black eyes of the hyena sunk into the judgmental stare that met him on an even playing field. The back booth showman inhaled sharply and reached forth in a bold move. He took snatched the manager by the material on his shoulders and yanked him up and towards Allister’s chest until their noses were nearly touching. The strain sent a ripple along the sinewy arms that clearly announced his lack of strength. In fact, his arms quaked as he held the man aloft while his black eyes widened into a truly disturbing expression of curious humor.

In a whisper, “Would you like to be scared, mister manager?” Allister ran his tongue across the metal hardware in his mouth as he set the man down. “Or would you like to be-“ In a flourish of limbs and the big scaly jacket, Allister spun around on the balls of his fee and stopped after a nearly perfect complete turn and bent at the waist in a bow. “En.Ter.Tained!” With each syllable, Allister straightened to his full height and increased the volume each time.

Without waiting for an answer, he plucked the man by his hand and dragged him back towards the side of the stage where Allister had been handed his part. “The little round guy said I was perfect!” Halfway across the stage, Allister pulled on the arm of his boss and tossed him away from the commotion that had drawn the whole company, Madeira included, together. “Let me show you…” A shadow fell over the black eyes as the kelvic tilted his face down away from the lights. This made his entire presence change from strange to scary. It was enough that the man swallowed his indignation and decided to let this crazed actor finish his skit before he had the set crew toss the lanky man out into the streets.

Frozen for a moment, Allister recalled the words of the song he had sung earlier. He remembered hearing the beat that the little fellow had drummed. Without a thought on the matter, the hyena began to pat the rhythm on his narrow chest with one open hand and one fist. The banging of the human drum stroked a memory of something pleasing –of how music had made Madeira happy when she was very sick. Allister suddenly felt that pride she had pushed all those days ago into their bond fill his lungs and mind. Without lifting his head, he snapped his eyes open and stared straight at the manager with a glare that would chill a corpse. The kelvic’s voice rose up with a rasping quality that spread itself evenly over the notes and helped hide the imperfections of his tone.

“Trust me.
There’s no need to fear.” His words were clearly audible as he pushed the air deep into his diaphragm and opened his mouth to let the notes escape but his tone made it feel like an icy whisper.

“Everyone’s here” The word here was lifted to a false note, a place in the scale only reachable with a twist of his head. Allister started to move now as if the roots which held his boots down had been severed. He swayed as he began a creeping dance towards the front of the stage.

“Waiting for you to finally be one of us.
Come down.
You may be full of fear” The pretender was now lost in the part. He did not know who Sagillus was but the way people spoke about him was enough. Allister flashed his body by flaring his coat open wide and flinging his arms towards the opposite sides of the stage. He finished the motion by pulling his arms in a beckoning gesture that repeated while he finished the verse.

“You’ll be safe here.
When you finally trust me
Finally believe in me… “

Thanks to Asterope for the Images

[Asterope]

The confusion and panic had died down somewhat with the departure of the injured girl, but people still milled around in various forms of costumes, chattering amongst themselves. Aster steadfastly ignore it, her golden gaze focused like a beam on Madeira's face.

She was taken aback when the frail woman asked, practically demanded, her help. It had been her intention to offer in the first place, but she hadn't been expecting to be so readily recruited. With the immediate crisis waning, Madeira and Aster switched places. The exchange was easy, natural, almost unnoticeable; Aster's posture relaxed slightly, and the next thing she knew it was Madeira in charge, whispering to the lanky man beside her and taking command of the situation. She didn't mind it in the slightest.

The sudden cheeriness forced from the blonde's throat was a dramatic shift in mood, and severely out of place on her. The smile on her pale face was too tight, not reaching her tired eyes. It seemed obvious she was faking it, but Basil took it in stride. The man seemed to be willing to do anything for attention.

Aster noted the names of her two new companions, though she had yet to hear the tall, gangly man speak. Bonded? That was a strange way of naming a relationship; upon a quick glance downwards, Aster noted that neither of the pair sported wedding bands. But her curiosity was pushed aside to be addressed later as Madeira addressed Allister quite suddenly, her voice rising to command attention.

The tattooed man did speak then, and Asterope almost flinched at the high-pitched words that grated out of his mouth, which flashed with metal. He seemed to know exactly what Madeira wanted from him - or perhaps expected would be a better word.

He began to move, long limbs twisting with a flourish as he bowed and straightened. The manager seemed quite affronted to have been grabbed by the skinny man, but he seemed entranced by an almost sick sort of wonder as Allister began to sing. He had managed to drag Basil away some, and the crowd had followed; they were like rabbits with carrots dangling above them at the prospect of fresh entertainment.

Asterope paused for a moment, surprised by the man's voice herself; it wasn't exactly melodious, but he carried a tune surprisingly well considering what she'd seen of him thus far. But there wasn't much time to dwell; their chance was then, with everyone distracted and their eyes on Allister.

"Come on, then. If we're going to do this, we have to go now." She didn't offer her hand to Madeira again, recognizing the pride in her thin form; but she didn't rush ahead of the woman either, keeping a slow, easy pace that wouldn't be too hard for her to follow.

Aster lead the way backstage, glancing around the large room right off of the stage. She was surprised at how much room there was, but perhaps she shouldn't have been. Three separate hallways ran off in different directions. Aster scanned each of them before beckoning towards the one across the room that seemed to lead further in.

"What are we looking for, exactly?" She asked, keeping her voice low, though Allister's singing echoing in the background was still serving as a distraction. It sounded as if he was almost done, though.

It was colder backstage, and Aster found goosebumps rising on her skin. The hairs on the back of her neck prickled; the whole area somehow felt wrong. Was it just the way the theater was? Was it the telltale signs of a ghost? Or was she just being paranoid? She honestly couldn't tell.

Folding her arms over her chest for warmth and comfort, she continued on. Allister's singing finally ceased, and the only sounds were her and Madeira's footsteps, intercepted with the tap of the blonde's cane. Even those sounds seemed quiet.

"Common" | "Nari" | "Pavi" | Thoughts
"Other People's Speech"

[Madeira Dusk]

"Come on, then. If we're going to do this, we have to go now."

Madeira nodded and hobbled after Aster, glancing over her shoulder as Allister burst into song. His voice was like the crack of a whip, harsh and dramatic and scratched raw with disease, but to the Craven it was the most soothing sound she knew. Allister would never let her down. She didn't even think he could.

They snuck through deeper into the back of the stage. It was just as she remembered it, somehow both crowded and cavernous. Huge backdrops were leaning drunkenly against the walls, depicting deserts and gardens and seascapes. A rack of jewellery that from a distance looked like diamonds and pearls fit for queens revealed themselves to be nothing but glass and paste without the magic of theatre. Rolls of fabric waiting to be cut into costumes, props of fake-bottom cups and retractable daggers, sceptres and wigs and glitter were scattered in somehow orderly chaos. The few people who had missed the commotion out front were going about their business doggedly down several halls they passed. A one or two gave the glorious Eth and sickly human a curious glance, but seemed to accept they belonged back there.

The place seemed to make Aster uncomfortable. Perhaps it was simply knowing that a ghost was there, hidden, that made her uneasy. The Eth crossed her arms over her chest and shivered, asking what exactly they were looking for.

"There are signs of ghosts you can learn to read." Madeira began, considering the question thoughtfully. "The more riled a ghost is, the easier they are to spot. First you'll notice the temperature drop. Then there might be a mysterious smell that doesn't belong. You'll see a flickering in the shadows, or movement in the corner of your eye. If you feel someone watching you, someone likely is." she finished simply.

Having tracked ghosts for years, Madeira had a better attuned sense. She could feel their disturbance from what felt like kilometres away, and more importantly she had learned to spot the residue of their soulmist on the things they had touched. But she was so tired she couldn't focus. She knew the ghost was here, she could feel it, but where she couldn't seem to pinpoint.

"Maybe we should make it show itself." she finally said, as she squinted into shadowy corners, willing her skin to feel more than just the prickling of her damaged nerves. "I was down here a little more than a year ago, doing an exorcism. That ghost would attack people who sang, so I stood on the stage and sang nursery rhymes to make it show itself. So, what do we know about this ghost?" she chewed her cracked lips. "It attacked the stage manager and the lead actress. So it must not just care what goes on on stage but behind the scenes as well.” Her lips began to bleed as she worried the crevasses. She was missing something, she could feel it. "Then maybe it's something about the play itself? Something it doesn't like? But what?"

There was something wrong, something she wasn't getting. A mingling anxiety was raising the hairs on her neck for reasons much different than Asterope. The tap of her cane was cleaving through her thoughts. She wished Allister would start preforming again. She wanted to hear his voice.

The Spiritist suddenly stopped dead as the realization crashed over her. The ghost was after the play, and the Kelvic was practising his part in that play, at full volume, on stage at that very moment.

"Oh gods, Allister!" she shrieked, her voice snapping like dry tinder.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Hidden in the stars painted on the domed ceiling of the amphitheatre, Dimitri Swarbrick watched the tattooed freak strut around the stage as Sagallius. What a grating voice! What an unsightly appearance! The heavy, bearded man closed his eyes to the sound and pulled his feather boa tighter around his broad shoulders. Even in his ghostly form the spidery strands of his fake eyelashes tangled together, and his lipstick smeared as he gnashed his teeth. He rearranged his ocean green robes around his legs (it took practise to know how much thigh was a tasteful amount of thigh) and scowled at the scene below.

Beauty is pain, but what could possibly come out of this torture? The stage manager was useless, that's why he had to try to get rid of him. Not kill him, of course. How uncouth. But he had to be removed to save the play! It had made him so angry when he was back the next day, bringing a nurse with him. And the actress! Oh, it made him faint to think that harpy got to be the lead. It should have been him. He would do better than all of them!

Despite his frustration and bubbling rage, he didn't dare interrupt the performance. He was a showman, after all. But once the Kelvic came to a stop, and the last of the notes echoed off the walls, Ivan moved from his hiding spot. The ghost, dematerialized and invisible, moved with dignified purpose towards the ghastly Kelvic. He was going to show all of them what a true actor could do!

[Allister]

Allister finished his singing and looked about to the manager of the production and a few of the others he’d managed to rope into his performance. Some nodded with small amounts of approval, others whispered things about his horrendous appearance but the man with beady eyes remained with his arms folded and expression markedly blank. The kelvic had a hard enough time trying to read people with his limited exposure but this just felt like cheating. He scowled a bit and started to walk towards the side where he had been before the commotion started then he remembered Madeira and her pleading eyes. The hyena spun on his loosely tied boot and faced his superior with a look of determination.

No words would be uttered, however. Allister’s face bent and contorted with a pain he’d not felt but once before and it didn’t linger whereas this new sensation seemed to explode deeper into his core. Burning cold like the very life he claimed was being separated by a blade that aimed to cleave his soul with its frozen flame wracked his form into a convulsion. The lanky kelvic collapsed in a heap that trembled and twitched for several ticks while onlookers gasped and some even looked away- so horrified were they by the seizure. Stillness clung to the former slave as he heaved breaths that sounded deep and relaxing. Outside, it appeared that the incident was over.

Inside, however, Allister’s astral form was compressed against his spine by a giant man dressed as a woman. He couldn’t move nor could he control his body and it terrified more than anything he had ever experienced. The black eyes watched as this bearded usurper took his time to fit his fat limbs down the thin trunks of the kelvic’s arms and legs and then became even more mortified when he felt his body stand up and begin to sing!

The ghost began a chain of breathing that was not only rhythmic but it seemed to give the kelvic’s body a sense of power from within. Allister was slowly letting go of his fear and tried to watch; to learn what this meant. The voice- his voice- began softly at first, head down and soft but pitch perfect and smooth. This was Allister’s voice but not his singing and anyone who had heard his previous attempts would certainly double take and stand up for this.

“Life will come our way,
It has only just begun.
The world will die alone
The frail will fall below.”

The tone was pure and smooth and flowed like molten silver through a mold. Everything the ghost-enchanted voice touched seemed to be better for the perfect blend of sadness and skill. When he started singing the next part of the verse, he opened the kelvic’s eyes and began to play the bystanders by piercing their souls with the hyena’s black eyes. Allister was in awe by now. He tried to keep up- to memorize what it felt like to have his body move and behave in such a way. It was a slow learning curve.

“Time will take our place.
We return it back to one
The calm before the cold,
The long and lonely road.”

“Look for the light that leads me home.” The ghost propelled ALlister’s light frame upwards in a leap that landed him near the manager. Pale hands reached out and took hold of the man’s clothes as the words, starting to climb in tension but constantly maintained at a whole tone, melted over the man.

“Tired of feeling lost, tired of letting go.” Allister watched as he shook the man who was his boss with dramatic arm motions and steps that swirled them about the stage as if the pale newcomer was selling the notion that the theater was a desert with nothing of value. “Tear the whole world down, tear the whole world down.” The ghost released the manager who was shaking and mesmerized by the spectacle.

“Failure. Failure!” The call was loud, angry, sad and beautiful. The rasp of the kelvic had come back but it was controlled...managed and added to the overall appeal of the notes that filled the entire playhouse. Everyone heard- they could not avoid the graceful desolation that Allister’s body spilled into the world.

“We bury the sunlight!” He hit his knees at the behest of the ghost. “We bury the sunlight!” His head went back and Allister felt his arms reach for the rafters as a breath was drawn full of promise.

“Failure!! Failure!!!” The last two words were slowed down and belted in such a way that Allister felt the strain on his lungs and diaphragm as if something from a distance. The silence lingered for several chimes before applause and whistles erupted. One woman even threw her silky kerchief at Allister. The ghost refused to allow the kelvic to move so they simply sat- performer and stooge.

Thanks to Asterope for the Images