Difference between revisions of "5611/Good Night, Moon"

Latest revision as of 04:30, 2 February 2018

Carna (974) has posed:
    Tacet Sanctos, the walled community of civilian Lanterns, those predatory undead so deprived of soul essence and subject to so many deaths that even their base instinct to hunt and consume has been driven out of them, or reduced to a ghost of itself. They do not even fight to defend themselves, instead cowering, fleeing, or dying where they stand in a haze of confusion and missing identity.

    But they no longer have to face that danger, because they have their own place to reside. Their own homes, even their own businesses as they put their remaining memories of skills to work. Hand-crafted trinkets cobbled together from scraps, as well as salvaged weapons, armor, and ammunition make up the majority. There is little of real value, since they can not exactly go hunt for treasure in places filled with monsters as other Lanterns can, but it can be enough of a venue for stocking up that warriors passing through stop to spend their accumulated Dead Lights.

    While this means the Lanterns may eventually start regaining some of their old Lantern behaviors or assembling more complete selves who do not get along quite as well as they are right now, that is simply the price to pay for being what they are. And for now, these dead creatures are consuming the fragments of spirit energy they receive to restore their bodies and appearances and stave off hunger than for power.

    As always, for those who can sense it, Lanterns are shells of darkness, with a stolen spark of Light at their core. Stolen soul fragments, not truly people in and of themselves. That is what soul-based senses say.

    And with the awkward, dazed, shambling way these weak and starved creatures move about, it would be easy to conclude that's what they are. But they are doing their best to exist here and carry out lives long passed among others in the same boat. Would a mere imitation bother?

    The news that some sort of play is being held was advertised, in the same cryptic way that the visitations to the past on each Hallow's Eve have been. Letters sent out far and wide, with the reason for some people being targeted being obvious, but others, people who have never been involved here, leaving the motivations more dubious and ambiguous.

    But arrival either way, first through the magical fall through darkness, then by passing through the Grim Bone Gate and arriving at the Church of Bleak Mercy, then stepping outside the church yard gates to the gradually expanding village outside.

    Things have definitely been changing in Lumiere, or at least in this part of Lostrata. It is not quite as dark around the Church, partially due to the addition of electric lights and torches. But it just seems at though that near-tangible darkness in the air is not as pervasive. It doesn't weigh down upon people as it used to, like a heavy cloak.

    The streets are not so ruined and filth-ridden, most of the detritus and random wheelbarrows and smashed cars and so on have been cleared out or repurposed, the houses and businesses have tenants, and new structures have even been built with the help of Kord's soldiers and Staren's robots and the contributions of the Lanterns themselves.

    One of these stands in what was once an open plaza surrounded by buildings great for sniping those foolish enough not to stick to the shadows, and ambush-prone alleyways, but now a center of simple things that emulate the activities of the Living... Like entertainment.

    It is an open area, with a stage and curtains and many seats of various kinds, ranging from folding chairs to recliners to stone benches and school desks. Whatever could be scavenged and put to use.

    Many of the Lanterns are already seated. The majority are civilians, but hanging about the eaves of the surrounding buildings, warriors lurk as well, perhaps curious to see what this is all about, or perhaps hungry for knowledge of the world they may have once been part of.

Dorian Pavus (774) has posed:
    If there's going to be a formal event, Dorian's going in his Tevinter formal best. He generally wears white, but this time he's tended for black and gold. A snug, well-fitting, long-sleeved shirt; over that, a sleeveless black robe with edges trimmed in gold, and a rich golden embroidery of a snake all over it, front and back. If nothing else has been preserved from his usual attire, the degree of asymmtricality has; the robe is shorter on the left side, reaching only to the knee on that side, while the right reaches well past that, to his shin.

    He wears a loose pair of black pants with it, in a surprisingly simple and unandorned style. These pants reach his knees, where they're tucked into gold-toned knee-length boots of leather. The foot of the boot though, is black, and has a golden piping around the sides. Around his waist is a thick golden belt, with the clasp worked into the shape of a snake with its body formed into a lemniscate. A heavy black cloak with a deep red broach fastening is thrown over the lot.

    He wears a couple of rings on his fingers, and his ears are pierced as well, draped with thin chains. All gold, of course. He carries a staff topped with what looks like a human skull. And of course his clawed gauntlet, though this time the silvery metal is gold-toned. He definitely looks much more like the necromancer he admits to being.

    The weirdness of the trip notwithstanding, Dorian's here to enjoy a play. He will majestically seat himself on upon whichever one of the seats looks like it will keep most of his outfit out of the mud and/or dirt under him and lean his staff against his side.

Kushiko has posed:
For what it's worth, Kushiko doesn't inherently have what one would explicitly deem 'soul-based' sensory elements to her. Yet at the same time, there's an instinctual knowledge, something that exists in her to be akin to 'like recognizes like' in the sense that she recognizes in others what she, what she's seen in others.

Nonetheless, it's not something that's solid enough for her to dwell on it overlong. No, Kushiko while here in her Mag Warframe is more akin to a patient, silent guardian of sorts--least that's the impression she gives. The other is something more ominous amidst the slightly gilded look of the tabi-footed Warframe. A flowing cloak seems to animate almost entirely on it's own, and the air possesses the faintest of charge from the Warframe, a maelstrom of energy whirling about within the smoky dome of her head. Definitely a she, that's for sure, given the sleekness of her figure.

It's a right little confluence of differing impressions she gives, that's for sure.

Her ship, an instrument of her 'fall' in this case, banks and cloaks itself away from prying eyes having since deposited her on the outskirts for her to make her way into the walled community of Tacet Sanctos. <"They've been rebuilding well,"> she muses quietly, half to herself, half to others who might've just also arrived as well. The 'play' itself is something that she has simply vague interest in, not for the content but for how the Lanterns were, as a whole, were feeling. Perhaps the holidays had finally found a reason to be celebrated?

Nonetheless, a seat would not be something she would take, instead finding a standing place to bring herself into a cross-legged, almost meditative position. Except she's floating. Hm.

Finna (513) has posed:
News that the Lanterns were putting on a PLAY was enough to even shock Finna! Never one to miss a good show of other entertainment, and more than a little curious to see just what the strange Dead of this foreign not-quite-Underworld get up to consider fun and interesting...

    And so, not long after Dorian Pavus seats himself, a fox with a majestically fuzzy white coat seems to spring up out of nowhere onto the seat next to him and--

    CRRRROOOOOOOOOOOOOON!

    Well, that's the best way to describe the triumphant squeaky noise it makes. Not quite a bark or a howl. A bit too scratchy. But the creature's cry is very clearly interpretable as 'let the show go commence!'

    The fact that her tail's wagging with immense impatience just drives this point home a bit more.

Count Kord has posed:
    Kord steps out of the gate and into Tacet Sanctos. He moves with his usual tense gait, the one that seems purposefully measured so that he does not make a sound. Shifts in the level of the floor beneath him create noticeable changes in the way he walks. He seems like a smoothly stalking predator, like he's tracking prey and doesn't want to be heard... even when he's just walking down the street. It's a clearly a habit of his.

    He makes his way to the seats arranged for the play. He pauses at the edge of the audience, and turns his head to look right at Dorian Pavus, noting the oddity in the crowd immediately. Then he decides to approach and sit next to that man. The tall, imposing figure in black and red doesn't seem to make much noise as he slips over and settles down. Then he reaches up to pull the bird-like helmet off his head, and his bouncy, flowing, incredibly red hair unfurls from where the helmet held it back. He pulls his face mask used below the helmet down under his chin, and breathes a sigh as the helmet ends up in his lap. The hair looks somewhat mussed, as helmets aren't great for that.

    He turns his head to look over to Finna. He even leeeans in his seat to look past Dorian and at the fox. His sleepy stare doesn't change but for the momentary furrow of curiosity in his brow.

    "Hnn."

    Then he sits up and looks toward the stage and barely moves except to keep an eye on his immediate surroundings and make sure none of the Lanterns with their minds intact get a funny idea and try to shoot at him.

Tomoe has posed:
As there is a fox a fairy is wont to follow it seems in this world and she head there was a play too. After everything in the last few months? She could use some time to chill. She wondered what it would just be about she'll look to fox, not question it and a bit of jerky would be forked in it's direction from Tomoe's inventory. She'll then look to Dorian for a moment grinning at the mage for a moment. As she'll find her own seat and shock of all shocks? She's in some casual clothing well for a world like AOL it's a bit of a fantasy twist to her shirt, pants had a more fantasy hand made look to them but she was also wearing some sort of earing that covered the upper part of her long elf like ears.

"Been a while Doriana nd you look dressed to impress."

She'll keep her voice down though after all no need to make a fuss and Flint also gets a greeting from her.

Captain Flint has posed:
Three boots, a crutch and a prosthetic touch upon the village path, belonging to men who have never before set foot here. They are James Flint and John Silver, captain and crewman of the Walrus, respectively. Flint figures the invitation might've come from Enark. Silver has no idea why he received one. Still, both have reasons to be here. Silver has no family to speak of (though his allegiance towards Flint and his crew grows steadily with each passing day.) Flint has Miranda, but the quiet Puritan woman, like much of her peers, sees Christmas as the trappings of papacy and doesn't much care for it.

     "I guess that's the stage," says Silver, ambling along with a degree of practice in his movements. The crutch and the prosthesis beat a steady rythm into the village street.

     Flint fixes the area with a discerning gaze. He's read about the arts of the future, but in terms of productions by other worlds entirely, he's relatively inexperienced. There are a few familiar faces in the makeshift seating arrangements, too. Dorian and Finna, in particular, he hasn't seen in some time.

     As the two men approach, the Lunar in particular would hardly recognize John Silver. His clean-shaven look has been lost in favor of a thick mustache and stubble which every day threatens to become a beard. The fearful, calculating look hiding behind the mirth in his eyes has been replaced with determination, though a ghost of that smarm still lives within him. With a grunt, he lowers himself into a seat.

     Flint makes a few quiet greetings towards acquaintances--Dorian, Kushiko, Tomoe, the fox which is clearly not Finna. With brief pleasantries out of the way, he seats himself beside Silver and folds his arms.

Carna (974) has posed:
    The entertainers have been noticeably absent up until now, but a few cloaked and hooded figures in very simplistic masks that look to almost be stitched together from whatever was lying around begin filtering out from behind the stage. Some take up positions around the edges, some at the rear, with little candles burning with blue-black flames to help newcomers find their way. Ushers of some kind then. A few appear to be inspecting some protective glyphs drawn in chalk around the square a final time to make sure nothing has been disrupted.

    Anyone with sufficient knowledge of glyphs and symbols and such could probably have guessed they were protective, not malicious, in nature. And the fact they are written in Greek, with incantations about safety and invoking the 'Lords of Silence' to 'keep the song of jubilation from reaching the ears of the wicked' or something to that effect implies its intent may be to keep the sound of the play from going too far and alerting any straggling monsters.

    Though a more paranoid mind might suspect it could be used to keep any help or reinforcements from hearing and coming to the rescue just as easily, it seems extremely improbable, and since they remain in direct line of sight, it's not as though anything is hidden to anyone who looks. There's simply no impression of hostility or danger here.

    However, for those who have been to the events of Hallow's Eve, last year, this year, or both, there is a pseudo-familiar figure. The Mask Merchant who let people going to the past borrow special masks is here. And from the fact that no one saw him enter, it's unclear whether he was already here the whole time and just unnoticed or has appeared out of thin air.

    His cart this time bears not masks but puppets. Little marionettes and wooden dolls of various kinds. His cart is smaller than the one he rents masks from, but it's still very likely the same individual that delivers a cryptic message right before the voyage to the recreation of the past begins.

    A tall slender figure in the same robes, hood, and stitched-together mask as the others strides sedately out onto the stage, waiting until it has everyone's attention, or at least most people's, and then speaking in a light, airy, probably-female voice.

    "Welcome to the Midnight Troupe's rendition of a tale from long, long ago. It has action, romance, intrigue, hope, and tragedy. It is a story of vengeance unfulfilled, love inrequited, mistakes made, and the consequences of yearning for what one can not obtain. But it is also a story of sacrifice, wishes granted, friendship, and second chances." The figure so tall and thin as to be ungainly bows slowly and cautiously, as though afraid she will snap at the waist if she bends too quickly or too far. "This is the story of how the Moon came to be in Lumiere, of a heroine, and her admirers, and the conflict that would spawn when two friends became rival kings."

    She straightens just as slowly. "The show shall begin shortly. It is our hope that you will enjoy it."

    Then she leaves the stage, off behind one of the curtains.

Kushiko has posed:
Well that's one way to announce oneself, Kushiko muses of the 'cron' of the fox which is clearly not Finna. Yep. Totally not at all anything related.

Nope.

A slight gesture, a wisp of lilac tinted light--was it--no, it wasn't as Mag that she met with Dorian so seemingly long ago. Memory issues plagued her sometimes, nonetheless she did wave to the Tevinter mage with some vague sense of familiarity. Tomoe and Finna probably hadn't seen Mag either, same with Flint, but she believed Kord had?

...huh. Perhaps an inadvertent notion of anonymity here. Such was life. Still, there was an oddly familiar presence she had, at least when it came to the colors, so it worked out.

<"Midnight Troupe, huh. Seems appropriate,"> the Tenno deadpans lightly through that odd little vocalization the Void provides for her. Not that she has a real 'eye' for it but she's kind of staring at Silver a bit. Did he shave? ... hrrrnh.

Nonetheless, she returns to her own bit of quiet for the show to commence. It's hard for her to socialize as is sometimes!

Dorian Pavus (774) has posed:
    Dorian's eye is draws to how Kushiko's Frame's cape seems to move by itself -- those sorts of creepy effects are something he really appreciates, and he tends not to view them as 'creepy' at all. What's creepy to him? Nug feet. They're enough like human hands to be DISTURBING! Anyway. Yes, the cape.

    And then suddenly the screechy crooning squeak. "Ah!" He jumps in his seat, his staff falling over to the ground as he's startled by SUDDENLY FOX! And he looks at the creature like it's lost its mind. He's pretty sure it's someone he knows. "Do warn someone before you do that right next to one's ear, won't you?" he half-chastizes as he leans to pick up his staff again.

    He straightens to notice Kord sitting down, and offers a nod of greeting, with an easy smile. "Greetings," he offers calmly. Nope, he wasn't just near startled the life out of by fox. Nope, not him! See? Completely calm. He also notes Flint's group, and raises his hand to wave in greeting to them all, with a pleasant smile.

    Tomoe's words to him draw his attention to her, and he smiles. "I understand it's been some time since this place had a play. Might as well come into it looking important, I don't want them to think it's been for nothing," he reasons. Maybe the actors will feel like they're performing for someone super-important! And he kind of is, even if not to this place.

    Dorian's not fluent in Greek, unfortunately. If it had been Latin, he might have been able to muddle through. But the glyphs don't 'feel' malicious, so there's that. He also doesn't have much context in regards to the Mask Merchant. The cart of puppets seems strange, but again, not malicious.

    When the figure takes the stage, Dorian looks that way, and listens. He still has no context, but at least he knows what to expect, sort of. As the figure leaves the stage, he settles in his seat, figuring the play will start soon, and remains quiet.

Finna (513) has posed:
"Eheheheheheheheheheheheh!" The fox chitter-laughs. In a strange motion of curling about, Finna melts outwards, fur receding in favor of normal leather-clad flesh. Soon it's just a young woman of tribal attire, with fox ears and a still-wagging tail seated in next to Dorian. And giving both Kord AND Captain Flint a big and brilliant grin full of youthful zest!

    But her attention shifts briefly to the Gotten-used-to-it-Creepy that is Kushiko's Warframe... crosses past Tomoe... and fixes her attention quickly on the announcer.

    Her eyes go very wide at the mention of 'how the Moon came to be in Lumiere'.

    Finna ABRUBTLY calms, stuffing both hands in her lap!

    "Who knew the dead could put on plays?" She softly muses to her fellows.

Count Kord has posed:
    Kord uncomfortably adjusts himself in his seat and looks over toward Dorian in silent distraction, nodding in reply to him. He notes the two relatively ordinary men as they arrive, as they stand out very well among the dead that populate Tacet Sanctos. He momentarily squints, trying to remember who they are, but he's distracted by the commencing of the show. Or at least the announcement of what the Troupe's show will be. He fixates his eyes right on the stage.

    "Warding," he mumbles aloud, as if surprised by the presence of them. They're prevalent where he's from, and their benefits are easy for him to read. They're meant to keep this from attracting the attention of the Unlit, the monsters outside the bounds of this settlement. He doesn't know Greek, though. He only recognizes the way they're arranged, though, and that they're magical.

    He leans to the side and wonders to Dorian, "I don't remember seeing you in Lumiere much. Are you planning on lending your magic to our work here again?" He keeps his voice low to be polite, but there's only so much he can do with his Romanian-alike baritone voice. Imposing just seems to be his default setting when he's not skulking around instead. "Your magic was useful before, and we will need it frequently as we investigate this place."

Captain Flint has posed:
"What's that say?" Silver points to the glyphs.

     "I don't know," admits Flint with a shrug. Most of his education was in English. "Something about protection." But... he does have a passing familiarity.

     "Wait, you can actually read that?"

     "Ssh. The play's starting," chides the captain, in a lower tone of voice.

     This gets an incredulous smirk from Silver. Apparently, this is a side of Flint he's never seen before. He does, at least, comply with Flint's wishes, keeping his voice down to a hushed almost-whisper. "Do you know them?" he asks, gesturing to the Elites in the audience.

     The captain points them out with nods, as it's rude to point with one's fingers in many cultures. "The shapeshifter is Finna, probably invited her due to her own ties with the moon of her world. You'd know her as Clara."

     "The vanguard that sailed with us?" asks the younger pirate.

     Flint nods. "The rich one's Dorian." Silver's been a pirate for long enough to know which one Flint's referring to. "He's a mage from a very... controversial country. I wanted him in the crow's nest, but he's got no stomach for sailing." Flint strokes his mustache, nodding to Tomoe. "Tomoe, the Iron Lily," he says, providing a name to Silver. "She worked with us in the Painted World."

     Silver gives the captain an expectant look when no explanation comes regarding Tomoe. Rather than attempt explaining the concept of the Internet, MMOs, and virtual reality to a fellow member of the 18th century, Flint just continues. "That mechanical figure might be one of Kushiko's... apparatuses," he says of the nearby warframe. "But I don't have the discerning eye required to notice design similarities between her technology. It could be anyone."

     "And him?" Silver refers to the last figure, the tall, red-headed man.

     Flint shrugs. "We've not met," he says. "Does it matter?"

     Silver raises his eyebrows. "I suppose it doesn't," the pirate admits. "It's just easier justify what you do when we /know/ what you're doing."

     "And who is 'we?'" This question is asked facing straight forward, awaiting the start of the play. It garners no answer from Silver.

Tomoe has posed:
Tomoe was just chilling out now ready to enjoy the play and just see what it's about as she knows a bit about this world but every time she comes here she learns something more she'll listen as the play is introduced and she wondered? With how all things that died in this world? Would lost works of art end up here? Likely it was so given the library she had to visit some time ago. She listens clearly interested to see where this story will go and she does also take note of Kushiko now as she realizes the name of the troupe seem to work doubly so for her warframe was one she didn't know. It could possibly be another Tenno as well. Either way she would find out after the play was over, and she gives FLint a bit of a look over along with his crew.

"I suspect that's an understatement Doiran, we'll just have to wait and see and it's good they do have the chance to put on a show."

She could get how having something to do could be of imporance to those who have been stuck in this broken land of the dead for so long. She also gives Finna a bit of a grin.

"They still have spirit, Finna."

Carna (974) has posed:
    There are some things that have been totally absent from Lumiere for quite some time. Others that have been here in paranthetical or analogous form, or in only small quantities or limited frequency. Then there are those that have simply not been encountered at all since the first day of exploration, and seem to be so out of place, as to be alien.

    One of those begins now. Its very mundanity, its simplicity, its commonality and familiarity outside of Lumiere, clashing with its seeming nature so utterly, makes it jarring and strange.

    That alien thing?

    Music.

    The simple sound of a tambourine being shaken is enough to make the warrior Lanterns turn their gazes calculatingly towards the source and move from idle positions to standing-calmly-but-ready. The civilian Lanterns are either absorbed in what's going on or looking in confusion and/or wonder, listening pensively to something so completely new. For many of these beings, music has never existed for them since the moment they came to be. If they have any recollection of the sound of a melody from the peopl they once devoured, it does not appear to confer sufficiently familiarity not to be enthralled by it.

    The jangling of the tambourine is soon accompanied by the deep sound of hide-covered drums. Thudding slowly, at a measured pace, before switching to a brief series of such on multiple instruments. Thump. Thump. Thump-Thud-Thump-Bump.

    The blue-black flamed candles seem to push out all other light sources, the world around them, darkening the environment within the runes like theater lights going down.

    At the same time, a faint ambience seems to grow in response, coming up from the stage itself. The curtains pull aside slowly, jerkily, as someone out of sight works the ropes and cords, to reveal the silhouette of many buildings, with windows illuminated from behind by dozens of flickering candles, and a blank sky the same blue-black shade as the candles.

    "Once," the woman's voice from before begins, seeming to come from just 'around' rather than any specific place, utilizing the accoustics of all the empty buildings and the open space in much the same way an actual theater might. "Lumiere was not ruined as it is now. Ancient records tell us that people walked the streets without fear of attack, that friends and families stayed together or formed anew with strange new souls as the Living expired or the Dead moved on. And there was a small Power that watched this cycle with her single eye, unseen, unheard, but wanting to help. She was always alone, this Power, always moving from place to place, and seeing what others possessed. But there was nothing she could do."

    As the voice speaks, figures all in black to render them silhouettes wander out onto the stage, acting out what is described. And a grayish-white sheet with some small form under it crawls and slithers among them, unobserved, a single eye hole cut out in the fabric.

Dorian Pavus (774) has posed:
    Of course it would be Finna. Dorian sends Finna a look that might be disapproval, but it's tempered with mirth, and he's got a smile on his face. "You do delight in these little strains on people's blood pressure, don't you?" he asks, still mock-glaring. Yes, he's teasing her. Kord's question draws his attention to the imposing man, and he nods. "I can certainly try. I've grown more skilled with my necromancy since then, so I should be of more assistance in the future."

    He notices Flint's glance to him, and offers an additional nod here, both to Flint and to Silver, who he doesn't remember meeting. He may not realize he's being introduced, if there's enough distance that he can't hear Flint. Gosh darn human-level senses.

    Dorian nods to Tomoe's words as well, and reples quietly, "Perhaps, through culture, they'll be able to reclaim the world that was lost. Or make a new one so that the old doesn't matter so much."

    And there's the lights going down. The blue-black flames are interesting enough to draw Dorian's attention for a moment before his gaze returns to the stage as the woman begins to speak and the figures appear.

Count Kord has posed:
    Kord stiffens, visibly, when he hears music. His breath sucks in through his nose. He was not expecting it, not in this dead place, and it seems to draw him from his boredom into a look of intense interest, his hands falling to rest on his legs. The change in light makes his inhuman eyes a bit easier to see by contrast, just as they stand out in the dark of his helm. They don't reflect light so much as have a presence in the black that other eyes don't. A sign of how magical he is.

    His eyes follow the one-eyed figure, fascinated.

    "Is this the girl they saw?" he wonders to himself... because he has never observed her, himself, and this depiction could just be what those that can't see her think she looks like.

Kushiko has posed:
Every so often, perhaps purposefully only when Dorian might be looking over, the cloak-like syandana of hers flutters slightly. Surely it's probably just some ambient breeze that's here. Nothing insidious at all! ... but in the realm of looking excellent, it does help out there!

After all, when it comes to the runes and other words, while she /could/ get them analyzed, it's not in her care to do so. Still, she logs them internally for review later. It's kind of nice, the way her Warframes /would/ record all visual and audio information. With a combination of Kord and Flint giving confirmation to what those glyphs were, it sets that question at ease of being answered.

Speaking of answering things, when it comes to the brief bit of attention given her way, she inclines her head, <"Evening, Captain Flint. Good to see you too, Tomoe. This one isn't one I bring out very often."> she offers by way of something more politely mature, her voice 'reaching' from where she's meditatively seated. It's hard to say /exactly/ where she's looking, though the motion of her head in that general direction is helpful enough at least.

Nonetheless, the start of the play itself seems to make that head cant slightly. It's an unusual thing, of this she has no doubt, but the contextual significance isn't settling into her like it has for others. Her fingers lightly tap against her palms as she follows that alien pattern before quietly just, well. Watching. And wondering to herself if what they're about to see might reflect something they've not quite got the pieces of.

Tomoe has posed:
Tomoe says "Or help to keep a level of sanity." She quiets up as the play gets stasrted, and she now watches iwth intrest. The music was simple but it was something until now Tomoe had never heard on this world before. Ah so it is Kushiko, just that it's a frame she does not use very often. She replies back "I should not be shocked you had more frames, my friend." She'll turn her attention back to the play for the moment.

Captain Flint has posed:
Flint, too, seems very interested with this development--though it's not the music that garners his attention, but the presentation. He's seated in a salvaged desk from a school, which allows him the opportunity to rest his elbow upon the surface, and his chin upon his hand. The captain leans forward. It's vaguely similar to Classical Greek performance art, though the masks would've been larger in such a performance.

     Another alien thing here, to those that know the captain, is that he's genuinely smiling. Not widely, but enough to be intent that he is, in fact, enjoying this and interested. It's something that hasn't come naturally to him in several months. His attention is momentarily drawn away from the stage, and he gives Kushiko and Dorian a muted "Good evening."

     "Why the masks?" asks Silver.

     "I imagine they're the chorus," replies Flint, eyes still on the stage. "If this is the sort of theatre I think it is."

     "They're not doing a very good job singing," Silver mutters dryly.

     The captain shakes his head. "Not that kind of chorus." The gybe does momentarily turn his smile into a smirk, though. "The emphasis in these types of plays is on the character, not the actor's portrayal thereof. Perhaps we'll see different masks being used for different characters."

     Silver is satisfied with that explanation, though his attention is split between watching the play and sneaking peeks at Finna, trying to discern the similarities between her and the identity she assumed when sailing with the Walrus.

Finna (513) has posed:
"Always!" Finna grins over at Dorian. She flutters her eyes innocently at him, and... quickly returns Kord's peering, if a bit belatedly. It's Flint and his crew's appearance that has her the most stupified though. She wasn't expecting to see them about in a place like this. "... Getting out and about in the Multiverse, aren't you, Captain? This forsaken realm's no place for mortals... don't let down your guard too much! Even my protection's only worth so much down here."

    She aims his way a bit fussily... and quickly turns back to listen to the music and mull over the story!

Carna (974) has posed:
    "As none could interact with her, none knew her name. During her wanderings, she saw many good people, but she also saw many bad. She wondered why some people felt the need to be bad instead of good. And she wondered why others felt the need to be good instead of bad. What decided whether one helped a stranger or spurned them? What motivated a family brought together again in death to stay together instead of split apart?"

    The sheet-covered lump tilts to the side in thought, as lovers embrace, and parents stand with their children, and others argue silently, and others act out a battle with knives, as a regal-statured individual simply walks by uncaring.

    "She did not understand. But then a heroine appeared."

    The silhouettes all pause in the actions to turn to the left of the stage, where a young woman, perhaps in her mid-teens based on her build, in red silk and polished-but-dented brass armor emerges. The shocking of vibrancy afforded by clean metal in this place of decay, of fabric that is not red due to being stained with blood but from ancient dyes, pales next to the red hair. Likely a wig, it is still of such bright color as to make the dull-hued surroundings look almost invisible by comparison. The wig lies over a featureless, faceless white mask, and the young woman has a prop sword in a makeshift sheathe at her side.

    The ambient lighting effect seems to move to and track the heroine as advances across the stage, striding purposefully but slowly as all turn to look at her, the shape under the sheet as well.

    The musical instruments of changed to the tingling of chimes and a flute playing long, slow, high notes in no particular sequence, like someone testing how to use it for the first time.

    "Wherever the heroine went, people stood in awe. Whenever she spoke, people listened. When she saw inequality and conflict, she stepped in."

    A separate ambient glow, red in hue, appears beneath and around the two shapes previously knife fighting, now locked in a grapple with each other. As 'the heroine' moves towards them, she puts a hand on each of their arms. They continue struggling for only a moment as they look back and forth between each other and the new comer. And then, without an audible word shared, they simply seem to accept the unspoken message to stop.

    "'Why do you fight?' the heroine asked." the narrator says as the three figures separate.

    The same person, inflecting differently to denote a different voice, says for the two foes, "'There is room enough in this man's home for many, but he insists that only he may live there. I am without a space to call my own.'"

Carna (974) has posed:
    The heroine turns to the other figure, and the narrator speaks for her once more. "'Why will you not permit this man a place in your home?'"

    "'I can not feel comfort in the presence of others. They have always mocked and looked down upon me. I only feel safe when I am alone. I had to search and fight to obtain and hold this humble building for myself. I do not wish to share it.'"

    "'And why must you two come to blows instead of each having a home of your own?'"

    The two men then said together, "'The nobles hold control of all the homes, and decide who may own one and who may not.'"

    The heroine strokes her mask's chin in thought.

    "She might have admonished the first man for encroaching upon the sanctity of another's home. She might have lectured the latter on the virtues of yielding to one in need when one can afford to do so. Instead, she turned to a passing man who simply stood and watched, in finery and prestige."

    "'Are you of the nobility?'"

    "The noble, defensiveness outweighing his awe of the heroine, responded with disdain, 'Of course! Can you not see by my attire and my countenance?'"

    "'Why would you deny these men, or any others, a place to call home?' the heroine asked, remarking not upon the man's supposedly evident noble features."

    "'I have earned my position through many thousands of years of service. I am qualified to preside over such decisions. If they wish to have homes of their own, they must earn them as I have!'"

    "The heroine did not appear impressed. But the small Power was fascinated by this development. By someone who did not simply choose to be good or bad, but questioned why others were, as she did. She waited to see how it would all end."

Kushiko has posed:
Any other things she might say--or do--in regards to the others is effectively stilled for now. Given her little meditative float and 'seat' as it were, it's pretty easy for her to remain focused on the play.

The story itself does pique her interest, and calls back to something /she's/ seen of nobility, as it were. The Orokin. Selfish. Greedy. Still, without a face, she scarcely betrays these inward thoughts for the time being, but despite this seems... more raptly attentive than one would give credit for appearing to be.

Hm.

Captain Flint has posed:
"Somehow, I manage," says the captain with of surviving without Finna's protection.

     The heroine's actions have Flint even more interested. If this story is going where he thinks it's going, it's a play that needs to make it to his Earth, somehow. Silver and Flint share a look--Flint grins, gesturing to the stage with a vague hand motion before returning his attention there.

     Silver sighs. "Are you going to make this about communism?"

     "It already is. At least, this part is. The noble is passing off inherited wealth as labor so the commoners and the heroine don't realize he's just stealing the rewards of their labor."

     "That's an... interesting interpretation," says Silver.

     "What do you think is happening?" asks Flint.

     "I guess I could see it that way. I think the focus is more on the heroine being circumspect, like the Power is. That's going to allow her to avoid the pitfalls the noble and the commoners fall into."

Tomoe has posed:
The actors are putting on a pretty good show and she's clearly enjoying it live theater was not as common a thing as it used to be. Then again before the change to her world? There had been some troupe using the tech behind the world seed for an form of live action theater. She watched with an interest, she notes Flint and his crew are talking about the play. She thinks about it a bit and she cna just think about the rich and powerful at least before the unfication the old money. The fark you I got mine sorts but that certainly has been turned on their head with multiverse barfing.

Finna (513) has posed:
"Seize what you can hold in life. If the impoverished want something, they need to rise up and take it by force. They're not owed it. Nor has anyone earned it. If you can take it, you have it. Simple as that." Finna states a little grouchily.

    "... But I wonder what the answer is here." Finna goes on to say, shifting a little forward in her seat.

Dorian Pavus (774) has posed:
    Some of this starts to ring a little closer to Dorian's home than he'd probably admit openly. Well, no, he wouldn't be shy in admitting it, he often does -- the gap between the 'haves' and the 'have-nots' in Tevinter is so wide one could use it as a moat to defend a sizeable fortress against unwanted intrusion.

    He too is interested in the answer to the quandry here. Maybe it'll give him some answers to the problems there. Or at least some direction. He /is/ trying to avoid having to essentially fire at the place from another country.

Carna (974) has posed:
    "'If one must do as you have to deserve a home,' the heroine declared. 'Then you will instruct this man who prefers to be alone in how to be as noble as you are. You will use your influence and wealth to elevate him, and find him a place in your home, and until you have done so, you shall live among those you consider beneath your station, and learn again what it is to be humble.'"

    The heroine turns back to the man who could not stand to share the company of others. "'You will earn the respect of the nobility by facing them on their terms, and be treated appropriately. But you must use what you learn to affect change. And you must use your experiences and struggles in finding a home to make it easier for others to gain the same when you have the means. When you have facilitated this, you may dwell by yourself as you please.'"

    Finally, the heroine turns to the third man, who wanted a place in another's home and tried to force it upon him. "'You will live in this home, but each day, you will go out and find others in need, and you will bring them into your home, until it is full. Then you will instruct the others to do the same, and go out and find a new house that is empty, and make it your home. If you can not find one that is unused in all the vastness of Lostrata, you shall build one, and encourage others to do the same. You will repeat this until all who are in need of homes have them. When you have helped all others before you, you can rest knowing you have not taken but have earned."

    The three men have all moved together on one side as the heroine spoke to them, driving them back with her demands even as she stands still, as though each new imperative was a blow that they must step back from to avoid being struck by. "The three men were appalled. And, as one, they uttered the same objection. 'Why should we do as you command!?'"

Carna (974) has posed:
    The chimes and flute die abruptly, the red glow about the men shifts to a dark blue, and the red seems to gather around the heroine, glowing brighter and brighter, and glaring off her armor, as drums beat rapidly and someone shakes sheets of metal unseen to produce the sound of thunder.

    "'Because', spoke he heroine, 'I am not giving you a choice.'"

    The heroine draws her prop sword, the act causing sparks to fly, perhaps from some sort of sharpening sheathe or small fireworks. As she raises the sword above her head, the blue-back sky in the background shifts to shades of wavering red and yellow, to emulate fire.

    "The three men, cowed by the heroine's sword of flame, yet protested. 'You are a tyrant, wielding your power to force change according to your own ideals!'"

    The heroine sheathes her sword, and the thundering and flame background recede back to how they were before.

    "'Yes,' the heroine agreed. 'To be a true hero, one must be willing to trample the dreams of those one opposes. In that sense, tyranny is at the very core of what it means to be a hero.'"

    The three men bow in surrender and move backwards, retreating off stage, as the others around likewise scatter.

    "The small Power saw something she had never considered before. That the reasons for being good or bad were less important than being willing and able to change the bad to the good, even if against their individual wills."

    The three figures from before emerge again. The noble, without as much finery or baubles walking alongside the man who prefers to be alone, dressed in a similar manner, as they seem to be discussing how best to change the nobility's system, the man without a home, waving to silhouettes that file out in smiling masks, young and old alike, who wave to him in turn, and then returns to his labor. In the background, one of the buildings is outlined in white, revealing it to be some of temple or church.

    The heroine works alongside him, carrying a heavy burden in the form of a large black box (probably empty) over her head and setting it down for him.

    "And for a time, the lot of the Dead of Lostrata improved. And the small Power wondered if there was something she could do as well."

    All the figures then bow out as the lights dim upon the stage, signifying the end of the first act.

Finna (513) has posed:
A turn of events that she was not expecting. Finna makes a soft little gasp and blinks a few times. "Wait, what...?"

    She cants her head to the side, puzzling over the implications of the heroine's actions... it sure was NOT how she expected things would go....

    "... Throw everyone's face into the grinder where they lacked, huh... I guess that's fitting...."