Jun 25, 2023 6:57 pm
The streets of Newfaire are buzzing tonight. The last week has been brutally hot, well above normal, even for this time of year. A healthy summer storm washed through the city this after and brought the blessed relief everyone was hoping for. As the heat of the scorching summer day gives way to the cool air of night, the streets of every district are alive with people. The factories and foundries of The Steel belch their day shift back out into the city and swallow the workers of the night shift in the same breath. The halls of government in Silverslip close soundly as the last barristers and clerks finish their negotiations and dealings until the morning. Homes throughout The Eaves, The Sidle and South Soffit welcome their families home from whatever toils devour their daytime hours, but not all. Many citizens of Newfaire take the electric trolleys to other parts of the city. Some to the posh, urbanized Varnish district with it’s fancy shops, bars and restaurants. This is where the upright citizens go, those respectable in the eyes of the Periphery and the Ascendancy.
Still others flock to The Redlamp District, with it’s seedier establishments offering more lascivious wares. The brothels are, mostly, legal and regulated by law. And the bars don’t serve anything a constable of the Periphery would object to…as long as the proprietor is current on all their…taxes and insurance payments. And the playhouses, well nothing goes on there other than the frippery and triviality of entertainment. Nothing like what happens in the darkened back rooms and alleys of…other locations.
The Songbird Theatre located deep in the heart of The Redlamp was one such playhouse. It survived the war mostly unharmed. The enemy bombardments shattered some windows and scuffed the paint here and there, and the fires never even came close to licking the intricate carved timbers of its structure, not warping the fine pine of its stage. Of course Time is a force no mere man-made edifice can hope to withstand. In the years since it was originally constructed hundreds, if not thousands, of actors had scuffed the stage floor with their shoes, and thousands if not millions of loyal patrons had filled the seats and wear now showed upon the thin fabric and squeaky springs. The troupes that played the Songbird these days saw more lean than lush times, but the doors stayed open and the lights stayed lit.
The lobby of the grand old theater hid its age well. Posters of old performances covered faded and torn wallpaper, and the owners had paid to have the floors polished for the opening of the summer season. Electricity, the wonder and savior of Newfaire, had recently come to this block and the investment had been made to replace most of the old gas lamps. The harsh blue-white light of these new electric bulbs showed brighter than the flickering fire of gas ever could hope to, and the public opinion was that anything new and electric was better than the old dreary way of doing things. And what of the cost, well, the public gladly accepted the faint acrid smell of burning metal for the soot and smell of rotten eggs.
The audience was not as full as the troupe might have liked, not even three-quarters capacity of the Songbird, but it wasn’t the worst opening night in history. The cast was composed mostly of unknowns, only the leading man and director with any distinction or fame to speak of. The play itself was a new show which always meant mixed feelings. Some who had read it called it a great character piece, and exploration of man and the modern age. Others labeled it drivel, a ham fisted message in search of a meaning.
The theater doors had shut fifteen minutes ago, and the first scene was now well under way. The protagonist of the story, a young lord, finds himself torn between two great loves. The daughter of the emperor, or the farmer’s maiden daughter. The princess is handsome, beautiful in her own way, and to marry her would make the lord heir to the empire and wealthy beyond all desire. The maiden however is a beauty beyond compare, and loyal to her professed love. The various gods themselves have tried and failed to win her affection away from the lord, he has seen them try with his own eyes. Marriage to her would bring him no end of happiness, but her status would cause his father to disown him and he would lose all his name might provide.
Additionally, one god, the god of beauty, has grown jealous of the maiden. They whisper in the ear of the princess, and the two hatch a plan to turn the lord against her. The princess accuses her of vile witchcraft, and making foul demonic bargains at the price of her chastity. The god of beauty creates illusions and deceptions the maiden is unable to refute, and the lord befuddled and unable to question. For her supposed crimes, the maiden is sentenced to death, her soul sent to the pits of Hell for eternal punishment by a most cruel implement, a sarcophagus made of iron inside of which is set a spike for each of her sins. The maiden is given a final soliloquy in which she laments her fate, once again professes her undying love for the lord, and even wishes happiness upon the princess whose false accusations have sentenced her to death. She ascends the stairs to the dias and stands amid the implements of her death, gazing down upon her love and the audience one last time before the coffin is closed upon her by the executioner leaving the audience staring at the lifeless face of the iron maiden.
The actress is supposed to scream, letting out all the maiden’s anguish in the final sound the audience will hear from her. The sound the audience hears however is harrowing beyond comprehension. It is a sound that can only be described as a soul being torn asunder. Though the curtain has not fallen, many in the audience leap to their feet applauding this performance. Men and women openly weep at the thought of such a poor innocent soul being so mistreated.
This isn’t how the play is supposed to go though.
The next lines are meant to be spoken by the lord and the princess, the former mourning his loss, the latter confessing to her crime. Instead, the actors stand aghast. Their eyes glued to the sarcophagus. They seem as struck by the performance and scream as the audience, perhaps themselves lost in the emotion of the scene. Slowly the audience lapses into silence as they notice things aren’t proceeding. The leading man comes around first, going to the side and whispers to someone off stage. A moment later, the director appears and the two men talk quietly as the other performers gather. The audience can hear the rising panic in their tones as the architecture projects all sound to their ears, but the specific words are lost. Murmurs of confusion start to rise among the crowd while they wait for something to happen. The actress playing the princess slowly ascends the stairs. Something is dripping down the face on the iron coffin. She touches the side of the nose and her finger comes away stained red with blood.
The iron maiden now weeps tears of blood. The actress screams at the sight and nearly trips over costume trying to flee the dais. The leading man and two stage hands rush up the stairs and pry at the door to the prop. Their hands slip and search frantically for grip as more blood seems to flow out of the gap in the box where the two halves meet. Finally they get it and with a great heave of effort, the front of the iron maiden opens. A wall of crimson greets them, a veritable deluge of blood sweeps forth from the small hollow causing the men to lose their footing and fall backwards to the stage floor. As the wave crashes down, the front row seats are first spattered with droplets then washed in it as the bulk of it reaches the edge of the stage. Three rows deep, the audience is sprayed with gore. Panic is instantaneous. Screams erupt from every side of the theater. On stage the cast and crew flee in every direction, the audience stampedes to the exits. Chaos reigns in the aisles.
A few moments later
The door of the Drunk Vicar bursts open as a man dressed in evening finery, but covered in blood up to his knees and with more than a few smudged handprints come barreling past the bouncer.
"MADAME HART! Where is Madame Hart! I need to see her now! Sheis needed at the Songbird Theater. There has been a MURDER!" he shouts.
The two bouncers rush behind him and grab him roughly by the arms and waist hoisting him off the ground. The patrons of the Vicar start to get to their feet anticipating a free show, or reacting to the claim of murder, but all fall silent at the sharp whistle that issues from the top or the stairs from the slight middle aged woman dressed all in lavender. The men involved in the disturbance all freeze and turn to look. A quick gesture from Madame Josephine Hart sees a quicker response as the bouncers carry the man out of the common area and into the back dining room, his shoes never once touching the floor. Like a ghost, Madame Hart gracefully floats down to the main floor and follows them all. She makes stern and meaningful eye contact with five people as she passes, Madame Felicia Parker, Laura MacNaduff, Alice Mist, Otto Man, and Professor Emilio Bartalomeo. It is clear she wants these individuals to follow her and hear what this man has to say.
Still others flock to The Redlamp District, with it’s seedier establishments offering more lascivious wares. The brothels are, mostly, legal and regulated by law. And the bars don’t serve anything a constable of the Periphery would object to…as long as the proprietor is current on all their…taxes and insurance payments. And the playhouses, well nothing goes on there other than the frippery and triviality of entertainment. Nothing like what happens in the darkened back rooms and alleys of…other locations.
The Songbird Theatre located deep in the heart of The Redlamp was one such playhouse. It survived the war mostly unharmed. The enemy bombardments shattered some windows and scuffed the paint here and there, and the fires never even came close to licking the intricate carved timbers of its structure, not warping the fine pine of its stage. Of course Time is a force no mere man-made edifice can hope to withstand. In the years since it was originally constructed hundreds, if not thousands, of actors had scuffed the stage floor with their shoes, and thousands if not millions of loyal patrons had filled the seats and wear now showed upon the thin fabric and squeaky springs. The troupes that played the Songbird these days saw more lean than lush times, but the doors stayed open and the lights stayed lit.
The lobby of the grand old theater hid its age well. Posters of old performances covered faded and torn wallpaper, and the owners had paid to have the floors polished for the opening of the summer season. Electricity, the wonder and savior of Newfaire, had recently come to this block and the investment had been made to replace most of the old gas lamps. The harsh blue-white light of these new electric bulbs showed brighter than the flickering fire of gas ever could hope to, and the public opinion was that anything new and electric was better than the old dreary way of doing things. And what of the cost, well, the public gladly accepted the faint acrid smell of burning metal for the soot and smell of rotten eggs.
The audience was not as full as the troupe might have liked, not even three-quarters capacity of the Songbird, but it wasn’t the worst opening night in history. The cast was composed mostly of unknowns, only the leading man and director with any distinction or fame to speak of. The play itself was a new show which always meant mixed feelings. Some who had read it called it a great character piece, and exploration of man and the modern age. Others labeled it drivel, a ham fisted message in search of a meaning.
The theater doors had shut fifteen minutes ago, and the first scene was now well under way. The protagonist of the story, a young lord, finds himself torn between two great loves. The daughter of the emperor, or the farmer’s maiden daughter. The princess is handsome, beautiful in her own way, and to marry her would make the lord heir to the empire and wealthy beyond all desire. The maiden however is a beauty beyond compare, and loyal to her professed love. The various gods themselves have tried and failed to win her affection away from the lord, he has seen them try with his own eyes. Marriage to her would bring him no end of happiness, but her status would cause his father to disown him and he would lose all his name might provide.
Additionally, one god, the god of beauty, has grown jealous of the maiden. They whisper in the ear of the princess, and the two hatch a plan to turn the lord against her. The princess accuses her of vile witchcraft, and making foul demonic bargains at the price of her chastity. The god of beauty creates illusions and deceptions the maiden is unable to refute, and the lord befuddled and unable to question. For her supposed crimes, the maiden is sentenced to death, her soul sent to the pits of Hell for eternal punishment by a most cruel implement, a sarcophagus made of iron inside of which is set a spike for each of her sins. The maiden is given a final soliloquy in which she laments her fate, once again professes her undying love for the lord, and even wishes happiness upon the princess whose false accusations have sentenced her to death. She ascends the stairs to the dias and stands amid the implements of her death, gazing down upon her love and the audience one last time before the coffin is closed upon her by the executioner leaving the audience staring at the lifeless face of the iron maiden.
The actress is supposed to scream, letting out all the maiden’s anguish in the final sound the audience will hear from her. The sound the audience hears however is harrowing beyond comprehension. It is a sound that can only be described as a soul being torn asunder. Though the curtain has not fallen, many in the audience leap to their feet applauding this performance. Men and women openly weep at the thought of such a poor innocent soul being so mistreated.
This isn’t how the play is supposed to go though.
The next lines are meant to be spoken by the lord and the princess, the former mourning his loss, the latter confessing to her crime. Instead, the actors stand aghast. Their eyes glued to the sarcophagus. They seem as struck by the performance and scream as the audience, perhaps themselves lost in the emotion of the scene. Slowly the audience lapses into silence as they notice things aren’t proceeding. The leading man comes around first, going to the side and whispers to someone off stage. A moment later, the director appears and the two men talk quietly as the other performers gather. The audience can hear the rising panic in their tones as the architecture projects all sound to their ears, but the specific words are lost. Murmurs of confusion start to rise among the crowd while they wait for something to happen. The actress playing the princess slowly ascends the stairs. Something is dripping down the face on the iron coffin. She touches the side of the nose and her finger comes away stained red with blood.
The iron maiden now weeps tears of blood. The actress screams at the sight and nearly trips over costume trying to flee the dais. The leading man and two stage hands rush up the stairs and pry at the door to the prop. Their hands slip and search frantically for grip as more blood seems to flow out of the gap in the box where the two halves meet. Finally they get it and with a great heave of effort, the front of the iron maiden opens. A wall of crimson greets them, a veritable deluge of blood sweeps forth from the small hollow causing the men to lose their footing and fall backwards to the stage floor. As the wave crashes down, the front row seats are first spattered with droplets then washed in it as the bulk of it reaches the edge of the stage. Three rows deep, the audience is sprayed with gore. Panic is instantaneous. Screams erupt from every side of the theater. On stage the cast and crew flee in every direction, the audience stampedes to the exits. Chaos reigns in the aisles.
A few moments later
The door of the Drunk Vicar bursts open as a man dressed in evening finery, but covered in blood up to his knees and with more than a few smudged handprints come barreling past the bouncer.
"MADAME HART! Where is Madame Hart! I need to see her now! Sheis needed at the Songbird Theater. There has been a MURDER!" he shouts.
The two bouncers rush behind him and grab him roughly by the arms and waist hoisting him off the ground. The patrons of the Vicar start to get to their feet anticipating a free show, or reacting to the claim of murder, but all fall silent at the sharp whistle that issues from the top or the stairs from the slight middle aged woman dressed all in lavender. The men involved in the disturbance all freeze and turn to look. A quick gesture from Madame Josephine Hart sees a quicker response as the bouncers carry the man out of the common area and into the back dining room, his shoes never once touching the floor. Like a ghost, Madame Hart gracefully floats down to the main floor and follows them all. She makes stern and meaningful eye contact with five people as she passes, Madame Felicia Parker, Laura MacNaduff, Alice Mist, Otto Man, and Professor Emilio Bartalomeo. It is clear she wants these individuals to follow her and hear what this man has to say.
OOC:
Go ahead and describe what your character is doing when this man enters. Feel free to react in any way that doesn’t prevent him or the others from reaching the back room, give us a taste of your character. It would make the most sense for everyone to wind up there to hear what is going on, but if you think you have a better idea, feel free to pursue it.
