in our world made of {strings} // Puppetmasters
Jun 10, 2012 20:00:37 GMT -5
Post by Stare on Jun 10, 2012 20:00:37 GMT -5
I've got treasures in my head
Dreams like diamonds, all wrapped up in gold
And will anybody ever know?
The best kind of act is the one performed at all hours of the day, while wearing costumes and masks that never come off and being acted out on a stage that has no ends. A warm smile finds its way onto my face somehow when I pass Danny in the hall, footsteps silent on the velvet carpet, even though fire toward her burns deep in my soul. When my parents await me at the door I give them a reassuring smile, promising that no, Mom, I promise I'm not going to another performance and yes, Dad, I'll stay away from the puppets tonight before shoving open the door and stepping into the sweet silence of sunset in District Seven. The mansion is left behind, tossed back off my shoulders like a shirt that has grown too small, and I shake my hair back with a slight smile on my face. Some people may find it scary how easily I can lie to my parents these days - perhaps it is obsession that acts as a magnet that draws me away from them and toward the marionettes I adore, or perhaps it is simply the lack of love in that cold household that repels me away almost every day. Nod your head and take a bow - Part One of the act is finished.
The sky fades from its normal beryl expanse into streaks of fantastic color, like flames of amber shooting out of a white-hot core that quickly sinks below the charred horizon. Everything that stands between myself and the brilliant sky is blackened, simple silhouettes that bend and sway in the summer wind. It's a beautiful set, painted with fantastic colors - a perfect backdrop for the next scene. My bare feet pad against the dried dust road, stirring up delicate clouds of dirt in my wake and settling a thin layer of brown between my toes. My twig-like limbs swing aimlessly back and forth, uneven pendulums that count down the seconds until show time. Tick, tock, tick, tock… In my future, all blurred and warped and twisted, I see their blank eyes and shimmering strings, and I feel their call to me. My subjects call to their Puppet Queen, and who am I to neglect them?
At this time of day, most have already left the woods in hopes to return home before the night falls. While, as lumberjacks, we are tough by nature, even we know that it is a dangerous thing to roam the trees when darkness reigns. There have been far too many haunted tales told around blazing fires of people who died in the woods because they were attacked by criminals or wild animals. Of course, if one were to believe every single one of those stories, than they would have to believe that there are hundreds of ghosts now roaming the woods.
Sunset is the time when the calls of the axes finally die, but it is always the time when voices rise in the town. It is the time of the Puppetmasters. The majority of our streetlamps are burnt out in this district, so the town remains dark when the moon rises. But if a child were to look hard enough, they would find the warm glow radiating from our stage, and would be led to a world beyond their imagination. Dreams are always stronger and closer at night, and one doesn’t have to be asleep to feel them. They exist in the breath of every night, heard only by those who dare to listen.
When I approach the shack that acts as our performing area, I smile. It would seem that the others have all arrived early, which is a rare occurrence. I sweep into the small room, our backstage, and offer everyone a wide smile. Work ceases, if only momentarily, for them to smile back or at least nod, acknowledging my presence. Affection has never been huge in this group, but I think that’s something we’re all okay with. In fact, I don’t think there’s a whole lot of stuff that we’re not okay with. In our friendship, we don’t have expectations or limitations for each other, and that’s one of the reasons we work so well.
I glance around the backstage and my eyes light up at the delightful mess. Tangled strings and random wooden limbs hang from the walls, with fake eyes and wigs to be glued to their puppets spilling over shelves. Lengths of different colored and textured fabrics are tossed this way and that, and crumbled pieces of paper form a white carpet on the floor. Rough sketches of set ideas, puppet plans, and some just random scribbles are nailed to the walls. Lanterns light up our workspace, hung by strings that reach all around the room. They bathe our world in a glittering, golden luminescence, turning it into a kind of dreamland. It’s cozy and comforting in the best of ways, and I could almost glow with content as I move toward the center of the room.
“Everyone ready for the show tonight?” I ask, pausing a moment to glance up the stairs to my attic, where the puppets await me. Soon. “I saw some kids on my way here, so I think we’ll have a pretty big audience today.”
((OOC: This thread is the first thread in the Puppetmasters plot. It isn’t very significant to the actual plot, but is more for people to get used to RPing with their characters and with each other. It’s not a mandatory thread, but I highly recommend it. Post whenever, guys, and then we’ll stick to that order throughout the thread. Basically, the thread is them getting prepared for the show, performing, and then reacting at the end, so you should only have to make about three posts total. ^^ ))My flaws and imperfections try to bring me down
Can't be afraid
Only my dreams can same me now
[M:2982250]
