Call of Cthulhu: Tatters of the King (IC Thread)

[Xsesiv]

OoC Thread (http://www.giantitp.com/forums/showthread.php?367103-Call-of-Cthulhu-Tatters-of-the-King-%28OoC-Thread%29&p=17947393#post17947393)
Tatters of the King

the Prologue:

Opening Night

The seventeenth day of October, 1928. Winter's been unusually harsh and has fallen unusually early. Snow falls and now, well before nine, it is already dark, and the stars are hidden by a thick blanket of cloud.

There is a queue outside the theatre, which stands on Charlotte Street between Goodge Street and Tottenham Street. The queue draws on all social classes, all decked out in their best. Curtain time is quite late, and the hopeful audience are huddled up against the bitter cold. A photographer has set up his equipment to capture the scene and the crowd is looking his way. A large gentleman in an overcoat and a homburg hat, arms folded, grips a copy of the London Express and shows an angry expression. His wife next to him keeps her head down. Sitting on camp stools in front of them are two well-dressed women in elaborate hats, drinking tea which they pour from a flask. Behind the camera an empty omnibus rattles and ploughs along the snowy street.

A group stand in a knot, waiting for the doors to open and chatting. One fellow here is tall and slim, pretty-handsome and haughty-looking, in an expensive, well-cut suit. There's a plainly and sensibly dressed woman with brown hair and eyes, of somewhat above average height. Also here is a tall, slender man, black-haired and -moustachioed and dressed in a suit in which he looks very uncomfortable. There's a third man, short, heavyset, well-dressed and with dark hair, and another man of average size, drawing sidelong glances for his choice in dress: tweeds.

[The Duskblade]

Unused to the cold night air and irritated by the wait Janet retrieves a cigarette from her pockets. A few failed flicks of her lighter later she sighs, returns the empty lighter to her pocket and approaches a small clump of fellow theatre goers.

"Excuse me gentlemen, but could I have the lend of a lighter or match? My own seems to be empty."

[thumbprince]

"Certainly, miss." Pearson cups the guttering flame of his lighter for the woman in the queue.

"A fan of Mr. Estus?"

[aspi]

Gordon had been too busy making sure that he looked presentable - and dashing - for the camera to react in time when the young lady asked for a light. He had reached into his pocked for the lighter that he carried for just such an occasion, since his condition prevented him from smoking himself. When he turned around however, it was just in time to hear someone else answer. Recognizing the lady who had asked, he smiled, inclined his head and silently lifted his hat as if he wanted to say Nice seeing you here. I'm sorry I did not recognize you sooner. He didn't intrude on the conversation just yet, expecting that Miss Pickford might have a thing or two to say about Talbot Estus. Never having never heard about or read anything by this author before, Gordon couldn't deny a certain curiosity.

[The Duskblade]

"A fan of his earlier works certainly. It is a rare author who can successfully blend the genres of romance and horror. The Haunting of Agatha May is a personal favourite. Unfortunately his latest The Revenant King was something of an incoherent mess I am sad to say. Still given his record I would be foolish to pass up an opportunity to see his works. Who knows when I might have another opportunity, I have often thought that Talbot Estus'es works would be well suited to the stage, particularly The Curse of Beydelus, I believe the tale of a occultist magician seeking the ruin a famous family could be made into a truly terrifying experience with the aid of some skilled stagework. Oh but I should introduce myself, Janet Pickford, thank you for the use of your lighter sir."

Taking a steady drag from her cigarette Janet turns briefly to Gordon. "Ah Captain I hadn't noticed you, it is good to see you again, it seems it has been sometime."

[TerrickTerran]

Reverend Michael Boddy knew that the best entrance to be made was just near the start of the show for that meant attention would be on him. It was something he loved. He was not familiar with the theatre, the play, or anything really connected to it, but it seemed trendy and that was what mattered to him. Therefore, he stepped out of his sports car and spied around noting anyone who might catch his eye.

[Xsesiv]

There is a scuffle at the front of the queue: the doors are being opened. Immediately, the less-sophisticated members of the queue rush towards the doors, to be answered by a practised call: "Ladies and gentlemen, if you would kindly form an orderly line and be prepared to show your tickets, the play will begin shortly."

The queue progresses gradually through the front doors, and in exchange for his ticket, each spectator is handed another handbill and a cast list.

http://i412.photobucket.com/albums/pp203/Xplosiv_bucket/handbill_zpsbb882344.png
http://i412.photobucket.com/albums/pp203/Xplosiv_bucket/castlist_zps01bc457b.png

Audience members come through into an attractive, red-painted foyer, with a closed box-office desk in the centre. Dramatic doors at one end stand open beneath a sign that reads Theatre and Saloon Bar, while more discreet doors at the other end stand shut beside signs that read Gentlemen and Ladies. The audience remain in the foyer and chat for a while or else begin to trickle through into the saloon bar.

[thumbprince]

"Pearson Lattimore - glad to have been of service."

He begins to consider a more useful reply to the woman's impressive command of theater, but before he opens his mouth, the doors open. With a simple "Miss" and nod of goodbye he strives to get to the saloon bar.

[The Duskblade]

"Ah about time, will you be joining me at the bar Captain?" Janet says, stepping towards the door.

[TerrickTerran]

Michael looked over the handbill a bit. He did not care for the saloon, the place of the lower class. It wouldn't be right for him to be seen there. There was little money to be found for his church's coffers. Still, this play intrigued him. With the right people, perhaps he could convince some of the backers to donate. Then he could start his latest project. Yes, that could work indeed.

[aspi]

Gordon nodded "Of course" and followed Janet into the Saloon. Seeing her always reminded him of her brother, even a decade later, and he felt a familiar lump rise in his throat. A drink would most certainly help with that. "So tell me, how have you been?" he asked on the way.

[The Duskblade]

"Busy" replies Janet approaching the bar. "A Mint Julep for me please." She says to the bartender handing over the money plus a generous tip.

"I'm tidying up the first draft of my latest project and if it's going to see publication it's going to need revision, not to mention still more research before I'm comfortable with it being available for public consumption. That's why I'm here tonight. A decent writer must keep an eye on the latest works. And Talbot Estus happens to be most famous for witting in the same genre as my current project.

"And what about yourself Captain Reid? Any interesting flights since we last met? And what brings you back down to the streets of London?"

[thumbprince]

Ah!

Without waiting for the intended reply, Pearson interrupts. "Excuse my eavesdropping, but are you a playwright as well? Anything I might have seen?"

[The Duskblade]

Taken aback by the comment Janet stammers slightly. "Ah no no Mr. Laitimore, Merely a aspiring author I am afraid. And of novels not plays. In truth I am usually only a casual viewer of theatre however our playwright for the evening Mr. Estus is an established novelist of some repute, despite an unfortunate recent downturn, hence my interest. I believe this is his first staged performance."

[Xsesiv]

The saloon has photographs of scenes from the stage and audiences queueing up on the walls, a few prizes that the place has won, and a noticeboard with memoranda for the members, dates for auditions and lists of planned productions pinned up.

The bar itself looks more like a pub bar than a cocktail bar, and a bowler-hatted, middle-aged man with inkstained cuffs sniggers at Janet's request: "A what? This isn't Cocktail Hour at the Savoy, miss.". His voice suggests he is at least one sheet to the wind. Nonetheless, the barman, a tanned, lean young man in a black suit, beams, bends down underneath the bar and comes up with a sprig of mint. "I've been looking forward to something like this. Normally it's pulling pints all night. I'll have to use Scotch, I'm afraid. Can't get the bourbon. Prohibition and all that."

He mixes the julep with Scotch whisky and plonks it down on the bar, takes the price from the money Janet's put down and shoves the rest back towards her.

"You don't come here often, then? You should make a habit of it, we have some serious actors here. Real talent."

[TerrickTerran]

While the others are drinking in the saloon, Michael studies the handbill. Some of the names did sound a bit familiar although he was not sure why. Perhaps he had met them at one event or another. Till then, he listened in on conversations until one caught his interest.

[The Duskblade]

"Thankyou sir" said Janet, retrieving her change. "Scotch will be quite alright. Since we are fortunately not bound by prohibition I see no reason to settle when it comes to our choice in drinks" she says shooting an unfriendly look towards the former rather classless bartender. "Fortunately I doubt such measures will gain much traction here. The last time someone tried to take alcohol from the British there were riots in the street."

"I've seen the odd production but I must admit it's been some time since I have visited the Scala Theatre. If they are as good as you say I shall look forward to seeing the talent on display. Maybe I will have to consider more frequent visits."

Janet takes a sip of the Scotch Mint Julep. "An excellent drink, thank you sir." She says with a smile.

[aspi]

Gordon was about to answer Janet's question and tell her about the preparations he was overseeing for the aerial charting of the sea around South Georgia, which he would undertake for the President of the Board of Trade in the coming winter, when Mr. Lattimore interrupted. He didn't mind, as there would be plenty of time later, maybe even with an audience of potential new sponsors. After ordering a shot of whiskey from the barman, he listened to their conversation with one ear while he looked around the room for familiar - or unfamiliar - faces.

[thumbprince]

"Forgive me for the interruption, I pray," Lattimore extends his hand to Reid. "Pearson Lattimore."

[aspi]

Gordon let his gaze return, looked at Lattimore and extended his hand "Gordon Reid. Not to worry, Miss Pickford and I are old acquaintances, I am certain I can bore her with details of the preparations for my next expedition at a later time." He smiled "Especially when she can shed some light on what we may expect from tonight's play."

[Xsesiv]

Shortly, the door to the theatre opens and the audience begins to filter into the stalls (there is no dress circle at the Scala). The interior of the theatre is gloomy, with illumination coming from gas lamps evenly set around the red-painted walls and from the foot lamps below the stage’s edge. The theatre is small but still less than half full — there are about a hundred people present. It is much warmer in here than outside and people begin to divest themselves of their coats.

The audience are shown their seats by the sombre-looking usher. Janet, Pearson and Gordon find themselves sitting together to the centre and slightly towards the front. To talk to each other, however, they must lean across the well-dressed, heavyset gentleman that stood near them in the queue, who has been seated in their midst, just between Miss Pickford and Dr. Lattimore and behind Group Captain Reid.

Nine o'clock approaches, and the audience are whispering to each other in anticipation.

[TerrickTerran]

Finally, Michael thought, it looks like its about to begin. Not that he particularly cared about the play, but he was curious about possibly meeting those in charge. However, the attendance to the show was disappointing him at the moment.

[The Duskblade]

Once seated Janet glances over her copy of the cast list that came with the Handbill. Not being particularly interested in the people behind the characters she simply skims the list. But the final name catches her eye. Leaning towards Captain Reid and Dr. Lattimore she says "Ah I see Talbut Estus has cast himself in the play. As the King in Yellow apparently. I wonder if after the performance Mr. Estus might be taking questions? I would certainly like to speak to him."

Catching herself she addressing the man sitting in their midst. "My apologies sir, it was rather rude of me to speak across you like that."

[thumbprince]

"It will be fascinating to hear the perspective of the playwright and lead actor."

[aspi]

Gordon didn't mind at all that the theater was less than sold out, as it made the experience of shuffling through the narrow seating rows a great deal less claustrophobic. Once he had doffed his coat and taken his seat, he felt the comfortable warmth of the hall seep back into his limbs. When Janet adressed them, he turned around, placing one arm at the top of his seat, and agreed "It is certainly an interesting choice. I wonder what kind of performance are in for tonight."

[TerrickTerran]

"I'm not sure, but I'm sure it will be a very interesting performance" Michael replied. He was not familiar with any of these people at least that he remembered but they did seem to be an interesting group. Perhaps he could get to know them better under the right circumstances.

[The Duskblade]

"I suppose we should make some introductions sir, since it seems you are trapped in our midst. I am Miss Janet Pickford. The gentleman with the love of tweed to our right is Dr. Pearson Lattimore and just in front of you is Captain Gordon Reid."

[Xsesiv]

The house lights are turned out and the stage lights come on, illuminating a red curtain, and then it is drawn back: act one, scene one.

The set is a palace balcony, twin suns in the sky on a painted backdrop. A good-looking woman with strong features and long, wavy, pale-blonde hair reclines sensuously, almost indecently, on a coach, once opulent, now faded and threadbare. She wears only a sheer white robe of some shiny material, cinched in with a belt in the region of the waist and a string of flowers around her neck, and there are a few muffled gasps at the raciness of this attire.

Enter a tall, handsome man with broad shoulders, high cheekbones and blond hair swept back from his face, a young-looking, slight man with dark black hair, good-looking again in a sickly sort of way, and a pretty, delicate-looking woman covered in freckles with a huge amount of shiny red hair. All of them are in similarly luxurious but slightly indecent outfits. They discuss matters of succession with the woman on the couch, all calling her "Mother", although nobody is named, or calls anyone else by name. The woman on the couch must be Queen Cassilda, the redhead her daughter Camilla, and the men her sons Uoht and Thale. The talk seems to be one they have had many times before. The actors bring across a feeling of ennui, of 'going through the motions'. The sons argue with each other and complain in turn to their mother, but, face fixed in a mask of bored irritation, she does not give them the attention they seek. In the end, she wearily sends her children away. The curtain comes down.

[Xsesiv]

The next scene is in a receiving room. Queen Cassilda stands at a long table, reading aloud from a scroll a report which names her city as Yhtill and her kingdom as Hastur. The report speaks of how there is no end in sight to the war Hastur wages against the kingdom of Alar.

A blond child aged ten or so enters, dressed in an exquisitely tailored silk outfit, less revealing than the other actors', and dripping in jewels: he wears a diadem, bracelets, anklets, necklaces, and his ears have each been pierced in several places for rings. His fingers and thumbs all glitter and his feet are bare, the better to wear even more rings (on his toes). It's unclear if the Child is another of the Queen's sons, but he talks to her with familiarity and even bullies her. They speak of Carcosa, a wandering dreamlike city with five singular aspects: it appeared overnight; it is either on or near the waters below the palace, Hali; the towers of the city slip behind the moons at night; on seeing the city one knows its name; and a fifth aspect which nobody speaks of. Cassilda sings a sad song about the fate of Carcosa. The priest, Naotalba, enters, eyeing the Child with distrust. It seems neither he nor the Queen has the power to dismiss him. Naotalba describes unrest in the city: a Stranger has arrived: an unheard-of event. The lights fall.

[The Duskblade]

The play so far had certainly not been what Janet had expected. Taking advantage of the lowered curtain she expresses her opinion to the group. "Succession, war, a world of Two suns and a wandering city? Quite a departure from Estus'es usual style. It is certainly a rather unique performance."

[thumbprince]

"Interesting, but where is the king?"

[TerrickTerran]

"Indeed. Quite the show, quite the show." Michael was impressed by the costumes and the like. It seemed to him that someone had put a great deal of money into the production. Perhaps they would be interested in investing it in one of his charities. That would work out quite nicely indeed.

[Xsesiv]

Act one scene three, in the receiving room again, is possibly the strangest so far.The Queen greets the Stranger, a large man in long, black silk robes and a featureless, bone-white mask. He appears indifferent to her status. She seems to know who he is and to have expected him, but is surprised he has come so soon. When she puts this to him he replies that, no, she is really surprised that he wasn’t here before. They talk for a period more but you realize that it’s all clever word play designed to obfuscate a hidden truth and you lose interest in the dialogue as you consider what is not being said. A couple a few rows in front of you start whispering urgently. They gather their things then get up to leave. You find yourself very annoyed at this and can choose to make a comment if you wish. But actually you can sense a repressed tension in yourself, too, at odds with this play’s understated portrayal of ill-defined events. The stage regains your attention, as the Stranger makes to embrace the Queen.The Stranger enters, a large man robed in black silk and wearing a featureless, bone-white mask, but Cassilda is oblivious to his presence. She begins a soliloquy in which she speaks of each of her children who wander in distractedly as they are discussed (they are named here for the first time): her eldest son, Thale, restless, contented and cruel; Uoht, her second son, flawed, ambitious and sensitive; Camilla, her daughter, quiet but influential. She bemoans how the family was only ever held together by the Yellow Sign. The theatre is absolutely still. You sense a tension in yourself; something tells you a truly awful event is about to occur. As all the other actors save Cassilda leave, the silent Stranger, almost forgotten in the shadows, steps past her to the very front of the stage. He faces the audience.The Queen, Cassilda, is alone on the stage. She is quiet for almost a minute — very odd for a play — and then she reacts as though someone has joined her, although no one has. She speaks of the approach of madness, and she talks ever more excitedly about the power of the king, the King in Yellow, and there are pauses in her conversation as though she is listening to another side. Then a second figure enters; the Stranger, a large man wearing black silk robes and a featureless, bone-white mask. She ignores him. Someone at the back of the theatre begins to shout and people in front of you turn to look as the disturbance continues. On stage the Queen now looks at the newcomer. She visibly struggles to remain calm, and you realise that you feel tense yourself.The Queen is in a highly agitated state, ranting and raving about somebody. She doesn't mention a name, but it soon becomes clear that she is rehearsing what she would say to the Child if only she could. She shifts to angry muttering about the war that still continues, blaming it upon every character that has yet appeared, including herself. She is interrupted from venting her impotent anger when the Stranger enters, a large man in black silk robes and a featureless, bone-white mask, and Cassilda shrieks as she sees him, causing people in the audience to start and then giggle. The Stranger keeps his arms folded across his chest. As Cassilda composes herself, you find yourself feeling tense. A stage light fades and goes out. A stagehand comes out of the side door and with whispered apologies rushes past the front row to the stage light and begins fiddling with it. On the stage, the Stranger humbly greets the Queen, who struggles to make polite conversation, while the Stranger doesn't bother. The light suddenly flashes back on.The Stranger immediately throws up his arms to reveal, painted on breast and sleeve, a symbol like a tentacled triskelion in bright yellow, and Cassilda wordlessly collapses. There are gasps and cries from the audience and then the stage lights go down and the house lights go up. It's the intermission. There are a mixture of reactions all throughout the audience: a couple of members appear to have been overcome by mild hysterics and there is muffled sobbing from more. One or two gentlemen are conversing rather loudly about the play in deprecating terms as though seeking support. But many other audience members appear to be spellbound. Some people are gathering their things to go home, but not many. One woman who is leaving seems to be being taken out against her wishes. The audience gradually stand and return to the bar.

[The Duskblade]

As the lights go up Janet is momentarily silent, absorbing what she had just seen. Then she pulls a notepad and pencil from her belongings and starts scribbling notes down. She jots down a brief summary of the scene itself (As she saw it) but focuses more on the themes at play, and the sense that something had been left unsaid. Finally she draws a quick sketch of the triskelion that appeared on the stranger.

"I.. admit I never expected to see anything quite like this tonight. Certainly a one in a kind performance. Though it seems some have had a hard time stomaching the more disturbing themes. And as of yet the King in Yellow has not made an appearance."

[aspi]

As the lights were turned out in preparation for the first act, Gordon noticed a pleasant tingling of excitment. This play didn't sound like the usual fare and he was pleased to have picked today for visiting the theater. When the curtains were drawn, he took in the excotic and foreign details of the set with curiosity.

As the play unfolded however, he gradually felt his attention shift away from the stage. While he followed the dialogue with one ear, his mind wandered elsewhere, trying hard to stay away from the memories of war that seeing Janet had dredged up again. But just like the play, his toughts inevitably spiraled towards the topic until his own, silent soliloquy matched that of the queen: blaming everyone and everything for the pain that had transpired, but most of all himself. It was the shriek, which for a fraction of a moment seemed to him more like an expression of the actresses' own shock than the queen's, that roughly brought his attention back to the here and now.

While the ensuing scene felt uncomfortable, he was unable to pinpoint the reason for this sensation and couldn't quite shake the gnawing feeling at the back of his mind, which told him that a tiny detail had slipped past his attention. Yet at the same time he wasn't certain if it wouldn't have been even more unpleasant if he had caught on to it. Part of him yearned to join those that left the theater and he shifted uncomfortably in his seat, then let the thought slip away and turned around toward the others.

"That was... quite different indeed." he stated in response to Janet, although it sounded more like a question and less like a statement, making it clear that Gordon hadn't quite figured out what to make of the play. "Does anyone care to join me for another drink?" he inquired. He didn't really care for the drink, but getting out of the hall and stretching his legs while trying to work through what he'd just witnessed had it's own appeal.

[TerrickTerran]

The play was more fascinating than he expected. Michael wasn't sure why he liked it so much but he couldn't seem to take his eyes off the stage at the moment.

[Xsesiv]

Act two begins. The curtain comes up on a room in the palace that has been taken by the masked Stranger.

One by one, the other characters enter to talk to him: first Thale wheedles and threatens to try to gain the Stranger's help in his claim for the throne. Uoht, wearing what looks like a ceremonial wig or headdress, tries to bargain with him to get support for his own suit. Camilla says she wants nothing but to listen and learn from him, but instead she complains about Yhtill's troubles. Her voice rises as though in fear but it appears she cannot stop talking. Cassilda starts to treat him as an enemy but then suggests allegiance: even a marriage of convenience between her family and whomever the Stranger represents. Finally, the Child comes in and stands mute.

The curtain falls.

[Xsesiv]

When the curtain comes up again, there is a masked ball taking place on the palace balcony, with all the principals and some extras to make up numbers. A huge, ornate bowl stands in the middle and occasionally somebody dips a silver goblet into it, slopping clear, dark red liquid that must be wine onto the stage floor. The revellers are all heavily robed and intricately masked, so it takes a moment to make out the Stranger. The revellers move to music played by the small house orchestra, including the Stranger, who moves stiffly and without gaiety.

Their actions look extravagant and unrestrained. Soon, they begin to remove their masks, revealing bright eyes The Stranger keeps his mask – rather, he wears no mask! He grasps the Queen by the arm and she collapses on the floor. A huge figure wrapped from head to toe in tattered yellow robes arrives, holding a sword and a torch that emits smoke but no flame. It is the King in Yellow. He talks with the collapsed Queen and the priest Naotalba, and from what they say it is clear that now that all have seen the Sign, all must wear the mask; Yhtill has become Carcosa and they are no longer entirely human. The King disappears. The crowd of guests is now stricken with fear, except for the Child, who has been concealed by extras up until now. Grinning maniacally, he runs out of the group and approaches the Stranger who has himself fallen to the ground, takes him by the hand and helps him up, and they leave together in the wake of the King.

As the play ends the audience becomes confused. There is a little more dialogue, but it is somehow distorted and lost.

The curtain falls, the stage lights fade, the house lights come on, and it is as though a spell has been broken. Suddenly, all is uproar. A few people collapse out of their seats, and some five or ten people in various places about the theatre have started madly attacking all and sundry. Two men rush the stage and are tackled and pinned down by several stagehands, while a number of others turn on members of the audience indiscriminately. One man is swinging about him with fists and feet, another has found a bottle, a gentleman uses his cane, and a woman scratches and claws.

There are cries for calm ("Gentlemen! There are ladies present! Gentlemen, please!") and a few people try to intervene.

[The Duskblade]

The ending to the performance leaves Janet deep in thought, it takes a moment before she is snapped back to reality by the sounds of violence. "What in the world is going on here? She muttered.

Abandoning her seat, Janet crouches down to avoid notice and says to the others "It would seem we should be leaving, as quickly as possible." She pauses to allow the others the chance to join her, and not wishing to be separated from them during the ongoing scuffle.

[thumbprince]

Lattimore has wrung his fingers through his hair to the point of unrecognizability. When a hostile figure approaches, he shakes one fist at the man. "See here - stop this at once!"

[aspi]

Gordon, who was somewhat disquieted and unnerved by the play himself, was taken aback by the ensuing uproar. Despite feeling a spot of turmoil rise in himself, he made an effort to remain calm, look around and analyze the situation before he acted. The audiences reaction was strange - to say the least - and entirely atypical for this kind of crowd, he thought. Yet this couldn't be as serious as it looked, could it? He got up and briefly leaned over the back of his seat. "Not to worry, this must simply be a temporary lapse of judgement. Please stay behind cover in case someone begins throwing one of these bottles. I'll see if we can't sort this out peacefully", he murmured to Janet, then put on the most forthcoming, calming smile he could muster and strode toward the closest lunatic.

Appeasingly raising his arms (and maybe a little defensively, just in case), he adressed the man "I will admit, this was quite an unusual performance. But there's no need to add to this evening's strangeness, wouldn't you agree?"

[TerrickTerran]

Michael shakes his head a bit, feeling a bit weirded out by the performance. He was a bit concerned about what was happening but it was not his nature to get involved in a physical scrape.

[Xsesiv]

Dr. Lattimore finds himself shouting at the gentleman with the cane, a tall slight man of indeterminate age, while Gordon attempts to reason with the unarmed fellow, a squat redhead. There is no reason in their faces, just a berserk rage, and they hurl themselves at the people addressing them with tremendous fury. Dr. Lattimore finds himself the victim of a glancing blow on the shoulder from a walking stick, while Gordon blocks with his arm a punch that would otherwise have caught him in the ribs. Michael and Janet manage to escape notice for the moment.

The man with the bottle has smashed it over the head of the sombre usher, who has collapsed on the floor, clutching his scalp, while the bottle-wielder begins kicking him. The woman who was attacking people has been wrestled into her seat and is being pinned there by who is presumably her husband.

[aspi]

Despite his caution, Gordon was taken by surprise by the man's violent and swift attack. His brain already prepared for the pain as the fist inevitably closed in on his ribs, seemingly unable to react in time. To his even greater surprise, the pain failed to materialize (at least in his chest), since even after all these years, his training still worked and he had instinctively raised his arm in time to block the punch. Very crudely for sure, but still far better than the alternative.

Slowly, while the pain started pulsing through his forearm and up to his shoulder, he tried to back away from his opponent, more than a little intimidated by the rage in his eyes. "You know, Miss Pickford," he exclaimed half over his shoulder in Janet's general direction while keeping his eyes on the red haired man, "I've reconsidered. Leaving now might not be such a bad idea after all."

[The Duskblade]

"Thank you Captain" said Janet with undisguised annoyance. Eager to put some distance between herself and the crazed attackers and far more confident in Gordon's close quarters experience then her own she hops over the row of seats behind her.

In the hopes of giving Gordon an opening, either to move away or to attack, she reaches into her pocket and grabs her spent lighter which she aims and throws at Gordon's assailant. Along with the following insult "Hey you red haired bell end, I'm jealous of all the people who never had to see your ugly mug you sodding git!"

[TerrickTerran]

Michael glanced around for a safe spot to stay away from this mess. He would get involved if necessary, but right now looking as inconspicuous as possible seemed to be the better method. Perhaps he could slip away in the confusion.

[Xsesiv]

The lighter sails past the redheaded man's head and he turns to Janet, face purple with fury, teeth gritted. "Nngh," he opines, and lunges at her.

A stagehand runs up, shouting loudly: "Please vacate the theatre! The police have been called. Please vacate the hall!" He grabs the man's shoulder and wrenches him backwards, tripping him over the seats so that he collapses into the row in front. People continue to trickle out of the doors.

Meanwhile, Dr. Lattimore manages to grab the walking stick the gentleman swung at him, ending up wrestling with him.

The woman is still being restrained by her husband; the final madman with the bottle has been slammed into the wall and pinned there by a huge labourer spectator.

[aspi]

Following Janet's example, Gordon used the opening as the lighter zipped past the furious spectator to leap over the seat behind him and gain some distance. He headed towards the nearest exist as the stagehand had advised, but didn't rush and looked back every now and then to make sure that the rest of their small group was able to follow.

[The Duskblade]

With Gordon disengaged and the Red haired man otherwise occupied Janet makes for the exit following Gordon's example giving anyone who looks like they might get rowdy as wide a berth as possible.

[TerrickTerran]

Michael will follow the others out. He doesn't feel like getting involved in this and escape seems to be the best way out right now.

[thumbprince]

"I'll keep this, you rogue," hisses Lattimore, backing from the stickless man.

[Xsesiv]

The aggressors are soon disabled by the interventions of bystanders and staff, and spectators spill out into the bar area. Inside, something of a fracas continues for a minute or two, while police constables enter.

Out in the bar area, it is somewhat surprising to find that tables with food and glasses of drink have been laid out in a buffet for an opening night reception. "The public's welcome," explains an usher. A few guests stay, and the cast, now in street clothes, emerge from the backstage area, with the exception of Mr. Estus.

[The Duskblade]

"Shall we gentlemen?" Asked Janet, indicating the gathering. I think after the excitement inside a breather and a drink would do us good. And I would quite like to speak to the cast. A shame there is no sight of Mr. Estus.

Glancing around Janet quickly checks over her copy of the cast list. Then seizing an opening she approaches the actor who played The Stranger. A wonderful performance Mr.Gillen, and that triskelion was quite the powerful image I must say. I don't suppose you could tell me anything about it's origins?

[thumbprince]

Lattimore is content to order a drink and observe. Anyone looking at him notices the white knuckles still gripping the stick tightly.

[Xsesiv]

Michael Gillen is a large man with greying hair and a big open face, looking to be in his late forties but giving the impression of being older than his looks. Minus mask and robe, he is dressed smartly, if not fashionably: the cut of his suit is at least twenty years out of date. He turns stiffly to Janet and replies to her praise in a soft Irish accent. "Oh, flattery, flattery, madam. Obsequiousness will get you nowhere," he chuckles. "I am an amateur thespian only." He nods warmly through the question about the symbol. "Ah, the Yellow Sign? It definitely has an effect. It's powerful. Quite provocative, quite disturbing; it serves its purpose. For all I know, my friend made it up. Talbot, I mean."

Few people eat or drink much, and the party seems to be blowing over. Someone mentions this to the usher. "Mr. Estus," he replies, "is insisting that the reception go ahead."

[thumbprince]

Few people eat or drink much, and the party seems to be blowing over. Someone mentions this to the usher. "Mr. Estus," he replies, "is insisting that the reception go ahead."

"And sir, will the playwright be joining us?"

[aspi]

Gordon had followed the group into the bar. He certainly needed something to wash down the stale taste that the uproar had left in his mouth. But drinking on an empty stomach probably wasn't the best idea, so one thing led to another and he organized some snacks and a drink. Balancing two pastries on a napkin in his left hand and his glass in the right, he made his way back to the others, but took the scenic route. On the way, he listened in on conversations as he passed, trying to gain an impression of the mood.

At the ushers comment, he raised an eyebrow. This struck him as a bit odd, so he looked around for any signs of further trouble while he took a bite of his snack.

[The Duskblade]

"Oh, I did not realise Mr. Estus'es artistic talents extended to such imagery. Most writers I meet, myself included tend to be somewhat lacking at such designs."

Like the others, Janet takes note of the Usher's comment. "Let's hope that Mr. Estus does make an appearance. It would be a shame if the actions of those rowdy fools put him off of joining the reception."

[Xsesiv]

The conversation is strained and the party is tottering on its very last legs when a smallish, slight, tanned and active-looking gentleman with jet-black hair and thick moustache positively bursts in. He is dressed fastidiously with a Panama hat on his head, which he sweeps off, and a set of wire-rimmed spectacles perched on his nose. He scowls with his lips pursed, and graciously accepts a round of applause from the cast, before making a short, upbeat speech in an American accent. "Now, welcome, ladies and gentlemen, to my adaptation of this play from the French. You have, no doubt, noticed the violence that has occurred inside. Of course, I deplore this sort of behaviour, but it doesn't really surprise me; any work of art should seek to inspire fervour. Now, could we have another round of applause for the actors?" he asks, indicating the rest of the cast. A few people clap half-heartedly, and one man weakly calls out "Hip, hip," but there is no replying hurrah.

Apparently oblivious to the subdued mood, Estus grabs himself a glass and a sandwich and bounds over to greet a knot of patrons standing near the door.

[The Duskblade]

At Talbut's request Janet clapped enthusiastically before pausing embarrassed by the much more subdued response from those around her. Seeing Talbut engaging with others she finds an opportunity to insert herself into the conversation. Temporarily suppressing a hundred other questions she focuses on her most pressing query. Her notebook and pencil close at hand.

"It was certainly an evocative and memorable performance Mr. Estus. I sincerely doubt any who saw it will soon forget this evening. If I may ask, the yellow triskelion. Was that a part of the original production? Or was it one of your own creations as Mr. Gillen suggested."

[Xsesiv]

Estus is regaling a group of patrons with the story of the original play. He is twitchily energetic as he describes it. "You'll have read that the original was in French. I read it first about two years ago, and about twenty times since. Now, it inspires all my work, which has become more driven and insightful. Possibly, it was penned by a French noble, one Thomas de Castaigne, but he was executed and the play seized and destroyed by the French Republic soon after its publication. Whatever the case, it was his sweetheart who turned up with my particular copy in England, was murdered shortly afterwards, and it disappeared for fifty or so years until it turned up in the will of a suicide."

Estus scowls at Janet's question. "You haven't seen the Yellow Sign? It was always in the play, nothing to do with me. It's nothing special, anyhow, probably just something notre ami de Castaigne thought up."

[TerrickTerran]

Michael quietly listened. That was not always his style, but he figured that he could pick up some choice information that could be useful in the future as he listened to what Estus had to say. With a little luck, he could impress some folks with his cultural knowledge and make a good donation to the church.

[The Duskblade]

A person more adapt at reading the emotions and responses might have been put off by Estus's abruptness of his answer. This however was quite lost on Janet. Who instead ploughed on to a follow up question. She makes a point to note down the name of the original author Thomas Castaigne.

"It would seem that the play's origins are a rather dramatic tale all on it's own. What on earth was Castaigne charged with? Was his execution related to the play at all?"

[aspi]

Having finished his pastry, Gordon placed his glass on a nearby table and clapped reservedly at Mr. Estus' request. He was rather taken aback by the author's utter lack of attentiveness towards the ambient mood. He'd seen unwordly artists before, but even given the aura of euphoria they tended to radiate after a successful performance, this on was on an entirely different level. He kept close to the group around Talbot Estus, but while Janet was talking to the man himself, Gordon tried to fathom the actors' reactions to the authors excitement - which for some reason they didn't seem to share - and more importantly the effect their play had had on the audience.

Finally, he turned to Mrs. Keith and inquired "That was an... interesting performance if you don't mind me saying so. I cannot say that I have seen anything like it before and I have to admit that I am somewhat surprised. As someone who is doubtlessly more experienced in these matters, have you encountered such a reaction before? Mr. Estus does not seem to think it unusual in the least, which is very contrary to my intuition."

[thumbprince]

"What surprises me is the reaction of the audience. Mr. Estus, have you seen similar responses when you've performed it?"

[Xsesiv]

Mrs. Keith, standing between her husband and her ten-year-old son, who played the Child, and whose hand she holds. She is dressed plainly and sensibly in dress and jacket. Her voice is gentle, her speech middle-class. "Oh," she says, "we're all amateurs. We probably don't have too much more experience than you, sir. No, I haven't seen this kind of thing before. I've heard of it, though. I can't say I'm not a little proud," she adds conspiratorially and chuckles.

Both the other men in the cast, George Keith and Walter Paige, are comporting themselves quietly, nodding or saying a few words to those who make conversation. Mr. Keith seems a little stiff, Mr. Paige simply deferential. Jean Hewart is the only cast member actively seeking out conversation, laughing and joking with the two women who were earlier drinking tea.

Estus purses his lips and twitches: "First time on any stage, sir. But as I've said, I can't say I'm shocked. Script, direction and acting can be responsible for the kind of emotional impact we observed this evening."

Michael Gillen stiffly wanders over to stand next to Estus. At about the same time, a tall, salt-and-pepper-haired man wanders into the bar area from the back room. "Mr. Noble," says Estus. Noble, in a smoke-hoarse Northern voice, urgently tells Estus that they must speak. They, with Gillen, excuse themselves from Dr. Lattimore and walk into a quiet corner.

[aspi]

Gordon, who had expected neither this particular answer nor the fact that the actors seemed actually pleased with the outcome, did his best to hide his surprise and nodded with a faint smile. "In this case, allow me to assure you that it did not show in the least." the captain answered politely. He briefly glanced over to Mr. Noble, then added "Really, you have heard of a similar... reaction? Please do tell. But not to this play? I was under the impression that tonight was the premiere."

[TerrickTerran]

Michael nodded at various people as they passed. He was not quite sure who he wanted to target just yet, but he had a feeling there was a nice score for his church waiting for him here. He just had to figure out the right person.

[The Duskblade]

Perturbed at losing her chance to quiz Estus Janet stalks off to find a drink. And moodily scribbles in her notebook. However she stays close enough that she can overhear Gordon's conversation with Mrs. Keith. Not wanting to miss any details from the actors.

[Xsesiv]

"Oh, not this play. I was thinking of that Rite of Spring business," says Mrs. Keith. "When people see something totally new they get unsettled, and sometimes end up acting like this. And there's something very unsettling about this play, believe me. I was worried for Robert here, and for Jean, you know, young girl like that, but they didn't seem to get too upset."

Mr. Keith looks down at his son, who is blinking heavily and nodding his head. "The little one's tired," he mutters to his wife. "I'll take him home," and so saying, he picks up the child and makes his way to the exit.

[The Duskblade]

Overhearing Mr. Noble's words, Janet's writing pauses as she listens closely. The idea that the play might be cancelled due to the night's events distresses her somewhat. As she abhors the idea of the public losing access to such artistic works, particularly given this plays history and how easily it may have been lost all together. For the moment she says nothing, but makes a mental note to investigate the play's origins further.