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Odeon - Theatre
The floor sticks to one's shoes like flypaper, and the seats all sag limply under even the slightest pressure. It's dark and dank with the evaporation of untold unknown liquids, and sounds echo menacingly off the soundproofed, honeycombed walls. The theatre is like a giant abandoned hive filled with row upon row of empty egg sacs; about a hundred of them, arranged in two columns, with three neat walkways, one through the middle and one on either side. High up and inset over the lobby doors is the projectionist's booth, a small alcove overlooking the theatre; opposite it is the screen, framed by ratty curtains that no longer close, and taking up most of the wall. It can no longer serve its purpose, though: the screen is no longer blank, scrawled across it, from top to bottom, is a disconcerting mess of fluorescent graffiti which glows out bright oranges and greens even in the dark theatre. Like massive glowing worms the lines coil in and out of tags and outlines of images, in a roiling, reeling, psychedelic nightmare. The hundred empty seats all point towards it, mute and dusty.
Contents:
Olga
Squeaks
A balmy summer day, one that would find most kids out playing, sees at least one Gnawer inside of all places. Ensconced in her favorite spot along one wall of the theatre, Masao is involved in picking through the mish-mash of scrounged clothing that usually makes up her bed. By the light of a cheap dollar-store pillar candle, she holds up a t-shirt to inspect it for holes. Rather a mundane pursuit for the day. One ear is half-tuned to Squeaks nearby, the metis cub 'amused' by the latest oddity to come out of a Happy Meal.
The double doors swing open with rusty complaint and Olga enters the blackness of the theatre, beginning to shift almost immediately. She sniffs sharply at the air through a still transforming nose, and then makes her way along the back bank of black seats, calling out as she goes through a human voice strained tight by the stretching of its vocal chords, "Hey, Squeaks. Hey Masao, that you?"
Switching her focus with the creak of the doors, Masao blinks into the candlelight and relaxes somewhat. "Yo, Olga. It's me. No one here but us chickens." she calls back, adding a bit of humor into her words. "How goes?"
Fat-Ripper comes around the length of the chairs, into the full fractured glow of the candlelight, so that she can see the girl and the mule properly. ~It goes,~ she answers with dour fatalism. She looks curiously, skeptically, at Squeaks plastic pursuits, but eventually amusement creeps into the posture of her forward lurch. ~No hello, Squeaks?~ the Theurge asks, though the Metis thoroughly ignores her, and puts her entire concentration on playing with the toy in such a way as to not dash it into a thousand pieces, her stubby claws carrying it like calipers. ~And how does it go with you, Leaves-None-Behind?~ the Crinos asks, turning her attention away from the cub.
Masao glances over at the thoroughly engrossed Squeaks and quirks a smile, setting the shirt down in her lap for the moment. "Mmm, it goes. Pickins is pickins, folks is folks, and nothin's been bitin' -my- ass of late." she replies with a shrug, giving the older Gnawer her full attention. "I ain't been in the best of word-circles so I might'a missed some little birdie news here an' there."
Fat-Ripper rumbles down onto all fours, and steps forward slowly towards the light. She doesn't sit so much as merely hunch, and she looks down at the girl she towers over, turns her head slowly sideways to inspect her shirt. ~You heard Ears challenged me for Elder and won, I figure,~ she says, drily, evenly, bringing it up as an unpleasant matter that still has to be dealt with. ~Did you hear Squeaks is going to go live on the bawn?~ she asks, curiously, more pleasantly, while Squeaks struggles to pretend not to be aloof and inattentive, despite the raptness with which she glances every few second in the Cliaths' direction.
There's a bit of rapid blinking on the part of the young newmoon, but it's hard to gauge which piece of news spawns it until she opens her mouth. "Yeah, I'd heard the Elder bit. That kinda thing travels faster than monkey shit at the zoo." Masao quips before chewing on her bottom lip and looking at Squeaks again. "The bawn, huh? Kid'll get to see somethin' other than these walls?" Her expression becomes a mix of concern and hesitant approval. "Who's gonna watch out for her there? It's an awful big place compared to here and so many different sounds and smells."
Squeaks fusses with her plastic with no real interest, just a cover for the fact that she's paying attention, in the obvious hopes that the adults might say something, reveal some secret or surprise, that they wouldn't if they knew she was listening. ~She's old enough,~ the Theurge replies, evenly. ~Wolves are raised in the woods from birth, and she's more able to take care of herself than they are. The Warder has given his permission, and if anyone objects to her, well, let them. And if anyone hurts her, they will die.~ Fat-Ripper lets that settle for a second, lets the seriousness of her statement resonate against the sound-proofed walls. ~But I will watch over her, at first.~
Masao seems somewhat placated by the assurances even if her fingers betray her by knotting up in the forgotten shirt. The statement resonates strongly with her as evidenced by the slight straightening of her spine. "You're right. S'about time she saw the sky for a while. An' anyone fucks with her's gonna feel it back." It's hard to keep a fondness for the cub from her eyes even as they tighten at the corners with her own emphatic words. "Got another reason to get my exercise and trek out to the bawn, now."
~Good,~ Fat-Ripper answers, with a gravelly voice and approval. ~Even us `Urrah`,~ she says, with ironic disdain, ~should take in the bawn. It keeps us grounded.~ She looks, slyly, out of the corner of her eye, towards the cub who's pretending not to listen. ~But,~ she adds to the Ragabash, slowly, deceptively, obviously taking a certain amount of malicious enjoyment out of the roundabout threat, ~Squeaks hasn't been behaving very well, lately. She clawed me, just the other day, and she's been disrespectful, and she peed outside of her bucket a half-moon ago.~ Squeaks continues to pretend not to listen, but the effort costs her, and her ears lay flat.
Masao sneaks a hand up to shield her mouth in much the manner as one might if trying to cover a smile at a recalcitrant child. "Oh my. So someone hasn't been playin' nice. I know I didn't get any special things when I was bad, so why should Squeaks be different?" The cub's demeanor is not lost on her and she continues hiding her smile from sight.
Fat-Ripper nods her head in solemn and disappointment. ~Exactly - you understand exactly. So if you see, or even hear of, Squeaks doing anything bad, let me know, because if she's still being bad, we can't trust her on the bawn,~ the Theurge says, with all the exaggerated seriousness that one might use to threaten children with a lump of coal. Squeaks, finally, breaks her silence with a thin moon-aided anger and thick worry, manifesting in a high-pitched whine and a squeaky complaint: ~I'll be good you know I will!~ she complains, as Fat-Ripper begins to stand again on her hind paws.
Masao lowers her hand a bit, easing her smile into a knowing smirk and raising an eyebrow with a feigned loftiness. "Oh, you bet I will. Few are as good as catching shit as someone who's -pulled- shit b'fore.
Fat-Ripper nods firmly, sharply, with evident enjoyment. ~Oh, I know,~ the Theurge answers Squeaks slyly, before turning to lope towards the back of the theatre. ~Goodbye, Leaves-None-Behind. We will be leaving soon - if Squeaks is good of course. Come to the bawn and visit us, save us from the boredom of Wendigo and trees.~ Her tone is primarily sarcastic, but there is definitely an invitation there. Soon she's just an ominous shape outside of the range of the light, looming over the backs of chairs, and then she's gone completely into the lobby outside.
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