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THE FINAL ACT
Nov. 26th, 2016 11:26 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
stagemanagersYou've all dispersed into a lot of hidden areas, but you'll come together as a group once more. When you do, you'll find that the theatre doors are open.
For once, things are different inside. There are no podiums in the orchestra pit; instead, the curtain is open and the stage is lit. You'll notice there's a small set of stairs at either end, allowing you easy access up. Ten podiums have been moved onto the bare stage, arranged in a loose semi-circle facing a higher wooden platform. Atop it is a single chair, red-cushioned and gilded like a throne. In the vaguely circular space between the platform and the podiums is absolutely nothing: it's a deep, dark pit. The lighting in here is pretty good, but it still doesn't reach the bottom.
The podiums that once belonged to the dead are gone entirely. The bare lightbulbs that stood in their places, however, are clustered on either side of the stage, like a makeshift audience. They're finally turned off.
As the cast enters and begins to find their places, there's a sound like an invisible orchestra tuning up. Strings and woodwinds run scales in a quiet cacophony that eventually shapes itself into a wordless song. A man in jeans and a plain white T-shirt enters from stage right as they play, singing quietly as if to himself as he ascends the stairs onto the platform and turns out to survey the cast.
Velkommen, bienvenue, welcome...
The Balladeer falls quiet, looking thoughtful for a moment before shaking his head and taking his seat. Once there, he turns his attention to flipping through the papers in his hands. "Well. Let's get started, shall we?"
For once, things are different inside. There are no podiums in the orchestra pit; instead, the curtain is open and the stage is lit. You'll notice there's a small set of stairs at either end, allowing you easy access up. Ten podiums have been moved onto the bare stage, arranged in a loose semi-circle facing a higher wooden platform. Atop it is a single chair, red-cushioned and gilded like a throne. In the vaguely circular space between the platform and the podiums is absolutely nothing: it's a deep, dark pit. The lighting in here is pretty good, but it still doesn't reach the bottom.
The podiums that once belonged to the dead are gone entirely. The bare lightbulbs that stood in their places, however, are clustered on either side of the stage, like a makeshift audience. They're finally turned off.
As the cast enters and begins to find their places, there's a sound like an invisible orchestra tuning up. Strings and woodwinds run scales in a quiet cacophony that eventually shapes itself into a wordless song. A man in jeans and a plain white T-shirt enters from stage right as they play, singing quietly as if to himself as he ascends the stairs onto the platform and turns out to survey the cast.
Velkommen, bienvenue, welcome...
The Balladeer falls quiet, looking thoughtful for a moment before shaking his head and taking his seat. Once there, he turns his attention to flipping through the papers in his hands. "Well. Let's get started, shall we?"