It's Curtains Mods (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
stagemanagers) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
itscurtains2016-10-22 12:25 pm
stagemanagers) wrote in itscurtains2016-10-22 12:25 pm
First Trial
[Just as everyone is starting to finish their investigations, there's a slow ominous sound from the lobby.
The gilded doors on the northern wall have opened.
This time, the space behind them is lit; you're free to enter. There's one more set of doors to pass through, and then you're all, finally, in the House. There's one grand chandelier above, glittering crystal, and the seats around you are made of fine red velvet. Those don't seem to be for you, though - all the way down in front of the stage, where the orchestra might sit, there's a circle of wooden podiums. They're arranged so that everyone can face each other, and are fixed into place. Each one bears a metal plaque with a cast member's name engraved on it. There's also a metal panel on top, with twenty ivory buttons paired to everyone's name.
Among these, only Jean Valjean's podium is different - that one is draped in black crepe, with a larger greyscale version of his headshot from the playbill framed and sitting at its foot like a funerary portrait. Standing where he might have stood, a bare lightbulb glows faintly atop a metal pole.
Right here, you're very close to the stage. But the curtain is closed, and it's a little too high to easily clamber up. You may not want to try. You've got more important business right now, after all.
As everyone is finding their places, the Balladeer's voice suddenly sounds loud and clear throughout the space.]
Okay, guys, here's how we do trial. I've...never actually been involved in something like this before, but you can do it. Just take all the time you need to talk it out - I'll be right here the whole time. You don't need a unanimous vote, we go by majority rule.
Oh, and don't mess with those buttons until you're really ready to vote. You won't be able to take it back.
...good luck.
The gilded doors on the northern wall have opened.
This time, the space behind them is lit; you're free to enter. There's one more set of doors to pass through, and then you're all, finally, in the House. There's one grand chandelier above, glittering crystal, and the seats around you are made of fine red velvet. Those don't seem to be for you, though - all the way down in front of the stage, where the orchestra might sit, there's a circle of wooden podiums. They're arranged so that everyone can face each other, and are fixed into place. Each one bears a metal plaque with a cast member's name engraved on it. There's also a metal panel on top, with twenty ivory buttons paired to everyone's name.
Among these, only Jean Valjean's podium is different - that one is draped in black crepe, with a larger greyscale version of his headshot from the playbill framed and sitting at its foot like a funerary portrait. Standing where he might have stood, a bare lightbulb glows faintly atop a metal pole.
Right here, you're very close to the stage. But the curtain is closed, and it's a little too high to easily clamber up. You may not want to try. You've got more important business right now, after all.
As everyone is finding their places, the Balladeer's voice suddenly sounds loud and clear throughout the space.]
Okay, guys, here's how we do trial. I've...never actually been involved in something like this before, but you can do it. Just take all the time you need to talk it out - I'll be right here the whole time. You don't need a unanimous vote, we go by majority rule.
Oh, and don't mess with those buttons until you're really ready to vote. You won't be able to take it back.
...good luck.
no subject
Yes?
no subject
no subject
no subject
[...]
But otherwise...
[>The Lonely
She smiles, somehow, but the smile is pained, and her eyes are watering. The words aren't said with malice, or mockingly, or anything like that. Just a statement. Preceded by a little sniff.]
See you in hell.
no subject
...
I'm sure I'll fit right in!
no subject
At least she's accepted it.]