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)
itscurtains2016-10-10 11:53 am
stagemanagers) wrote in itscurtains2016-10-10 11:53 am
OVERTURE
You wake up, and realize you don’t remember how you got here.
This bed is soft and warm, but it’s certainly not yours. And the room is unfamiliar - unless perhaps you’re an actor, seeing as it looks almost exactly like every dressing room in the world. It's not quite large enough to fit the bed and trunk comfortably alongside the vanity, but it what it lacks in open space, it makes up for in coziness. This could be something you’ve seen in a movie, or dreamed about experiencing one day. But whatever the case, you aren’t supposed to be here.
There’s a silver key resting on your vanity, along with a thin program booklet. The cover - where the name of the show would usually be - is blank, but if you flip through it, you’ll find some startlingly familiar information. Maybe a few familiar faces as well…
The hallway outside is narrow and poorly-lit, lined with star-studded doors. But if you make your way past them and out into the lobby, you’ll find something entirely different: an elegant, refined opera house. Crystal chandeliers glitter overhead, and the red carpet is perfect for putting on a show. A large clock on the northern wall marks the time, though with the windows shuttered and locked it's difficult to tell whether it's morning or night. There’s also some framed information pinned up that you might find helpful. If you explore further into the adjoining wings, in fact, you'll see there's an identical copy in every room.
There’s also two sets of double-doors in the lobby: one leading back the way you came, deeper into the Opera House, and one leading out. For the moment, neither of them will open.
It looks like you’re stuck. But hey - at least you aren’t alone.
This bed is soft and warm, but it’s certainly not yours. And the room is unfamiliar - unless perhaps you’re an actor, seeing as it looks almost exactly like every dressing room in the world. It's not quite large enough to fit the bed and trunk comfortably alongside the vanity, but it what it lacks in open space, it makes up for in coziness. This could be something you’ve seen in a movie, or dreamed about experiencing one day. But whatever the case, you aren’t supposed to be here.
There’s a silver key resting on your vanity, along with a thin program booklet. The cover - where the name of the show would usually be - is blank, but if you flip through it, you’ll find some startlingly familiar information. Maybe a few familiar faces as well…
The hallway outside is narrow and poorly-lit, lined with star-studded doors. But if you make your way past them and out into the lobby, you’ll find something entirely different: an elegant, refined opera house. Crystal chandeliers glitter overhead, and the red carpet is perfect for putting on a show. A large clock on the northern wall marks the time, though with the windows shuttered and locked it's difficult to tell whether it's morning or night. There’s also some framed information pinned up that you might find helpful. If you explore further into the adjoining wings, in fact, you'll see there's an identical copy in every room.
There’s also two sets of double-doors in the lobby: one leading back the way you came, deeper into the Opera House, and one leading out. For the moment, neither of them will open.
It looks like you’re stuck. But hey - at least you aren’t alone.
OTA
But that was another day. Winslow woke up to find something vastly different. Winslow felt like he was wearing something different, like a cloak and a black outfit. It was weird...did someone dress him up? Some kind of weird prank? His head felt heavier than usual--he had the misfortune of looking into the mirror.
A helmet. A gruesome helmet almost birdlike fitted on his head. Something was blocking one eye, maybe if he took off the helmet--no.
What happened to his face. Horrified he put the helmet right back on. What happened to his head?! Winslow attempts to make a shout, only to find nothing but strangled noises coming out. His voice...his face...someone took these from him...
Someone who KNEW him...this was some gruesome joke. Why did they want him in a show?! Was it for his song-writing ability? He had to find the way out, get out of here before these other cast members saw him and this hideous visage.
He's rushed off from his dressing room in a flutter of a cloak to the lobby, desperately rapping against the box office windows. Someone has to get him out of here! Someone is in charge they have to be!]
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Regardless, the spectacle of a man dressed as a bird banging against the shuttered office windows is pretty hard to miss. Valjean isn't generally in the habit of approaching strangely-dressed men in the street - he's not in the habit of talking to many people outside of Cosette - but the bird-man's distress is obvious. He approaches, both hands lifted in a nonthreatening gesture.]
Monsieur?
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He ceases his attack on the box office when he hears someone speaking to him. Whipping around, he gesticulates to all of this, then ultimate to himself. It's pretty clear he's lost and confused by all this.]
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Because we're all speaking French here, right?]I'm afraid I don't know any more about this than you do. It seems we have all been - kidnapped and brought here, for whatever reason.
[He can think of people who want to arrest him, but kidnapping? That's over-the-top.]
Are you well, sir? As well as anyone can be, given this?
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Kidnapped...it makes sense...that must be why he's like this. It's some cruel prank.
He points at his helmet, vigorously shaking his head. This is not well. One hand moves to cover half of his face before clenching it in a harsh fist.]
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That...is not yours? [These are his own clothes, so he hadn't thought anyone else may have woken in something unfamiliar. More to the point, there must be a reason he didn't remove his mask.] Do you need a doctor? There is one somewhere around here, I read his name on the doors.
[Billy isn't even an MD, lol]
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A doctor.
A doctor is good. Winslow grasps for the air at the mention of doctor. Sure, doctor would be great!
Oh you poor fool.]
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Good, good. Come, I will help you find him. [He smiles, motioning for the bird man to join him. This is really inconvenient; as rude as he finds it, he'd better just look up the man's name in the directory.]
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Sure, he probably could have just asked but he's good with just implicitly trusting this guy's lead.]
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Valjean flips through the pamphlet as he leads the way.]
His name is Doctor Harris. He looks quite young, too - I'm sure he is already up and about. [Moving on.] Forgive me, I haven't introduced myself. My name is Jean Valjean. And you are Winslow Leach?
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He's gotten that information down thankfully. This doctor Harris should be able to fix his problems! Why WOULDN'T they have medical help at this opera house?
Winslow moves his head up and down. That's him. He extends a hand towards Jean as a gesture of gratitude.]
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Valjean takes it for a greeting, and clasps the hand warmly for a moment. At least Winslow's calmed down; this will be easier to handle without panicking.]
On our way, perhaps we can find you something to write on. This is difficult enough already - I cannot imagine how you must feel.
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Winslow shook his head eagerly as he pulled his hand away. Good thinking Valjean!
He makes a small miserable noise. It's. Been a day.]
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[Hook is just kind of staring at this silly man. What the heck, dude.]
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And he turns round to see...a Victorian era Frenchman? That's a rather large wig....and yeah the hook but he looks rather bizarre.
Winslow swats at the window before making little finger walks. He's trying to find management, duh.]
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[sorry winslow]
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Look guy. Dude. He's looking for a way out. Which he points at the nearby exit, grunting again.]
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Winslow shakes with frustration. No! Okay let's see...maybe he can get the pamphlet.
Wham look. Do you know these people?!]
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I see that you too have misgivings with the information written inside this horrid paper.
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He looks down to the paper, then back to Hook. Tapping the obvious HOOK.
Are you reaaally Captain Hook?]
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An excellent photograph, if you can stomach the terrible writing.
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[he raises his hook up, it glimmers.]
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That's actually...pretty real.
Winslow taps his own metal head out of commiseration. Maybe they were both victims of this horrendous opera?]
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