*Christine wanders out, a determined look upon her face. She appears to be looking for something. Something she loves. Something she can't live without.*

I cannot seem to find the stage here. There must be one! After all, the ship is so very big, and surely we all cannot be expected to live without music! And performing! It has been so long since ( Read more... )

A small, bearded man slips in quietly, observing, anxious for a friendly face... preferably, an attractive friendly face.  However, beggers can't be choosers, he reminds himself.

"So, have any of you ever read my book?" he asks loudly, with a grin.

Typist: Charles Guiteau, Assassins!

A young, very beautiful lady with a nevertheless solemn look on her face appears. She is dressed in the loveliest of ball gowns and upon her feet are delicate slippers as pure as gold. A tiny bird sits on her shoulder, her one comfort in this strange new place. "What happened to the prince?" she says aloud, before setting off to explore this new ( Read more... )

A strange-looking girl is sitting in a corner, appearing to be humming to herself while weaving daisies. Closer inspection may show that she's methodically shredding them, but really, she is quite harmless, despite her dishevelled rags and uncombed hair.

Typist: Mad Margaret from Ruddigore

Toby enters quietly, betraying no surprise at the fact that he's on a boat. To be truthful, he probably hasn't realised it quite yet. He's a young man, who definitely does not look all there -- and he's going to go and look over the side of the boat, humming to himself.

Watch me grind my...corn...

Typist: ...He wouldn't leave me alone. Tobias ( Read more... )

Here is a strikingly beautiful young woman with curled black hair and a delicate ball gown. She looks confident as she takes in her surrioundings, holding her head high as usual. A smile forms on her lips and she flutters her fan a bit before dropping her hand to her side.

No music? Dancing? My, my, what a strange party this is! Pray tell, where am ( Read more... )

A little girl skips onto the deck, garbed in a cloak of wolf-skins. She surveys her surroundings with a look that is a mixture of naivete and hauteur, innocence and experience.

Well, this is quite odd, isn't it? I don't remember getting on a boat. I am on a boat, aren't I?

Little Red Riding Hood from Into the Woods.

You might not see him, unless you look very closely. But he is there. You might sense him, though. The dark figure lurking in the corner of your eye. A flash through the porthole. A stirring amongst the ropes. Little hints that don't let you forget he's there.

He is The Phantom. And he haunts this place.

The young girl, though grubby and wearing clothes that have seen better decades, let alone years, looks around with a defiant expression. She doesn't know where she is, but she's never let the little details get in the way of her personal narrative ( Read more... )

You wonder how these things begin. Well, this begins with a man ( Read more... )