In the Wings, The Orpheum Theater, Downtown Los Angeles | Valentine's Day Evening
Whether they'd unlocked the way by reliving the emotional echoes or the plan to force the count to expend more energy making henchment loosened his hole on the magic backstage, or some crazy combination of the two, Karla and Warren were able to make their way to the wings with no pauses for dead ends, blank walls, or masked assailants. Good show.
The Prima BallerinaIn the wings, the prima ballerina stood and surveyed the stage, watching the same production she'd witnessed for centuries now. Even if Warren and Karla didn't recognize her from Act One or from her costume, there was a certain unmistakable dead-in-the-eyes look one developed after this kind of rote memorization of something she'd used to be passionate about.
Karla"You!" Karla said softly as they got close enough. She was struck by the girl's resemblance to her old friend River, but River's eyes had never looked so hopeless and dead. Shaking off the memory of the past--they hardly needed any more of that, thanks much, she nudged Warren in the arm. Nudged him with less force than she would have used before the dressing room. "Look. It's her."
WarrenWarren nodded a little, chewing his lip slightly as he looked at what was possibly the saddest ballerina he'd ever seen, anyhow.
"I see her," he whispered, and then pulled in a deep breath as he approached her. "... Hey."
Look, that was about as far as his amazing plan went. A greeting. Good start, right?
The Prima BallerinaStartled, the dancer turned to face them, tension clear in her posture. "Who are you?" she asked in a thick Russian accent. "You're new."
Karla"And my guess is that we're the only things around here who are," Karla replied. "For a long, long time."
Like, oh, a hundred and twenty years, say.
Warren"We have a friend who's seen you dance before," Warren added, tilting his head thoughtfully at the dancer.
Her performance was amazing, if the first act was any indication. No wonder Angel had been able to remember it so thoroughly.
The Prima Ballerina"Maybe," said the dancer, looking almost eerily noncommittal. "I dance. I wait here. And then I dance again."
Karla"Every night for over a century?" Karla asked, looking at the girl with sympathy. "That's a brutal punishment. And that's what's happening isn't it?"
She glanced across the stage and saw a male in one of the boxes, his eyes riveted on the stage. Between his facial hair and his gaudy jewelry, Karla already knew better than to trust him. She pointed him out to Warren.
WarrenWarren gave a glance in that direction, took in the sight of the man, and then gave a grim nod of his head.
"Over and over again? What about Stephan...?"
Warren couldn't help but sympathize with the man, with that lover of hers. Even if he hadn't been all that thrilled about being possessed.
The Prima BallerinaThe ballerina, for her part, didn't look especially surprised that they knew about him. More... resigned. "I waited too long," she said, not looking at either of them. "I should have gone when he asked me, should have disappeared, but... I wanted this. This dance, this... I hesitated and... I lost everything that mattered. Now all I do is wait."
Karla"And dance," Karla said as a row of dancers materialized in front of them, passing out onto the stage. "Kurskov is punishing you, isn't he? For daring to love someone else? To want to be more than just his prima ballerina?"
The Prima BallerinaThe ballerina gave a small nod at that. "He made me. He owns me. And when I dance it is only for him."
Karla"Bullshit," Karla said, glaring up at the male in the box and then transferring that glare to the ballerina. "He may control you right now, but he doesn't own you. He makes you dance for him? Then don't. Refuse. Fight him."
More ballet dancers passed by and Karla tried to catch one by the wrist, drag her back. Her hands slipped through the image like trying to catch mist.
"He's taken everything from you. But he can't take away who you are. He can't touch your Self."
The Prima BallerinaThe dancer shook her head. "There is nothing I can do," she said. "I can't break his hold. His power is too great over me."
WarrenWarren frowned, listening to the ladies speak as he reached a hand toward the stage. It vanished, there in mid-air, as though he was waving his hand through the Nothing all over again, with only an unbreakable echo of a dance on the other side.
He pulled his hand back, clutched it to his chest.
"We can help you," he murmured. "But there's something that we need you to do, out there."
KarlaKarla watched Warren's hand with narrowed eyes and nodded. "You think you're weak? He'll have you forever if you keep thinking like that. So you have to prove you're strong. You have to break his hold."
She looked back out at the ballerina-echoes, watching them leap and spin the same way they'd done for ages.
"You have to change the dance."
The Prima BallerinaWell, that was a new idea.
"I can't," the dancer said at once. As proof, she continued, "There is a section in the first act, during the courtship dance, where -- my foot slips. My ankle's turned and -- and I don't quite hold -- every time." She looked away from them momentarily, up at where the company owner sat in a private box. "He doesn't notice." With a bitter laugh, she admitted, "He doesn't even know ballet that well. But always, at that same moment, I slip. It isn't just the same ballet. It's the same performance. I don't dance. I echo."
That was great and all, but changing it up was clearly the answer.
Warren"You know what happens when you shout into an echo," Warren murmured, looking at the ballerina, thinking back on ten years of the same old that had been interrupted by one second, one time when he'd said no instead of yes. "The echo changes. The new drowns out the old as the old fades away. Echoes aren't forever."
KarlaWarren's method of encouragement was so much better than Karla's, which would probably have just involved taking the ballerina by the shoulders and shaking her until she saw sense. She gave him a small, soft smile for that. He was always kind. So kind.
Well, until it came to giving her the benefit of the doubt. Straightening up, she pointed to where Angel was prowling his way towards Kurskov's box. "If you're going to do it, do it now," she suggested, tone business-like. "If he takes out Kurskov with you still under his thrall, you'll be stuck this way for eternity."
...It bore mentioning that Karla had no idea whether that was true or not. But it sounded good, right?
The Prima BallerinaThe ballerina took a deep breath, squaring her shoulders into the kind of perfect posture that one developed after hundreds of years of dance practice. Without a word, she met both of their gazes, and then filed off toward the stage.
For the first few moments, she carried out the same rhythmic motions she'd practiced for years, but stricter - instead of letting her arms flow loosely, she kept them tight and mechanically-controlled as she went through the dance, as if she couldn't trust herself not to mess it up otherwise. The male lead lay on the stage, but seeing him there, rather than crouch by him as per the choreography, she took a step back instead, dancing her way to the other side of the stage with movements that were suddenly loose and free again.
She was vaguely aware of a disturbance in Kurskov's box -- she could hear the noise of a scuffle of some kind -- but kept herself focused on the dance. Finally she could feel something within her give out -- Kurskov, she assumed -- and feeling lighter and more free than she had since Stephan, she exhaled, and sank to the floor with her arms above her -- and then faded away entirely.
[Follows many posts, the most recent being this one. Preplayed with wesleynotponcy and not_a_parakeet! Many, many thanks to Michelle for letting us play in her canon and liven up Angel S03E13, "Waiting in the Wings." Apologies to Tracy and the f-list, but this is the last post! NFI, NFB, OOC is love forever]
The Prima BallerinaIn the wings, the prima ballerina stood and surveyed the stage, watching the same production she'd witnessed for centuries now. Even if Warren and Karla didn't recognize her from Act One or from her costume, there was a certain unmistakable dead-in-the-eyes look one developed after this kind of rote memorization of something she'd used to be passionate about.
Karla"You!" Karla said softly as they got close enough. She was struck by the girl's resemblance to her old friend River, but River's eyes had never looked so hopeless and dead. Shaking off the memory of the past--they hardly needed any more of that, thanks much, she nudged Warren in the arm. Nudged him with less force than she would have used before the dressing room. "Look. It's her."
WarrenWarren nodded a little, chewing his lip slightly as he looked at what was possibly the saddest ballerina he'd ever seen, anyhow.
"I see her," he whispered, and then pulled in a deep breath as he approached her. "... Hey."
Look, that was about as far as his amazing plan went. A greeting. Good start, right?
The Prima BallerinaStartled, the dancer turned to face them, tension clear in her posture. "Who are you?" she asked in a thick Russian accent. "You're new."
Karla"And my guess is that we're the only things around here who are," Karla replied. "For a long, long time."
Like, oh, a hundred and twenty years, say.
Warren"We have a friend who's seen you dance before," Warren added, tilting his head thoughtfully at the dancer.
Her performance was amazing, if the first act was any indication. No wonder Angel had been able to remember it so thoroughly.
The Prima Ballerina"Maybe," said the dancer, looking almost eerily noncommittal. "I dance. I wait here. And then I dance again."
Karla"Every night for over a century?" Karla asked, looking at the girl with sympathy. "That's a brutal punishment. And that's what's happening isn't it?"
She glanced across the stage and saw a male in one of the boxes, his eyes riveted on the stage. Between his facial hair and his gaudy jewelry, Karla already knew better than to trust him. She pointed him out to Warren.
WarrenWarren gave a glance in that direction, took in the sight of the man, and then gave a grim nod of his head.
"Over and over again? What about Stephan...?"
Warren couldn't help but sympathize with the man, with that lover of hers. Even if he hadn't been all that thrilled about being possessed.
The Prima BallerinaThe ballerina, for her part, didn't look especially surprised that they knew about him. More... resigned. "I waited too long," she said, not looking at either of them. "I should have gone when he asked me, should have disappeared, but... I wanted this. This dance, this... I hesitated and... I lost everything that mattered. Now all I do is wait."
Karla"And dance," Karla said as a row of dancers materialized in front of them, passing out onto the stage. "Kurskov is punishing you, isn't he? For daring to love someone else? To want to be more than just his prima ballerina?"
The Prima BallerinaThe ballerina gave a small nod at that. "He made me. He owns me. And when I dance it is only for him."
Karla"Bullshit," Karla said, glaring up at the male in the box and then transferring that glare to the ballerina. "He may control you right now, but he doesn't own you. He makes you dance for him? Then don't. Refuse. Fight him."
More ballet dancers passed by and Karla tried to catch one by the wrist, drag her back. Her hands slipped through the image like trying to catch mist.
"He's taken everything from you. But he can't take away who you are. He can't touch your Self."
The Prima BallerinaThe dancer shook her head. "There is nothing I can do," she said. "I can't break his hold. His power is too great over me."
WarrenWarren frowned, listening to the ladies speak as he reached a hand toward the stage. It vanished, there in mid-air, as though he was waving his hand through the Nothing all over again, with only an unbreakable echo of a dance on the other side.
He pulled his hand back, clutched it to his chest.
"We can help you," he murmured. "But there's something that we need you to do, out there."
KarlaKarla watched Warren's hand with narrowed eyes and nodded. "You think you're weak? He'll have you forever if you keep thinking like that. So you have to prove you're strong. You have to break his hold."
She looked back out at the ballerina-echoes, watching them leap and spin the same way they'd done for ages.
"You have to change the dance."
The Prima BallerinaWell, that was a new idea.
"I can't," the dancer said at once. As proof, she continued, "There is a section in the first act, during the courtship dance, where -- my foot slips. My ankle's turned and -- and I don't quite hold -- every time." She looked away from them momentarily, up at where the company owner sat in a private box. "He doesn't notice." With a bitter laugh, she admitted, "He doesn't even know ballet that well. But always, at that same moment, I slip. It isn't just the same ballet. It's the same performance. I don't dance. I echo."
That was great and all, but changing it up was clearly the answer.
Warren"You know what happens when you shout into an echo," Warren murmured, looking at the ballerina, thinking back on ten years of the same old that had been interrupted by one second, one time when he'd said no instead of yes. "The echo changes. The new drowns out the old as the old fades away. Echoes aren't forever."
KarlaWarren's method of encouragement was so much better than Karla's, which would probably have just involved taking the ballerina by the shoulders and shaking her until she saw sense. She gave him a small, soft smile for that. He was always kind. So kind.
Well, until it came to giving her the benefit of the doubt. Straightening up, she pointed to where Angel was prowling his way towards Kurskov's box. "If you're going to do it, do it now," she suggested, tone business-like. "If he takes out Kurskov with you still under his thrall, you'll be stuck this way for eternity."
...It bore mentioning that Karla had no idea whether that was true or not. But it sounded good, right?
The Prima BallerinaThe ballerina took a deep breath, squaring her shoulders into the kind of perfect posture that one developed after hundreds of years of dance practice. Without a word, she met both of their gazes, and then filed off toward the stage.
For the first few moments, she carried out the same rhythmic motions she'd practiced for years, but stricter - instead of letting her arms flow loosely, she kept them tight and mechanically-controlled as she went through the dance, as if she couldn't trust herself not to mess it up otherwise. The male lead lay on the stage, but seeing him there, rather than crouch by him as per the choreography, she took a step back instead, dancing her way to the other side of the stage with movements that were suddenly loose and free again.
She was vaguely aware of a disturbance in Kurskov's box -- she could hear the noise of a scuffle of some kind -- but kept herself focused on the dance. Finally she could feel something within her give out -- Kurskov, she assumed -- and feeling lighter and more free than she had since Stephan, she exhaled, and sank to the floor with her arms above her -- and then faded away entirely.
[Follows many posts, the most recent being this one. Preplayed with wesleynotponcy and not_a_parakeet! Many, many thanks to Michelle for letting us play in her canon and liven up Angel S03E13, "Waiting in the Wings." Apologies to Tracy and the f-list, but this is the last post! NFI, NFB, OOC is love forever]