Fifth floor common room, Wednesday evening
Nadia may have spent the afternoon on the roof spending quality time with a carved up apple and some of the remains of her purchase from the corner boys from last week.
Which would certainly explain why she was staring at an episode of AKA with new appreciation, fascination, and understanding.
It would also explain why, twenty minutes into the episode, she was fast asleep and dreaming.
Nadia was a spectator, sitting in a silent, invisible sea of spectators. Oddly enough, she was also on stage.
She is facing a group of . . . butlers. They have been spinning coins. That's not what they're doing now, though.
"Bet me that the year of my birth doubled is an odd number."
Wadsworth looked at her distrustingly. "Your birth?"
"If you don't trust me, don't bet with me."
"Would you trust me?"
The bet was placed. Wadsworth, of course, lost. Any number doubled is an even number. In the audience, Nadia nodded. She'd seen this play before.
Wadsworth looked glum. "We have no money."
On stage, Nadia crossed her arms. "What have you got, then?"
Wadsworth nodded to the other butlers, and Alfred stepped forward. He looked meek and wore a dress.
In the audience, Nadia frowned. Right. Like she was supposed to believe that that was Alfred?
On stage, Nadia regarded Alfred sadly. "Was it for this?"
"It's the best we've got."
"Then times are bad, indeed."
Nadia turned away from the butlers and the scene abruptly shifted. She and Walter were alone on the empty stage.
They were spinning coins.
"Heads."
Again.
"Heads."
Again.
"Heads."
"We have been spinning coins together since--" Walter paced the length and bredth of the stage. Nadia was just happy she was winning. "This is not the first time we have spun coins!"
"Oh no," Nadia agreed, pleasantly enough. "We have been spinning coins together as long as I can remember."
"How long is that?"
"I forget." Nadia held up her very full bag of coins. "Mind you, eighty-five times!"
Walter was obviously quite worried. Nadia just thought it was neat.
"The scientific approach to the examination of phenomena is a defence against the pure emotion of fear--"
"Did Alfred teach you that?"
Walter shot her a glare. "Quiet, you're stepping on my lines."
Nadia nodded and backed away.
"Follow me carefully, it may prove a comfort. If we postulate, and we just have, that within un-, sub-, or supernatural forces the probability is that the law of probability will not operate as a factor, then we must accept that the probability will not operate as a factor, then we must accept that the probability of the first part will not operate as a factor, in which case the law of probability will operate as a factor within un-, sub-, or supernatural forces. And since it obviously hasn't been doing so, we can take it that we are not held within un-, sub-, or supernatural forces after all; in all probability, that is. Which is of great relief to me personally."
Walter stopped and rocked back on his very shiny heels cheerfully, beaming out into the audience.
Nadia frowned.
"You're a total nutter."
Walter turned back to her with a frown.
And the scene shifted.
"Consistency is all I ask!" Walter shouted at the scenery growing from the stage.
"Give us this day, our daily mask," Nadia responded.
The butlers reappeared.
"So," Walter and Nadia said at once. "You've caught up."
"Not yet!" Wadsworth responded, bitterly. "You left us!" He stalked towards them, across the stage, the crowd of butlers (including Walter) following suit. "Don't you see?! We're butlers! We're the opposites of people! Think, in your head, now, think of the most . . . private . . . secret . . . intimate thing you've ever done, secure in the knowledge of its privacy. . . ." He paused for a moment, for effect, for Nadia and her audience to think of something. "Are you thinking of it? Well I saw you do it!"
Nadia leaped backwards. "You never! It's a lie!"
And the scene shifted. Nadia stood in the midst of a silent crowd of her friends, the spotlight casting strange shadows on her pale face, masking her red eyes.
"Do you ever think of yourself as actually dead, lying in a box with a lid on it?" Her friends did not move, and Nadia continued, addressing them in turn.
"Nor do I, really. . . . It's silly to be depressed by it." This to Veronica. "I mean, one thinks of it like being alive in a box," to Pippi, "one keeps forgetting to take into account the fact that one is dead . . ." to Victor, "which should make all the difference, shouldn't it?" to Pip.
"I mean, you'd never know you were in a box, would you?" to Marty, "It would be just like being asleep in a box." to Angela, "not that I'd like to sleep in a box, mind you, not without any air--" to Xander, "You'd wake up dead, for a start, and then where would you be?" and at last, to Walter. "Apart from inside a box."
Her friends vanished, one by one, as she spoke to them, until she was left, friendless, audienceless, setless, in the middle of a blank, unlit stage.
She looked around.
"That's it, then, is it?
"The sun's going down. Or the Earth's coming up, as the fashionable theory has it.
"Not that it makes any difference."
She wandered the stage, without purpose. No blocking, no spikes, just an endless, blank black expanse. She wasn't certain why she was still there, performing to an audience of none.
"What was it all about? When did it begin?"
No answer.
"Couldn't I just stay put? I mean, no one is going to come on and drag me off. . . . They'll just have to wait. I'm still young . . . fit . . . I've got years. . . ."
No answer.
"I've done nothing wrong! I didn't harm anyone!"
No answer.
"Did I?"
No answer.
"There must have been a moment, at the beginning, when I could have said--no. But somehow, I missed it."
She looks around. There is no one. Nothing.
No answer.
"Well. I'll know better, next time.
"Now you see me, now you--"
She vanished.
[[ooc: stolen in large part from Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are Dead by Tom Stoppard]]
Which would certainly explain why she was staring at an episode of AKA with new appreciation, fascination, and understanding.
It would also explain why, twenty minutes into the episode, she was fast asleep and dreaming.
Nadia was a spectator, sitting in a silent, invisible sea of spectators. Oddly enough, she was also on stage.
She is facing a group of . . . butlers. They have been spinning coins. That's not what they're doing now, though.
"Bet me that the year of my birth doubled is an odd number."
Wadsworth looked at her distrustingly. "Your birth?"
"If you don't trust me, don't bet with me."
"Would you trust me?"
The bet was placed. Wadsworth, of course, lost. Any number doubled is an even number. In the audience, Nadia nodded. She'd seen this play before.
Wadsworth looked glum. "We have no money."
On stage, Nadia crossed her arms. "What have you got, then?"
Wadsworth nodded to the other butlers, and Alfred stepped forward. He looked meek and wore a dress.
In the audience, Nadia frowned. Right. Like she was supposed to believe that that was Alfred?
On stage, Nadia regarded Alfred sadly. "Was it for this?"
"It's the best we've got."
"Then times are bad, indeed."
Nadia turned away from the butlers and the scene abruptly shifted. She and Walter were alone on the empty stage.
They were spinning coins.
"Heads."
Again.
"Heads."
Again.
"Heads."
"We have been spinning coins together since--" Walter paced the length and bredth of the stage. Nadia was just happy she was winning. "This is not the first time we have spun coins!"
"Oh no," Nadia agreed, pleasantly enough. "We have been spinning coins together as long as I can remember."
"How long is that?"
"I forget." Nadia held up her very full bag of coins. "Mind you, eighty-five times!"
Walter was obviously quite worried. Nadia just thought it was neat.
"The scientific approach to the examination of phenomena is a defence against the pure emotion of fear--"
"Did Alfred teach you that?"
Walter shot her a glare. "Quiet, you're stepping on my lines."
Nadia nodded and backed away.
"Follow me carefully, it may prove a comfort. If we postulate, and we just have, that within un-, sub-, or supernatural forces the probability is that the law of probability will not operate as a factor, then we must accept that the probability will not operate as a factor, then we must accept that the probability of the first part will not operate as a factor, in which case the law of probability will operate as a factor within un-, sub-, or supernatural forces. And since it obviously hasn't been doing so, we can take it that we are not held within un-, sub-, or supernatural forces after all; in all probability, that is. Which is of great relief to me personally."
Walter stopped and rocked back on his very shiny heels cheerfully, beaming out into the audience.
Nadia frowned.
"You're a total nutter."
Walter turned back to her with a frown.
And the scene shifted.
"Consistency is all I ask!" Walter shouted at the scenery growing from the stage.
"Give us this day, our daily mask," Nadia responded.
The butlers reappeared.
"So," Walter and Nadia said at once. "You've caught up."
"Not yet!" Wadsworth responded, bitterly. "You left us!" He stalked towards them, across the stage, the crowd of butlers (including Walter) following suit. "Don't you see?! We're butlers! We're the opposites of people! Think, in your head, now, think of the most . . . private . . . secret . . . intimate thing you've ever done, secure in the knowledge of its privacy. . . ." He paused for a moment, for effect, for Nadia and her audience to think of something. "Are you thinking of it? Well I saw you do it!"
Nadia leaped backwards. "You never! It's a lie!"
And the scene shifted. Nadia stood in the midst of a silent crowd of her friends, the spotlight casting strange shadows on her pale face, masking her red eyes.
"Do you ever think of yourself as actually dead, lying in a box with a lid on it?" Her friends did not move, and Nadia continued, addressing them in turn.
"Nor do I, really. . . . It's silly to be depressed by it." This to Veronica. "I mean, one thinks of it like being alive in a box," to Pippi, "one keeps forgetting to take into account the fact that one is dead . . ." to Victor, "which should make all the difference, shouldn't it?" to Pip.
"I mean, you'd never know you were in a box, would you?" to Marty, "It would be just like being asleep in a box." to Angela, "not that I'd like to sleep in a box, mind you, not without any air--" to Xander, "You'd wake up dead, for a start, and then where would you be?" and at last, to Walter. "Apart from inside a box."
Her friends vanished, one by one, as she spoke to them, until she was left, friendless, audienceless, setless, in the middle of a blank, unlit stage.
She looked around.
"That's it, then, is it?
"The sun's going down. Or the Earth's coming up, as the fashionable theory has it.
"Not that it makes any difference."
She wandered the stage, without purpose. No blocking, no spikes, just an endless, blank black expanse. She wasn't certain why she was still there, performing to an audience of none.
"What was it all about? When did it begin?"
No answer.
"Couldn't I just stay put? I mean, no one is going to come on and drag me off. . . . They'll just have to wait. I'm still young . . . fit . . . I've got years. . . ."
No answer.
"I've done nothing wrong! I didn't harm anyone!"
No answer.
"Did I?"
No answer.
"There must have been a moment, at the beginning, when I could have said--no. But somehow, I missed it."
She looks around. There is no one. Nothing.
No answer.
"Well. I'll know better, next time.
"Now you see me, now you--"
She vanished.
[[ooc: stolen in large part from Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are Dead by Tom Stoppard]]