03-14-2010, 11:53 AM
Well fan-freakin’-tastic… it’s Kaden, Ander thought sourly, none too pleased as he walked over with the pink-haired girl. I thought I left this guy back in Central City hours ago. How is it, that out of the entire universe, we manage to end up in the same theme park? And more than that, him show up at the exact same time to interlope when I find something that might work to my benefit?
Still, pleasantries had to be exchanged as the courier tossed out a handful of names and proceeded to elaborate a carefully edited yet valiant tale of terrible battle, robotic onslaught, and heroic defense. Before Ander could think of something equally airbrushed with which to counter it, he found himself sucked into another cataclysmic wormhole. Fortunately, at least this time, he popped out of it standing up, albeit stumbling as if he balanced precariously on the edge of a cliff. The thief righted himself, and looked around, suddenly unsure whether he preferred the parking garage, or this new environment. Bright lights, mirrors, and vanities lined a section of wall, with racks of numerous types of apparel strewn freely about a large, rectangular room. Amongst the rest of the walls rested cabinets and crates, stuffed to the brim with a random assortment of articles and objects.
“What… is this?” Ander wondered aloud.
“I… have no idea,” a tall, muscular man said behind him.
Ander twisted his head around, having to crane it almost all the way up just to look at the behemoth of a one-eyed saiyan. If he remembered correctly, his name was Orion. He turned back around, not really lavishing the thought of drawing the six-foot-three’s attention.
“We’re to perform a play.”
A man with shoulder-length black hair and brown eyes approached them, a friendly expression on his makeup-pasted face. “I’m Cain. Looks like we’re all actors today.”
Ander hesitantly pointed a finger to Cain, and then withdrew it to tap on his own nose. “You… you uh, you have… something on your face.”
“Oh, this lovely lady applied it for me. Part of my role, I guess,” Cain shrugged. “You two wouldn’t happen to know what play we’re performing, are we? Or, any of our lines?”
Both Ander and Orion shook their heads much to the cyborg’s dismay as the birds fluttering in his stomach gave him an extra kick in the ribs. Shortly joining them, however, were two others as blue doors opened up and they stepped inside the room. The thief cocked an eyebrow as he recognized one of them, yet another person he thought he’d left behind for good. What was it with unhappy reunions today? You couldn’t miss somebody if they never left to be missed.
“Nice to see you again, Red,” Ander grinned as Belle Hibiki looked around.
“It isn’t ‘Red,’ it’s ‘Belle,’” the halfling answered, genuinely believing the thief had made a mistake.
“And how about you, uh…” Ander gave the person in a Taoist robe an up-and-down look. “…sir?” he finally decided.
“Zhu. Mr. Zhu,” the human answered with an almost Bond-like inflection.
“Fantastic,” Ander said. He pointed around the room in turn. “So we have myself, I’m Ander, we have Cain, Orion, Re- I mean Belle, and Zhu. According to Cain, we are supposed to perform a play together, but apparently, we don’t have a script or any lines.”
“I guess we just wing it,” Cain suggested helpfully.
The thief briefly appraised each of his partners, a motley crew indeed: a man painted like a clown, a ’roided out Cyclops, a naïve half-saiyan, an oddball in monk’s clothing, and a pretentious desert bandit. Together, they somehow needed to perform and pull off a cohesive and entertaining production for the amusement of some unknown and mysterious figure.
We are so screwed.
A few awkward moments of silence went by as nobody volunteered any material. It looked as though they were going to come up empty. Yet somehow, someone decided that it would not be so, and intervened to give the mismatched band a gentle – or not so gentle – nudge in the right direction. Suddenly, a flurry of stage crew in black shirts and casual slacks burst into the room, ushering them all to a separate vanity, including Cain, despite the fact that he had already undergone the treatment. The room erupted in a multitude of different conversations as several actions transpired at once.
“No, don’t touch me!” Belle protested sharply as he squirmed away from an encroaching makeup lady’s attempt to grab him by the hand. Instead, he scurried over to a male attendant who, for all intents and purposes, was probably no better than a woman anyway.
“What do you think you’re doing?” Orion said, folding his arms over his chest.
“But sir, you want to win, right? You want to humiliate everyone? I’ll give you the best role of all, the toughest and most fierce!” the saiyan’s artist assured.
Ander felt somebody tug him by the arm and drag him over to a chair.
“Hold still while I apply some eyeliner, hon,” a woman told him.
“Wait, what?” Ander replied, his face blanching.
“Will there be any zombies here?” Zhu inquired as his slightly perturbed artist rubbed his face down with cold cream.
“Are you sure you should be changing the design? The other lady was really nice, and she did a good job…” Cain voiced reluctantly.
Before any of them had a chance to protest any further, and really before they had an opportunity to get a good look at each other, the five misfits were pushed out the door of the green room and into the darkened backstage, where they stumbled and tripped in the darkness, unsure of their general direction. Abruptly, a large flood of stage lights flashed on, nearly blinding them with their overcompensation. A giant crowd of expectant people sat silently before them in an opera-style theater house. When they regained their ability to see without obstruction from flashing little dots, they glanced at each other up and down. Mr. Zhu had been dressed in a skirt of white-and-light-blue plaid, with a brown wig and curly pigtails trailing down his shoulders. Belle stood next to him in a fuzzy coverall costume of brown fur with a curled up tail and cropped ears. Ander and Cain huddled together, the former in a suit of polished tin with an axe, and the latter stuffed to the brim with hay beneath a patchwork ensemble of burlap. Finally, Orion, looking quite unhappy, rounded out the quintet nicely in a coverall costume of golden fur, a wild orange mane, and a floppy tail. Together, they composed the full ensemble of the Wizard of Oz as Dorthy, Toto, Tinman, Scarecrow, and the Cowardly Lion, respectively.
They shot furtive looks, completely frozen on stage, until they began murmuring their inevitable dissent at the situation.
“…I don’t like this,” Orion said flatly.
“Why am I the girl?” Zhu complained.
“What are we supposed to do?” Cain whispered.
An audience member coughed expectantly.
“Go off to see the wizard?” Ander suggested.
A pause ensued, and they all looked at Belle, who up until now had remained silent. He looked back at them, somewhat confused, as if noticing where they were for the first time. Then he stared down at himself.
“Am I a dog?” Belle suddenly realized, picking at his costume.
Ander facepalmed.
Really, really screwed.
Still, pleasantries had to be exchanged as the courier tossed out a handful of names and proceeded to elaborate a carefully edited yet valiant tale of terrible battle, robotic onslaught, and heroic defense. Before Ander could think of something equally airbrushed with which to counter it, he found himself sucked into another cataclysmic wormhole. Fortunately, at least this time, he popped out of it standing up, albeit stumbling as if he balanced precariously on the edge of a cliff. The thief righted himself, and looked around, suddenly unsure whether he preferred the parking garage, or this new environment. Bright lights, mirrors, and vanities lined a section of wall, with racks of numerous types of apparel strewn freely about a large, rectangular room. Amongst the rest of the walls rested cabinets and crates, stuffed to the brim with a random assortment of articles and objects.
“What… is this?” Ander wondered aloud.
“I… have no idea,” a tall, muscular man said behind him.
Ander twisted his head around, having to crane it almost all the way up just to look at the behemoth of a one-eyed saiyan. If he remembered correctly, his name was Orion. He turned back around, not really lavishing the thought of drawing the six-foot-three’s attention.
“We’re to perform a play.”
A man with shoulder-length black hair and brown eyes approached them, a friendly expression on his makeup-pasted face. “I’m Cain. Looks like we’re all actors today.”
Ander hesitantly pointed a finger to Cain, and then withdrew it to tap on his own nose. “You… you uh, you have… something on your face.”
“Oh, this lovely lady applied it for me. Part of my role, I guess,” Cain shrugged. “You two wouldn’t happen to know what play we’re performing, are we? Or, any of our lines?”
Both Ander and Orion shook their heads much to the cyborg’s dismay as the birds fluttering in his stomach gave him an extra kick in the ribs. Shortly joining them, however, were two others as blue doors opened up and they stepped inside the room. The thief cocked an eyebrow as he recognized one of them, yet another person he thought he’d left behind for good. What was it with unhappy reunions today? You couldn’t miss somebody if they never left to be missed.
“Nice to see you again, Red,” Ander grinned as Belle Hibiki looked around.
“It isn’t ‘Red,’ it’s ‘Belle,’” the halfling answered, genuinely believing the thief had made a mistake.
“And how about you, uh…” Ander gave the person in a Taoist robe an up-and-down look. “…sir?” he finally decided.
“Zhu. Mr. Zhu,” the human answered with an almost Bond-like inflection.
“Fantastic,” Ander said. He pointed around the room in turn. “So we have myself, I’m Ander, we have Cain, Orion, Re- I mean Belle, and Zhu. According to Cain, we are supposed to perform a play together, but apparently, we don’t have a script or any lines.”
“I guess we just wing it,” Cain suggested helpfully.
The thief briefly appraised each of his partners, a motley crew indeed: a man painted like a clown, a ’roided out Cyclops, a naïve half-saiyan, an oddball in monk’s clothing, and a pretentious desert bandit. Together, they somehow needed to perform and pull off a cohesive and entertaining production for the amusement of some unknown and mysterious figure.
We are so screwed.
A few awkward moments of silence went by as nobody volunteered any material. It looked as though they were going to come up empty. Yet somehow, someone decided that it would not be so, and intervened to give the mismatched band a gentle – or not so gentle – nudge in the right direction. Suddenly, a flurry of stage crew in black shirts and casual slacks burst into the room, ushering them all to a separate vanity, including Cain, despite the fact that he had already undergone the treatment. The room erupted in a multitude of different conversations as several actions transpired at once.
“No, don’t touch me!” Belle protested sharply as he squirmed away from an encroaching makeup lady’s attempt to grab him by the hand. Instead, he scurried over to a male attendant who, for all intents and purposes, was probably no better than a woman anyway.
“What do you think you’re doing?” Orion said, folding his arms over his chest.
“But sir, you want to win, right? You want to humiliate everyone? I’ll give you the best role of all, the toughest and most fierce!” the saiyan’s artist assured.
Ander felt somebody tug him by the arm and drag him over to a chair.
“Hold still while I apply some eyeliner, hon,” a woman told him.
“Wait, what?” Ander replied, his face blanching.
“Will there be any zombies here?” Zhu inquired as his slightly perturbed artist rubbed his face down with cold cream.
“Are you sure you should be changing the design? The other lady was really nice, and she did a good job…” Cain voiced reluctantly.
Before any of them had a chance to protest any further, and really before they had an opportunity to get a good look at each other, the five misfits were pushed out the door of the green room and into the darkened backstage, where they stumbled and tripped in the darkness, unsure of their general direction. Abruptly, a large flood of stage lights flashed on, nearly blinding them with their overcompensation. A giant crowd of expectant people sat silently before them in an opera-style theater house. When they regained their ability to see without obstruction from flashing little dots, they glanced at each other up and down. Mr. Zhu had been dressed in a skirt of white-and-light-blue plaid, with a brown wig and curly pigtails trailing down his shoulders. Belle stood next to him in a fuzzy coverall costume of brown fur with a curled up tail and cropped ears. Ander and Cain huddled together, the former in a suit of polished tin with an axe, and the latter stuffed to the brim with hay beneath a patchwork ensemble of burlap. Finally, Orion, looking quite unhappy, rounded out the quintet nicely in a coverall costume of golden fur, a wild orange mane, and a floppy tail. Together, they composed the full ensemble of the Wizard of Oz as Dorthy, Toto, Tinman, Scarecrow, and the Cowardly Lion, respectively.
They shot furtive looks, completely frozen on stage, until they began murmuring their inevitable dissent at the situation.
“…I don’t like this,” Orion said flatly.
“Why am I the girl?” Zhu complained.
“What are we supposed to do?” Cain whispered.
An audience member coughed expectantly.
“Go off to see the wizard?” Ander suggested.
A pause ensued, and they all looked at Belle, who up until now had remained silent. He looked back at them, somewhat confused, as if noticing where they were for the first time. Then he stared down at himself.
“Am I a dog?” Belle suddenly realized, picking at his costume.
Ander facepalmed.
Really, really screwed.
[SIGPIC][/SIGPIC]
_=So wake me when it's through
I don't want to feel the things that you do
Don't worry, I'll be fine
I just don't want this dream, wake me up inside=_
I don't want to feel the things that you do
Don't worry, I'll be fine
I just don't want this dream, wake me up inside=_