Post #2734721 in Birthstone Spirits: The Second Revival, a roleplay on RPG

For the life of him, Jules could not remember the last time he’d seen a play. Well, that wasn’t true. He’d caught glimpses offstage, poised to help with the odd quick change, had meandered through an empty auditorium while an actor swanned about onstage to determine if a sequined suit was blinding or simply dazzling from the audience’s perspective. But it wasn’t like the real thing. He was only reminded of that now, surrounded on all sides by enthusiastic audience members, cheering and howling as the actors ran their paces.

For a moment, he lost himself in that crowd, the tension that he’d been steadily building slowly ebbing away. It was an effect aided by the low candlelight, fighting against the tent’s darkness to make those onstage shine, flickering spotlights for the audience’s pleasure. It wasn’t Broadway, obviously. It wasn’t even like Community Theatre. They were a hodge-podge lot onstage, costumes, props, and make-up the minimum it needed to be to help the audience along. This was theatre in the old school, a cobbled together group wandering the world and selling their dramatic wares. It was… nice. Comfortable in its setting. Some of the actors fit in this stage, figure painted into this moving piece of artwork. It was, well, it felt more like home than even New York had for the past few years.

The allure of the show effectively vanished for Jules the moment the third patron stumbled into him, drunkenly guffawing at a joke either too obscure for Jules to understand or not even there at all. He was left with an unfortunate sort of awareness. The tent was far too warm now, the people around him suffocating rather than a collective group he was meant to be part of. Was the show over? Was he missing something? He was obviously missing something. And, and- where was that other girl? Where was Tallyho? Oh, God, he was literally missing something.

The other blonde had vanished, and Jules couldn’t even be sure how long ago it had happened. Was she okay?* They should probably find her, Jules decided, the thought cemented when someone meandering by spilled something sticky and unknowable near his feet. For her sake. Right. That was it.

* Would they be okay without one of the only Airesians they knew to keep them from doing something unknowingly stupid?

He turned to Heather, the only other familiar face immediately available to him.

“Did you see-?” the question, spoken just loud enough to be heard over the din, was cut off when someone suddenly grabbed both of them. Jules could barely let out a swear himself as they were dragged bodily from the tent, crashing against spectators too slow to get out of their way before being thrown out and into the cool night air. Jules staggered, partially hopping as he nearly crashed into a nearby group of women. They tittered, partially offended and partially intrigued by the entertainment sure to come.

The swears were louder out here, their assailant still drunkenly snarling as Jules whirled around to face him. Great. Drunk, mean-tempered, and belligerent. That's exactly the kind of person Jules always wanted to be around. And perhaps he would understand later why this man was angry. Maybe he could sympathize with him when they weren't in the heat of the moment, theatre person to theatre person, impoverished artist to artist. But at the moment, he could only bristle, lips pulled into a thin line of disgust.

"Excuse me?" He squawked at the same time Heather sputtered out her own objection. He had no idea what a Manslander was, although from the way it was spat it was clearly not on, but his own insult "whatever the Hell you are was something he'd heard before. You had to develop a thick skin when you existed as someone outside of society's norms, at least in theory. Jules had never quite mastered that technique, and it showed as he spluttered, red face from a mix of embarrassment (he didn't even warrant being a person to this drunk fucker?!) and outrage.

Perhaps it would have gone further, then, with both outraged Earthlings backed up against a metaphorical wall given that they barely knew where they were and unwilling to simply take this man's abuse. It was lucky for all involved that someone else entered their fray. Jules recognized him, had seen him glide about the stage of that strange play. He was playing the role of a peacemaker now, gentle and forgiving in spite of the man named Horace's snarls and bluster. Not that it seemed to be leading to a positive conclusion. No, Horace was far too drunk and furious for that.

Jules was a coward. He'd admit that freely in the same way that he'd say that he was a fan of theatre or a complete weirdo. That didn't mean that he didn't take a step forward when Horace rounded on their would-be savior, even if said step was more of a reluctant shuffle. Jules wasn't entirely sure what he was planning on doing if things went south, mind you. Maybe hit Horace with his bag? Or find a large stick to flail wildly around with before running off and hope that maybe he didn't hurt himself? Oh, God, let it not come to that.

"Oh my God!" Oh my God indeed. Jules couldn't help gasping himself as Septimus dropped in one fluid movement, taking out Horace in a quick burst of action. The audience that had begun to grow outside the tent seemed frozen for a moment.

"Is he dead?" Jules glanced at Heather, took a step towards the crumpled body, and then thought better of it. He'd seen enough horror movies to know that you didn't get within ankle-grabbing range when it came to potentially unconscious assholes.

"I mean, probably not?" Jules offered, glancing around nervously. At least he hoped not because the last thing he needed was some dumbass dying in front of him and/or being made an accomplice to murder. But time was too short to worry for long. More of a crowd was beginning to gather, and their savior was wandering off with an open invitation, although not explicit, to follow him.

Unlike Heather, Jules was not actually prepared to make his way back to the inn. Having assumed that someone would leave him back, he hadn't really bothered marking a trail or remembering things like land marks or, well, street signs. Did they even have street signs? Could he read them if they did? So, while he did want to run away and preferably find his way back to the muscular meat shields of Dorian and Haru, well, he didn't have much of a choice. But maybe Heather-

"We should follow him."

Okay, maybe not. She was already following Septimus and Jules let out a dramatic, disgusted sigh. Typical. Cowards never had any luck finding other cowards.

"Right. Follow the random dude and hope for the best," He muttered to himself before following behind. And if he picked up the pace just a little more when he heard Horace let out a little groan, well, that was his business.

Snippet #2734721

located in Aires, a part of Birthstone Spirits: The Second Revival, one of the many universes on RPG.

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Characters Present

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