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Tweak says, "Nanananananananana BATMAN!"

Drystan Rhys Emrys (sinsofseven) wrote in haunted_roads,
@ 2008-02-25 00:44:00

Entry tags:

abigail, drystan

Week Two: Thursday
Who: Drystan and Abigail
Where: Theatre du Macabre
When: Thursday, Late

It had been a successful night, but that was often the case. Drystan didn't give his time to ventures that didn't turn out profitable. Either it was the luck of his draw or just the fact that he had several centuries on his side to help discern what would be a success and what wouldn't be... He was far shaper than his laziness often let on. Or maybe that was part of it, he was successful in spite of his laziness. Who knew... that kind of self-analysis was certainly not something Drystan took much part in.

Instead, he spent his valuable time corrupting the innocent and wallowing in sin. It was Thursday afterall. Tomorrow would be rolling around in money and gorging on blood.

This Thursday however was not just an ordinary Thursday it was that holiday that humans seemed so prone to spend far too much time and money indulging in.... St. Valentine's day it was. Love. Wasn't it disgustingly well... just disgusting. That particular emotion had no place in Drystan's life. Well no place personally. If anyone wanted to love him.... he was more than willing to use that to his advantage. But when it came to mutual avowals of love on Valentines day... he was far more keen on focusing on the Martyrs that had given their name to the day. Blood of holy men always made his day.

The performance put on by his cast of supernatural actors had been specifically driven to fit the holiday. Star crossed lovers, torn apart, quite literally by their families. Symbolism at it's most literal best. If that were truly a possible thing. The current director had put together a story that contained the sort of love that could only be fulfilled in death. Which was exactly the kind of happy ending that Drystan enjoyed. A Romeo and Juliet type story that had fulfilled every horrific fantasy that William Shakespeare could have possibly intended and a great deal more no doubt. What set this theater apart from all the previous steps into the macabre world... was simply the fact that his actors didn't suffer from the limitations of most humans. The blood shed was all too often real, no need for stage effects. Pain, lust and anguish that people felt on a normal basis was always blown up to epic proportions on his stage. A connection that often appealed to people despite their better judgments.

Such as it was tonight, the lovers meeting their end in a wash of blood that pricked Drystan's nose from where he sat in his personal balcony. For a romance which was rarely to his tastes... it had been done well. Never say that Drystan didn't know how to cater to his customers. But he couldn't say that he'd been watching the entire thing. No, a red dress had caught his eye. He had purchased it after all. The human was curious, endearingly curious. Though likely it would only lead her to trouble. But that was a lesson best learned the hard way.

As the curtain fell and the applause began, Drystan made his way from balcony, leaving strict instructions for the guard at the door to go and collect his guest and bring her to his... office. A red rose that matched the color of her dress was plucked from an arrangement decorating his balcony and passed off. Yes, that was to be given as well. If he had her pegged as he thought he did... she wouldn't be able to stop herself from taking that next step. How well could he read people after all these years.

Clad in an all black ensemble Drystan took the path through the corridors that led from the ground floor of the stage to a level just below. Not so far down as to touch the establishment below but far from the prying eyes of theater goer's. He had a touch for the dramatic, it was well known. Lights along the way were lit with a more natural form of light, gas flames. A touch of the old too, he didn't think that would surprise his little guest when she arrived.

Now just to see how curious the girl was...

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lapislazuli
2008-02-25 03:55 pm UTC (link)

In the end, Abigail hadn't deliberated very long at all as to whether or not to go to the theater. Slipping on the dress, and finding it to be an absolutely perfect fit, had proved to be all the persuasion she needed. It was bizarre, really. She wouldn't have thought someone would be able to guess at her size and manage to find something that fit her so beautifully (not to mention something that made her look so...well...she didn't want to appear conceited, but when she looked in the mirror, she had to admit, she looked hot). She'd also slipped on the lingerie she'd purchased earlier in the day, though she'd almost managed to convince herself that the only reason for that particular decision had been because it gave her the best shape for the dress. Nobody was going to see it, obviously. There was no point in getting carried away, or laboring under any delusions. She'd go to the theater, see the show, and trot off home again. That was all.

And had that been all, she certainly wouldn't have been disappointed. The theater itself was marvelous - ornate and decadent and beautifully restored. She'd had a great seat, too - several snooty types had shot her rather dirty looks, as they took their places a few rows behind her. Clearly you generally paid big money to sit so close. And once the show was in full swing, she could see why. She'd always been something of a connoisseur of slasher films and horror flicks. But seeing it on stage, up close and personal, was very very different. It was evident that the rest of the audience shared her sentiment - on several occasions there was an awkward silence before applause set in, as people tried to work out exactly how the gash in that young woman's neck was bleeding so profusely, and so consistently. And it didn't look like corn syrup, either. Once or twice, sitting so close she could almost have reached over the head of the person in front of her and wiped the dripping blood of the stage with her index finger, she could have sworn she even smelt the metallic warmth of the real stuff. But it couldn't be. Maybe there were vents under the seats, or something - like the haunted house at Universal studios. One of those full on sensory experiences.

Either way, when she got up after the curtain had finally swung shut, her knees were a little wobbly. Ordinarily, when she walked out of something like this, she had a grin plastered across her face that she just couldn't shake (a trait which led many of her aquaintances to mutter amongst themselves that she'd probably wind up becoming a serial killer, or something demented like that). This time, however, her smile came and went, phasing in and out as she went over the performance in her mind. How did they do that? And what about when that man got knee-capped...

She was interrupted at one of the doors that led from the main theater to the lobby by a uniformed man. Not a usher...he looked more butch than that, really. She blinked, taking a step back instinctively. She'd managed to talk herself out of all her silly fantasies - had seen herself leaving the theater, hopping in a taxi, and winding up back at home in front of the television with a tub of icecream and a long night ahead of her.

And yet, somehow, she found herself being led down a lamp-lit hallway - a sloping passageway that lurked past one of those silk cords that signified a private part of the establishment, clutching a crimson rose in one hand, and wearing a severely bemused expression. Things like this just didn't happen to people like her. It was too bizarre. But before she had found the time to formulate a reasonable string of questions to ask of the guard, he'd deposited her in front of a heavy, carved wooden door, knocked once, on her behalf, and disappeared.

She took her bottom lip between her teeth, chewing it nervously as she waited for the door to open.

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sinsofseven
2008-03-02 09:33 am UTC (link)

The door wasn't opened by Drystan himself, he could rarely be bothered to do such menial things like open doors or escort young women through the hallways of his theater. No, there were people tied to him in ways they probably wished they weren't that were far more capable of such tasks. It was just such an individual that pulled the door open that Abigail stood before waiting... Invisible to only the man in the room the door was held open and closed again just as soon as she'd stepped through.

One wave of his hand and the man was gone, slipping through the small back door that blended in so well with the bookshelf behind Drystan's desk.

She had come. Though had he really questioned that fact? No, not really. Drystan was... seated though given the way his hips lounged against the edge of the desk, posed was probably a more precise word. He faced the door as it revealed his guest, he was all about setting the stage... always.

"Curiosity killed the cat, certainly glad that old phrase doesn't apply to humans..." He remarked with a slight curve of his lips upwards. "You do that dress more justice than I ever could have imagined." He added as he pushed away from the desk top and held a hand out to his guest. "Did you enjoy the show?"