Repose

→ The town's production of Spamalot is slated to begin its run this Friday, and the recreation center is decked out with nostalgic items from productions past in the lobby. There are Playbills and newspaper clippings in their multitude, and there's something magical about the space, even before the seats fill and the curtains go up. Visitors catch memories of dust, fougère, and forgotten things on the air, and those scents are followed by snatches of sensation. For some attendants, the effect is a quick one: They lose themselves and become other people entirely, fictonal people, characters from those Playbills and clippings. For others, the transformation is partial and they retain bits of themselves as the characters inform their personalities, abilities, and wants. Some people aren't affected at all, and for them it's simply a night of enjoyable theater. The night's magic isn't contained to the rec center, either. It slips through cracks in the old building, and it walks itself out open doors, and anyone it touches as it dances on Repose's night air can find themselves suddenly changed. One thing is certain, Repose is sure to be a very theatrical place come morning and for the following week.

[Better far to live and die under the brave black flag I fly, than play a sanctimonious part with a pirate head and a pirate heart.

It does not take long after the play. Upon the lake sails a mighty yacht, easily one of the largest among boats of the wealthy residents that pepper the shore. From this yacht echoes all sorts of obnoxious party music at obscene volume during all times of the day or night, only to be shouted over by the numerous drunk frat boys that are obligated to 'Woo-Hoo' any mildly impressive act in their alcoholic haze. Fluttering in the air off the back of the yacht is a mighty Jolly Roger flag. Several smaller boats have approached, with a 50/50 split of those sailors joining the revelry. Those that do not join the hoopla seem to be allowed to leave without much problem. Just a pirate party. No big deal.

The police boat that went out there to reclaim the stolen (liberated!) yacht was chased off by a daring woman who was extremely skilled with a sword. She had wound up boarding the police boat to loot several air horns among other fun things from the constabulary. One of the officers was taken prisoner and forced to walk the makeshift plank that had been installed on the yacht. (No harm done, thanks to his life vest.) It has been made clear that the Pirates of Repose will not yield.]

[It's late as late can be, and Repose should be in bed and dreaming of dancing sugarplums, but fuck that jazz. From one of the apartments off Main, music can be heard. It's playing loudly and with no care for the neighbors, and the figure on the balcony is dressed in black and taffeta and netting. One female neighbor complains that the dancer was even wearing cat ears, as if it's the greatest deviance Repose has ever been forced to bear witness to, but her husband only noticed the fishnets. The police that come out to take the noise complaint end up in the middle of a little domestic squabble, during which the dancer disappears into the night. The music is still playing in the apartment, but upon entering the officers find that the family's gone for summer.

Despite multiple other sightings that night, the cops never do catch the cat in fishnets, and they finally give up when the sky starts to lighten. By morning, they have a stack of reports of dancing on roofs and fire escapes, singing too, but someone's taking a cat nap and is nowhere to be found.]

[The Neighborhood was quiet at 3 a.m., a typical warm summer night. Warm summer nights in old houses meant open windows, and open windows meant opportunity.

Crash!
Crash!
Crash!

Three separate houses, three separate times the crash of broken pottery was heard, startling awake the sleeping residents. Lights were turned on, bathrobes cinched, phones held at the ready.

No honey, just call the police.
Something just fell, go see what it was.
Mama, there was a noise.

Eyes bleary with sleep bear witness to a single, minor act of destruction.

I always liked that.
How could it have fallen?
That was my grandmother's. Don't you know how much it's worth?

Vases: toppled from plinth, table, or mantel, depending on the household and their decorating sensibilities. Then human eyes would meet feline, and the blame would begin.

Baxter!
Midnight!
Socks!

Cats, of course, didn't care for such accusations. Didn't understand why their humans would scold them. They had been awakened too. The houses would fall back into sleepy silence. It wouldn't be till morning, till the house was truly up and awake, that other things were noticed. Small things. Trinkets, cheap souvenirs from beach trips past, leaving a clean, empty spot on the dusty shelf where they'd once rested. A quart mason jar that would have been otherwise unremarkable, had it not held about eight hundred in cash for the family's vacation fund. Then and only then were the police called, but it was late, far too late to find anything else.

Neighbors would meet over fences in the daylight, taking breaks from tackling yard work under the brilliant sun, and recount their interrupted sleep while envying that new weed eater, those begonias, the perfectly trimmed hedges. If they'd been awakened to clean up glass or ceramic or pottery, they would all say the same thing:

It's that horrible cat!
And most of the time, they left it at that.]

[Repose residents who go to pick up a newspaper the next morning will find that any newspaper boxes or newsstands are covered with the word STRIKE sprayed across them in black paint. Residents who go to purchase them with their morning coffee will find newspapers spread across the ground. On the bright side, they don't seem to require payment, but on the less bright side, you are missing section B.

Mid afternoon, neighborhood residents complain that someone is yelling about 'the Pulitzers', but there is no sign of the culprit when exit their front doors, and they return to their laundry folding.]

[There have been enough strange occurrences in the last 24 hours that the appearance of a young man with bright green skin at the local diner is added to the tally of baffling gossip instead of topping the list. Anyone who stares gets an extremely dirty look, and when he leaves, it's in a very fetching hat.

One of the waitresses insists - insists - that she saw her take off on a broom. And yes, it was an...unusual makeup and hat combo, but no one believes her story. Maybe the legends are true, and there are witches in the woods around Repose. But surely they don't look like that.]

Who: Any/All! (Characters not affected by the theater plot are welcome to attend!)
Where: Downtown Repose
Notes:
→ You may post with your characters accounts or with reposetheater. Level of anonymity/how your characters are affected is up to you!
→ In subject lines, please post location and mature content warning (if any).
→ Since the start tags here are bound to be long, feel free to claim or "dibs" a thread.

( All the world's a stage, and all the men and women merely players. )