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Post by Typhoid on Oct 13, 2009 21:19:14 GMT -5
((Takes place two weeks after "Awake and Fading"))
With the help of Nimrod's coat, Typhoid stubbornly went through the last two weeks of rehearsals for her play, going between the Mansion and the small theatre where the rehearsals took place. She wore her coat through most of them, and the night before opening night even made it through her five minute part without fading out in the middle. Aside from her strange habit of wearing a coat no matter what and a tendency to look as if she'd had no sleep, none of the cast seemed to know about her problem.
She was playing the part of a grown stepdaughter, a whiny, annoying girl whose main purpose as a character was to illustrate exactly how dysfunctional the family of the principle character was. By the time opening night came, she could go through her part in her sleep.
Doing that might have been preferable. Between rehearsals and keeping up with class, plus her power problems, her nerves were frayed, she was missing sleep, and it made her power problems worse. She still saw Pietro, of course, but she didn't touch him, couldn't bring herself to put him in a dangerous position like that. Once she went transparent, the time it took her to solidify was growing longer and longer; she'd once had to take refuge for a few minutes in one of the Mansion's walls. If it began to take too long, she was in danger of dissolving without a proper host.
The concentration it took to maintain her proper form drained her; she'd never had to put so much energy into controlling just one aspect of her powers. But she was determined to make it through opening night.
The theatre in the Village where the play was being held was small, but decently well kept. Typhoid had come hours before curtain, and was at a small dressing table in the communal women's dressing room, putting on makeup. Her coat was on, of course, but that didn't stop her hand from going transparent every once in a while. She swore that for just the space of five minutes, she was going to make it through her part.
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Post by Pietro Maximoff on Oct 13, 2009 21:30:24 GMT -5
::Pietro had set aside the date of Rossignol's opening night, having gone so far as to switch shifts with another officer to guarantee his presence. He would not break his word to her.
This was the first play he had seen in quite some time, and he had driven down so he could take her back with him. Parking had been a nightmare, but this is why he always arrived early. He was dressed well, realizing that he was out of place in the theatre-going crowd in the Village, but that was another matter entirely. He had brought her flowers, which rested on his lap; he intended to go back stage as soon as the show was over to give them to her.
The theatre was relatively small, and he was compacted between a middle-aged woman with her husband, and a twenty-year-old student expounding on his theatre experience. But he loved Rossignol, and he would bear this company to watch her on stage.::
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Post by Typhoid on Oct 13, 2009 21:38:46 GMT -5
It was about two minutes before curtain, and Typhoid went out still with her coat over her costume to peek out the side entrance onto the stage itself and find Pietro. She'd left a ticket for him at the door, but she didn't know when he'd get there.
Looking around in the direction of his heartbeat, she saw him in the second to the front row, but wasn't sure if he could see her. Unable to find a way to signal him, she settled for a small smile and went backstage again as the curtain went up.
The play was relatively short, only maybe an hour and a half, and Typhoid's part wasn't until halfway through.
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Post by Pietro Maximoff on Oct 13, 2009 21:41:15 GMT -5
::Pietro was trying not to allow himself to grow bored, although his mind would wander in these moments. When there was action, it would be a bit easier, particularly as he had never seen or read this play before, and thus it would be new.::
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Post by Typhoid on Oct 13, 2009 21:54:16 GMT -5
It was 45 minutes in, and Typhoid finally appeared onstage. She'd taken off her coat, left it zipped in her bag in the dressing room. She felt naked without it, but she hadn't had a chance of convincing the costume designer that a black coat with a green biohazard sign went well with the red pant suit and stilettos she had to wear for her part.
She came out, hair coiffed high on her head and heavily makeup, and instantly reverted into her part, playing a spoiled adult brat as she delivered her first line.
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Post by Pietro Maximoff on Oct 13, 2009 21:56:23 GMT -5
::Unfortunately, boredom had set in. Between the husband and wife arguing about everything under the son, to the neglect and disinterest shown one of the children, Pietro felt he could do better writing, because he had lived this. But he had focused as well as he could, and was rewarded when Rossignol came on stage. His posture straightened and he watched, far more interested now.::
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Post by Typhoid on Oct 13, 2009 22:01:14 GMT -5
The last few moments of her part were most fun, mostly because she got to slap someone for no reason other then that the part called for it.
One of the male cast members was playing her idiot ex-husband, and towards the end of her part, he groped her rear, showing through her tight pants. She went to turn around and smack him in the face, as the part called for...
Her hand reached his cheek and went through his face entirely. She could see and hear most of the cast freeze on stage, unsure how to respond. Her body was slowly turning into the transparent green of her other form, the one she'd been trying to avoid all night.
She froze, then backed away from the rest of the cast, trying to play it off, but others had already noticed. The crowd had gone completely silent.
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Post by Pietro Maximoff on Oct 13, 2009 22:05:16 GMT -5
::Pietro had already been on edge when the male cast member had groped her; although he understood acting in principle, he inwardly balked at anyone treating her in such a way. However, when he saw her hand go through him, rather than make contact, he tensed. This was problematic. Quite problematic.
The play seemed to stop, and the audience was deathly silent. He had a few choice phrases in four languages, none of which he allowed himself to think. Instead he slowly rose from his seat, as though he needed to take a restroom break now, at this most inopportune moment.::
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Post by Typhoid on Oct 13, 2009 22:10:47 GMT -5
She had to get off the stage NOW, but she still had a line to deliver. She could already hear the crowd now beginning to murmur, and she knew that she was almost completely transparent. She couldn't stay, and instead took off backstage, simply phasing through curtains and whatever else was in her way. She wasn't in tears: this form didn't accommodate tears.
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Post by Pietro Maximoff on Oct 13, 2009 22:14:37 GMT -5
::Pietro saw her disappear back stage, and he was after her. There was a slight breeze, and in the wink of an eye, he was gone from the aisle, already back stage looking for her.:: "Rossignol? Are you here?"
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Post by Typhoid on Oct 13, 2009 22:16:45 GMT -5
"Yes." She'd been trying to get back to her original form, standing as far away from people as she could, back behind a set piece.
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Post by Pietro Maximoff on Oct 13, 2009 22:24:01 GMT -5
::From the sound of her voice, Pietro found her location. He snuck behind the set piece to stand before her.:: "I will take you home."
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Post by Typhoid on Oct 13, 2009 22:27:17 GMT -5
She shook her head. Her voice was shaking. "I need to get to the dressing room first. I won't make it home without the coat Nim gave me. I only have about an hour." She left unspoken why she had that limitation, instead starting towards the women's dressing room, still transparent. Hopefully he'd know not to try to touch her, but if he didn't she'd remind him.
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Post by Pietro Maximoff on Oct 13, 2009 22:28:33 GMT -5
"Stay where you are," ::Pietro told her. He would recognize the coat, and he would find it more easily, far quicker, than she would. Time was of the essence.::
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Post by Typhoid on Oct 13, 2009 22:32:48 GMT -5
She was tempted to argue, but decided not to. He was fast, and she knew where it was enough to tell him. "It's zipped into a black bag. Third dressing table down on the right side." She pointed with one almost invisible finger towards the door to the dressing room.
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