CA Presents: Pattern Plays
Grek eventually peeks her head back onto stage, wipes her brow in relief and then nudges another Nath-el - one of the dancers, judging by the costume - out onto stage. They smile placidly in the spotlight and proclaim: "Welcome, one and all, to the Isarke Pattern Hall! Tonight, we will be hosting two performers, Mr Urid and Ms Grek Lockwood, to take part in the proud tradition of the Pattern Play! Up first on the agenda will be Ms Lockwood's performance of 'The Clone', followed directly after by Mr Lockwood's 'Togetherness'. Concessions will be served in the audience hall during the performance, provided by UltraViola[R] and other delightful brands. We hope that you all enjoy the show." The dancer takes a bow and retreats backstage.
Urid focuses his full attention on the stage, his antennae undulating gently.
The curtains close, allowing the actors to take their places. When they open once more, the scene depicts Grek standing to the fore at stage left in a plain grey robe. Her hands are outstretched, fingers curled into a typing position with a look of utter boredom on her face. A quartet of winglets flutter listlessly behind her, the lower pair sweeping forward as the top pair swing back in a slow rhythm that disturbs only the stillness of the air. At center rear is a male Nath-el, curled into the fetal position within a steel hoop laid out onto the stage. His bleach white jumpsuit drapes loosely around his hunched shoulders and twitching wings.
EMOTE does not look up as the male actor rises, lurching up from the ground like a bean sprout jittering into stop motion bloom. He gasps visibly, then slumps down from the tips of his toes. His gaze twists left and right, a hideous scowl plastered across his face. As his wings beat menacingly against their closed cases, the white fabric flutters in turn, only adding to the susurrus. Grek does not appear to notice. Only when he begins to beat a closed fist against the boundary implied by the steel hoop does she rise from her silent tableau.
Grek does not look up as the male actor rises, lurching up from the ground like a bean sprout jittering into stop motion bloom. He gasps visibly, then slumps down from the tips of his toes. His gaze twists left and right, a hideous scowl plastered across his face. As his wings beat menacingly against their closed cases, the white fabric flutters in turn, only adding to the susurrus. Grek does not appear to notice. Only when he begins to beat a closed fist against the boundary implied by the steel hoop does she rise from her silent tableau.
Viola watches. Her violet eyes glow. Her teeth are bared wide. She's found one of the plush seats and sunk into it, one knee braced against her chest. Her chin sets forward. She watches, as fascinated as she is perplexed.
With long, dignified strides and an indifferent look upon her face, Grek makes her way over to the other actor and grasps the hoop with both hands. Swirling around him with a graceful sashay, she raises the ring in three slow revolutions, eventually allowing him to duck his way impatiently out from the confines of his cylindrical prison. He staggers over to the imagined desk, where he picks at the keys with single fingers extended. His glare never leaves his face.
Pluti adjusts both goggle lenses and looks away from the confections to the stage, studying both actors with greatly magnified, unblinking eyes. Their frilled antennae flutter tensely, their mandibles moving slowly.
Grek lets the hoop clatter to the floor, extending none of the exquisite care she took in its opening to the closing. She glances at the actor, then turns to the audience in an aside with a distinct moue behind her mandibles. As she makes her way back toward her post, wings flicking in agitation, a commotion is heard at stage right: a third actor, distinguishable from the second only by the tattered black rags that are his costume, limps in from off stage, beating his chest in outrage and pointing at his doppelganger.
Pluti sucks on both mandibles audibly at this.
As Grek turns languidly to look at the new arrival, the white-clad Nath-el startles and falls back onto his carapace, his beak flared in horror. The ragged intruder mimes a roar, tearing his arms wide as he lunges into battle. The two struggle, rolling this way and that, clawing and kicking their way to center stage. Grek leaps out of their way with an acrobatic motion, 'hiding' behind the steel hoop with only her head poking out to watch the struggle.
Azure eyes narrowing with interest, Zeta leans in before directing a silver mist of nanites out towards the edges of the stage. They quickly vanish as the space between them grows.
Eventually, the wounds of the black-clad clone prove too much and his more virile opposite is able to overcome him. He seizes the clone by the shoulders, slamming the defeated actor again and again into the stage floor, wings flared wide in grisly triumph. The head of the fallen lolls limply and turns aside, his now-frightened grimace facing the audience no longer. All the while, Grek slowly wraps her hands around an unseen object on the far side of the ring.
Urid starts slightly at the appearance of the black-clad Nath-el on stage. His antennae splay wide and stay that way as he watches on.
Unable to resist, Viola says, "YEAH! GETTIM!"
Viola clears her throat. Sits back. Is very quiet.
Pluti turns suddenly to stare at Viola, eyes magnified massively in their goggles. Their wings spread and vibrate tensely.
Urid's head turns abruptly toward Viola, then he returns his attention to the stage.
With another sudden leap, Grek darts around the ring and mimes a thrust with some sort of melee weapon into the victor's side. It hits. The once-triumphant Nath-el gives an almost comical look of surprise before spasming dramatically and rolling off his now-slain twin. Grek 'holds' her weapon in place against the pale clone's side, tapping her foot impatiently. After exactly thirteen taps, she pulls the weapon back, leaving both of the other Nath-el sprawled upon the floor.
Zah, unlike some of the others, makes it a point to NOT stare aside at Viola. Very pointedly watching the play fixedly, she no longer looks quite as comfortable or cosy sitting next to the other Guardian.
Grek faces the audience and sighs once, audibly.
Grek shuffles over to her station at stage left, outstretches a single elegant digit and presses down on a single button. As she steps off to stage left, a quartet of red-clad extras hustle in from stage right, pick up the bodies and jog back out. For a short time, only the hoop remains upon the empty stage. As the sounds of footsteps recede, she walks back on, wings beating listlessly once more. She stops where the two clones fought and begins to mop as the curtains fall on "The Clone".
Vaxis politely applauds.
Viola's violet eyes flit askance to Zah. Return to the stage. She lifts her violet claws. Applauds as well, with an appreciative and slightly sheepish grin.
Bringing her vermillion hands together, Zah claps a firm applause, her hairless blue brow furrowed in deep thought at the disturbing imagery that has just been displayed before them.
Urid's wings flutter lightly, giving a faint sound that resembles a sad sigh as the play concludes. He rises to his feet and applauds, his wings beating frantically in a loud, excited buzz.
Pluti turns back toward the stage and stands abruptly. Spread wings spread further and lift upward, vibrating until they make a quiet buzz. Their antennae and and pseudolimbs quiver visibly.
Ren claps their hands in applause, a thoughtful expression visible on their smiling face.
Shuffling out with the other actors to take their bows, you say, "Thank you all. Up next is Urid's performance of 'Togetherness'."
Upon observing Pluti and Urid, Zah joins them in rising to a standing ovation. She takes her seat once more after your announcement, smiling.
Urid stares at the stage's closed curtain for several moments, then he shakes himself, folding his wings and shutting his wing cases abruptly. He moves backstage.
Zeta stands, clapping vigorously for 'The Clone', her whole robust body shaking with the effort.
Grek takes her seat next to Kiara, enjoying her turn to be in the audience.
The curtains part and lights rise slowly on the left and right sides of the stage, revealing two groups of people. On the left, their compound eyes glittering in the bright white light that envelops them, stand three tall, proud Nath-el. Between them pass occasional stanzas of high-pitched, nasal-sounding thrumming produced by their wings. On the right, three broad Nath-el hunch beneath a dim, stuttering light. They are largely silent, but periodic bursts of low-pitched rumbling thrumming of the wings is audible.
Pluti gets up from where they were seated, surrounded by now empty plates of desserts, and makes their way toward Grek. They have not readjusted their goggles, and their eyes are still greatly magnified. Pluti puts a hand on Grek's shoulder, clicks their mandibles together once, and then seats themselves again.
Kiara smiles brightly at you, settling in to watch Urid.
Zeta Aurazi beams broadly at Kiara Lockwood.
Grek grins at Pluti, bowing her head politely. She gives them a little wave as they go.
Urid makes a subtle motion from the director's box. From the darkness at the rear of the stage comes another Nath-el, an averagely-built male, who advances slowly toward the group in the bright light. His wings buzz in a reedy imitation of the thrumming of the tall Nath-el as he approaches them a few halting steps at a time. They turn to him and return his uncertain, staccato wing-beating with a chorus of perfectly-harmonised humming of their wings. The white light shifts to include him as he nears.
Covering her mouth with the back of her fist, Zah starts to look a little queasy at all the dessert she's been consuming, and turns aside to a nearby attendant, murmuring a quiet request. Dipping their head with a nod, the theatre attendant soon returns with a glass of water for the Executive.
Zah drinks it gratefully, then lifts her golden-eyed gaze up to the stage once more.
Urid observes silently from the box. It soon becomes clear the newcomer cannot stay in tune with the group. The pitches produced by his wings begin to clash more and more offensively with theirs until at last the group simply turns their backs to him. The white light retreats, leaving him in thick shadow.
Viola watches the next play - still seeming a little wary, but relaxing by increments. She shuts her eyes, head swaying as she listens to the rhythm of the wings. She gazes at the advancing Nath-el - frowns, leaning in, interest growing.
Keerthi leans forward in her seat as she watches the opening movements of Urid's Pattern, placing her elbows on her knees and clasping her hands loosely under her chin.
Urid turns his hand over, palm up, from the box. In a few brief leaps, his body slouching more with each one, the rejected Nath-el moves toward the right of the stage. The huskier people there turn to acknowledge him with expectant hostility as he approaches. One at a time, each flicks open his wing-cases aggressively, thrumming a bass warning at him.
Pluti continues to suck down desserts with abandon, but something happens on stage that causes them to forget what they were doing, their mandibles a mess of cake as they lean forward to watch more carefully. Their antennae grow unusually still, except for the frills, which tense and curl and release up and down the length of the antennae.
One of Viola's claws drifts toward her mouth. She stares at the Nath-el. Shakes her head.
Urid nods twice, abruptly. From the newcomer comes a deeper sound than before. He matches the tone of the others on the right of the stage with seeming ease, even emulating their hostile opening of wing-cases. The dim, stuttering light enlarges to include him.
Pluti drops the remnants of their cake, but does not seem to notice as it falls.
Urid looks toward stage right. There is a scuffling sound from somewhere off the right side of the stage, as if of a physical struggle. The husky people move to surround something the audience cannot see. The newcomer joins them in their circle, adding with his wings to the harsh, uneven sound of the group's thrumming.
Grek quivers with excitement, nodding her head along with the story.
Kiara slips toward Pluti placing a bowl of mousse near them, swiftly retreating to her prior seat to continue watching.
Kiara Lockwood gives something to Pluti.
Viola grins. Leans in. Nods, too, decisive, rhythmic, in anticipation.
Urid stands quite still in the box. Abruptly the newcomer stops, snapping his wing-cases shut and stumbling in a series of choreographed staggering steps toward the centre of the stage. His new compatriots buzz angrily at him, displaying their disapproval with aggressive thrumming and opening of wing-cases. He tries in vain to mollify them with his own thrumming, but one of them performs a sudden leap, landing where the newcomer must be as the lights on the entire stage go dark.
Zeta hums quietly, the small sound in the back of her throat masked by the performers aggressive thrumming.
Zah raises her brow sharply at the climax, going perfectly still as she awaits the dissolution of suspense.
Keerthi leans further forward still, craning her head as if repositioning herself is going to grant her the ability to see in the dark.
Urid is unseen and silent in the director's box as the play proceeds. There are a few minutes of darkness during which occasional faint bursts of thrumming are heard: the nasal sound from the left side of the stage; dark, harsher sounds from the right; and from the centre a weak attempt to match first one, then the other. Then silence returns once again.
At the front of centre stage, a deep reddish light comes up, barely illuminating the newcomer Nath-el man. He crouches near the edge of the stage, his head hung down. Slowly he looks toward each side of the stage: toward the left, where a bright white light lights briefly to illuminate one tall Nath-el, who is silent, and then toward the right, where a stuttering, dim light picks out the hunched form of another Nath-el, who makes some kind of violent gesture toward something the audience cannot see. The side-stage lights go out, and the blood red light over the newcomer intensify as he seems to collapse in on himself, falling to his knees and lowering his head to the floor as the light above him slowly dims to darkness. Urid steps out from the director's box after a few moments' stilness as the house lights come back up.
Urid focuses his full attention on the stage, his antennae undulating gently.
The curtains close, allowing the actors to take their places. When they open once more, the scene depicts Grek standing to the fore at stage left in a plain grey robe. Her hands are outstretched, fingers curled into a typing position with a look of utter boredom on her face. A quartet of winglets flutter listlessly behind her, the lower pair sweeping forward as the top pair swing back in a slow rhythm that disturbs only the stillness of the air. At center rear is a male Nath-el, curled into the fetal position within a steel hoop laid out onto the stage. His bleach white jumpsuit drapes loosely around his hunched shoulders and twitching wings.
EMOTE does not look up as the male actor rises, lurching up from the ground like a bean sprout jittering into stop motion bloom. He gasps visibly, then slumps down from the tips of his toes. His gaze twists left and right, a hideous scowl plastered across his face. As his wings beat menacingly against their closed cases, the white fabric flutters in turn, only adding to the susurrus. Grek does not appear to notice. Only when he begins to beat a closed fist against the boundary implied by the steel hoop does she rise from her silent tableau.
Grek does not look up as the male actor rises, lurching up from the ground like a bean sprout jittering into stop motion bloom. He gasps visibly, then slumps down from the tips of his toes. His gaze twists left and right, a hideous scowl plastered across his face. As his wings beat menacingly against their closed cases, the white fabric flutters in turn, only adding to the susurrus. Grek does not appear to notice. Only when he begins to beat a closed fist against the boundary implied by the steel hoop does she rise from her silent tableau.
Viola watches. Her violet eyes glow. Her teeth are bared wide. She's found one of the plush seats and sunk into it, one knee braced against her chest. Her chin sets forward. She watches, as fascinated as she is perplexed.
With long, dignified strides and an indifferent look upon her face, Grek makes her way over to the other actor and grasps the hoop with both hands. Swirling around him with a graceful sashay, she raises the ring in three slow revolutions, eventually allowing him to duck his way impatiently out from the confines of his cylindrical prison. He staggers over to the imagined desk, where he picks at the keys with single fingers extended. His glare never leaves his face.
Pluti adjusts both goggle lenses and looks away from the confections to the stage, studying both actors with greatly magnified, unblinking eyes. Their frilled antennae flutter tensely, their mandibles moving slowly.
Grek lets the hoop clatter to the floor, extending none of the exquisite care she took in its opening to the closing. She glances at the actor, then turns to the audience in an aside with a distinct moue behind her mandibles. As she makes her way back toward her post, wings flicking in agitation, a commotion is heard at stage right: a third actor, distinguishable from the second only by the tattered black rags that are his costume, limps in from off stage, beating his chest in outrage and pointing at his doppelganger.
Pluti sucks on both mandibles audibly at this.
As Grek turns languidly to look at the new arrival, the white-clad Nath-el startles and falls back onto his carapace, his beak flared in horror. The ragged intruder mimes a roar, tearing his arms wide as he lunges into battle. The two struggle, rolling this way and that, clawing and kicking their way to center stage. Grek leaps out of their way with an acrobatic motion, 'hiding' behind the steel hoop with only her head poking out to watch the struggle.
Azure eyes narrowing with interest, Zeta leans in before directing a silver mist of nanites out towards the edges of the stage. They quickly vanish as the space between them grows.
Eventually, the wounds of the black-clad clone prove too much and his more virile opposite is able to overcome him. He seizes the clone by the shoulders, slamming the defeated actor again and again into the stage floor, wings flared wide in grisly triumph. The head of the fallen lolls limply and turns aside, his now-frightened grimace facing the audience no longer. All the while, Grek slowly wraps her hands around an unseen object on the far side of the ring.
Urid starts slightly at the appearance of the black-clad Nath-el on stage. His antennae splay wide and stay that way as he watches on.
Unable to resist, Viola says, "YEAH! GETTIM!"
Viola clears her throat. Sits back. Is very quiet.
Pluti turns suddenly to stare at Viola, eyes magnified massively in their goggles. Their wings spread and vibrate tensely.
Urid's head turns abruptly toward Viola, then he returns his attention to the stage.
With another sudden leap, Grek darts around the ring and mimes a thrust with some sort of melee weapon into the victor's side. It hits. The once-triumphant Nath-el gives an almost comical look of surprise before spasming dramatically and rolling off his now-slain twin. Grek 'holds' her weapon in place against the pale clone's side, tapping her foot impatiently. After exactly thirteen taps, she pulls the weapon back, leaving both of the other Nath-el sprawled upon the floor.
Zah, unlike some of the others, makes it a point to NOT stare aside at Viola. Very pointedly watching the play fixedly, she no longer looks quite as comfortable or cosy sitting next to the other Guardian.
Grek faces the audience and sighs once, audibly.
Grek shuffles over to her station at stage left, outstretches a single elegant digit and presses down on a single button. As she steps off to stage left, a quartet of red-clad extras hustle in from stage right, pick up the bodies and jog back out. For a short time, only the hoop remains upon the empty stage. As the sounds of footsteps recede, she walks back on, wings beating listlessly once more. She stops where the two clones fought and begins to mop as the curtains fall on "The Clone".
Vaxis politely applauds.
Viola's violet eyes flit askance to Zah. Return to the stage. She lifts her violet claws. Applauds as well, with an appreciative and slightly sheepish grin.
Bringing her vermillion hands together, Zah claps a firm applause, her hairless blue brow furrowed in deep thought at the disturbing imagery that has just been displayed before them.
Urid's wings flutter lightly, giving a faint sound that resembles a sad sigh as the play concludes. He rises to his feet and applauds, his wings beating frantically in a loud, excited buzz.
Pluti turns back toward the stage and stands abruptly. Spread wings spread further and lift upward, vibrating until they make a quiet buzz. Their antennae and and pseudolimbs quiver visibly.
Ren claps their hands in applause, a thoughtful expression visible on their smiling face.
Shuffling out with the other actors to take their bows, you say, "Thank you all. Up next is Urid's performance of 'Togetherness'."
Upon observing Pluti and Urid, Zah joins them in rising to a standing ovation. She takes her seat once more after your announcement, smiling.
Urid stares at the stage's closed curtain for several moments, then he shakes himself, folding his wings and shutting his wing cases abruptly. He moves backstage.
Zeta stands, clapping vigorously for 'The Clone', her whole robust body shaking with the effort.
Grek takes her seat next to Kiara, enjoying her turn to be in the audience.
The curtains part and lights rise slowly on the left and right sides of the stage, revealing two groups of people. On the left, their compound eyes glittering in the bright white light that envelops them, stand three tall, proud Nath-el. Between them pass occasional stanzas of high-pitched, nasal-sounding thrumming produced by their wings. On the right, three broad Nath-el hunch beneath a dim, stuttering light. They are largely silent, but periodic bursts of low-pitched rumbling thrumming of the wings is audible.
Pluti gets up from where they were seated, surrounded by now empty plates of desserts, and makes their way toward Grek. They have not readjusted their goggles, and their eyes are still greatly magnified. Pluti puts a hand on Grek's shoulder, clicks their mandibles together once, and then seats themselves again.
Kiara smiles brightly at you, settling in to watch Urid.
Zeta Aurazi beams broadly at Kiara Lockwood.
Grek grins at Pluti, bowing her head politely. She gives them a little wave as they go.
Urid makes a subtle motion from the director's box. From the darkness at the rear of the stage comes another Nath-el, an averagely-built male, who advances slowly toward the group in the bright light. His wings buzz in a reedy imitation of the thrumming of the tall Nath-el as he approaches them a few halting steps at a time. They turn to him and return his uncertain, staccato wing-beating with a chorus of perfectly-harmonised humming of their wings. The white light shifts to include him as he nears.
Covering her mouth with the back of her fist, Zah starts to look a little queasy at all the dessert she's been consuming, and turns aside to a nearby attendant, murmuring a quiet request. Dipping their head with a nod, the theatre attendant soon returns with a glass of water for the Executive.
Zah drinks it gratefully, then lifts her golden-eyed gaze up to the stage once more.
Urid observes silently from the box. It soon becomes clear the newcomer cannot stay in tune with the group. The pitches produced by his wings begin to clash more and more offensively with theirs until at last the group simply turns their backs to him. The white light retreats, leaving him in thick shadow.
Viola watches the next play - still seeming a little wary, but relaxing by increments. She shuts her eyes, head swaying as she listens to the rhythm of the wings. She gazes at the advancing Nath-el - frowns, leaning in, interest growing.
Keerthi leans forward in her seat as she watches the opening movements of Urid's Pattern, placing her elbows on her knees and clasping her hands loosely under her chin.
Urid turns his hand over, palm up, from the box. In a few brief leaps, his body slouching more with each one, the rejected Nath-el moves toward the right of the stage. The huskier people there turn to acknowledge him with expectant hostility as he approaches. One at a time, each flicks open his wing-cases aggressively, thrumming a bass warning at him.
Pluti continues to suck down desserts with abandon, but something happens on stage that causes them to forget what they were doing, their mandibles a mess of cake as they lean forward to watch more carefully. Their antennae grow unusually still, except for the frills, which tense and curl and release up and down the length of the antennae.
One of Viola's claws drifts toward her mouth. She stares at the Nath-el. Shakes her head.
Urid nods twice, abruptly. From the newcomer comes a deeper sound than before. He matches the tone of the others on the right of the stage with seeming ease, even emulating their hostile opening of wing-cases. The dim, stuttering light enlarges to include him.
Pluti drops the remnants of their cake, but does not seem to notice as it falls.
Urid looks toward stage right. There is a scuffling sound from somewhere off the right side of the stage, as if of a physical struggle. The husky people move to surround something the audience cannot see. The newcomer joins them in their circle, adding with his wings to the harsh, uneven sound of the group's thrumming.
Grek quivers with excitement, nodding her head along with the story.
Kiara slips toward Pluti placing a bowl of mousse near them, swiftly retreating to her prior seat to continue watching.
Kiara Lockwood gives something to Pluti.
Viola grins. Leans in. Nods, too, decisive, rhythmic, in anticipation.
Urid stands quite still in the box. Abruptly the newcomer stops, snapping his wing-cases shut and stumbling in a series of choreographed staggering steps toward the centre of the stage. His new compatriots buzz angrily at him, displaying their disapproval with aggressive thrumming and opening of wing-cases. He tries in vain to mollify them with his own thrumming, but one of them performs a sudden leap, landing where the newcomer must be as the lights on the entire stage go dark.
Zeta hums quietly, the small sound in the back of her throat masked by the performers aggressive thrumming.
Zah raises her brow sharply at the climax, going perfectly still as she awaits the dissolution of suspense.
Keerthi leans further forward still, craning her head as if repositioning herself is going to grant her the ability to see in the dark.
Urid is unseen and silent in the director's box as the play proceeds. There are a few minutes of darkness during which occasional faint bursts of thrumming are heard: the nasal sound from the left side of the stage; dark, harsher sounds from the right; and from the centre a weak attempt to match first one, then the other. Then silence returns once again.
At the front of centre stage, a deep reddish light comes up, barely illuminating the newcomer Nath-el man. He crouches near the edge of the stage, his head hung down. Slowly he looks toward each side of the stage: toward the left, where a bright white light lights briefly to illuminate one tall Nath-el, who is silent, and then toward the right, where a stuttering, dim light picks out the hunched form of another Nath-el, who makes some kind of violent gesture toward something the audience cannot see. The side-stage lights go out, and the blood red light over the newcomer intensify as he seems to collapse in on himself, falling to his knees and lowering his head to the floor as the light above him slowly dims to darkness. Urid steps out from the director's box after a few moments' stilness as the house lights come back up.
8
Comments
— Oscar Wilde
"I'll take care of it, Luke said. And because he said it instead of her, I knew he meant kill. That is what you have to do before you kill, I thought. You have to create an it, where none was before."
— Margaret Atwood
Very Dostoyevsky.
— Oscar Wilde
"I'll take care of it, Luke said. And because he said it instead of her, I knew he meant kill. That is what you have to do before you kill, I thought. You have to create an it, where none was before."
— Margaret Atwood