Welcome to the Ballet (France's Shadow Arc)

[Francis Bonnefoy]

In a cold room the only light is the harsh glow from the tv. It flickers for a moment, almost angrily. The figure on the tv is that of a tall man with wavy hair. He is however, hard to make out, as though he doesn't wish to be seen. His figure carries a bit of a grey glow to it, almost ghostly in appearance. However his smile is warm, in a plastic way, and never falters.

"Bonjour" His voice is rich and sweet, like honey. Yet at the same time every syllable sounds painful, strained, as though he is fighting his words. " I z'ink I 'ave tarried 'ere long enough. Don't you agree?" The figure sighs, a visible drop in his shoulders. "Oui oui, I am just as useless 'ere and now, as I ever was. Z'ere is no point in waiting any longer." Suddenly the camera zooms out from his figure. Behind him, is a giant theater. Beautiful and grand in every way. It's tall and in every way inviting, the theater promises good times and laughter. The moon glimmers, it's light almost gives the warm feeling of velvet over the entire place. Even the cobble stone ground seemed inviting. However the buildings around the theater loomed dangerously. It's many windows akin to eyes. His figure makes a wide movement drawing attention back to himself, almost jealous of the place behind him. "But it is okay, life goes on. It's forever rotating and moving like z'e water in a strong river. I can only 'ope z'at it will be kind and sweet to me. Z'is life 'as not been good to me. "

The figure suddenly gives a childish wave. "I am not scared." The male grinned and turned towards the building, flinging open the grand doors. "I am 'ome!" In an instant he was gone, the heavy wooden doors swinging the only reminder he had been there at all.

In the middle of a completely deserted and broken down cobble street stands an old grand ballet theater. Every inch of it is beautifully detailed with many intricate designs and even a gargoyle here and there. From the ground shine harsh lights, illuminating and showing off the cherry wood building. Yet surrounding the grand theater are tall apartments with no clear end in sight. They are all run down, and old, almost frightening. They seem to loom towards the building.

The first floor is the stage. Just as beautiful and grand as the outside with many lavish seats. On the stage under the lights dance many ballerinas. However their heads are covered with burlap sacks. The seating has a few harsh lights coming straight down from the ceiling, the rest is mostly covered in shadows, and barely lit. The room is filled with light giggling and whispers and although you can never see their eyes you can feel them looking at you. It's best not to make too much noise in this level. The ballerinas would lose their concentration, and none of them would be very pleased about that. Nor is it a good idea to stand in one of the direct lights too long. They might feel as though you are upstaging them. Drama queens they are. In the many luxurious seats sit the forms of mannequins. Beautifully dressed in fine garbs like one would expect those going to a ballet to be. However a few of the mannequins seem... just a little more alive then others. Maybe it's just their eyes are painted differently, or perhaps that the color for their skin makes them look warmer. Is it worth finding out though? The staircase to the next floor is near the on top of the stage to the right. It's located behind an almost hidden door that is currently left ajar. However, the ballerinas don't like to share their stage either. Step lightly.

The second floor is the dressing room. It's permanently light up with the harsh lights of the mirrors that cover every inch of the room. This room is noticeably hotter then the lower floor but completely bearable. There are clothes, and make up as well as costumes strewn about the room. As though someone was looking for something in a hurry. the mirrors are graffiti with bright red lipstick. Mostly gibberish but sometimes the word 'worthless' or something of the like will stick out. A few ballerinas have lingered back in this room, however their burlap sacks are gone. Their faces are beautiful, like little glass dolls with pale skin and rouge lips. However, these ballerinas spend all their time in the few patches of unsullied mirror. They spend most of their time preening and admiring themselves. However, their favorite thing to do is to pull out the scalpel from a drawer and peel the skin right off their face. Don't disrupt them, don't appear in their patches of mirrors. In the very center of the room is a small blonde child. He sways to his own song carefully brushing the hair of three lifeless human sized dolls. Clear blue eyes will open to offer a heartwarming smile to his visitors and from his seat he will reach to you. Demanding to be picked up. Whether you pick him up or not is your choice. The staircase is located behind a rack of clothes.

The third floor can't really be called a floor, more of a staircase then anything. It's a thin staircase and dark. Pitch black really besides the one strip of light along the middle. Don't tread outside of the light. The stairs are at an uncomfortable heat. Too warm but bearable, however, the ceiling is covered with dark billowing smoke. From the light you can barely make out the forms of thousands of hands. Reaching and prying and stretching. Sometimes the hands will get together and form faces in an attempt to trick one closer to them. Don't do it, don't get caught. Closer to the top of the staircase there will be slivers of light elsewhere. Located in the slivers of light will be aristocratic figures. They will look warm and inviting, however stare at them too long and they will look off. In little ways of course. Maybe their neck is too long, their eyes too small... their mouth too big.... Keep going and you'll reach a white door with the number 2 on it.

The fourth and final floor is a modest apartment. The walls white, the floor creme. Pictures of Francis and a beautiful short haired blonde girl can be seen everywhere and the apartment screams of a couple. However the entire place is on fire. The heat here is horrible and it's difficult to breathe, but not impossible. Down the hall and to the right is the living room. For some reason it's the only thing not on fire. Hell it's even easier to breathe in this room. To the side sits Francis, his head resting on a pretty blonde girl's shoulder. He's calm, almost too calm and his eyes won't recognize anyone, only the figure besides him. The figure is smiling and whispers into his ear, giggling every once in a while. Her eyes though, will always be on you. The room will waver every once in a while, as though distorted. An illusion or a dream. Do you break it?

[Elizabeth]

A soft groan filled the room as Maria sat up in bed, glancing around for the sudden source of sound that had woken her up. When her gaze landed on the TV, she frowned and slipped out of bed, offering the appliance a sleepy glare. As far as she knew, she hadn't fallen asleep with it on and a timer had never been set to turn it on at a certain hour. Which made the current situation very annoying. She had school in the morning. Not that she cared, but really. Ansigar would get upset if she missed class again from fatigue.

Glancing out the window, it took a few moments for Maria to realise the abnormal green hue that seemed to colour everything and the lingering droplets of red that clung to her window after the earlier rainstorm. The dark hour...? she thought, blinking as she felt consciousness quickly coming back to her. Hold on, if it's the Dark Hour, then...

Snapping her attention back to the TV, something in her stomach plummeted downward as the figure on screen began to talk. That accent was impossible to miss. Not bothering to wait for the one-screen Francis to finish, the silverette darted about her room, throwing on her school uniform haphazardly before darting out the door as she shoved her evoker into it's holster and clumsily managed to form a grip on her favourite fencing blade. Several different curses were rushing through her head in a messy mix of French and German as she made her way out the front door. She didn't need to wait. If what Matthew told her about her own incident with appearing on the TV was true, then checking Francis' dorm would have been useless, and soon enough, others would follow behind her.

"Verdammt..." she mumbled, nearly losing her footing as she slid around a corner and ran toward the large courtyard where her the school stood by day and the glowing tower of Tartarus at night. It didn't surprise her at all when she didn't see the familiar form of their transformed school, but the sight the location offered was hardly comforting. Her shoulders heaved as she fought to catch her breath and allowed herself a moment to relax.

Pale fingers flexed around the hilt of her blade as a hundred different thoughts raced through her mind. It wasn't until that moment that she realised her hands were cold as ice and her knees were barely supporting her weight from trembling. The Prussian's body and chest was begging her to move forward, to run inside and find her precious friend. Francis was her brother, he was family. He was inside there, in pain and mostly likely, danger as well. What if Francis' Shadow was as nasty as her own? What if it was worse?

"Bruder..." Maria mumbled, straightening her shoulders as she silently pleaded with her body to stop shaking. She was too awesome to be scared like this. If a small group of four could save her on their own, then they would be just fine this time. She had a new Persona on her side, and a much lighter feeling than she felt in years. There wasn't a chance in hell that she would allow anything to happen to a friend of hers, and no one else in the dorms would allow that either.

Taking a few steps forward, the paused and glanced over her shoulder, grinning when she heard footsteps. "About time you people showed up..."

[espana]

He had had a hard time sleeping through the night in the aftermath of the dungeon, and though he attributed it to worry, it was still absurdly out of character for him. Normally when presented with the opportunity to sleep, Antonio took it without a second question, but something had been plaguing his dreams lately. It was stupid, really, nothing more than lingering shock at seeing the rawest part of one of his friend filled with subsequent worry for her continuing health, but even though he had been assured by Maria herself that she was fine, it still ate at him.

It was because of that that he actually noticed as the television in the corner of the room sparked to life angrily. Normally he didn’t pay much attention to it, and it wasn’t like he was in his room very often in the first place, but it seemed odd, very odd. The Spaniard knew there was some sort of timer on it somewhere, though frankly he had never spent any time trying to figure out how it worked, so…maybe that was it? But wouldn’t it have turned on every other night then? While he was trying to decide if it was worth it to get up and turn the static to a different station, his half-formed thoughts were interrupted by a very familiar accented voice.

The television…no, it couldn’t be. The Spaniard had thought that Maria’s incident had been the only one of its kind; isolated, something that had happened as a freak occurrence, and he had been assured that while it was odd, it had never happened before. …that it was the first.

First.

A sick fear stirred within his stomach as he looked over, eyes widening as he took in the shape of his other best friend, grinning and spouting off what sounded like some forced dialogue from an afternoon drama. No…Francis…that couldn’t be Francis, it had to be some sort of trick, like Maria’s had been….it had to be. The moment the figure on screen stopped speaking he was in motion, throwing on whatever clothes he could find and bolting down the stairs at a breakneck speed. It didn’t matter if he made noise, who cared? It was an emergency, if anyone had problems with it, he would deal with it later.

The axe that he had been using was somewhere in the halls; it had been replaced from the statue that he had taken it from, but there wasn’t time to try to find it, not when Francis was…oh God he couldn’t even think it. Instead, he tore through the closet in the lobby, looking for the broken curtain that he had grabbed during his first encounter with the Dark Hour. It hadn’t been repaired, from what he remembered so it must have sti- there. Tanned fingers closed around the heavy red material and he was running out the door, not bothering to look back to see if anyone had seen him. A foolish gesture, yes, to go running out into the dead of night without telling a soul, but danger to his person was secondary to the idea that Francis needed him.

Questions flitted through his mind. Why would this keep happening? How did it keep happening? Was that really Francis, or was it some sort of illusion? His lungs were burning as he ran, but he had to keep going, faster faster. There it was in front of him, that hellish tower that Maria had been holed up in, and that was where Francis would be, wouldn’t it? It had to be, because he didn’t have a clue where else to start looking.

Bursting through the doorway, Antonio was surprised to see another there, but the familiar red eyes and cocky grin calmed some of the worry within his gut. He tried his best to grin back, but there was a decided dampening of his normal cheer evident in his features and the way he carried himself. “Sorry, sorry, it’s late, si? I got here as quickly as I could.”

[Mary Campbell]

Although not for long, she had been there before the children had arrived.

Something - she couldn't be certain quite what - had roused her from her bed just before the witching hour; she found it strange that she could neither see nor hear it, only feel its urgent plea to hurry. Mary had neglected it at first, dressing and making her usual rounds to check on the students of the dormitory, coming to rest at the edge of the lobby just as the lights went dark. For once, it was empty, which made the television's click and hiss even more bizarre. As she moved to turn it off, an all-too familiar figure appeared on the screen, and suddenly the hurry made far too much sense.

He was gone. He was in danger.

Mary didn't stay about long enough for the broadcast to finish. She took a good long look at the scenery, certain something as large as that could be found easily, and fled.

As she had suspected, the building stuck out like a sore thumb, allowing her to make a beeline for it with no problem; however, for some reason, once she arrived, she was afraid to go in.

Did he truly want her to save him?

Or was there someone else?

The dancer waited in the looming shadow of the building, near its entrance, watching as others who loved him arrived. Did he want them to help him?

Did he want anyone to help him?

Mary could hear the music coming from inside, familiar and welcoming, but at the same time frightening. Something dark was in this place - was this place itself - and it had him. Worse yet, it felt like he had in his most despairing moments. The last time he had sunk so far into that depression had been -

No. She was gone. She should stay gone. It wasn't fair to him for her to continue to linger.

Hurry kept pressing into her, but all Mary could do for now was wait.

[Matthew Williams]

Somewhat a force of habit, Matthew often waited in the lobby at night to ensure everyone was at the dorm before going to bed. He'd sit there on the couch and offer them a smile and a 'welcome back', asking if they needed anything. And it just so happened, one head hadn't been counted for that night.

It was nearing midnight...or maybe it had already been the Dark Hour. He was too anxious and fidgety to really think of anything else aside from Francis. Wondering if something happened or maybe he was just caught up somewhere like he sometimes did. The young boy's brain was running around in circles, thinking up all possible scenarios. Every single one making him either more anxious or a little more relaxed.

"Bonjour"

That familiar voice snapped Matthew out of his thoughts the instant it reached his ears. Almost instinctively, he turned his gaze to the front door of the lobby, ready to greet the Frenchman back home. The Canadian, however, frowned upon seeing no one there.

Then what did I hear...?

The French accented voice rung out once more in the room. And this time Matthew could finally see the source. It had indeed become the Dark Hour; the clock hands were trained on midnight and the power had gone out...save for one flickering device.

Carefully, he made his way to the T.V. and let it sink in. Panic immediately spreading throughout his whole body at the sight of Francis within the box. He could remember only too clearly the events that had taken place when this had happened to Maria; and it scared Matthew to think that someone else would have to go through such an event.

As he watched Francis disappear, without a second thought he tried to reach out; as if trying to pull him back. However, his hand was met with but the cold glass that encompassed the screen. Matthew shook a few times before finally standing up.

Francis had become almost a sort of father figure to him, and he cherished him just as much as he did any of his friends. And Matthew was not going to let another of his friends get hurt; Not again, not ever.

With break-neck speed, he ran up to his room. Grabbing the hockey stick that had become his weapon since he started fighting shadows and the Evoker in his desk. He placed the gun into his hoodie pocket before running back down the stairs.

It took him awhile to reach the transformed school. The street making his feet ache slightly. Asphalt and dirt were a lot easier to walk on than cobble stone. But, he trudged forward and came to the building, noting the sight of a few familiar people.

"I-I'm sorry, Maria. Didn't notice what time it was." he said in a sullen voice.

Matthew turned his attention to the building and just stared at it in amazement for a moment. It seemed so out of place in between all of the beat-up structures surrounding it. In a way, it didn't seem that malicious to Matthew at all.

"It's just like last time..."

[/blockquote]

[Francis Bonnefoy]

The building as though figuring out that it's guests had arrived swung it's door open. It creaked slowly, the heavy wood straining in the effort to be moved. Two mannequins stand next to the door, frozen in a bowing position. They are there to welcome the guests, and will not move. With the doors finally open the piano starts up on her next song, unaccompanied by the rest of the orchestra. She continues on and on, playing to her heart's content, which will never be truly filled. Perhaps this is the only song she knows, perhaps, it is the only thing she wishes to play, but on this level it is the only thing you will hear.

From the now open doors spew a warm light. It beckons the party in, promising everything it can't say in warmth and and better sight. The carpets are red plush, and extraordinarily soft to the touch, and the walls are a gentle gold creme color. Every inch of the place is decorated with a french flair. Many mannequins are strewn about, all women in beautiful expensive clothing, and yet, they are all frozen in mid speech, bodies posed and positioned as though staring at the photograph of a party. There are spiraling staircases that lead to nowhere and even a bar, filled with champagne. Each and every installment of the building is as beautiful as the last.

To the right of the entrance is another pair of large wooden doors. These lead to the stage and will open by themselves when a member of the party gets too close to them. The seats are barely lit, with female mannequin chauffeurs lighting the way with a single flash light, and every once in a while is a bright skylight. However they never shine upon a mannequins, always and empty seat or an empty space. On the stage dance the ballerinas, however their heads are covered with a burlap sack. So while their bodies are beautiful, they are, creepy, and their giggling can be heard over the quiet piano music.

Once the entire party is in the room, and the doors have shut behind them the ballerinas will stop dancing and come to stand in a straight line. From behind a curtain a familiar blonde man will appear clothed in his own ballet garbs. He will stand right in the middle of the stage and bow with a flourish, and after a moment he shall speak. "Bonjour" His voice will be warm, inviting even, though, perhaps he sounds odd one could say. "And welcome to z'e ballet. I would like to z'ank you all for coming to z'e final performance." The ballerinas will all bow in unison then, as though a sort of apology. "So please, sit back, and enjoy z'e show. I promise it will be one to remember." With a grin he will run off the stage before a single hand can reach him. He will not listen to the cries of the party if there are any, and nor will he turn around. Only disappear into the door leading to the next level.

[/blockquote]

[Elizabeth]

(Since Francis posted, I'll assume that it's my turn again. Apologies if I jumped the gun...)

As the other party members arrived one by one, Maria slowly felt the stress and fear that bubbled within her chest start to drain away. It wasn't that she felt no one cared about Francis, contrary to the thought he was fairly popular; especially among the ladies. However, as one who lacked a proper family, as almost all the members of her own were nothing close to even the slightest semblance of the word, the Prussian had always held a deep-rooted fear that the one she had managed to build would suddenly be ripped away from her. The fact that others were there helped her relax; gave her assurance that things would turn out alright in the end. Hopefully.

Offering Spain a wide grin, she stepped toward Matthew and clapped the Canadian on his shoulder, shaking her head at his apology. "Forget it, Mattie. As long as you're here now, don't bother apologising. You showed up after all, ja? I'm not so unawesome as to get made at you over something like this~" Her hand lingered on Matthew's shoulder as her gaze shifted to Spain. Her body was rigid and alert, almost as if expecting something from within the ballet house to suddenly reach out and rip the other two away. They barely understood how the bizarre and different transformations of Tartarus worked, let alone how the persons that appeared on the TV managed to get inside. It wouldn't surprise the Prussian in the least if the tower suddenly decided to take two.

When the doors finally opened, a pale hand darted toward her sword on reflex, ready to lash out at anything that might come through the doors, but her gaze was only met with the creep dolls that moved within. Squinting, she took an uneasy step forward, staining to see the interior without actually moving inside. It was too dark to make anything out but the stage, and the uneasy was quickly replaced with frustration. It didn't look as if they had a choice in the matter. Of course, nothing related to the Dark Hour had ever been very easy.

Licking her lips, Maria looked between her two male companions and shrugged once before grinning again. The less people who looked stressed or scared the thinner the atmosphere would be, right? Besides, awesome was never scared, and if it was, it sure as hell didn't show it. And she was a very awesome person, thus, fear was not allowed. Not that it was there. Nope. Of course not.

"Guess we'd better get going..." she muttered, moving toward the now open doors. Her crimson eyes darted between the two mannequins as her lips tightened into a small frown. Unlike the ones in various stores (which she often changed the clothes of and ended up scolded by employees) there was nothing fun or amusing about them. Maria wanted nothing more than to lash out and slowly pull them apart limb from limb, but there was no reason in attacking something that didn't appear as if it would attack back. After all, karma was a bitch and she didn't need to bring any bad luck upon the party given the situation.

Fuckin' creepy... the Prussian thought as she looked around once inside. It wasn't worth looking behind her; the other two would most likely follow. At least it doesn't look ready to fall apart like mine did. That's a comfort. I don't have to worry about Francis having a roof fall-in on him.

For a moment, she paused and looked up and down the various rows of seats before her gaze shifted toward the stage. Part of her absent-mindedly wondered if she was supposed to sit down and watch a performance in order to continue forward, while the other half urged her to move toward the stage and the stairs that looked as if they lead somewhere useful. Maria's mind was racing as she tried to come up with some sort of answer that made sense of everything that was happening. The building looked familiar, but at the same time she felt completely lost as she looked around. What exactly were they supposed to do? She hadn't really had the chance to explore her own "dungeon," nor had she bothered to ask much about it. What if there were traps?

A loud 'slam' behind her nearly made the albino jump, but she still didn't turn around. Given she was still near the entrance, she could only assume it was the doors, and the sound of breathing assured her that the others had followed. "So, anyone bring a map?" she asked casually, trying to lighten the mood. "Or will we have to guess? Maybe we could ask one of the creepies around here for directions."
-----------------------
Crap post is crap. Also, I wasn't sure if Mary had actually presented herself to the party of if she was creepin' in the corner. So I didn't address her just in case. Someone else is welcome to take the lead on this one. -w- I didn't want to go too far ahead. I'll follow what anyone else posts, so someone get us up to the next floor. 83

[espana]

Ah, Maria and the small, adorable little blond boy (what was his name again?), okay, that was good that there were, in fact, going to be other people there. For all of his boisterous plans of heroism, Antonio wasn’t entirely sure how exactly he planned on A. getting to Francis, and B. what he was exactly going to do when he got there in the first place. Maria had been protected by something big and nasty, and so if this was at all like that (which he both hoped and dreaded it was), it would probably follow the same pattern. …which meant that there would be something large, unfriendly, and downright nasty to save Francis from as well, like some sort of damsel in distress. Come to think of it, Francis really made a better damsel than Maria did, what with how feminine he was. The Spaniard was sure that if he ever tried to call the Prussian something like that, she’d probably punch him, then laugh and apologize, but Francis…Francis would probably laugh as ask as to what dress would suit him better. It was one of the things that Antonio liked about him, that ability to shrug everything off.

The doors opened then, and that train of thought was abruptly cut short at the sight. It was eerie, and no amount of positive attitude could convince Antonio that there was anything but evil within this place, its finery be damned. Of course his eye was drawn to all of the lavish furnishings, and he couldn’t deny the fact that he would have dearly loved to have lived in a place like this. To own it…to be that rich…to have all the money that w-no, no. Lose that train of thought Antonio, that’s not you, and you know that. This is evil, there is no good here.

Slowly he reached down to the cross that hung around his neck, bringing it up and kissing the simple gold surface. Francis. Francis had given it to him, on Valentine’s day, Francis with his kind smile and not asking for anything in return. No, they had to succeed, because no matter how nice this theatre was, even if he ignored the obvious wrongness of the mannequins and dancers, it still pulsed with unholy energy, and Francis didn’t deserve to be trapped there, no matter how happy he had sounded on the television.

As the silver-haired girl in front of him began to advance, Antonio shrugged and followed behind her, grip tightening on his impromptu weapon. Really, it would probably be good to get something that was actually supposed to be used for this purpose instead of relying on an old and broken part of the dorm…that would probably help quite a bit, but there hadn’t been time for the axe, and so he would have to do with the capote and hope that it would work. He barely managed to get into the building, however, as the doors slammed shut, and he flinched looking back, then back at the stage, eyeing the dancers warily. Why were they stopping? Had they noticed the new entrants in the theatre? He sure hoped not, they were…actually quite creepy.

Wait no…that hair, that grin…Francis!?. Antonio rushed forward with a start, the consequences of his actions not even a worry in the back of his mind. Francis was there, so why was no one going to him, why was no one trying to help!? The words were what stopped him though, right in front of the stage. How oddly stilted and cheerful they sounded, forced out and adding to the inherent wrongness of the area. But as quick as the Frenchman was there, he was gone again, and Antonio cried out, torn between climbing up on the stage and staring at ballerinas with trepidation. He settled for calling out Francis’ name a few times, reaching up and leaning on the edge of the stage to try to see where his friend had gone. Heaven help him, but he wasn’t about to give up and let the man just waltz off in a place like this.

[/blockquote]

[Mary Campbell]

As the students entered, so did she, continuing to keep to the shadows and study the area. Mary had to admit she was a bit stunned at the appearance of...whatever that was. It wasn't Francis, that was for certain; it felt just as wrong and terrible as the rest of this awful place, and to top it off, Francis's eyes were blue, not gold. She'd looked into them enough times to know. Anyone else would certainly be fooled, much like the idiot going towards the stage what in hell was he doing?!

Mary swore softly, darting forward to wrap a hand round the Spaniard's mouth to silence him and pull him away from the stage, eyes always on the ballerinas. "Sssh! Yir goin' tae ge' us all killed!" she hissed in his ear. "Tha' isn't him. Di' ye no' see its eyes?"

Who was this boy, anyway?! Noisy and stupid, it seemed like. No idea how to behave in a theatre. Didn't he have a clue what sort of concentration it took to perform the intricate dances happening on the stage, doubly so when all these creatures were masked? Evil as they most assuredly were, she had to allow them a droplet of respect, recognizing Swan Lake here, the Nutcracker there, each dancer performing a different part from a different show.

They would have to fight soon, she could feel it. Not much of a warrior herself, she hoped the children would be able to hold their own long enough to see the end, and till they were out of here -- with the real Francis in tow; she would not leave this place alive without him -- she would do her damnedest to keep them afloat.

[Matthew Williams]

To Matthew, it was still down-right odd. It was odd that a place that he knew had nothing good to offer, still had no malicious feeling to it. This feeling was eating him up on the inside. He just couldn't wrap his head around it.

Once the doors opened and the mannequins appeared, Matthew stiffened completely and clutched his hockey stick tighter. Maybe he was wrong after all and this place did have some hidden evil within. 'Of course it does, you idiot.' Matthew thought to himself.

At first, the blond just stayed where he was, observing the outside of the building and the welcoming entrance carefully. However, he quickly trotted behind the others when he noticed that he was falling behind. The whole time walking towards the stage had Matthew darting his eyes all around. He was keeping a watchful gaze on all of the mannequins and the eerie setting, worried he might miss something if he didn't.

Soon enough, a familiar voice reached his ears. He looked forward towards the stage and noted that person he was looking for. Almost instinctively, Matthew started closer for the stage. He was completely relieved to see that his friend was sa----

He stopped to a complete halt.

Matthew had seen those eyes before, he knew that was not who they were looking for. Almost as soon as 'Francis' had started talking, he disappeared. Listening to the cries of Antonio calling for his friend were enough to break his heart. And hadn't Matthew been scared out of his wits by the lifeless dolls, he might have done the same.

In his timidly quiet voice, he turned his two companions, trying not to be heard by anyone else but the duo. "W-we need to follow it. If we do, we'll find Francis, too."

Deciding to be a bit bold, he took a step forward, still clutching his weapon tightly. Looking around for a door or other passage that would lead them towards where that thing ran off to.

[/blockquote]

[Francis Bonnefoy]

The moment the figure so similar to Francis walks off the stage the room darkens, as though a show was about to start. The figures on the stage moved into position. Slowly they all began to dance again one after the other. Beautifully, delicately they all moved. Perfect, every single one of them moved flawlessly.

Suddenly the music stopped playing, the giggling stopped, hell, even the soft groans the old building gave quieted. All attention was on the Spanish man who made a disturbance. For a long moment the audience seemed to stare at him, even if none of them moved their heads. Breaking the silence was a quiet clicking, as though someone was winding up a doll. In the dark a childish laughing can be heard before it scrambles away. However the laugh is the least of your problems. Ignore it.

The orchestra will pick up on what is about to happen before the party and instead of the solo piano girl they will all begin to play.

One of the mannequins, in her beautiful silk garbs will then stand. He movements will be disjointed, and stilted once again, akin to wind up dolls. Jerkily she will turn to face you, her painted face won't move, her expression won't change; but she feels angry. She will then bow, before her jolted movements asking the party to dance with her. However before anyone can answer her request she will fly at the spanish man. Her finger, decorated with claw like nails aiming straight for the tanned throat. It is impolite to interrupt a performance and this young, beautiful lady will not take no for an answer. Perhaps it is a tad offsetting how similar to Francis this woman looks. They share similar features, the same color of eyes and shape although hers are much softer. Even her eyes are the exact shade of blue belonging to Francis himself. Awoken by the cries of the spanish man a few of the other mannequins will stand, about 4 in total.

She will be the first of many to fight you.

[/blockquote]

[espana]

“Fr-” There was a hand suddenly over Antonio’s mouth, a hand that had come from an unknown source, and he jerked, fighting against whatever was attempting to pull him back. All around, the theatre had gone dark and the figures on the stage had begun to line up in some eerie form, and while he wasn’t entirely sure what was going on with the creepy doll-like women, there was definitely the thought that there was no reason why anyone, especially someone so unknown, should have been touching him. There were words in his ear, but he paid them little mind; after all, this was the dark hour and they entire lot of them were in unknown, possibly hostile territory that was probably filled with hundreds upon hundreds of monsters that wanted to kill them and probably eat their bodies, or whatever it was that monsters did. The eyes? Well, no he hadn’t been really looking at them...but that wasn’t the point! Francis was over there, and no one was doing anything about it! The Spaniard struggled against the woman’s grip, clearly intent on breaking free and following after his friend, because who in the world was this lady anyways and what right did she have keeping everyone from rescuing the other?! Wait, was she some sort of shadow? Come to think of it, Antonio couldn’t remember ever seeing her come in, or around the school, for that matter, so did that mean that she was part of tartarus?

It was difficult to try to logic through such thoughts when there were things and creatures moving on the stage in front of the entire spectacle, and for better or worse, his eyes were drawn up to the pseudo-performance. What was that noise? He couldn’t quite place it, but there was something oddly familiar about all of it. Ah well, no matter, it was more important to try to get away, and get away was what he planned to do. He squirmed, thrashed, and all but tried to bite down on the hand over his mouth, because of course no matter how evil the lady holding him was she was still a lady and it wouldn’t be polite to hit her.


It was by God’s grace that he managed to break free of the shadow-not-shadow woman’s hold on him, because the second after he managed to stumble away, one of the things leapt, pouncing into the space where he had just occupied. That sealed the deal: the other woman had to have been evil, because otherwise why would she have been holding him, offering him out to the blank faced-doll-things? Having been caught off guard, his movements were sluggish, unpracticed, because really, he had been steadfastly avoiding the nightly hour when the monsters would appear, if only because of how disjointed, how unholy everything appeared. It wasn’t cowardice, he told himself, but rather practicality, but now here he was, out and about and being attacked by something that looked like a woman that wanted to claw his throat out. Fantastic.

Spinning back on his heel, he brought the curtain rod in his hand up, swinging it with all his might at the thing’s head, and offering a quick prayer that it wasn’t made out of some sort of cheap metal that would break upon impact. That would just be the worst, on top of everything else, after all.


Yeah, this is all kinds of late and I'm a horrible person orz

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