This story really has no point. It's just something about how Daryl and Setzer could've (but highly unlikely) met.
Daryl stood on the outside steps of the Opera House, watching all the people come in and out. Like anyone on the first day of a new job, she had been eager to please her new boss, and had been put to work handing out programs.
"Want a program?" she asked a strikingly beautiful young woman in a tight dress with long blonde hair.
"Of course not!" she replied snootily. "I work here."
"Well, excuse me!" Daryl replied. "So do I."
The other girl looked at her rather torn-up clothes and laughed. "Not very high on the totem pole, I see."
"And what are you supposed to be?" Daryl asked.
"I'm Maria, the opera singer. Are you from the Veldt or something?"
"Actually, I'm from Maranda."
"Equally uncultured, I'm afraid," Maria said with a sniff. Daryl looked around, wishing to change the subject. Her eyes fell on a man about 3 or 4 years her senior, talking animatedly to the Impresario. He had pale, skin and whitish hair that went down to a little below his shoulders, and was dressed in a long black coat that flowed down to his ankles. Overall, he looked quite handsome, if also a bit...strange. Then again, Daryl figured he was just a rich eccentric. She had run into quite alot of those people already.
"Is that guy one of the actors?" she asked, pointing. Maria sniffed again.
"Didn't your mother ever tell you not to point in public?" she asked loudly. The man in question turned to look at them for a few seconds.
"Well, who is he?" Daryl asked, feeling steadily more annoyed. She had the feeling that Maria had said that just to make him look at her and see how much of a boor she was.
"Obviously he's Setzer Gabbiani. And don't you even tell me you don't know who he is." Maria replied peevishly.
"Uh...I don't know who he is."
"You are just too much." Maria said, glaring at her. "If you manage to survive your first day of working here, you'll be seeing him a lot more."
Just then, the Impresario walked over, dragging Setzer with him. "Maria! There you are!" he exclaimed. "What're you doing here? You're supposed to be practicing your lines!"
Maria gave Daryl such a superior smile that she had to clench her fingers even more tightly around the stack of programs. Then she noticed the flirtatious looks that the opera singer was shooting at Setzer. She smiled evilly.
"Program?" she asked.
"Why, thank you." He accepted it. Maria glared at her as if it had been something more than a pamphlet, and proceeded to bodily drag him off to her dressing room. Daryl wondered how come everyone seemed to be dragging him around today, and shrugged. The Impresario also left.
Later on, she and the rest of the staff were sitting back on the balcony and watching the play. Daryl admittedly found it more than slightly boring, and no matter what anyone else's opinion was, she felt that Maria's voice was like claws on a chalkboard. At the intermission, she got up to walk around and help set up props. She was struggling to carry a particularly heavy box down the stairs when someone coming up the stairs asked, "Do you want me to help you with that?"
But just then, she lost her balance, and toppled down the stairs. She knocked him onto the floor.
After getting up, retrieving the box and making sure nothing was broken, she turned to her...victim.
"Sorry 'bout that- Setzer, was it?" she asked casually, looking at the man sprawled out on the floor. She didn't recieve any response. Before she could check to see what was wrong, she realized Maria was standing at the top of the staircase.
"What the heck are you doing back here?" she asked. "Only the Impresario and the cast are allowed here!"
"Er...I think I just murdered Mr. Gabbiani." Daryl replied, dead (no pun intended) serious. Maria dashed down the stairs (or as fast as a woman with a corset could dash) and stared. Just then, the Impresario himself joined them. He, also, stared.
A few minutes later, after Daryl wondered whether she should've hidden the body in the closet and if she was going to be arrested, and after the Impressario managed to get Maria to go back onstage, Setzer sat up on the floor.
"Aren't you dead?" Daryl asked before she could stop herself. Setzer looked up at her warily, and placed a hand on his forehead.
"No, dear, I'm not." His slender fingers clenched his skull tightly, and his eyes squinched shut in pain. He removed his hand, and looked at the blood on his fingers. Then he whiped them off on his coat. "If I were, you'd be able to tell. Believe me."
"I'm sure there are exceptions, but most dead people don't talk." the Impressario said. "Now, Daryl, I think you've caused enough havoc and mayhem for today. Would you kindly leave?"
"Still want me to come back here tomorrow?" she asked, about to head for the door.
"Actually, no. First, you insult Maria, then-"
"I can't help it!" Daryl exclaimed. "All I did was try to give her a program, and she acts like I'm something she scraped off the bottom of her ballet slippers! What am I supposed to do, let her walk all over me?"
While the Impressario was thinking of a reply to this, (one that could actually be said), Setzer was struggling back to his feet. He grabbed onto her arm (his fingers were all cold like ice) and managed to stand. Then he promptly fell over again.
"What is your problem?" Daryl asked.
"Just...what you were saying about...Maria!" he exclaimed, laughing. "I've always wanted to...say that...about her myself!"
The Impresario shook his head in despair and left them.
Daryl stood on the outside steps of the Opera House, watching all the people come in and out. Like anyone on the first day of a new job, she had been eager to please her new boss, and had been put to work handing out programs.
"Want a program?" she asked a strikingly beautiful young woman in a tight dress with long blonde hair.
"Of course not!" she replied snootily. "I work here."
"Well, excuse me!" Daryl replied. "So do I."
The other girl looked at her rather torn-up clothes and laughed. "Not very high on the totem pole, I see."
"And what are you supposed to be?" Daryl asked.
"I'm Maria, the opera singer. Are you from the Veldt or something?"
"Actually, I'm from Maranda."
"Equally uncultured, I'm afraid," Maria said with a sniff. Daryl looked around, wishing to change the subject. Her eyes fell on a man about 3 or 4 years her senior, talking animatedly to the Impresario. He had pale, skin and whitish hair that went down to a little below his shoulders, and was dressed in a long black coat that flowed down to his ankles. Overall, he looked quite handsome, if also a bit...strange. Then again, Daryl figured he was just a rich eccentric. She had run into quite alot of those people already.
"Is that guy one of the actors?" she asked, pointing. Maria sniffed again.
"Didn't your mother ever tell you not to point in public?" she asked loudly. The man in question turned to look at them for a few seconds.
"Well, who is he?" Daryl asked, feeling steadily more annoyed. She had the feeling that Maria had said that just to make him look at her and see how much of a boor she was.
"Obviously he's Setzer Gabbiani. And don't you even tell me you don't know who he is." Maria replied peevishly.
"Uh...I don't know who he is."
"You are just too much." Maria said, glaring at her. "If you manage to survive your first day of working here, you'll be seeing him a lot more."
Just then, the Impresario walked over, dragging Setzer with him. "Maria! There you are!" he exclaimed. "What're you doing here? You're supposed to be practicing your lines!"
Maria gave Daryl such a superior smile that she had to clench her fingers even more tightly around the stack of programs. Then she noticed the flirtatious looks that the opera singer was shooting at Setzer. She smiled evilly.
"Program?" she asked.
"Why, thank you." He accepted it. Maria glared at her as if it had been something more than a pamphlet, and proceeded to bodily drag him off to her dressing room. Daryl wondered how come everyone seemed to be dragging him around today, and shrugged. The Impresario also left.
Later on, she and the rest of the staff were sitting back on the balcony and watching the play. Daryl admittedly found it more than slightly boring, and no matter what anyone else's opinion was, she felt that Maria's voice was like claws on a chalkboard. At the intermission, she got up to walk around and help set up props. She was struggling to carry a particularly heavy box down the stairs when someone coming up the stairs asked, "Do you want me to help you with that?"
But just then, she lost her balance, and toppled down the stairs. She knocked him onto the floor.
After getting up, retrieving the box and making sure nothing was broken, she turned to her...victim.
"Sorry 'bout that- Setzer, was it?" she asked casually, looking at the man sprawled out on the floor. She didn't recieve any response. Before she could check to see what was wrong, she realized Maria was standing at the top of the staircase.
"What the heck are you doing back here?" she asked. "Only the Impresario and the cast are allowed here!"
"Er...I think I just murdered Mr. Gabbiani." Daryl replied, dead (no pun intended) serious. Maria dashed down the stairs (or as fast as a woman with a corset could dash) and stared. Just then, the Impresario himself joined them. He, also, stared.
A few minutes later, after Daryl wondered whether she should've hidden the body in the closet and if she was going to be arrested, and after the Impressario managed to get Maria to go back onstage, Setzer sat up on the floor.
"Aren't you dead?" Daryl asked before she could stop herself. Setzer looked up at her warily, and placed a hand on his forehead.
"No, dear, I'm not." His slender fingers clenched his skull tightly, and his eyes squinched shut in pain. He removed his hand, and looked at the blood on his fingers. Then he whiped them off on his coat. "If I were, you'd be able to tell. Believe me."
"I'm sure there are exceptions, but most dead people don't talk." the Impressario said. "Now, Daryl, I think you've caused enough havoc and mayhem for today. Would you kindly leave?"
"Still want me to come back here tomorrow?" she asked, about to head for the door.
"Actually, no. First, you insult Maria, then-"
"I can't help it!" Daryl exclaimed. "All I did was try to give her a program, and she acts like I'm something she scraped off the bottom of her ballet slippers! What am I supposed to do, let her walk all over me?"
While the Impressario was thinking of a reply to this, (one that could actually be said), Setzer was struggling back to his feet. He grabbed onto her arm (his fingers were all cold like ice) and managed to stand. Then he promptly fell over again.
"What is your problem?" Daryl asked.
"Just...what you were saying about...Maria!" he exclaimed, laughing. "I've always wanted to...say that...about her myself!"
The Impresario shook his head in despair and left them.
