The large, gaudy sign proclaimed "Loveless- In Town This Week Only!" while
searchlights made a reverse impression of light hitting the earth. The
play's promoter was particularly proud of the sign- above the low, wide
entrance to the main lobby it featured a black-and-white picture of the
play's leading actress with the ever-present "Loveless" etched in a
yellowish color to the side. The actress was beckoning to the camera while
the other hand rested in her lap; her eyes were half-closed as the picture
looked longingly out to the potential viewers. Overall, quite a gimmick,
especially to the dozens of men who passed by that corner in Midgar's
Sector 2 every day. Lonely men, harried and rushed until going to work was
a matter of getting to the end of something and accomplishing the day
without really finishing it.
A child in a short jumper ran ahead and pointed at the sign with excited gestures; her mother gently led the child away and down another street to the right. The lone street light on that corner thrust light at the front of the building, near the ticket-taker's window, and excluded the nearby street and sides of building. The rest of the building was relatively unimpressive anyway, peeling white paint tainted by the industrial air of Midgar. It was odd how, in darkness, the air seemed to cling to one as if begging one to take the air with that person, out of darkness underneath festering metal wires and cables. The air that was not desperate seemed sullen, hanging stagnant where no outside air came to grace the slums of Midgar. That air reluctantly would let you pass, still hoping somewhere inside that you could take the air with you. Because Midgar was "the city of 1,000,000 people with room to spare- in the slums", where there was not some sort of external cooling there was heat. People tended to ignore the heat and constantly humming electrical wires and neon signs; it provided an artificial, human-produced backdrop to the carefully choreographed (by Shinra) play that was Midgar.
"Just look at that crowd," Aver whistled appreciatively. He took his head back around the corner to the stage-left area. The stage manager, attending a desk lit by a small desk lamp, made a silencing motion and scribbled something in the play's manuscript. The house lights shone through a patterned window in the wall, set roughly 20 feet above the stage floor. Other than the desk lamp and the window, backstage was completely silent, though the air-conditioning in the building prevented the same kind of stagnation as was outside.
"The stage manager's right. Just because you're playing the lead character doesn't give you an excuse to let the audience hear us," Shel protested, but in a softer voice. She was tapping her finger against one of the heavy black curtains dividing the wings backstage. Aver thought that despite the accusations he was currently getting, she still looked fairly nice in a white long gown, dark blond hair pulled into a high bun.
"All right," he conceded, but no less softly than he had spoken before. He sat on a small stool backstage and impatiently consulted his watch. There were still 5 minutes to opening. Sighing, he went over to the prop table for the tenth time that evening to make sure all his props were in place.
Outside, near the very same street corner where the lead actress still continued to stare out at the hapless citizens of Midgar, a voice was heard offering flowers. A few passing by the corner gave the flowers surprised looks. Others ignored both girl and basket of flowers. She was leaning against one of the walls of the play building just out of the radius of the lamp post. Aerith shifted, uncomfortable against the stray piece of wood that was asking her not-so-politely to move away from its established spot on the building.
"Buy a flower sir, they're very cheap, you could give one to your wife or. . . " the hand holding up the flower wilted and put the flower back in the basket. To make herself feel better, Aerith held the basket up to her face and breathed in softly, feeling the airy touch of the flower petals against her cheek. She closed her eyes and tried not to focus on the smog from numerous Mako plants and materia-producing factories. Her quarterstaff lay beside her, casually leaning against the wall; you could never tell what types would be wandering around Midgar, especially at this hour. She had gotten more than one appraising look from potential customers. Aerith decided it was time to take a break; maybe more people would feel like buying floweres tomorrow. She counted the gil she had earned. 15 gil, for 5 hours of alternately standing and sitting on this street corner. Maybe it was enough to go see that play that the lady standing outside the building had been loudly advertising. Deciding briefly between dinner that night and seeing the play, she found herself paying for her ticket and being ushered into the arena before she fully comprehended what she was doing. 'Loveless', was it?
"Good luck!" Shel gave a tight smile to Aver, who nodded easily. "Don't fall off the stage this time, Shel. I don't think the people in the front row will appreciate it."
"Shut up." Shel sniffed indignantly and crossed her arms. "It was just one time, and I know how to do that dance now."
The house lights turned off with a dramatic clicking noise that sounded as though that noise alone had sucked all light with it off to the land where spent sound goes. The orchestra hidden beneath the stage started their overture and people in the audience settled into their seats. By the exit sign's dim reddish glow, a couple of people were consulting the program and proudly pointing out to each other who they knew. A loud shushing sound spawned in different corners of the auditorium.
"I hope this was worth dinner," Aerith complained as she shifted in her seat 20 rows back from the stage. Amidst the gentle hissing of transparent fog, a single light clicked on with little fanfare as the heavy red curtain was drawn back.
A/N: Odd ending. This will be a sort of AU fic; not only has Aerith not died but someone else has taken her place. Just hope that I can get inspired enough to write more. It's going to be hard to not fall back on "Aria de Mezzo Carraterre" to write the play itself. That sign "Loveless" in Midgar has always fascinated me; why not write the play for it? Random comments done now. Next chapter will be up soon, hopefully.
A child in a short jumper ran ahead and pointed at the sign with excited gestures; her mother gently led the child away and down another street to the right. The lone street light on that corner thrust light at the front of the building, near the ticket-taker's window, and excluded the nearby street and sides of building. The rest of the building was relatively unimpressive anyway, peeling white paint tainted by the industrial air of Midgar. It was odd how, in darkness, the air seemed to cling to one as if begging one to take the air with that person, out of darkness underneath festering metal wires and cables. The air that was not desperate seemed sullen, hanging stagnant where no outside air came to grace the slums of Midgar. That air reluctantly would let you pass, still hoping somewhere inside that you could take the air with you. Because Midgar was "the city of 1,000,000 people with room to spare- in the slums", where there was not some sort of external cooling there was heat. People tended to ignore the heat and constantly humming electrical wires and neon signs; it provided an artificial, human-produced backdrop to the carefully choreographed (by Shinra) play that was Midgar.
"Just look at that crowd," Aver whistled appreciatively. He took his head back around the corner to the stage-left area. The stage manager, attending a desk lit by a small desk lamp, made a silencing motion and scribbled something in the play's manuscript. The house lights shone through a patterned window in the wall, set roughly 20 feet above the stage floor. Other than the desk lamp and the window, backstage was completely silent, though the air-conditioning in the building prevented the same kind of stagnation as was outside.
"The stage manager's right. Just because you're playing the lead character doesn't give you an excuse to let the audience hear us," Shel protested, but in a softer voice. She was tapping her finger against one of the heavy black curtains dividing the wings backstage. Aver thought that despite the accusations he was currently getting, she still looked fairly nice in a white long gown, dark blond hair pulled into a high bun.
"All right," he conceded, but no less softly than he had spoken before. He sat on a small stool backstage and impatiently consulted his watch. There were still 5 minutes to opening. Sighing, he went over to the prop table for the tenth time that evening to make sure all his props were in place.
Outside, near the very same street corner where the lead actress still continued to stare out at the hapless citizens of Midgar, a voice was heard offering flowers. A few passing by the corner gave the flowers surprised looks. Others ignored both girl and basket of flowers. She was leaning against one of the walls of the play building just out of the radius of the lamp post. Aerith shifted, uncomfortable against the stray piece of wood that was asking her not-so-politely to move away from its established spot on the building.
"Buy a flower sir, they're very cheap, you could give one to your wife or. . . " the hand holding up the flower wilted and put the flower back in the basket. To make herself feel better, Aerith held the basket up to her face and breathed in softly, feeling the airy touch of the flower petals against her cheek. She closed her eyes and tried not to focus on the smog from numerous Mako plants and materia-producing factories. Her quarterstaff lay beside her, casually leaning against the wall; you could never tell what types would be wandering around Midgar, especially at this hour. She had gotten more than one appraising look from potential customers. Aerith decided it was time to take a break; maybe more people would feel like buying floweres tomorrow. She counted the gil she had earned. 15 gil, for 5 hours of alternately standing and sitting on this street corner. Maybe it was enough to go see that play that the lady standing outside the building had been loudly advertising. Deciding briefly between dinner that night and seeing the play, she found herself paying for her ticket and being ushered into the arena before she fully comprehended what she was doing. 'Loveless', was it?
"Good luck!" Shel gave a tight smile to Aver, who nodded easily. "Don't fall off the stage this time, Shel. I don't think the people in the front row will appreciate it."
"Shut up." Shel sniffed indignantly and crossed her arms. "It was just one time, and I know how to do that dance now."
The house lights turned off with a dramatic clicking noise that sounded as though that noise alone had sucked all light with it off to the land where spent sound goes. The orchestra hidden beneath the stage started their overture and people in the audience settled into their seats. By the exit sign's dim reddish glow, a couple of people were consulting the program and proudly pointing out to each other who they knew. A loud shushing sound spawned in different corners of the auditorium.
"I hope this was worth dinner," Aerith complained as she shifted in her seat 20 rows back from the stage. Amidst the gentle hissing of transparent fog, a single light clicked on with little fanfare as the heavy red curtain was drawn back.
A/N: Odd ending. This will be a sort of AU fic; not only has Aerith not died but someone else has taken her place. Just hope that I can get inspired enough to write more. It's going to be hard to not fall back on "Aria de Mezzo Carraterre" to write the play itself. That sign "Loveless" in Midgar has always fascinated me; why not write the play for it? Random comments done now. Next chapter will be up soon, hopefully.