Disclaimer: How'd you like my fairytale-esque prologue/introduction thing? I'm brushing up on my quirky, unique, not-seen-too-often style and subject matter, so here's hoping you keep up! Don't think I forgot your struggling with Tragedy of Errors! Ah, but it was fun, right? Now, if you don't review, I will do my very best to annoy the living whatever out of you.

. . . .

. . .

Bitch.

HA

A blast, some screams, several gun shots and the momentary peace of the war-torn streets was broken. Food was stolen, a man was killed, a woman raped. A child cried, a man shouted, a final shot. The streets were quiet once more as the daily ritual continued for the City.

Thaddeus Gammelthorpe was not fazed.

The world was dark, the shadows around him alive and changing, warping the shapes within the alley into grotesque and violent monsters. He knew it was just his imagination, but his universe was small and his imagination was the only thing he had. Taking a grateful drag of his cigarette, he allowed the nicotine to enter his system and the smoke to fill his lungs, giving him a moment of peace and quiet, before he had to return. Return to the world of the dark and the dreary. The world of the sick and sinister. His world.

Straightening his black jacket, the butt of the cigarette was ground beneath his feet as the red light above his head switched on, flickering a few times before stabilizing. He groaned while jerking open the door he had been leaning on, already missing the coolness of the streets once the humidity of the room hit him. The heat of too many bodies too close together with no air circulation generated all around him, shouts from stage hands and performers alike as they busied themselves for the next act. He could hear the disgruntled and more than likely drunk callings from the audience, the scrambling to find another singer for Act II because Nadia still hadn't shown up, the grunts from the sex currently happening between two company members in wing left . . .

He hadn't even changed into his costume and already he had a headache.

"Thaddeus! There you are! We had to bump your Act up one because someone still isn't here, and we need to find a replacement." An extremely flustered young woman dashed over to him, hair up in a half undone braided bun, make-up brushes poking out and her apron tied almost too tightly. Roughly she grabbed him by the elbow and all but shoved him into the men's dressing room, throwing his costume trousers at him as she frantically pulled out the facial powder. He had to bite his tongue to stop from laughing at her.

"I take it Nadia is a no show again?" he asked casually while striping off his clothes and slipping into leggings. Out of the corner of his eye he watched her, running around like a chicken with its head cut off. It was a shame she hadn't found a husband yet to save her from this less than decent place. Although knowing her, she would probably force the poor man into this profession. He would never say this out loud, but he secretly thought she loved her high-stress, little pay job. Gave her something to do.

Well, something else rather than worry about him all day.

"Yes. I swear that girl better be dead in a ditch somewhere. And if she isn't, she will be the next time she bothers to show up. If she's drunk or getting fucked by some new low-life she thinks she loves I'll ring her unfed little neck." She ranted, viciously stabbing one of the brushes she removed from her hair into the powder.

Not soon enough Thaddeus realized his grave mistake – making her angry just before she's set to decorate his pretty little face. Last time he did that – stupidly mentioning a guy who had stood her up the night before – she nearly blinded him in one eye. With this rage, she'd probably take out both orbs as well as one of his ear drums. With a gentle eye, he turned a leaned against a dresser, waiting patiently as she tucked a tube of lipstick and an eye pencil in the pocket of her apron while turning to face the young man before her. Not even his calming aura could fix this anger, and she began harshly spreading the white substance on his face.

"You know you wouldn't kill her. Maybe give her a good tongue lashing and a few whacks as punctuations, but I doubt you'd off her." A sharp pain in the back of his scalp where she'd grabbed his head and yanked made him understand his snarky remark was unappreciated.

"What was that? Do you want me to make you visually impaired? Especially since you're on in a few minutes? Marr that handsome money maker of yours?" she snapped, caking the white on until there was no hint of his pale complexion left.

"Come on, you know it's not the face, but the voice that brings in the money." He quipped right back, to which her reply was a swift stomp on his right foot.

A few curses, some not so friendly phrases and several layers of make-up later, Thaddeus wandered out of the dressing room, nursing the nipple she had brutally twisted during the heat of their bickering. He was just about to step out onto the stage as the orchestra began his aria, when her soft tugging on his sleeve made him stop and turn. She had that soft smile on her face, and he found himself smiling right back.

"Oi, break a leg little brother." He grinned at her show of truce, but the words were out of his mouth before he could stop them.

"But I'd rather break yours."

With a cruel grin of her own, she reared back and gave him a forceful shove in the middle of his chest, sending him stumbling back onto the once polished wood of the stage. Were he any less of a showman, he would never have recovered. From off stage, Jolene Gammelthorpe watched her little brother with a smile, before making her way back to try and find another performer to take Nadia's place.

"Stop fucking in the wings!" she shouted at the two behind the tormentors, snarling as Nadia stumbled in the door and up the steps, lipstick smeared and clothes askew.

On the stage Thaddeus's voice began, echoing throughout their small world.

"Largo al factotum della citta.; Largo! La la la la la la la LA! Presto a bottega che l'alba e gia; Presto! La la la la la la la LA! . . ."

~O~

She wandered through the streets alone, doing her best to blend into the shadows as the sounds of the violence rang out from everywhere. She was frightened, and at the same time, invigorated. The fear of death or worse was strangely exciting to her, especially since her parents had no idea she was out here, and alone no less. She should know better than that; she did know better than that.

Yet she went out anyway.

A gunshot pierced the air nearby, and she quickly felt less invigoration and more fear. Shame shame knows your name an annoying voice sang out in her head as she jumped at the voice of an angry man a few blocks away. Stepping into the soft orange glow offered by a street lamp in the overwhelming dusk, she paused in her wanderings. What was she doing? If she wanted so desperately to go out and explore the City, why didn't she do it in the daylight? It was safer in the daylight.

Because Mummy and Daddy would have certainly caught me if I snuck out at noon. She replied to the useless voice of reason she found herself arguing with. A heavy metal door slammed open, and she was struck where she was as a small group of people spilled onto the streets. They looked at her, but one young man in particular looked at her for longer than what was probably necessary. She belatedly realized how foolish she must look, standing there in the light of a street lamp, donning a silly white dress staring at them doe eyed. But she couldn't run, no matter what the lump of self-preservation in her throat told her – not while his dark eyes were locked with hers.

Although once he severed eye contact, and her quick observation showed no one from the group had eyes for her, she darted for the nearest shadow and slipped away into the dark. Definitely more invigoration than fear this time, that was certain as she made her way back home. Though that indescribable feeling pooling in the pit of her stomach wouldn't dissipate, even well into the night.

*.*.*

She was gone.

He had turned his eyes away from her for only a moment – the briefest if you asked him – and she was gone. What a vision of feminine charm, a goddess, beauty in its truest form. He had never been one to feel any emotion really, other than the melancholy emptiness his station allowed, and maybe small moments of joy and happiness with his sister. But in the matter of only a few seconds, he had gone from pure joy to absolute heartache; his emotion-muscle lurching when he found that the splendor he had just envisioned was gone.

"Did you guys see where she went?" he asked, trying to keep the frantic out of his voice while addressing the group. Most looked at him in bazaar confusion, while a few shook their heads less than apologetically. It was his sister that laughed, a smirk dancing on her painted lips.

"Why? Do you want her?" her eyes were alight with mischief, and though she knew he would never force a woman, she also knew he hadn't had sex in far too long.

"What? No. It's just, she . . . I think she would be well suited for the stage – didn't you see her? Black hair, white dress, red lips, she already has the dominating colors." Even he could hear the bold-faced lie, and so avoided eye contact with the others by looking the direction he supposed the girl had gone.

"Right, or maybe you wanted to dominate her. In any case, we didn't see where she went. Who knows, maybe she's a Swan." The others laughed at the joke, but Thaddeus was far too drenched in fantasies to laugh. One of the others, a stage hand known only as Sid draped an arm around his friend's shoulder, leading him off in the direction of their post-show dive.

"If that girl is a Swan, than Thaddeus here is a Prince." They all laughed, Thaddeus elbowing his affectionate friend in the ribcage.

"But didn't you hear? Thaddy is a Prince – Prince of Pomp and Poppycock!" someone else shouted, and the conversation quickly progressed into vulgar suggestions and flat out remarks of princes, cocks, and where any sort of swan would fit in.

Swans don't exist, Thaddeus thought to himself as the group stumbled into the bar. Everyone had the full intention of getting drunk, or laid, or in most instances, both; and seeing as every dive had both liquor and cheap prostitutes, everyone was going to be happy that night. Everyone it would seem, except Thaddeus Gammelthorpe. He knew she had to be real – everyone saw her – but she had just disappeared. He knew it would be best just to forget about her, and find a cute young girl to be his companion tonight; everyone loved a performer after all. And yet . . .

And yet he couldn't get her out of his head.

HA