The World's Stage
Chapter Twelve
To Know
It is white they see when the doors open in all its undenying glory. Gold so bright, so rich in value that it's overwhelming, a coil of some kind of realization so undoubtedly shocking and sharp through the burning flash of a sharp click. And then there is sound, a wave, a camera, and they are suddenly overtaken by cameras and the screams that come with it. The 'ALLIES' bask in it all, faces contorting into something that resembles a smile. Skin marred yellow and white from light of all angles. A moment of surprise before they simmer down into their own readiness of what to come, what to do, what to expect within the gold and the deep reds of velvets. They're smiles of pretense only widen in a swift steady motion. A motion so conflicting yet subtle.
It is the art of transition and adaptation.
"The 'ALLIES' are now on the scene, cameras ready, quickly! Shooting in one, two, three action!" a yell echoes beyond the rich halls of deemed marble, and Arthur scans the hall, curious orbs of green staring pointedly at the crystals and the reds of velvets and chandeliers. It's really beautiful for a mere lobby, he thinks through much scrutinization. His thick eyebrows press downward as he scans the room.
It's beautifully grand, yet through his fixation his eyes roam for something else. A person, a man, a french man. He blinks, no, he thinks, he must have gone mad. He can't help but stare, a final glance before a shallow sigh.
Ivan smiles and waves, eyes darting every once and awhile at a new camera that peers through unashamed hands. His eyes peer determined at cameras, a fine set of features only finely cut his violet eyes and marble cut nose.
He's different then Alfred, he's different. He produces some other kind of charm.
Alfred grins, showing perfect teeth in rows and rows of charism that seeps out and only hypes the rest of the camera crew. He basks in the attention and the glory, confidence at some kind of level of superiority that eases him. Makes him calm knowing that this is for him, for his team, for his brother whom watches there moves. This is their opportunity to prove to Mattie, to Arthur, to himself that for once he truly is capable. He is so much more than just bulk and face. He is so much more, he thinks passively.
He is a hero.
" , should I handle the baggage for you?" A petite woman asks, lips pressed into an unwavering smile, professional in the art of sooth but for Yao it only irritates his mind further. His lip trembles in shock, so sudden and reeling he doesn't know how to process the question.
He shakes his head politely, "It's fine, really- aru."
He smiles, eyes narrowing as he grins warmingly. Cameras turn to him and he quickly frowns, his eyebrows deep in thought. A pending and heavy weight of silence consumes him. He can't even hear his own heart beating so instead he focuses on how he looks, the angle that's facing the camera, the sharp sounds of engrossed clicking. The heat of the attention makes his cheeks warm, redness seeping into the back of his neck. Blood suddenly burning him through his arteries and veins. He does not like cameras despite the opportunity that comes with them.
"Perhaps I can help with this baggage? In fact, I would really love to see our resting areas." He smiles once again, but there's something different about his smile now. His voice more of a command then a question, a silent play of power within the few minutes of entry. And maybe the woman sees this but she does not back down, instead her smile widens, eyes narrowed in a way that makes Yao's skin crawl.
"No, no, n-"
"Please," he presses impatiently, he really just wants to get away from the cameras. "I also need to go to the restrooms…".
He hears a snort behind him and a deep chuckle which only elevates his need to get out. His need to leave the cameras that are constantly on his back. He hopes that his excuse is not looked at differently in the eyes of the camera. His public image that is dark and ugly as it is beautiful. Flawed in the art of media and TV. It's so flawed and so cruel, he thinks sadly. It shows so little and all the while he feels exposed, naked to the harshness of the camera.
He falls prey to the eyes.
He's always been prey.
"Right, then," the woman smiles again, eyes crinkling in an ever so inviting smile. "Then come, , follow me."
He follows, the woman grabbing the rest of his teams baggage on the way. Her arms look weighed and despite that he doesn't protest to help her. His own two bags are heavy enough as it is. It's maybe the selfishness of the heart that makes him angry and pout childishly.
Luckily, the cameras leave him and he smiles aimlessly again.
"You are a very bad actor, ," the woman smiles warmly again, eyes not quite meeting, "It will get you in grave danger here."
He twitches as he smiles again, eyes holding some kind of primal fear that erupts in waves of smiles and laughs. Only then does he attempt to help her with the baggage, she shrugs off his hands of help. He frowns, feeling stung.
"Am I? And what if I wasn't pretending?" He laughs, chuckles really. He feels sick. Sick to the bone and strangely offended that time and practice were seemingly so obvious. He's faced so many challenges, he's dug and climbed his way up, so high up, he cannot possibly fall now. Vodka and violet pierce his mind, he turns, the faint press of chest and flesh so familiar in his distant mind, and although he looks at this one intimate moment as a confusing piece of truth and denial he can only come to the realization that he is just so tired. So, so, so tired.
He wishes he can resign.
There's a moment of silence and then another smile erupts on her delicate features.
"We've already walked past the nearest washroom," she glances at him once and then stops in front of the door. His group's name a trivial thing plastered in gold, encased in white shimmering glass. He feels the rawness of embarrassment. The feigned look of shock and despite that he only balks at the woman's wit that matches his own.
"Here, I can do the rest," he smiles despite the heat that rushes on the back of his neck, a heat surging, quiet, yet powerful, making him blush subtly at the way he's reacting. He rubs the back of his neck, embarrassed. Hardly recognizing where he's heading.
"Right, well then," she fumbles with the load of baggage, her arms struggling when she hands him a small golden key.
"Your first task should be written inside," she says, and Yao only stares in confusion, eyes crinkling while she shuffles all large baggage by the door. He motions for her to stop, eyes landing briefly on the golden key in his hands.
"I can handle it from here," he shuffles handing out his arms for her to place, he brings his hair back, the pony tail itching the back of his neck, the red ribbon loosening. She looks at him, stares and he begins to smile before she gives him a hasty glare. She stamps closer, and Yao can't help but be intimidated. He drops the luggage in his arms and instead places two hands in front of his chest. Her face reaches his ear, there both so short.
"You need to be careful here," she whispers and he stops and finds himself leaning into her, eyes narrowed in acknowledgement.
"The people here are merciless, cold-blooded." Yao shivers as he feels her breath leave his ear. He glances at the empty hallways, adorned with beautiful paintings, records, medals that were once won years ago. And suddenly, everything falls in place, an order that's corrupted, undefined. A heaviness and ugliness shine brightest on every smiling photograph, on every golden adorned and ornate painting, on all the slogans and compliments written in the stitches of the wallpaper.
A trap. He feels trapped, and suddenly breathing becomes difficult.
"Why, why are you telling me this?" he steps back, breath shallow. She looks at him behind heavy bangs, "Like I said," she smiles bright, handing him the baggage on the ground. "You're a bad actor."
She says it slowly, she tries to meet his eyes but he turns, pressing them closed.
So she leaves, does not wave, does not smile, does not answer the silent questions that float around him. He calms his heartbeat, calms the rising tension that her words have created. He picks up all the baggage on the ground, cool colours of leather and plastic in his arms as he struggles to fit the key within the small metal frame.
He opens the door and for the second time that day, he drops everything and only stares ahead.
Ivan searches, watches calmly at Yao's retreating figure. Watches as Yao stubbornly does not aid the small women that leads the way. He frowns, although quickly wanes a smile as an interviewer quickly starts asking him questions.
"So, Ivan is it? Well, Ivan what do you think about the base of the competition? You may be spending multiple weeks within this building, do you have any questions?"
She presses him, and he only then realizes that Alfred and Arthur are no longer by his side. He hesitates before smiling charmingly, he watches as she shifts bashfully.
"Da, actually, I wanted to ask for the longest time now, who else resides within this facility? Other groups, bands, I should be aware of?"
Her smile widens and she gushes her next words, "Oh! The 'AXIS' have already stayed here for countless nights."
Ivan's eyes dim, his smile goes slack. He turns his back, struggling to see the black of Yao's waving ponytail. His posture stiffens, and he remembers. Remember's Yao's secrets, secrets he must unveil slowly but surely. He remembers Yao's warm smiles and the familiar trembling of his lip when he lies. It does not take a genius to know that whatever Yao is shouldering on his own is killing him, breaking him, making him miserable and he craves to end that all. He wants, loves, cherishes him, wants him to be happy with him, and only him. He clenches and unclenches his fists, violet eyes darting until he finally calms.
"Thank you," he says and he puts a hand on her shoulder, she doesn't realize the firm grip. The fingers that press and are meant to break and have broken before.
"Actually, I was wondering, is it possible for you to lead me to our resting quarters?".
She does nothing but smile.
It's strange, Yao thinks, in his dreams, Kiku is ugly, faceless, cruel, not at all elegant. But these are all lies, because Kiku's right in front of him and he's beautifully ethereal. He's pale, almost as pale as he is, and his hair is cut short, choppy cuts that frame him nicely. He looks good, he looks healthy, he looks happy, and that's all Yao has ever wanted. That's all Yao has ever wanted to achieve when he was so much younger, when he was still new to the face of a camera and naive to the harshness of contracts. When goodness came from the soul and when money came from petty jobs. He stands amongst rubble, squeaking rubber wheels still wailing.
"Yao-san," Kiku drawls, and he sits in a beautiful wide couch. "I'm glad you were able to arrive safely."
Yao grits his teeth, he demands himself to get rid of him, to scream and holler and just let it all out. But he doesn't, instead he swallows hard, and nods. Because cameras, because face, because facades and reputation.
There is a pause and it doesn't look like Kiku is willing to speak first so he gladly pushes himself to end the silence. They are brothers, he is family, but still, Yao is older, more experienced, more ready.
"If you do not have anything to say, please," he urges, eyes narrowed, "leave."
Kiku laughs and now Yao see's it. See's the flaws that he should have seen years ago. See's how, Kiku is everything he's wanted, handsome, strong, successful, and yet so horrible, so spiteful.
"Leave? How rude, Yao-san, my 兄さん*, my family, but they don't know that do they? They don't know the truth?"
[兄さん: Older brother]
Yao bites his lip, blood, copper, he tastes copper. It's not that simple, the blame should not be on him. His mind races, he tastes bitterness and he feels hot veins struggle for a fight. It is so much more complicated than that. So much more complicated than secrets, and simple lies.
"Get out." he musters, he stands firm, shoulders forced straight. A stance that shows authority. A fake attempt to control, but he knows, Kiku does not like to be controlled. He cannot be bend, cannot be molded into something he is not. And he is a monster.
"Do not bring my friends in this."
Kiku stands and he flinches, Kiku is so much taller now, so much stronger and he walks with superiority, confidence that does wonders if used properly. But Kiku uses it for himself, uses it to abuse people, to give him the upper hand, he uses it to win and to be superior.
Who taught him to play so unfairly?
He wants to ask why, he wants to beg to hit. He wants to give in to it all and ask why Kiku's torturing him. Why Kiku even manages with him at all. He grimaces. He's been reduced to feeling confused, feeling weak. He feels like a dancer, a puppet to his own rules, because like he said, it's complicated. It's not at all easy and he feels like the strings of his arms and joints are getting all muddled together. He feels the rip in his lip, rough and new like the wounds of betrayal.
He words his next sentence carefully, "What do you have to gain from this, Kiku? Money, fame, superiority over me?"
Kiku shakes his head, looking painfully misunderstood.
"To win." He says it again, "and to watch you lose.".
A pause, a long pause, and Yao struggles to breath. Kiku watches him as he attempts to suck in air, a strange conflicted emotion marrs his skin. Maybe in Yao's dreams it would be panic.
"Yao-san?"
"Get out." Yao spits, "Get out, get out, get out!"
The cold look comes back on, the warmth is gone and Kiku walks slowly, circling Yao once if only to watch him suffer. He likes being strong, and it is in his nightmares where he is not. It is in his nightmares that he sees Yao, Yao smiling, Yao's embrace, Yao's tender teachings. And it is weak, extremely weak and he hates weakness. He hates Yao.
"Yao-san, remember-" he says softly, almost gently if not the prickling hand on his shoulder, "remember, you agreed, you agreed."
Yao breaks into a cold sweat. That's right, and now it feels like another contract, another promise that fights against him. He is prideful, he is almost always right, and he keeps his promises.
He saunters out of the room, leaving Yao to his own endeavors and not spotting the cold violet eyes that watch from afar. Ivan watches, lips smiling as an interviewer follows him, guides him into the truth. His smile remains warm, while his eyes burn cold.
The truth has yet to be unveiled.
"This place is huge!", Alfred shouts, jumping up in excitement.
"It is rather large," Arthur nods, comments, and he coughs into a handkerchief.
"There's everything, pools, karaoke, there's a bar, and guess what Ivan, big guy!"
Ivan waits patiently, smiling. Yao laughs despite what Ivan knows what transpired only hours earlier. He knows, and he's glad he knows.
"There's vodka!"
"Oh," Ivan smiles genuinely this time, pleasantly surprised. "It has been a while since I have drunk any."
"Alfred, calm down, we were all separated, blasted interviewers." He mutters the last part quietly, looking almost skeptically at the door. "They're everywhere. Scares me like a goner."
Ivan nods, although he is thankful for that one female interviewer who has led him to another piece of evidence.
Yao chuckles, grins before placing a tentative hand on a full envelope. He's already read through it shortly after Kiku has left, and finally the women's words of tasks make sense to him.
"All right, Alfred calm, we have a job to due, it's within this envelope-aru. It's the first task I suppose. This competition seems more like a reality TV show if anything," Yao pauses, "A kind woman told me that the competition may consist mainly of tasks, gimmick things."
He opens the letter, typed up, neat and yet shows so much personality to the show.
"Read it. The other teams will be here soon,"
And so Arthur takes it, scrunches up his face in what seems like concentration. His voice fills the room, and Alfred listens, he likes Arthur's voice if anything.
"To the rising 'ALLIES', within this letter you will find the details that entail your stay within our facility. Firstly, this building is designated to suit your needs, you will find the kitchen missing within your dorm, and instead will find it near the centrepiece of our building," Arthur coughs, "This ensures that all party members will be able to collaborate and very closely form closer, if lesser relations. The media will be active on entailing and filling in the public of everything that has transpired."
Alfred groans.
"Secondly, as the rooms surrounding yours begins to fill in with participants, active tasks or challenges will be sorted. The loser of these or the incompetent will then be forfeited and will be forced to leave."
"Haaarsh," Alfred whispers, eyes glum. Yao rolls his eyes although he also agrees.
"The top three groups, ranking higher than the rest will then be then placed in the finals where the public will decide the winners."
Ivan pauses before smiling, "Seems easy,"
"There's more. It says; the challenges will all be related to the group and highlights the skills of every individual. Everything needed to fulfill these should be found within the compound."
Alfred grabs the paper, impatient, he continues to read, voice shrill.
"Task number one: Competitors will be performing the song performed at auditions, any group failing to finish these will be forfeited. It is to be finished in two days time."
Alfred drops the page, "that's it! No good luck, no nothing!" Arthur presses his lips together, eyebrows etched into a curve. He doesn't register what Alfred says and instead thinks about Francis. About what he needs to tell Francis, about his condition.
He coughs into his handkerchief, trying to hide his anticipation.
Finally, Yao speaks, "The AXIS are here," Ivan's eyes shine for no reason. He licks his lips and frowns despite his urge to chuckle.
"When did you see them?" Ivan asks, and he knits his two eyebrows together. Anticipating, always anticipating what Yao would say. He sees a flicker of knowing, and then a dying glow in his eyes. Yao's fists clench as he holds onto a frail marble table.
"Oh- aru! Saw them up in the studio's. We should work on our task to." Yao lies, before frowning. "Actually, I want to go to the marketplace and purchase something…"
Alfred laughs, before hitting the backs of Yao's small frame. "We're going to so win this! I mean, we got you, shorty, cold, smart guy, Ivan, big, basically the opposite guy, and we have the handsome grouch!"
Yao coughs as another vigorous slap hits him, he sneers. Although pink hides his shame.
"And we have an idiot, clearly." Everyone laughs before growing serious, and he laughs to, really, the act of laughing and coughing up lies has become so natural that it makes him retch.
"Do you think the AXIS will play fair? I reckon they've cheated multiple times." Arthur pales at the very thought. He tries so hard to be real, to be real in his effort, in his work and actions. He's tried to be real, to be honest, tried.
"Probably n-" Ivan tries to interject. He feels strange, and the bitterness of the relationship between Yao and Kiku makes him feel cold.
"We should work on our projects." Yao intervenes, and then he shoots him this look. This kind of glare that makes him calm, this madness that makes him happier because finally, finally Yao knows that he knows something. Knows something that he shouldn't and in reality he knows nothing. He simply knows that something is wrong within the two and that's more than enough to send Yao on edge.
"Da," he says before narrowing his eyes, "da, Yao is right, we should get working." He pauses, stares past Arthur and at Yao who stares back, eyes glazed in some kind of hidden rekindlement that Ivan is sure will be explained with due time. Because knowing Yao every truth is so fragile, so so weak under pressure and he is glad to push at the right parts to gain a reaction.
Yao is fun to amuse.
After a silence of off handed giggles and the crunching of papers, Arthur finally speaks up, his eyes staring at Alfred's who smiles and shows his pearly white teeth.
"So, let's head to the recording rooms? If I remember they were down the hall…" Arthur whispers to himself, as Alfred walks cooly to the door.
"It's not too difficult," Yao whispers softly, following along although his eyes trail down to Ivan. When Ivan smiles he smiles back.
And just like that they leave their own little rooms, walking towards the recording studios and aimlessly recovering there song.
Later on that day, Arthur receives a text.
"How is your condition?"
He scoffs.
I am back with yet another mediocre chapter! Its been a long time waiting hasn't it? However, my new story MEMO, has been regularly updated so do not stress, I will finish all of my stories, it is a promise I intend to take to my grave.
Analyzing this story, it focuses on them as characters and not to much about the setting they are in. More so, how it influences them as we had a fair share of actual singing and practicing in the previous chapters!
Whats Arthur's condition? Did anyone suspect anything?
Thank you for being patient with me!