“You know, when the address said Bridgestone Avenue, I didn’t think it would literally mean that…” Momo said, walking onto a granite bridge. It was one of two, in fact. It, and the one at the opposite end of the street, had very slight arches that went over a slim, narrow lake. No, it was more of a stream that served little more than a decoration. It was far too thin to support even a handful of fish, which was why the city had taken it upon themselves to add some colorful flowers that sat in glass bottles. The striking roses and beautiful lilies contrasted with the clear blue water. And when the sun was in just the right spots to bless the glass, it was like the flowers had stems of pure light.
It really was a gorgeous sight, and Momo would have liked to stay a bit longer to enjoy it. But behind them, a rude guard struggled against the might of a thousand invisible grasps. Itarr had seen the displeasure populate his somewhat average face the second the pair of close friends walked by, but by them, Momo was already aware of what was going to happen.
He was young and youthful, though the metaphorical ‘stick of handsomeness’ had chosen to give him just half of a bonk. The expression on his face didn’t match his internal thoughts, which bordered between anger and fear. It was all thanks to Itarr, of course, who was very well becoming a master in what she called Mortal Puppetry. By adding even more anchor points, she could twist and turn his lips into a smile, even going as far as to add an otherworldly softness to his eyes. Perhaps once her control had been fine-tuned, manipulating a person’s vocal cords might not be that far-fetched.
Itarr did realize that the longer he remained frozen, the more likely the others walking by would notice something. So she sent him on his way, towards the opposite of where Servi and Momo had to go, of course. But he wasn’t the only one to voice such displeasure at what most bigots found disrespectful. A few pompous mothers shielded their children’s eyes. Some even willingly put themselves between their child and Momo, as if she was a horrible pervert who bathed in lewdness. And on more than once did someone call them an especially nasty term. The only ‘crime’ committed was just the innocent act of holding the hand of the girl she had feelings for.
Momo was saddened, of course, but she kept up a confident face. In her mind, she was the sturdy temple that Servi was relying on. If it started to show any cracks in the foundation… Well, the lovely Singi didn’t want to think about that.
The people back at Warden didn’t even care that I held Servy’s hand. But here… It’s almost insult after insult, and they don’t even gotta say anything to make it hurt… Their body language and the things they do to avoid walking next to Servy and me... Still, they can say every single word in the book, but I won’t even think that what I feel is wrong in any way. Servy, that’s my ultimate promise to you… I love you a lot…
With the wind blowing through her hair, sending her pink strands waving like the falling petals of a cherry blossom, she turned and squeezed her hand. Without a word, she confidently forged a path ahead, eventually stepping off the bridge and back on solid stone. Bridgestone Avenue was about two kilometers long, and it was certainly popular. The theatre hall Momo was looking for was located about mid-way through, nestled between a cute café and a shop that specialized in pottery.
“Grampy used to have a bunch of vases. I broke one when I was little. It’s funny now. But back then, I tried to stick it back together like a puzzle. But the pieces were sharp, and I got a bad cut across my thumb. Grampy was more upset that I hurt myself rather than break it. He told me that things like the vase were replaceable. If anything, he said he could just make a new one. But he said there couldn’t be a new me. I was one of a kind…” It was a story that had a hopeful beginning, but it turned sour by the end. The love a girl had for her grandfather was special, especially when he had to act as both a mother and father.
She often wondered why she didn’t have a mother or father, but her grandfather would always swiftly reflect the topic. He was a master at controlling the flow of conversation, and he knew just what to say to excite the young, impressionable Momo in a way that brought her mind away from the harsh realities of the world.
They reached the front of the theatre and stared up at the large white sign above. The Lift of a Butterfly Will Cure Our Ailing Hearts – August 24th was prominently displayed in bold, black letters. Right above that was the name of this building—Hurrah Theatre Hall—which was painted in strikingly stylish letters. It gave off a sense of attitude and arrogance that was so common with the uppity, artsy nobles.
Still holding hands, Momo walked forward underneath a part of the building that had been extended for a couple of meters. She surmised that something like this was made to block the rain and walked towards one of the three glass windows. The doors to actually enter were to her left and right, but she needed information.
The burgundy-colored twin-tailed Elf behind the window spoke, her words passing through four tiny holes near the middle of the glass. Once Momo explained that they were here for the auditions, her helpful voice explained that signs were set up inside to direct people to the auditorium.
Momo thanked her and left to enter, the Elf starkly staring at an audacious display of affection. Sending the hand of a Human and a Singi clasped together in public was not something that was seen just anywhere. She watched as the pair entered through the doors, and soon turned back to her job.
The Hurrah Theatre Hall was as close as someone could get to the luxuries offered to a king or emperor. Everything about it, from the freshly steamed red carpet to the eye-catching stain on the wood, was meant to evoke a slight sense of jealousy.
Momo didn’t feel any of that. Instead, she was utterly amazed! Her eyes couldn’t help but look at the sheer scale of the entrance hall, let alone the size of the corridors that led to the many auditoriums. It was almost enough to swallow the poor girl, but she kept strong and followed the wooden signs down the left-most hall. A couple of expensive benches were here and there, littering the floor. Opposite of them sat open paths that led to the toilets. Installed into the ceiling was a set of lights controlled from a single battery inside the heavily locked maintenance closet.
“Woah…” Momo turned her head all around, acting like an excited child in a store full of candy. “For some reason, it feels like this place cost a million dupla… It kinda feels like a cat like me doesn’t have the right to be here… I wondered if grampy ever came to one…” After reaching the end of the hall, the pair saw a sign. It said turned left, and they did. Some meters away, they saw a poster, and Momo skipped over to it.
It was about five meters tall, meaning it stretched from the floor to the ceiling, and it was of a girl who lacked the joviality of life. Though with how she was drawn with a hooded cloak, it was impossible to tell if she was Human, Singi, or an Elf, but that didn’t matter in the grand scheme of things. What was important was the darkened orbs that surrounded her from both sides. The expression on her face was one of emotional sacrifice. She wasn’t sad, but it wasn’t a smile. And it also wasn’t a blank expression. It was like nothingness molded into a face, then applied to the girl at her lowest point.
But with the sadness and night came hope and light, which aptly took the form of the titular butterfly the story was named after. That winged creature was drawn to the right in bright white paint. Perhaps it meant that all of life’s problems were as insignificant as the fluttering of a butterfly’s wings? Or maybe the answer to all of life’s problems was as simple as the lift of a butterfly’s wing?
Momo didn’t know. She felt something strenuous radiate from the poster and couldn’t believe how it affected her. It was hard to tear her eyes away, which meant the poster's designer achieved what they wanted.
She eventually broke away and entered the nearby door. That led to a short but dark hallway that emerged into an awfully large auditorium. The stage was made of black granite, which woefully soaked the lights shining down from above. It spread from wall to wall, like a solid chunk of darkness that was visible and malleable by the hands of mortals. Momo looked up to the ceiling and audibly gasped from the maze-like tubes and cylinders that were so elegantly spread out like a spiderweb. In addition, there were four circular lights connected to the various pipes.
By sending Skill Energy down the pipelines from something called a terminal, someone from the auditorium’s control room could angle the lights and alter their colors. This way of accomplishing this task was far more expensive than simply hiring a Singi to turn them manually, but no one could ignore the impressiveness of such a system.
All four lights were shining brightly, illuminating the large auditorium. Momo glanced away from the stage and to what they faced, and her jaw nearly dropped. “Woah… Servy, how many do you think there are? And there’s already a lot of people here… Wouldn’t someone have to tell for the people in the back to hear them?”
“All together, we have 652 seats, divided into three sections, but around a third of them are filled with waiting auditionees. You see the odd-looking objects on the walls up there? That’s a sound reflector. They bounce down sound to the ones located to the far left and right, which redirect it to the far back. That way, everyone can hear whatever is being spoken as easily as if they were right next to the stage. Thanks to those, we have no need for the boorishness of a Voice Loudner.”
Momo turned to the mysterious speaker, who was walking down a small path that led down from the rightmost stairs on the stage. It trailed alongside the wall, and if one kept walking, they would eventually come out to the hallway that had the poster. The other end of the stage also had a small path that would lead to a similar corridor.
The speaker was a Singi with a gray turtleneck sweater and beige pants. A whimsical monocle was on his left eye, and the gold chain connected to it came down to a ring on his left hand. The black hair sitting on his head looked like the leftovers after a dog had devoured a burnt chicken. Was something like that popular?
“That’s a lot of…” Momo murmured.
“It is, but you should see the one in Adenaford. It can hold up to 15,000 and still have room for another thousand. Perchance, are you here to audition?”
Momo shook her head. “I’m not. Servy’s here to try out, though,” she responded.
“I see. Your name is Servy?” The Singi held a quizzical hand to his smooth-shaven chin and stared the girl up and down. “My, oh my… She’s certainly as stiff as a corpse… And I’ve never seen someone with such a blank expression… Honey, are you sure she’s alive?”
Honey? “Servy’s alive and well. She’s just in a...delicate state of mind,” Momo replied, but she was caught a bit off guard.
“I see… Well, if you wish to sign up, please walk up those stairs to the stage and talk to the man behind the desk. Listen to his instructions, and you’ll be as right as rain.” Once those words passed by his mouth, the Singi slithered past Momo and walked out towards the hallway. She watched him disappear when turning a corner. With that behind her, she trekked the path up to the stage. Servi was right behind her, nearly close enough for her warm breath to tickle the tops of her fluffy ears.
Their footsteps echoed in sync as they both gripped the handrails and ascended the steps. The man behind the desk on the stage turned to look at the pair of close friends. His smile was friendly and professional, and the nametag on his gray shirt read ‘Casting Director.’ He waved them on over, but he and his desk weren’t the only things occupying the stage. With as big as it was, it could easily support the fifteen or twenty stagehands that were mulling about. No doubt they were all focused on completing their assigned jobs. An audition this event was, it still needed to be held to certain standards.
Momo cautiously looked around at how professional everyone looked while walking to the desk. She took note of their buttoned-up shirts, complete with silk ties. The men wore freshly pressed pants with nary a wrinkle or crease, while the women had form-fitting skirts that affectionately hugged their bodies.
And when Momo looked back at the sea of seats, it looked as if everyone was dressed in their Sunday best. The severe lack of any cobalt-colored overalls nearly kick-started a thought train of despair through her mind. Would the simplicity of Servi’s outfit hamper her chances of being picked? That was assuming she could even do what was asked of her, which was another growing fear.
But as long as Servy wants this, I’m gonna support her. She thought when reaching the desk.
“Good afternoon. My name is Wyima, and I am the casting director. I hope this doesn’t inconvenience you, but could I ask that you put your weapon away? That bag is enchanted with Dimensional Storage, yes?” The words flowed from his mouth like coarse pebbles leaving a tin can. There was just a grizzly after-tone attached to it.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” Momo said with a flushed face as she stored her longsword inside her bag. Once that was accomplished, she looked back up and shook Wyima’s outstretched hand. “Wait… How could you tell?” she asked.
“Everyone in my family has been blessed by a God of Enchanting, and I am no different. I can faintly see the Skill Energy surrounding it,” he replied, sitting down. His gray eyes then subtly flashed an intimidating blue, then faded away back to its ashen color.
“That’s so cool! Oh, I’m Momo, and this is Servy,” the Singi said.
“It’s nice to meet you both. I take it you want to audition for the play?” Wyima flipped through a binder and grabbed a small writing utensil.
“It’s for Servy,” Momo replied. She stepped out of the way and gently encouraged her friend to walk up via a small push from the back.
“… I see. I’m sorry if this is rude, but can she talk? She hasn’t said a single word. And she hasn’t looked my way at all.” Wyima said, after writing her name at the bottom of a list so long it was divided into four columns. He dropped his quill and folded his hands together on the desk.
“To be honest, she can talk, but only in short spurts. And it’s usually right after I say something. I don’t suppose there’s a part for her? Like a non-speaking part? Do you have those?” Momo said. She squeezed Servi’s and just waited for the bad news.
“That will be a problem…but I may have a solution. What do you think happens when there is a scene that requires someone to cry, but the actress or actor is unable to sound tearful? It is easy to use a little bit of makeup to produce a beautiful expression, but the emotional cries and wails can only come from a place of special sadness. The director spearheading this production is someone that values authenticity. He does not like it when certain emotions have to be falsified.”
“So you want to know if she can cry on demand?” Momo asked. She tilted her head very slightly and hid a playful smile behind her innocent lips.
“That I do. If she can do that, she’ll have a spot in the play. Of course, she’ll have to be in sync with the actresses, but that can be practiced until it becomes—”
Wyima raised an eyebrow when Servi’s sudden whimpering gurgled from her lips. Parallel streams of warm, salty water leaked from those precious ruby-colored eyes. Her face slightly scrunched as she fell down to her knees. Momo went down with her and very quickly wrapped her tearful friend in an impressively tight hug.
With the way the room was constructed, it was impossible for sound to not bounce around the room, and this sound-reflecting technology worked very well to Servi’s advantage. The pureness of her cries managed to reach everyone’s ears, and since her internal sorrows were as genuine as the sun was bright—coming directly from her wounded emotions—it was just that much more raw and primal. It was certainly good enough for Wyima to shed a few tears of his own. He stood up so fast his chair went sliding back to the black curtains that hid the backstage, and he rushed over to the embracing pair.
How amazing… How rich… I’ve… I've never seen such a cry that was far and true… Utmost praise burrowed through Wyima's mind, but it was followed up with a thought full of annoyance towards his boss. The other stagehands all stopped and stared at such a beautiful display of one of life’s most cherished emotions. The same was said for those patiently waiting for the audition to begin.
“That a girl, Servy… You’ve impressed them all, and I bet it was nice having a good cry, right? But I have to admit… It hurts me to see you wail like this because I don’t know if you’re just putting on a show or if you’re really sad… Just remember this, okay? You don’t have to force yourself to do this… If it ever gets too much, we can always stop…” Momo whispered. At her sweet words of encouragement, Servi placed a lid on her wailing and started to slightly shudder. Momo stood up and helped her friend to her feet, and the two of them looked towards Wyima. Only he wasn’t alone. That monocle-wearing Singi from before was right beside him, twirling in place like a ballerina. His combed-over tail danced to the tune of his cheerful jeers.
“Bravo!!!! Bravo!!!! Such sounds! Such emotion!! The sadness!!! The despair!!!! If I had known better, I’d say that cry was birthed from the mouth of a beast that had seen death and lived to tell about it!!! Ooohhhhh!!! I can see it now!! A girl… A meek girl... A meek girl with dreams and aspirations of her own that couldn’t even compare against the stars themselves…
“Regret, murder, death… All sorts of trials and tribulations came to stop her from conquering the one thing her soul desired above all else… Then after fighting through it all, enduring heartache after heartache, one final obstacle is preventing her from having it all. The girl is too weak—too frail and afraid for what the unknown will have in store for her. Out of fear of a lack of direction, she has a misstep and bows down to the familiarity deep in her soul.
“Everything she had worked for soon became a waste of time in her failure to snatch a handful of happiness brought forth by the newness of life… Oh! What dastardly hand has fate befell upon you to twist your soul in such a damaged form…? For I say, he is too effective in his role as a masquerade of sadness! Let me thank him… Oh! I say let me thank him!!!!” With wild, exotic movement, the passionate Singi used the entirety of the stage as support for his long monologue, which Momo didn’t understand at all. The flowery words sent her brain in overdrive, but she couldn’t follow along when he began to speak nearly a thousand words a minute.
Is… Is this a play? Am I the only one that doesn’t get it…? Momo simply watched the impromptu performance with Servi, whose face had gone back to one of neutrality. Her eyes stared at everything, refusing to focus on anything specific. And when the Singi’s ‘heartfelt’ speech came to an end, she was the only one who didn’t join in on the clapping. Momo only did so because she didn’t want to be rude. Everyone else, though, stood up if they were wearing and gave the mysterious Singi a standing ovation. The sound of their clapping took full advantage of the sound reflectors, and it all built off of each other until it felt like the whole building was shaking from the feverish, excitable energy.
If this is it, I don’t think I’ll ever understand it.
Within seconds, the passionate speaker started anew. “Nay—says the Lord of Mercy, for he is too bright and capable to grant such sadness. Nay—says the Lady of Forgiveness, for she has a heart too pure to grant the darkness within us mortals. Yae—says the Reaper of Despair, for his scythe of trembling sadness had absolved the light deep within her bosom!!!”
Bosom!?!?! Momo turned to Servi’s chest, staring at her delectable cleavage. She was a busty gal, so it only made sense that a little something was showing. But her blouse was very respectable in that regard. What she had on display wasn’t anything like the women of the night would have. Still, Servi was showing just enough that Momo was slightly captivated by what she saw. Eehhh?! Is there light in there? I don’t understand. It looks awfully warm, though… Why…do I have an urge to put my face between them…? No, think about something else, you cat!
The eccentric Singi finished his long-winded soliloquy by dropping to his knees. In an expression of sadness, he rubbed his tearful eyes with the back of his hand, even throwing away his monocle, which burst into tiny glass fragments.
“Your tears… They have truly reached me,” he whispered, crawling towards Momo and Servi. Once he was close, he sat on his knees and asked a single question. “What has this poor girl experienced to cause her to produce such a cry?”
To say Momo was startled and taken back was a severe understatement. She had the strongest urge to slap this weird cat, grab her friend, and rush out of this crazy theatre.
But she didn’t. Even if she wanted to, Momo knew that it was alright because Itarr hadn’t acted yet.
“Servy and I were attacked by a bandit. I froze up and couldn’t move, but she saved my life by killing him when he was about to end my life. And now she’s like this,” Momo repeated the lie that was so close to being true.
“OOOOHHHHHHH!!!! Kindness begets the stillness of a Human’s emotion so frozen in the shadow of benevolent protection that it wouldn’t survive beyond the value of pride!!!” The strange Singi became even stranger. He stood up, twirled around, then helped Servi and Momo to their feet. The former was a little woozy, choosing to lean almost her entire weight against her protector.
“The play! Yes! The play! Please, I just must have her!!!” cried the Singi.
Wyima chose this moment to rush forward and explained some things that desperately needed a touch of clarity.
It turned out the Singi was the director of the play. Bartholomew Meow was his full name, and his status as a noble was evident. Well, in his mannerisms. It wasn’t so much his appearance that backed up his nobility.
Wyima explained, with a hint of annoyance and exasperation, a second time that the director only cared for things that were authentic, which included emotions. He couldn’t stand for anything artificial.
“I hope his… uniqueness… didn’t frighten you away. In my decade of being his casting director, not once has he ever acted like this.”
Momo turned to Wyima’s face, then to the director, who had a giant grin. Then she looked at Servi, who was simply resting her eyes while slightly squirming. “Servy,” she whispered. “It sounds to me like they’re offering you a part. It’s up to you if you want to do it.”
With the subtleness of leaking water in a storm, Servi nodded her head and slowly opened her ruby-colored eyes. She stared hard and long at the face of her guardian, then turned to look at the two directors.
“Yes! Fantastic!! Wonderful! Fantastically wonderful indeed!!!” Bartholomew danced in place. He then ran behind the stage’s curtain, returning a moment later with a chair in tow. He slapped it down behind the desk Wyima once sat at and looked down at a rather long list of people who wanted to be a part of his production.
“And with that, I suppose it is time for this audition to get underway,” Wyima said, looking at the director, who tapped the desk with an impatient hand. “If you two wish to watch the auditions, then feel free to sit where you please. Information such as the script, rehearsal dates, and anything else necessary will be given at the end.”
“Okay. That sounds good. Come on, Servy,” Momo said. She nodded to Wyima, who turned around and went towards the desk. Momo and her friend gleefully hopped down the stairs and walked over to a nice, comfy pair of seats located about halfway up. They had taken a seat on the right side, which was probably good because she felt stares of jealously drill a hole in the back of Servi’s head.
She knew they probably didn’t like the fact that someone unknown came in and wowed the director with a heart-moving display of anguish. Soon after thinking that, her attention was swallowed by the luxurious cloth her arms rested against. The chairs themselves were like nothing she had ever sat in. Even the chair at Srassa’s house couldn’t compare to the level of comfort her rump was feeling. It didn’t feel like leather, but it wasn’t cloth either. Perhaps it was a mix of them? Or maybe it was from some other material the common-minded Momo wasn’t cultured about.
She looked over at Servi, whose hand was rested firmly on the armrest she and Momo shared. Her hand was turned over, with her palm facing the ceiling. Momo rested her hand atop of it, then curled her fingers downward. She squealed with glee when Servi gave her hand a squeeze or three. The Singi wanted to stare at her lovely Servi just a bit longer, but Wyima’s distinct voice snatched her attention.
Eh, I can stare at Servy anytime I want. And I’m a bit excited!!! I’ve never seen a play before, much less watched the audition of one!!! Servy, I do hope this helps you figure out your emotions. Even if it doesn’t, I don’t think it’ll be a waste of time.
