Re: The Grand Battle II! [Round 4: Showtime!]
02-08-2010, 05:26 PM
Originally posted on MSPA by Sruixan.
"Alright! Places everyone! Get these sets ready! Get some props up here. Tell the makeup artist to be ready! We're gonna give 'em a hell of a show."
Show? Oh, good grief. Makeup artist? For crying out loud. Props...
Ah... well, that wasn't too bad. Maxwell had had the privilege of loitering around Xavier as he helped out the local dramatic society and knew reasonably well what one could achieve with some papier-mache and a bit of imagination. Well, maybe a bit more than a bit, but the point still stood. The idea, however, of being thrust onto a stage, as was the inevitable conclusion of this foreshadowing waffle, and made to play a part? Especially considering that, what with this being a battle and all, it wasn't likely that the contestants would be mincing their way through the Classics, or acting out a neat little murder mystery. He had half a mind to bet that there'd be a gutter at the bottom of the stage just to make sure the orchestra didn't have to play the rather daunting piece, "Blood Red in Death major".
"If you need anything, ask me for it, and I'll see what I can do."
...a ticket out of here, please...
"Ten seconds. Nine. Eight."
Showtime. Cabaret would have bloomin' loved this. Pity on him, poor cha-
Why did he give you the mask? You never settled that line of inquiry, did you Maxwell? The train of thought got somewhat waylaid... it was precious enough for him to want to keep it from damage in the blast, and that means it must most definitely have had or indeed still have some significance, right? So... what does one do with a mask, Maxwell? Come on, it't not that difficult...
In the darkness, peppered only by the pinpricks assumed to be Vyrm'n's stars, Maxwell performed a last minute costume change. It was no rehersal, after all. He'd have to look his best for the crowd; they were expecting it.
And slaughter. I guess they're expecting that as well. I wonder if they know quite what they're going to be getting...
"Showtime."
With storybook timing, the deed was done. If he was honest, Maxwell was rather disappointed with the consequences - he'd expected at least a tingly sensation, or the awfully odd sound of someone tinkling some bells in his ear, but then again, pomp and circumstance was probably not the main concern to the person making a mask for a purpose far from the norm. Mind you, the curtains opening in sync was a nice touch. On the whole then, not bad. Would wear again.
The foremost issue raised by the mask was the fact that it was very likely crafted for the face of the magician especially. Consequently, Maxwell was having difficulty of shaking off the illusion of having a nose far wider than was achievable without being donated to a circus. He was relatively certain someone had just pushed Galus onto the stage, but for all he knew fuzzy blue snot had started flowing from his right nostril. But what was the more likely thing to have happened, considering especially that that was probably a tomato he could make out sailing through the vista offered by his left pupil...
Now, how had Cabaret done it? With the minimum of effort, if memory served. Concentration must play one heck of a role though, which might explain the ex-magician's luck with conjuring...
A flick of the hand, a twist of the wrist, a contortionist's job with the mind, and Maxwell was the proud owner of an exceptionally bemused goldfish, dripping slightly onto his shoes. He had half a mind to try for a bowl to keep the bugger in, but, considering that he'd been aiming for a turkey sandwich...
Oh, the curtains were on fire. Good show, Galus. So, make that one awkwardly large goldfish bowl, complete with two or three taps and a hose for good measure...
"Alright! Places everyone! Get these sets ready! Get some props up here. Tell the makeup artist to be ready! We're gonna give 'em a hell of a show."
Show? Oh, good grief. Makeup artist? For crying out loud. Props...
Ah... well, that wasn't too bad. Maxwell had had the privilege of loitering around Xavier as he helped out the local dramatic society and knew reasonably well what one could achieve with some papier-mache and a bit of imagination. Well, maybe a bit more than a bit, but the point still stood. The idea, however, of being thrust onto a stage, as was the inevitable conclusion of this foreshadowing waffle, and made to play a part? Especially considering that, what with this being a battle and all, it wasn't likely that the contestants would be mincing their way through the Classics, or acting out a neat little murder mystery. He had half a mind to bet that there'd be a gutter at the bottom of the stage just to make sure the orchestra didn't have to play the rather daunting piece, "Blood Red in Death major".
"If you need anything, ask me for it, and I'll see what I can do."
...a ticket out of here, please...
"Ten seconds. Nine. Eight."
Showtime. Cabaret would have bloomin' loved this. Pity on him, poor cha-
Why did he give you the mask? You never settled that line of inquiry, did you Maxwell? The train of thought got somewhat waylaid... it was precious enough for him to want to keep it from damage in the blast, and that means it must most definitely have had or indeed still have some significance, right? So... what does one do with a mask, Maxwell? Come on, it't not that difficult...
In the darkness, peppered only by the pinpricks assumed to be Vyrm'n's stars, Maxwell performed a last minute costume change. It was no rehersal, after all. He'd have to look his best for the crowd; they were expecting it.
And slaughter. I guess they're expecting that as well. I wonder if they know quite what they're going to be getting...
"Showtime."
With storybook timing, the deed was done. If he was honest, Maxwell was rather disappointed with the consequences - he'd expected at least a tingly sensation, or the awfully odd sound of someone tinkling some bells in his ear, but then again, pomp and circumstance was probably not the main concern to the person making a mask for a purpose far from the norm. Mind you, the curtains opening in sync was a nice touch. On the whole then, not bad. Would wear again.
The foremost issue raised by the mask was the fact that it was very likely crafted for the face of the magician especially. Consequently, Maxwell was having difficulty of shaking off the illusion of having a nose far wider than was achievable without being donated to a circus. He was relatively certain someone had just pushed Galus onto the stage, but for all he knew fuzzy blue snot had started flowing from his right nostril. But what was the more likely thing to have happened, considering especially that that was probably a tomato he could make out sailing through the vista offered by his left pupil...
Now, how had Cabaret done it? With the minimum of effort, if memory served. Concentration must play one heck of a role though, which might explain the ex-magician's luck with conjuring...
A flick of the hand, a twist of the wrist, a contortionist's job with the mind, and Maxwell was the proud owner of an exceptionally bemused goldfish, dripping slightly onto his shoes. He had half a mind to try for a bowl to keep the bugger in, but, considering that he'd been aiming for a turkey sandwich...
Oh, the curtains were on fire. Good show, Galus. So, make that one awkwardly large goldfish bowl, complete with two or three taps and a hose for good measure...