Post by Thomas "Tomcat" Thompson on Mar 15, 2017 3:16:45 GMT
Open to all
Stark darkness concealed Tomcat as he sat atop the catwalk - a very fitting place for such a man to be. With a soft violet glow, his eye traced the movements of one of the main vocalists as she stepped with dainty movements between the lights that danced across the stage as the song morphed. He had seen her earlier - or heard her, rather. Not singing, but expressing some views of anderswelter that were much less than kind.
So, he'd deal with that attitude of her's tonight, he told himself. He hadn't seen the show before - or much of any show, as this kind of entertainment was beyond what he could afford, with both money, and time - but he knew enough about the mechanics of the curtains and the way the actors went about themselves backstage (thanks to conversations he had as a child with the son of man who was in charge of the work house, a kid who had a secret love of theater that he was too scared to share with his father, or most anybody else,) that he had a little impromptu idea in mind.
Getting inside the building was a cinch. The doors to the back were propped open for some reason, (perhaps due to the heat from the lights from the stage?,) causing infiltration to be no more than child's play. From there, he found his way onto the catwalk, and scanned the area, formulating a plan in his head. Then, with this idea in mind, he performed a few... secret alterations, to the set up. None that would be noticed too quickly. Now he waited. For the first part of his plan was to wait.
And it was good timing, it seemed, as the sound cut off and the lights dimmed, rising back up to another group of actors, all playing their parts. The woman he had his eye on scampered backstage into a small booth to quickly change costumes....
And Tom, who had already gotten a notch done on the rope with his knife, finished the job.
The curtains, both that in front, sitting open, and the ones spitting the backstage into segments, crumpled to the ground, knocking over the makeshift booth in which the woman was changing in the process, leaving the audience in plain view of the humiliated actress in her undergarments. The crowd gasped - those that could see her, and Tom stifled a laugh, scampering down the catwalk stairs and out the back door, stopping in that back alleyway and letting the laugh he stifled while in the theater loose.
Stark darkness concealed Tomcat as he sat atop the catwalk - a very fitting place for such a man to be. With a soft violet glow, his eye traced the movements of one of the main vocalists as she stepped with dainty movements between the lights that danced across the stage as the song morphed. He had seen her earlier - or heard her, rather. Not singing, but expressing some views of anderswelter that were much less than kind.
So, he'd deal with that attitude of her's tonight, he told himself. He hadn't seen the show before - or much of any show, as this kind of entertainment was beyond what he could afford, with both money, and time - but he knew enough about the mechanics of the curtains and the way the actors went about themselves backstage (thanks to conversations he had as a child with the son of man who was in charge of the work house, a kid who had a secret love of theater that he was too scared to share with his father, or most anybody else,) that he had a little impromptu idea in mind.
Getting inside the building was a cinch. The doors to the back were propped open for some reason, (perhaps due to the heat from the lights from the stage?,) causing infiltration to be no more than child's play. From there, he found his way onto the catwalk, and scanned the area, formulating a plan in his head. Then, with this idea in mind, he performed a few... secret alterations, to the set up. None that would be noticed too quickly. Now he waited. For the first part of his plan was to wait.
And it was good timing, it seemed, as the sound cut off and the lights dimmed, rising back up to another group of actors, all playing their parts. The woman he had his eye on scampered backstage into a small booth to quickly change costumes....
And Tom, who had already gotten a notch done on the rope with his knife, finished the job.
The curtains, both that in front, sitting open, and the ones spitting the backstage into segments, crumpled to the ground, knocking over the makeshift booth in which the woman was changing in the process, leaving the audience in plain view of the humiliated actress in her undergarments. The crowd gasped - those that could see her, and Tom stifled a laugh, scampering down the catwalk stairs and out the back door, stopping in that back alleyway and letting the laugh he stifled while in the theater loose.