The Fox and Moon Inn Presents

Jericho

Always a man of theatrics, it likely had not been to anyone's surprise that he had taken interest in stage-dramas, a decision evoked by a large bottle of wine and too much time to think, discussed with no one in his band of bastards and presented to them as if this had been the best news they were ever going to receive. A leopard cannot change its spots, and Jericho's nature had not improved in the slightest-- Thieving in their own bloody houses, it could not get any better in the eyes of a man like him.

This happened, of course, when his request to perform their opening show at the Fox and Moon Inn came back as accepted, Jericho being quite ecstatic to hear the news. He knew little of the woman who runs the glorious establishment personally, but he knew absolutely that her business was illustrious, bound to draw in crowds of high-class mages with pockets aplenty for him and his troupe to pick... Hearts to steal, too, because when the night was over, Jericho was certain he was to receive too many invites to count on all of his fingers...

--

"Oh, isn't it wonderful?" He sighs, propping his head up on his palms and swinging his legs idly, listening to the crowds pouring in from his fainting couch backstage, "All of these people, here for little old me... I feel all... Aflutter-- would you hold my hand?" Jericho holds his hand outward in the vague direction of an innocent stage helper simply trying to do his job--

He does not.

"Hold it." No longer a question, Jericho's hand slides into the poor stranger's quickly, rendering him an embarrassed, nervy shadow in the corner of black-lined crimson eyes. Mercurial as ever, not one performer (ahem, thief) backstage has a single idea how their frontman is going to be from one man to the next, and if what they'd seen so far counts for anything, everyone, in seats or atop the stone stage, is in for a long, possibly dreadful evening. But, naturally, Jericho believes that this is going to be a night of naught but wonder, master craftsmanship on show for all to marvel at, an audience so utterly bewitched by the forty-year-old man in a frilly dress that they spread his name like a glorious wildfire amongst the ton.

There's hardly a minute more to rest though as a bell chimes backstage, the gentle call to actors that the show is set to begin soon. Jericho feels his heart skip a beat in the rush of excitement; Finally, something new to sink his teeth into, a break from the tedium and monotony of petty thievery! Added bonus that he's being allowed to flaunt his drama on top of a stage, attention firmly set on himself while the enraptured crowd watch in awe, unable to look away for even a second whether they want to or not...

With a drawn-out, dreamy sigh, Jericho promptly stands, brushes his hands together and claps his crew to attention. "Okay everyone! This is a big night for me-- Uhm, us, so I would like each of you to be on your best behaviour. I won't say messing up will get you thrown out of our little troupe but... Er, well, It'd do you good to keep that in mind, actually. Come now, make haste!" There's not a moment to waste as the gathering crowds take their seats... And then--

Curtains raise, and upon the stage stands Jericho, dressed in a pink frock and a pretty pair of heels, "Welcome, my wonderful guests, to a wonderful world brought to life by The Raven's Watch!" He dips into a deep curtsey, awaiting some kind of applause before beginning once more.

"I am excited to present to you my new, incredible piece of work to you all, and I do believe you are certain to enjoy it greatly! Presenting: Romerico and Jerichette, a tragic tale of forbidden love!"

With his final overdramatic introduction out of the way the candlelight fizzes out in a small gust of magic-induced wind, and the platform goes black--

... And remains black.

"What the bloody hell are you doing?" Jericho's hushed yell echoes throughout the room, "Where the devil are my lights! Someone please get my lights back on or so help me Fortune- I told you, Clancy, I said wait five seconds and then- " A sudden burst interrupts his whining and reveals him again, frozen in the corner and hitching up his skirts. He 'ums' for a second too long before backing away from the scene slowly, leaving the crowd to look upon the painted set.

"Two households, both alike in dignity, in fair Faline, where we play our scene,..." That bloody sing-song voice echoes out from behind a curtain, laying out the prologue of the grand show already off to an... Interesting start, "From... Old grudge break to new mutiny, where civil blood makes civil hands unclean... From forth the fatal loins-- Ehem, of these two foes, pair of star-cross'd lovers take their life..."

The voice prattles on while various workers appear, changing around the backdrop as quickly as possible, interrupting the speech with bangs and clattering. "What here shall miss, our effort shall try to fix- Oh for Graces sake can you not do that quietly?"

Well, onlookers have made their choice to attend and may now be finding themselves with several regrets; It is going to be a long evening with not a drop of talent seen... Exciting, or dreadful? [923]

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Ioeth

The Fox and Moon Inn is both—somehow—exactly what Ioeth imagined it to be, and yet something wholly unexpected. The intricate gold lettering of the poster had evoked a particular image; one of luxury and opulence, certainly a place Ioeth would never have set foot in, had Enn not suggested it… And yet, here they are. As they step outside the carriage Enn hired, the first thing they take note of is the particular scent that seems to waft through the air. Lavender, jasmine, and something like aromatic tea, mixed with a hint of sea breeze from the nearby Bay.

Stepping through the gate, overgrown with flowering vines, is like walking into a dream, or so they imagine. A lush garden, coming alive as the sun sets; flowers opening towards the night sky, extensive ponds glittering in the twilight, large shapes gliding effortlessly through the water. The building itself looms in the distance: intricate, lavish, extravagant.

Ioeth feels entirely out of place. The feeling is not helped by the gnawing feeling of their magic, or rather the lack of it; they are still far too weak for their comfort, even if they would be surprised to find a witchfinder patrol here. Their magic is there, but they simply cannot reach it, frustrating them to no end.

They hide it well, though, and glance at Enn from behind their dark glasses, worn to hide their eyes. A stupid thing to wear in the evening, perhaps, but the rest of their attire isn’t much better—a muted orange cape, carefully worn to hide their skeletal arms, and just managing to; a large, wide-brimmed hat, pulled down over the bright circle on their forehead; long gloves, hiding the skin of their hands; and to top it off, a long scarf, wound around their neck and piled across their shoulders. It all comes together in a ridiculous fashion, and despite their best efforts, the shadows around them seem to linger and darken—imperceptibly, unless looked for.

They follow a half-step behind Enn, who looks equally unlike himself, though Ioeth has to admit, a little less obvious—his dyed hair helps quite a bit.

A murmur of voices lead the way, an undertone of excitement in the sound, and soon the large room with its stage at the back appears before them.

“Seems like we are right on time,” they mutter, watching with interest as the stage hands begin to set the scene, and a man enters. His pink dress and dramatic flair singles him out as one of the performers. “Is that Jericho, you said?” (427)

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Enn

Grotesque. This show of wealth, this meaningless pit of cash, this- well he could go on. He had invited Ioeth to join him just yesterday, and it’d been a little spur of the moment idea. So was his disguise, his blonde hair hidden under a cover of black dye, the red eye hidden under a patch. He’d briefly thought to hide his blue eye instead, but his short stature together with the bright red sclera might be a little too easy. Enn’s heels didn’t add much, but enough he no longer stared directly at Ioeth’s chest all the time. His cloak was borrowed, and not perfectly his size, but enough it didn’t stand out. He didn’t own anything with purple himself, but it’d do for tonight. The disguise wasn’t perfect, but it was free of magic, and while he did not expect it’d fool anyone looking for him, he did expect no one to be looking for him. Not really.

Grotesque or not, the Fox & Moon Inn has a lot to be admired, and even Enn briefly gets caught up in the sight of the archways and the stars behind them. He comes to regret that almost immediately; tripping over the stone entry stairs, briefly grasping onto Ioeth and mumbling something about lacking depth perception. Angrily.

Finding the theatre in the Inn wasn’t too hard, they only had to follow the other guests. Some obviously mages, some hidden a bit more. Letting his own magic loose felt dizzying; and so he kept it tightly to himself, a non-mage unless otherwise needed. At least with Ioeth’s magic he felt familiar, choosing to reach out to it firstly, the darkness almost comforting.

Enn’s face tells nothing of any prior knowledge he might have had about the performers, or performer right now, the visible confusion dripping off of him. What were they watching? Was this a comedy? Actually- with that filter over it, it improved dramatically. “I think so,” he muttered back to Ioeth. “I’m not sure. I feel like I should’ve brought like, a little set of stairs or something.” Alas. He was quickly reminded of why he usually didn’t visit many events like this, besides the whole flaunting of wealth thing. Could be worse.

The story presented was about as cheesy as a choice of story could get, and Enn had to roll his eyes at it. “No, I’m quite sure, that’s him. The name gives it away, Jerichette, really?"

Enn nearly forgot to whisper, but an annoyed look from another visitor served as a good reminder. Perhaps this would be short, or maybe the bake sale would end up interrupting somehow. (442)

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