World of Orrison

The streets, lined with masks, brought to the surface an old memory. Triton passed by a group of costumed humans. Dodging past, he slipped down an alley and let out a sigh as he leaned against the wall. Why didn’t I get a costume? Triton wonders.

Well, it’s never too late.

===

There’s no rest for the wicked and no peace for the orphans. Triton scampered down the street with a pocket-full of stolen fruit, round purple orbs and strange red shapes. The tenth face of Mylic had turned to Orrison, and Triton, like other street rats, took the opportunity to eat well.

With costumes and masks abound, this season proved the most lucrative. After all, no one could tell you from the crowd when you walked around disguised. A new costume every day and you could have meals three times a day. Triton himself had his source for costumes, a little hole cut into the wall of a theatre where he could worm his way in and snatch a set of clothes.

It was that very street the boy turned down, scaling the walls with ease until he settled into a small nook that oversaw the area. Triton fished out a fruit from his costume pockets and popped it into his mouth. The juice splashed his tongue, pleasantly cool.

Below him, a family of Immanu came by, the mother scrambling after the child. When caught, the child only giggled beneath its skeleton mask, unaware of its mother’s exasperation. “I’m hungry, I’m hungry,” the child chirped, wiggling in its mother’s arms.

Triton chewed on another fruit, one hand going to his neck, fingering his gills. The Immanu mother obliged the child, and Triton lost his appetite.

Stuffing the fruit back into his pockets, Triton slunk down and towards the cranny where he could slip into the theatre. With few showings that week, the theatre remained cavernous to the young boy, and Triton easily slipped through the darkness into the costume storage. He hung up the feathers and the cloak and the Luto mask.

In the back, Triton found an Immanu mask and a hooded coat with long ears. Slipping both on, he puffed up his cheeks and blew, trying to vent mist from his gills - the same way he’d seen his caretaker do when he was very, very young. But nothing happened.

Triton touched his gills again and secured the mask tighter.

===

“The Komedie Cruelle comes to the Liliyasha Theatre for the week!” a Chimia with flyers hawked. The bright lights of the theatre behind the Chimia glimmered, and Triton in the shadow snorted. “Come see the show! I guarantee you it will be the laugh of a lifetime!”

Triton took a flyer and headed into the theatre - he outgrew the makeshift entrance he used as a child so long ago. But he had other ways of getting places, and this was one. Head high, Triton walked among the bustling crowd getting tickets and heading for seats and walked right into the backstage.

To the quiet murmuring of rehearsed lines and the bustling of actors getting dressed, Triton entered the costume storage. Weaving through the aisles and narrowly avoiding a group of Rrex making their rounds, Triton found the back of the room and a familiar Immanu mask. He took it, and the coat, which had been so big on him as a child.

Getting out was far easier than getting in, especially with a mask on. Triton didn’t need the disguise to eat well anymore, and didn’t need it to pretend to be something he wasn’t, but as he walked among the crowd, he smiled under the mask.

He scaled the beams up to the catwalks and then a little higher, into the dark pockets where the lights didn’t reach and where the stagehands wouldn’t be expecting a human. The crowd went hush as the curtains began to part. And Triton settled in to watch the Komedie Cruelle.

His hand reached up to touch his gills, and they fluttered when he exhaled.