#➵ 𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃.┊❝ revue starlight. ❞

[asphuxia]

/ * REVUE STARLIGHT.

As opposed to outward appearances, the villa is all but abandoned within; the sets and people shift as easily as sand. It is a mess of organisation and as busy as a hive, the chatter of the crew only ever overpowered by D’Silva’s shouting. The castmates and stage crew are both assembled on set, and it does not take a keen eye to understand that they had no wishes to speak with them— if they were interested at all. They meander behind the productions, and Eir catches Mireille, D’Silva’s supposed ‘daughter’ keeping her eyes on them. Beside her is a youth who introduces himself as Donnie with a grin, though he seems clueless of his purpose here. Constantly on standby, and yet only ever needed to act as a stuntman— though he notes that none of the actors resemble him in the slightest. Eir frowns, slight, though she does not press further. Perhaps the both of them would warrant a revisit.

Pale eyes glaze over the structure of the rest of the building, and Mireille’s eyes follow them as they leave to observe the rest of its space. Rats follow their courses within the corners of the kitchen of the ground floor, slipping behind cupboards and leaving their spoils. It’s cluttered with evidence that crew members frequent the place, with dishes and pots stacked upon the countertop. It is nothing compared to the great kitchen within the academy’s dining hall, brimming with chefs and their assistants. The main stairwell is out of bounds, roped off for the safety of the crew— though it did not seem that anyone would wish to risk going up with it. Eir inspects it from where they stand; it seemed victim to rot, breakage, and general poor maintenance. But there are two more floors and plenty of other rooms within the villa left for them to explore, with the grace of the smaller stairway in the back of the kitchen.

They proceed upwards. Though the second floor seemed largely reserved for sets and other aspects of the production, the uppermost was intended to host dressing rooms and apartments. The third floor is mostly empty, with nearly all of those working on the project on set. A breeze whistles in through an open window, and the silence of the floor is nearly gratifying. Eir skims over the names upon the plaques as they proceed, taking note of what she could remember. A girl loiters around what is labelled as Adela’s apartment while the songstress performs below, possibly one of her attendants. Somehow, she reminds Eir of heroes within the Order— when they had little to do, substituted in battle for someone else. Bored. The Helian steels her nerves, and approaches. If they were to start anywhere, it may well be here.

The girl is leaning against the doorframe as they walk up to her, idly waiting around. As Eir introduces herself and the rest of her group, she exchanges her own name— Esa. Her demeanour seemed to glow far brighter than it had been only moments ago. Eir smiles; it was true, such simple greetings alone gave way to better days. She asks about the crew of whom Esa works with, to which she replies: “Oh the crew? They seem like OK folks. I haven’t been here long, but they’ve been nice enough to me. Why do you ask?”

“How long have you been here?” A pause. Eir hesitates; she tries to place her words carefully. “We are… looking for someone. Have you noticed anyone or anything… strange during your time here?” Eir glances at Adela’s plaque behind them. “… Or anyone notable at all?”

“I used to do maintenance for businesses around the opera house for… hm, probably a year. D’Silva asked me to come work on a new project he was starting a couple months ago, but he kind of made me think I’d be doing… well, more maintenance. Didn’t think I’d be waiting on a songstress.” She wrinkles her nose, but she doesn’t seem entirely displeased by the situation. She leans back against the doorframe as she gazes up at the ceiling to consider whether she had seen anyone of interest lately. “Anyone notable… To be honest, the staff is always changing. I couldn’t tell you who’s been here for months from the folks just visiting.”

Eir’s interest rises at that. So unused to the work, though she does not seem to be troubled with where she has landed. A slight tilt of her head; Eir studies her closely. “Adela, yes? What are your impressions of her?”

“What are you, reporters?” Esa laughs. “Miss MacFhearghail is nicer than you’d expect. Honest. I know she’s got some bad rep with folks but— I mean, I don’t know the details— but she’s been in this business a long time and she’s got the record to prove it. I don’t mind waiting on her, even if she can be fussy and ill-tempered sometimes.”

The noble nods, committing the information to memory. Perhaps it was worth speaking to the songstress when next she had time to herself… A slight frown pulls at the ends of her lips, puzzled as the Helian’s thoughts return to Esa’s previous words. “Is D’Silva so prone to sending home those who work for him? Surely he must keep more than some around with greater permanence.” On a project like this… and with mismatched talents? It seemed odd to need so many people if they were not adequately fitted to their purposes. Eir glances around, though she knows the only occupants of the floor were members of the crew. “Who visits the sets?”

“I don’t know if D’Silva is actually firing people or if they just… stop showing up. This ain’t exactly a standard job, and most of the crew is used to producing operas. Not to mention the actors… I get the impression they don’t think D’Silva’s vision will amount to anything in the end.”

Eir blinks. They did not think highly of this project— of their director’s ambitions at all, and yet would see it through to its end. Perhaps it is the marvel of D’Silva’s ‘miracle device’ that convinces them to stay? But if Esa is right, perhaps few are staying at all..

Esa stops to think again, this time for a long time, obviously digging deep into her memories to draw out an answer. “No one really stands out… Oh! I’ve seen a redhaired guy show up once or twice. Doesn’t hang out for long, but his hair—“ She makes a gesture like combing fingers through her hair, which is black and braided nearly to her waist. “It’s the color of an apple, I swear. You can’t miss ‘im.”

A furtive glance is given in the direction of the three who had accompanied her, to suggest that they approach the man Esa had described whenever he may appear. If he would be remembered for anything beyond the colour of his hair, it would be well for them to remember him as well. The possible suspects were far too many within this place… they must narrow down their search. Eir looks to Ophelia, who seemed that she might burst with questions to ask— and thinly smiles. Go ahead.

@sheereccentric , @valaskjlf , & @mjolnrr !