#fff184

[nyamadermont]

Setting the Stage

#FFF184 Set the Stage

@flashfictionfridayofficial

Avatar: The Legend of Korra

901 words

[Image ID: A rectangle with vertical red stripes like a stage curtain, with the text “#FFF184 Set the Stage” centered in white.]

Today’s the day.

Kya’s mind was already racing before her eyes opened. She took stock of the sunlight and shadows outside, and gave herself about six hours.

The hospital was aware that calling her in had best be for a very short list of very serious reasons, at least three of which were not physically possible (to her knowledge). She knew Opal and Jinora were serious about their boyfriends, but none of them were becoming parents any time soon. Lin was out of town, so should not be in any danger whatsoever of winding up on a surgical table. And her mother was safely at the South Pole, under Senna’s watchful eye.

She wriggled under the sheets, greedily stretching out in all directions. She contracted her stomach to sit upright and stretch with a playful groan.

The cool breeze from the window thrilled her skin, and spread a smile across her face.

Time to get busy!

With unaccustomed speed, she cleaned up, got dressed, and ate a decent breakfast.

The whole time, she was nearly dancing with excitement.

Her list was ready. Her money was ready. Her (ok, Lin’s) sato was ready. Now, for everything else.

The pickup at the dress shop? Too much fun to rush. Done.

Swinging in at the tailor’s? Can’t turn down the offer of tea. That would be rude. But soon enough, done.

A stop by the florist? Done in minutes.

A last pass through the grocery store? Took about ten minutes too long, but done.

Everything collected, Kya struck out for the park.

She pulled into the lot and parked. The cart she brought wasn’t quite big enough for everything, so suddenly, she had a bit of a problem. One hand on her hip, she glared at her car, thinking hard.

“Hey, Kya!”

The voice carried from far across the parking area. She turned to see Korra and Asami, hand in hand, walking over in her direction. She watched them, clearly happy to see her, but still quite focused on each other. She felt about four different smiles cross her face before the pair made it close enough for hugs.

Asami took a step back, and gave her predicament a professional appraisal. “Could you use a couple of hands carrying a few things?” Kya could see the narrowed eyes, the tightly restrained smirk.

I think she’s on to me.

“Hands? Who needs hands? You have the Avatar at your service!”

With that, Korra swirled her hands, and lifted the cart on a tightly spun wheel of air. Kya and Asami laughed, but pulled out the final few items. They wandered through the park until they came up to a small pavilion with a low stone table.

In just a moment, the girls had set up a small tent, hanging the two garment bags inside. Korra’s airbending came in handy as she strung lights and a few red curtains in strategic locations around the pavilion's eaves.

Asami took charge of the food and flowers, laying out a luscious display on the table and setting the cushions just as Kya would have. When she stepped back, she noticed Korra was settling back to the ground. Kya’s back was turned and Asami waved to attract Korra’s attention. With some vigorous eyebrow wiggles and wide-eyed encouragement, she finally got through Korra’s obliviousness.

Korra gasped.

Kya snapped up straight. “Korra? What’s wrong?”

Korra’s face lit up. “You’re just setting the stage, aren’t you?” She clasped her hands close to her chest. “Can we watch from over,” she whirled around and saw a far too-small bush just below the foot of the bridge. “There! That’s the same bush I hid in my first day in Republic City!”

She turned her eager face back to Kya, whose bemused grin gave Asami all the clue she needed to get the Avatar as far away as possible.

“Korra, dear, you promised Meelo.”

Korra looked confused. “Promised him what?”

Asami rolled her eyes dramatically before giving Kya a sideways glance. “Someone has to look out for them, right?”

Kya just laughed and hugged them both. “Thank you. I have a lot more time because of your help. I think we’ll see you later tonight.”

Asami was still laughing when Kya couldn’t see them anymore.

She picked up the basket of peonies and walked back to the car. Retracing her steps one more time, she laid them in an obvious path to the pavilion, leading right up to the tent. She ducked inside, and a few minutes later, emerged from the other side.

She settled onto her cushion to wait.

Lin said the two words she was asked to, then nothing again for several minutes.

Kya stood in her fitted blue suit, the setting sun lighting her from behind.

Lin emerged from the tent in the long-sleeved, deep-cut, high-slit emerald dress, her feet bare on the grass.

Kya stepped forward with a cup of tea.

Lin stared at her as Kya placed the cup in her hands and gently pushed her to drink. Lin held her gaze and drank.

She blinked and lowered the cup. She blinked rapidly several times before waving her hand above it.

A small gold ring floated up into her hand. She looked at Kya.

“You want me?”

Kya just nodded, her eyes bright.

Lin clenched the ring in her hand and leaned forward for a kiss.

“Yes,” they said in unison.

[enchanted-lightning-aes]

Behind the Curtains

A/N: just a tale of Tegan and her pals from Lines of A Script to Ignore! Where they’re doing their job and run into some inconveniences.^^

Word Count: 794

TW: None

***

"Is everyone ready for this?" Liandri asks. "I know I am."

"Glad to see someone prepared in advance," Pham grumbles. They flail their arms at the sides. "I should have had a warning label!"

Keeara twirls a lock of her lavender dreadlocks. "Can I be honest? I so did not get any memo it'd be today."

Pham huffs a heavy breath, harrumphing. "See? We are so gonna mess this up! If I'd known we'd be assigned to this, I wouldn't have thrown those previous props for nothin'."

With a shrug, Yu-Phin slides her phone over a table. "You're just gettin' antsy, no need to freak out. We can sort this out before things start."

Tegan drums her fingers along a script's cover.

She'd have an input, however, it might not allay Pham's current issues. They're worked up for today's agenda.

Behind the stage wings, they're lounging across backstage. Surrounded by decorations needing to be arranged across the stage. They're only missing some items to finish the look they need.

Since she worked at Boulevard Theatre, she managed to find a group of friends. Thanks to their mutual love of musicals and plays, they've developed a bond. They may have different skillsets, however, they have a common ground. She hadn't imagined how she'd be involved in such.

Prior to this, she only had two close friends, who she still hangs out with regularly. Despite how they might be busy with their own jobs as well.

Yet she has a balance between all the friends she's got. And she wouldn't have it any other way.

"I mean as long as we do fine," Tegan says, propping her chin at the back of her hand. "We won't have much trouble."

"Who am I to complain? We're gonna get glamorous costumes," Liandri says with a blissful sigh. "A bit of mystery with 1920's Harlem flair!"

Yu-Phin grins. "Yeah! It's what I've been waiting for weeks! If things go well, it's gonna be glamorous and chic!"

"Can't argue with that." Keeara tilts her head to the side, adjusting her cardigan sleeves.

Pham plops down on a crate, frowning. "I suppose I probably need to chill out."

"Just 'probably', huh?" A corner of Tegan's mouth rises.

Some of the others snicker at her usage of air quotes. Pham throws a glare, only knitting their brows together. They tug on their beanie, aiming it at her. As if they'd smack her with it like a glove.

Eh. She'd like to see them try.

"Don't be imprudent, young lady!" Pham lightly swats it on her upper arm, tsking. They raise their head. "Shameful! No one taught you manners?"

The rest of her friends begin cracking up, hooting and hollering at their antics. Tegan shrugs, stifling a chuckle threatening to take over her.

"To be fair, you look like you're about to break into a soliloquy."

"Hey! Take that back! This instant!"

"Whoa, let's not get hasty!" Yu-Phin saunters, blocking Pham's way to her. She lifts a hand. "We got priorities to focus on."

"Of course," Pham mutters, taking a step back. "Anyways, don't we need some backgrounds? I'd have got it done if I'd known."

"We can split into groups," Liandri suggests, her expression placid. As if she wasn't about to witness a beatdown. "Alright: Keerara and Pham, y'all go to a store to buy a background. Or print one."

Keeara nods as Pham crosses their arms, striking a rebellious sort of aura. Tegan flicks a glance at Keeara, who compresses her lips.

Tegan dusts her shirt. "I'm sure we can get this done by tomorrow."

"Yup, the production won't start until next week," Yu-Phin adds, clapping. "For now, we got to set things up."

"Alright, sure." Pham beckons at a path at a corner.

As Keeara goes after Pham, Liandri and Yu-Phin examine the props and things they've got.

They gathered the boxes containing different types of props to set the stage up. It had been a Renaissance-themed sort of play. Masquerade balls and all that jazz.

Initially, she had been hesitant of the concept. It had been rather unconventional even for this theatre company. However, her interest started rising as she reevaluated on what it presented to the table, so to speak.

"Okay then!" Yu-Phin saunters towards a pile of boxes, flourishing them. "Let's get started, shall we?"

Liandri chuckles, patting her at the back. They both squeal and laugh again. Tegan grins, moving her folder back into her backpack.

Someday if she progresses in her job, this will lead her to bigger things. If her own musical launches, she looks forward to these shenanigans on opening night.

With her friends preparing to unpack the décor, Tegan follows them. She picks up a package, scanning on what wonders it contains.

***

[caranox]

Flash Fiction Friday Prompt #184: Set the Stage @flashfictionfridayofficial

Final Performance

Dark streaks cut through the fingertips of Grey's near-black gloves from every blade of grass he ripped from the ground. Much like the flowers planted in patterns throughout the enclosed courtyard, its scent was sickeningly sweet.

Overwhelming.

Just like everything else he'd encountered in this lush prison while he and the others like him awaited their fate. Ironically, he hadn't slept the first night because the bed felt too soft and the room too quiet because he'd grown used to hard or thin mattresses and mutters fluttering in through windowpanes. He'd clawed at his dress shirt's fitted collar and cuffs over the past week as he savored the memory of the loose-fitting, ratting jacket and long-sleeved tee the wardens dumped in the trash shortly after he'd stepped foot inside this purgatory.

The lavishness of it all felt so utterly wasted, which is why he protested by sitting in the freshly cut garden with guards frowning at their posts by all the exits. None of them came over and hauled him to his feet, though. After all, could they really deny him this insignificant act?

So he sat, stretching out while he watched two other men sort through the weaponry rack under the small overhang on the chalk-outlined arena for a match. He strained to listen in on their hushed conversation, his stomach knotting at the tired glance one gave the other.

Grey knew that look. He knew it all too well from the past few weeks of running from this very place, practically hand-in-hand with him until they finally reached a dead-end. That was when he'd seen the hopelessness in his eyes, like the last of the sand trickled out of their hourglass.

Resignation laced with a pinch of optimism.

"What's the point?"

Grey stiffened, his head jerking to take in the scowling young woman standing next to him. The gold buttons of her double-breasted blazer glinted in the sun, but her features darkened as she crouched down next to him.

"It's a waste of time to practice," she grumbled.

"What makes you say that?" Grey asked, hating how quiet he sounded in comparison to her sharp words.

She sighed and rolled her eyes. "Think of us like actors waiting on the debut night of a play."

Grey cut her a quizzical look, but her solemn gaze was still set on the practice sword fight.

"Because once the fair folk set the stage, we die. The end."

[riemmetric]

The Terraformers | Original Fiction

Note: Inspired by Adrian Tchaikovsky’s Children of Memory and the songs “What A Wonderful World” by Louis Armstrong, based on today’s prompt from @flashfictionfridayofficial​​ : set the stage. A very short Sci-Fi piece, my specialist genre. 

I traveled with my mind far into the future and I saw them:

A woman sitting alone in the suspension chamber, talking to the people who sleep inside the pods. Her task is contained within a single sentence – assemble the first group of colonists – but contains a multitude of nuances and complexities. She walks among the frozen bodies and reads out their list of qualifications, as if conducting a job interview. Joanne, it says here you have a PhD in education science. I’m sure you wrote a beautiful thesis, but it’s not quite what we are looking for right now. Hang tight though! The schools you dream of right now are going to be built someday. James, I see you’re an experienced climatologist. We don’t have much weather right now, but it’s good to stay on top of things. This time, we’ll do everything right. Get ready, in a week you’ll be watching the rise of your new home’s sun.

A scientist in the laboratory, performing soil experiments. He looks at the terrariums he built, he caresses the makeshift earth and pride shines in his eyes. They’ll coat the vastness of rock that awaits them with this mud bustling with life and they will watch it birth moss, grass, tall trees to be used for building homes and starting bonfires, and flowers, oh, above all else, flowers. Beauty will bloom from the slimy substance he holds in his palm.

An electrician in his workshop within the belly of the ark ship, building generators. Let there be light. They will need illumination down there, the work too important to let it rest at night, and, when it will be done, they will want to turn on the lights and look at their creation in all its splendor.

The librarian, the sole representative of the humanities awake right now, browsing through the archive. She’s making a list and checking it twice, thrice, twenty times, of poems and stories and windows into the past, to bring into the first settlement. They will work their bodies to the bone down there, and she will need to make sure they don’t lose their soul. This is the seed that will birth their culture. She will nurture it and she will make sure it grows strong roots in the wasteland below, and she will make sure it bears sweet fruit.

The planet waiting for them below. A baren land, a beautiful canvas, ready to be painted with all the colors of life. A stage fashioned by the unrelenting forces of the universe, ready to be lit up.

And I thought to myself, what a wonderful world. 

[writing-far-too-badly]

Set the Stage

Thank you for the prompt @flashfictionfridayofficial ! Brought back great memories of working behind the scenes on some shows

the ghost light is the only thing I see until my groping finds and flips the switch somehow the set-up goes without a hitch so closing up, I turn and lock the key the next day lighting shows us what will be the players come and quickly find their pitch the light ops finally find that evil glitch "you think we're ready now?' it's asked to me I look at what our hands have carefully wrought from where they sit, the painting looks like stone the booklet's turned, we're on the final page and just like that, the show we've finally brought and we leave then, the ghost light all alone and when we leave, the actors take our stage

[on-noon]

Preparing the Stage

for the @flashfictionfridayofficial prompt

Val went to her job, entered through the back door of the theater. Her boss saw her enter.

“Can you set the stage for tonight? Comedy show, two comedians,” the boss said.

Val nodded, and went into the theater. She cleared the table and chairs off the stage, and swept the floor.

She took out two stools from the closet, set them towards the front of the stage. Then she set up the microphones. She adjusted the microphone angles. 

Val sat down on a stool, to test the microphone.

“Testing, testing. This is Val of the Winds, hear to give you a show. A gust here to give a show to no-one.”

She then started singing.

“Standing here alone, no one there who sees me. Other people like stone, nothing I do will change them.”

She then looked up to the clock, rushed out of the room. The two comedians entered and settled into their routine. Jokes they’d told at location after location. Jokes that had been told by others.

Val went to sell tickets.

[renee-writer]

Stage Setting

For @flashfictionfridayofficial 184 anon prompt.

What are troubles?

Heartbreak and chaos?

Fears and doubt?

It is easy to think of them as something we must dredge through ourselves

Relying on our own strength

That isn’t so

No!

For they set the stage

For the most  Miraculous, the most Amazing

Intervention

If we could fix the problems ourselves

Well then

We wouldn’t be blessed to see

His work, His amazing Grace

Lifting us up

Setting our feet on solid Rock

The world is a stage

Where, right now, Satan rules

But,

God has the final act

Trust in Him

Lean on Him

Let your Faith be strengthened by trouble

Remember

It is only stage dressing

God is at the final curtain call.

[polizwrites]

Variations on a Theme

There’s a definite theme to the Secret Santa presents Sam is receiving; only in retrospect does he see how they set the stage. 

Fandom: MCU/Marvel Pairing:  Sam Wilson & Clint Barton (pre-slash) Rating: General Tags:  Avengers as family,  Secret Santa, mutual pining, fluff Word Count: 792 words

Some belated holiday fluff that is a fill for today’s  @flashfictionfridayofficial  prompt [#FFF184 Set the Stage] as well as my @samwilsonbingo  Mini Holiday Round  A1 -  Secret Santa.

Sam nearly tripped over what turned out to be the first gift of the Secret Santa Exchange at the Compound: it was a twenty pound bag of birdseed that had been leaning against his suite’s door. Stuck to it was a note that read, “Now you can take all your feathered friends out to dinner.”

“Very funny,” Sam muttered under his breath as he hefted the bag up on one shoulder and brought it inside. That said, it wouldn’t go to waste; he’d been thinking of buying a bird feeder or two.

The second present was sitting on the shared kitchen counter the next morning – a less-than-neatly wrapped round, flat package. Sam opened it to discover a clock that would play bird calls on the hour. This note read: “Some sweet songs to brighten your day.”

“I’m sensing a theme here,” Steve commented dryly; Sam had told him about the birdseed the day before.

Sam narrowed his eyes.  “This isn’t your doing, is it?”

Steve gave him an affronted look. “You know we’re not supposed to reveal our Secret Santa until the end of the week.”

“Uh-huh.”

Day Three’s present was actually kind of cool - a model kit of an F-16 Flying Falcon. “Changing directions a bit - thought you might like to build a version of your namesake.” Sam spent the afternoon putting it together on a table in the corner of the shared living room; he wanted whoever his Secret Santa was to see that he appreciated the gift.

Day Four’s gift was a hat and mittens. They were grey with a speckled black and white border to match the coloring of a peregrine falcon. “Figured you probably weren’t used to Upstate New York winters yet.” Sam racked his brain to figure out who at the Compound knew he was from Louisiana as he tried them on. He made sure to wear them when the team went out for dinner that evening.

Sam came back to his room after a morning run with Steve to discover what had to be his final Secret Santa gift sitting on his own kitchen table: a life-sized origami peregrine falcon. Sam whistled slowly as he circled the table, looking at it from every angle. Sure, he was a little irked that someone had entered his room while he was gone, but this gift felt much more personal than the others he’d received and appreciated the more private delivery.

A metallic creak came from the ceiling behind him, followed by a quiet grunt. Sam whirled around just in time to see Clint hanging out of the ceiling vent before flipping and landing on his feet. “So - what do you think?” The excited and hopeful look on his teammate’s face was only somewhat marred by the streaks of dust; it just figured that Sam’s Secret Santa would be the guy he’d been crushing on for the last month.

“You know normal people use the door,” Sam teased. “And how do you even get around up there with those amazing shoulders and biceps of yours?” He bit his tongue; he hadn’t exactly meant to say the second part.

“I think Stark had the vents built extra large, just in case we needed escape routes, “Clint replied, seemingly oblivious to the compliment. “Did I do okay with your gifts?”

“They were all great,” Sam answered with a grin. “How long did this beauty take you, anyways?”

“A couple of hours,” Clint shrugged; Sam raised an eyebrow. “Okay, a bunch of hours over a couple of days. But it was worth it for you.”

Sam couldn’t stop his cheeks from heating at Clint’s words. “Thanks, man. These are the best Christmas presents I’ve gotten in a long while.”

“I’m glad - I know the first two were a bit dorky, but I couldn’t think of anything else to start with.” Clint replied, his own cheeks going a bit pink. “Did you see what Sam Junior is holding?”

Sam rolled his eyes a little at the name, but reached over and gently pulled the paper out of the figure’s beak. It was a voucher for two tickets to the Intrepid Sea, Air and Space Museum.

“This is .. I’ve been wanting to go here ever since they got the Space Shuttle Enterprise!” Sam exclaimed, then looked them over more carefully. “But they’re more than the fifty dollar limit Steve set. “

“Yeah, um, so…” Clint scrubbed at the back of his neck, “They’re not actually part of your present. They’re more .. like… for a date.”

Sam’s heart skipped a beat, even as he tried to play it cool. “A date, huh? I’d like that.”

“Really?” A relieved grin lit up Clint’s face.

“Yeah, really.” Sam reached out and took Clint’s hand.

[onceuponanaromantic]

the quirks of precipitation

(Written for @flashfictionfridayofficial​‘s prompt FFF184: Set the Stage. Enjoy!)

             A young woman places her hands down on the table. “The Agency suspects that you’re the one behind the diplomat’s information being stolen at the Acheron Ball.”

             “Oh?”

           She sighs. “They think the green fire that took the stage and distracted everyone was your doing. And that it’s all a distraction so that someone could steal information from that diplomat.”

           “They would be right about that.”

           “The problem is that they’ve now sent a student as your next assistant to try to figure out how you did it while having no weapons or tools on you, and only having access to the tablecloths of all things before that.”

                       The alchemist looks up. “In fairness, I didn’t do the actual stealing. Merely, ah, setting the stage.”

 --

                         The lab is quiet except for the steady drip of a pale green liquid into a flask and the rattling of the outer pane of the window. The sunlight paints the alchemist’s face golden, though upon first sight, she hadn’t found anything particularly remarkable about her. Her face was plain by the standards of the faerie, and all she wore on her within the lab was a white lab coat stained at the pockets and sleeves.

             “It helps if you keep your wrist still.” She nearly starts at the voice, though the alchemist doesn’t appear to have taken her eyes of her own work. “Rest your elbow against the table and tilt the flask slightly.”

             She looks down at the splatter of blue-green sediment that had gotten out of the flask at her latest drop. Another drop spilled out, making the liquid inside shake ominously.

             “What am I supposed to be seeing if this works?” she asks curiously, “Because I don’t think this is working.”

             The alchemist looks up at her briefly. “Oh, you’ll notice the difference. Trust me on that.”

             It takes her until nearly sunset to see the pale bronze form on the surface of the bottle. It turns out, the bronze only forms when the blue settles and she had been agitating it too much.

             And of all the things, the alchemist just takes the blue liquid and uses it as ink.

 --

On the afternoon of the fifth day she’s there, a young woman comes around midday, her pants fluttering about her ankles and the charms on her earrings swinging in the wind she brings.

 “I’ve brought you lunch. And those notes you requested from the Eastern library.” She says, swinging herself easily onto one of the stools near where the alchemist is filling in some sort of table. “I expect you to eat it.”

 “Is this your latest attempt at poisoning me, Astoria?” The alchemist asks, turning back to your work. “I need to finish this experiment.”

 There’s a loud popping noise from where the flame encounters the flask.

 The young woman heaves a long-suffering sigh. “I make your favourite, since you’ve been spending days on end in the lab, and this is the thanks I get.” She notices the assistant, turning to look at her. “Oh, you must be her latest victim. Do you want some?”

 She doesn’t recall anything about another sister, apart from the famous assassin, but all the same, she looks warily at the food before hastily looking away before the woman can catch her.

 “I haven’t poisoned it.” Astoria says, her eyes smiling.

“Go ahead and eat.” The alchemist says, continuing to poke at the bronze substance from earlier, writing something on the strange rough paper. “I’ll eat when I’m done.”

“She refuses to type out her notes.” The assistant says. “Says she likes the feeling of paper better.”

 --

 “Does she possess any skill in combat?” she finally asks, after a week or two of Astoria’s visits.

“Nope.” Astoria says.

“Metallurgy?”

“Nope.”

“Does she do this all the time?” She says despairingly. She had long since began to suspect that the Agency was wrong and there was nothing this alchemist was capable of except boring her to death with constant dripping of liquids. Really, the only excitement was when she briefly set fire to some strange metal, but it flickered out just as quickly, far from enough to actively hurt anyone.

 “Yep.”

“So can she fight at all?”            Astoria’s eyes take on a keen glint, even as she stares into the distance. The alchemist had gone out, because she needed a sample of something or another, leaving her and Astoria alone in the lab, ostensibly to keep an eye on some of the longer running experiments. She had noted that, but she didn’t do anything interesting with the samples, so she hadn’t bothered continuing to update on that.

 “What makes you think that’s important?”

 --

           “So can you?”

           “Can I do what?” The alchemist says, blowing out a splint from where she had touched it to an odd bubbling purple liquid. The flask from her first day was sitting in the corner, catching the light. The purple had somehow come from the bronze from earlier, dissolving in some transparent liquid.

             “Fight.”

           “I can’t do hand to hand combat if that’s what you’re asking.”

           “So what do you do when you need to defend yourself in an environment when you have no weapons?”

             The glance that the alchemist shoots at her makes her think she’s been discovered. Perhaps she is obvious, but it’s been a month and there’s nothing at all that can be tied to the level of green flames that had consumed the whole stage, or the subsequent explosion of sound that had distracted the whole crowd.

             “What makes you think you’re ever in an environment with no weapons?” She merely sounds curious, as she dips her pen in the same blue liquid she had made up on the first day, and continues to write.

 --

           On the final evening with the alchemist, she simply nods at both her and Astoria.

             “Thanks for the time here.” She presses her fingers to the edge of her skirt. “Just, uh, okay, honestly they sent me here because they thought you had something to do with the fire at the Acheron Ball. But I don’t think so. And I’ve said so. All you’ve done is a lot of note-taking.”

             “That’s nice of you.” The alchemist says, placing a lighted splint against some of the notes she had discarded earlier. The paper catches fire. “I’ll see you around, I suppose.”

             As she walks out, she could almost have sworn the flames that touched the ink were green.

  --

           “Well, at least those notes got to good use when I delivered them over.” Astoria says, leaning over her sister’s arm. “And she didn’t even notice that the chemical was right under her nose.”

             “They still haven’t figured out who exactly stole the notes.” The alchemist merely sounded entertained by this.

             Astoria’s smile turned into a smirk. “Well, if you set the stage, someone had to perform, no?”

[misfit-one]

Preparations

FFF184 Set the Stage for @flashfictionfridayofficial​

word count: 856

Content warnings: none I think Setting: DnD, Castle Ravenloft, 

“My lord?” I glared at the tall dusk elf that peaked in the door. Did he even knock? Probably. He knows my thoughts have been easily distracted since I bumped into the burgomaster’s daughter the other day. Fate that plumb little kid had grown into a beautiful young lady. “There are new adventures in our realm.” “Yes.” Maybe I can fly down to the village tonight and confirm my suspicion. Nothing like the taste, just a tiny sip, to be certain. Much to my disappointment, he spoke again. “Shall I invite them for dinner?” “Dinner? Oh, dinner - yes, yes of cause. Let’s see what they are made of. Where are they now?” “The Inn at the village.” “Barovia?” I jumped to my feet. “I shall invite them myself.” And visit the burgomaster’s daughter on the way back. “My lord, do you think that is wise?” How dare he? I am not old and weak. In fact, I have not felt more invigorated for years, not since her last death. My eyes darted to the painting of Tatyana, still as radiant as it had been over four centuries ago when she posed for it. “Ah, you hope to meet Irina.” “It’s Tatyana, you know it.” I hissed the words to my chamberlain, the only being that had stayed faithful throughout the centuries. The only person I trust, except for Tatyana. Yes, I may be a bit obsessed with her. Rahadin offered a vague smile. “And you know what happens every time you pursue her like that. You take a nip and the dark forces take her from you. You have no restraint. You play the exact same game every time and you lose her. Every time.” No one else would have dared to speak to me like that. No one else would have survived. I flopped back into the soft chair. “What do you suggest, then? That I give up - that is not within my control.” “I know. I suggest you set the stage right this time. Allow her to know you. Show her, that time has changed you into a much wiser man.” Difficult to argue with that reasoning. I sighed. Rahadin was always a much wiser man than me when it comes to women, not that I would ever admit it. “Well then what do you suggest?” “Send Escher.” “What?” “The boy needs to prove his loyalty. Send him, let him sing them the songs of your beautiful valley. Let him invite them and Irina.” “And why would she come with them? How is that not suspicious? How is that better, than what I have done before? It’s not like her soul hates me.” There must be something he has not told me. “Her brother saw you.” “Fuck!” I hammered my hand onto the tea table and it cracked. Fuck indeed. “My lord!” Rahadin rolled his eyes, waved a hand and mended the crack before I got my wits together. “You can be very difficult at times. But if I may continue? Her brother saw you and hired the newcomers to escort her to Vallaki.” “Great. So her brother has warned her about me.” “Well, pretty much everyone has warned her about you. That is why you must do better. Charm her… no! Not by magic. Fates you are hopeless. No, invite them, and ask how you can help. If they need silvered weapons, give them some that are slightly better. Be their friend. Show them that it is not you, that is the problem in Barovia. Then hire them to crush the dark powers if they are able - not for you, but for Barovia” “Crush the… yes, that may work. Capture the bastard in a block of amber where he belongs. And then I can have Tatyana.” At least I hoped so. “Then Barovia will be free.” Free? What does that even mean? Will we return to the world we came from and leave this plane of mist, mountains and misery? With my luck we will probably turn to dust. I smiled sourly. Two hundred years ago I might have hoped we could break the curse that has kept us apart, me and my Tatyana, but free? It sounded downright terrifying. Rahadin must have read my mind. “Yes free. Don’t you want that? Don’t you want to end the endless circle of joy, grief and depressions?” I stared at Tatyanas portrait once again. “I will do it for her.” “Good.” Rahadin shone. “We send Escher. He will invite them and our new friends will free us from this curse or die trying.” “She may die trying.” “Then teach her.” “What?” “Teach her some of your arcane magic. Make her able to defend herself.” That sounded like the perfect excuse to see her and keep her here. “No you have to let her go questing with the others.” Did he read my mind? “Are you mad? Let her go questing, she will be killed.” “That my friend is entirely up to your teachings, will we try this my lord?” “Yes.” I stared at the webcovered ceiling. “Yes, very well then. The stage has been set.”