Post by Mr. Showtime on Feb 24, 2014 20:15:57 GMT -5
Andy Andy Andy Andy Andy Andy Andy Andy Andy Andy Andy Andy Andy Andy Andy Andy Andy Andy
“Stop it!” demands Michael Wryght, snapping at the man seated behind him. The man is completely aghast looking towards the woman sitting adjacent and says something under his breath. Those who frequent the New York City Ballet aren’t accustomed to being barked at during intermission, but it’s not often that they have a man with such an infliction within their ranks.
For Christmas Mr. Showtime purchased a pair of tickets to the ballet Jewels for Perfection, but the performance has come at the least opportune time. It’s a show broken up into three parts; Emerald, Ruby, and Diamonds. All through the first part the growing voice in Showtime’s head just constantly repeated the word Andy. It was almost enough to make a man go mad. Almost?
He sat through the Emerald performance without a word though, but the moment it was over he had asked Perfection to get him a bottle of water. The man behind him is only a casualty of inability to stay quiet any longer. Strangely enough it worked. The name is no longer repeating, but the voice isn’t gone either.
Andy must be destroyed. He mocks you when you are not in earshot. He claims to be the better champion.
Under his breath Showtime responded, “I will not, Andy is my friend.”
Friend may be a loose term, maybe the correct term is civil acquaintance. Either way he was someone that Showtime considered would have his back if he asked beforehand. Defiantly someone as a teammate could be trusted. Trust is in limited supply these days, and Showtime couldn’t give that up.
But he must. Weakness begets weakness. Enlightenment comes with costs.
“Well I don’t want to be enlightened!” Showtime says in a rage. Other patrons glance his way, and scoff at Showtime from afar. None audible enough to be heard.
Showtime’s mind fills with deafening laughter so intense it causes him double over and bury his face in his hands.
People do not choose to be enlightened, they are chosen. You have been chosen and by the end you will be gracious of your gift.
“Save it,” Showtime grumbles into his hands. “And I will not do anything to harm Andy.”
“Michael?” comes a voice over his shoulder. It gives him a great fright, but exhales at the realization that it is only Perfection with his beverage. “Are you alright?”
“Fine,” he is short with her, but for fear of what he may say. Ever since his visit to the hospital she has been different with him. They have fought recently, which they rarely do, and it has been at least a week since she’s been warm with him. He was resentful at first, but then realized that she isn’t turning on him. She feared him, and in the duo’s home she wasn’t the only one.
He takes the bottle from her, slugging half of the bottle in a few gulps before saying, “Thanks.” Instead of being angry with his shortness, she seems almost relieved. The lights begin to dim and the crowd erupts in applauds.
While they clap Showtime growls, “Now don’t you start.” Perfection takes a sideways glance that he doesn’t notice, and readjusts her vision on the stage. Ruby begins with a cascade of red and white. Several women prance across the stage with fewer men infiltrating their ranks. They do a large number together before everyone minus one female is left on stage. She has a few minutes of solo twirling before a man slowly emerges from behind the curtain.
“My God,” gasps Showtime at the appearance of the man. Dressed in a red and white unitard prances a red headed dancer. Showtime recognized him at once as Phinehas Grimm, propped up on the tippiest of toes. Showtime had never thought what it looked like for a ballet dancer to stalk another, but he is watching it now.
The woman moves gracefully across the stage, Grimm still in her shadows. With her arm outstretched Grimm is able to grab her wrist and pull her into his chest. A sadistic smile crawls across his face as his pale blue eyes lock onto Showtime’s amongst the thousands in attendance. He lifts her up once, then touching her toes down before flinging her into the air. Causing his smile becomes more satanic. On her way down he grabs a handful of hair and smashes her head down on the stage.
Showtime gasps and Perfection says, “It’s quite beautiful isn’t it?”
He looks at her like she’s insane, but her attention is back on the performers. Showtime shakes his head trying to get the image out of his mind. There is no way that this is real, but seeing is believing. Grimm and his partner are dancing once more. A plié here and a pirouette there, Showtime finds himself thinking that Grimm is somewhat graceful. As that thought came into his mind Grimm grabs the poor girl by the throat and slams her down again. All she can do is twitch as Grimm leans over and licks her face.
“I can’t watch this,” murmurs Showtime louder than intended.
“Are you alright?” asks Perfection, sorrow inflected in her tone. The man behind them shushes them and Showtime just waves her off. Her eyes linger on him for a few seconds, but this time it is his turn to focus on the stage first. The female dancer is back on her feet showing off her pointe work as Grimm stands behind picking at a unitard wedgie. He looks up at Showtime and slowly rakes his thumb across his neck.
Under his breath Showtime can only whisper no repeatedly when the girl breaks off into a run. She is on a collision course with Grimm, who is only staring at Showtime. Ten paces away. Five. She jumps as contact is made and Grimm tilt-a-whirls her into a devastating backbreaker. The woman crumbles as Grimm breaks away with a series of brisés.
Showtime jumps to his feet and yells, “Someone help her.” The people around him all give terrified looks towards Showtime, who is being pulled back into his seat by Perfection.
“Someone is going to need to help you if you don’t shut up,” growls the man behind them. Showtime spins and clamps an iron grip around the man’s jugular.
“If you don’t keep to yourself you’ll be enjoying your food out of a straw for the rest of your life,” barks Showtime. The man’s face goes white, causing Showtime to question whether or not he said anything at all. It is all so damned confusing. He abruptly stands back up and whispers to Perfection, “I need some fresh air.”
As fast as his legs could carry him, Showtime is out of the David H. Koch Theater and into the middle of Lincoln Center. The brisk air smacks him in the face as he realizes that he left his jacket at his seat. He walks over to the oversized fountain in the middle of the square and sits down on the ledge. He is shaking at this point and unable to control himself.
A thousand voices barrage his mind at once, so many that he cannot tell what any of them are say. That is until an elderly woman’s voice breaks the chaos.
“Please take this,” she meekly says. “It will make you feel better.”
Showtime realizes at this moment that the voice is not in his head, but next to it. She is holding out a vile of robin egg blue powder and shoving it into Showtime’s hand. He realizes what is happening and refuses to take the substance.
“Thank you, but no,” he is able to muster.
“It’s alright, it will cure what ails you. I am very skilled in these sorts of things.”
“I’m sorry, but I’m not one to take random powders from people I don’t know,” he says as he tries to look away. He finds that his eyes are locked onto the elderly woman and unable to break her gaze. Involuntarily his hand reaches out and tosses the powered down his throat. There is a sudden cough, but his other hand forces him to finish the other half of his water bottle, washing the substance down. He is able to choke out, “Who are you?”
“Most just call me Granny, and for the Enlightenment to commence you needed to ingest this,” she says with a sick twisted smile. Panic erupts in Showtime’s mind and his legs carry him at a run into the New York City night. He is at full sprint as he runs through Columbus Circle straight into Central Park.
The whole time in his mind the same word is repeated over and over again.
Andy
“Stop it!” demands Michael Wryght, snapping at the man seated behind him. The man is completely aghast looking towards the woman sitting adjacent and says something under his breath. Those who frequent the New York City Ballet aren’t accustomed to being barked at during intermission, but it’s not often that they have a man with such an infliction within their ranks.
For Christmas Mr. Showtime purchased a pair of tickets to the ballet Jewels for Perfection, but the performance has come at the least opportune time. It’s a show broken up into three parts; Emerald, Ruby, and Diamonds. All through the first part the growing voice in Showtime’s head just constantly repeated the word Andy. It was almost enough to make a man go mad. Almost?
He sat through the Emerald performance without a word though, but the moment it was over he had asked Perfection to get him a bottle of water. The man behind him is only a casualty of inability to stay quiet any longer. Strangely enough it worked. The name is no longer repeating, but the voice isn’t gone either.
Andy must be destroyed. He mocks you when you are not in earshot. He claims to be the better champion.
Under his breath Showtime responded, “I will not, Andy is my friend.”
Friend may be a loose term, maybe the correct term is civil acquaintance. Either way he was someone that Showtime considered would have his back if he asked beforehand. Defiantly someone as a teammate could be trusted. Trust is in limited supply these days, and Showtime couldn’t give that up.
But he must. Weakness begets weakness. Enlightenment comes with costs.
“Well I don’t want to be enlightened!” Showtime says in a rage. Other patrons glance his way, and scoff at Showtime from afar. None audible enough to be heard.
Showtime’s mind fills with deafening laughter so intense it causes him double over and bury his face in his hands.
People do not choose to be enlightened, they are chosen. You have been chosen and by the end you will be gracious of your gift.
“Save it,” Showtime grumbles into his hands. “And I will not do anything to harm Andy.”
“Michael?” comes a voice over his shoulder. It gives him a great fright, but exhales at the realization that it is only Perfection with his beverage. “Are you alright?”
“Fine,” he is short with her, but for fear of what he may say. Ever since his visit to the hospital she has been different with him. They have fought recently, which they rarely do, and it has been at least a week since she’s been warm with him. He was resentful at first, but then realized that she isn’t turning on him. She feared him, and in the duo’s home she wasn’t the only one.
He takes the bottle from her, slugging half of the bottle in a few gulps before saying, “Thanks.” Instead of being angry with his shortness, she seems almost relieved. The lights begin to dim and the crowd erupts in applauds.
While they clap Showtime growls, “Now don’t you start.” Perfection takes a sideways glance that he doesn’t notice, and readjusts her vision on the stage. Ruby begins with a cascade of red and white. Several women prance across the stage with fewer men infiltrating their ranks. They do a large number together before everyone minus one female is left on stage. She has a few minutes of solo twirling before a man slowly emerges from behind the curtain.
“My God,” gasps Showtime at the appearance of the man. Dressed in a red and white unitard prances a red headed dancer. Showtime recognized him at once as Phinehas Grimm, propped up on the tippiest of toes. Showtime had never thought what it looked like for a ballet dancer to stalk another, but he is watching it now.
The woman moves gracefully across the stage, Grimm still in her shadows. With her arm outstretched Grimm is able to grab her wrist and pull her into his chest. A sadistic smile crawls across his face as his pale blue eyes lock onto Showtime’s amongst the thousands in attendance. He lifts her up once, then touching her toes down before flinging her into the air. Causing his smile becomes more satanic. On her way down he grabs a handful of hair and smashes her head down on the stage.
Showtime gasps and Perfection says, “It’s quite beautiful isn’t it?”
He looks at her like she’s insane, but her attention is back on the performers. Showtime shakes his head trying to get the image out of his mind. There is no way that this is real, but seeing is believing. Grimm and his partner are dancing once more. A plié here and a pirouette there, Showtime finds himself thinking that Grimm is somewhat graceful. As that thought came into his mind Grimm grabs the poor girl by the throat and slams her down again. All she can do is twitch as Grimm leans over and licks her face.
“I can’t watch this,” murmurs Showtime louder than intended.
“Are you alright?” asks Perfection, sorrow inflected in her tone. The man behind them shushes them and Showtime just waves her off. Her eyes linger on him for a few seconds, but this time it is his turn to focus on the stage first. The female dancer is back on her feet showing off her pointe work as Grimm stands behind picking at a unitard wedgie. He looks up at Showtime and slowly rakes his thumb across his neck.
Under his breath Showtime can only whisper no repeatedly when the girl breaks off into a run. She is on a collision course with Grimm, who is only staring at Showtime. Ten paces away. Five. She jumps as contact is made and Grimm tilt-a-whirls her into a devastating backbreaker. The woman crumbles as Grimm breaks away with a series of brisés.
Showtime jumps to his feet and yells, “Someone help her.” The people around him all give terrified looks towards Showtime, who is being pulled back into his seat by Perfection.
“Someone is going to need to help you if you don’t shut up,” growls the man behind them. Showtime spins and clamps an iron grip around the man’s jugular.
“If you don’t keep to yourself you’ll be enjoying your food out of a straw for the rest of your life,” barks Showtime. The man’s face goes white, causing Showtime to question whether or not he said anything at all. It is all so damned confusing. He abruptly stands back up and whispers to Perfection, “I need some fresh air.”
As fast as his legs could carry him, Showtime is out of the David H. Koch Theater and into the middle of Lincoln Center. The brisk air smacks him in the face as he realizes that he left his jacket at his seat. He walks over to the oversized fountain in the middle of the square and sits down on the ledge. He is shaking at this point and unable to control himself.
A thousand voices barrage his mind at once, so many that he cannot tell what any of them are say. That is until an elderly woman’s voice breaks the chaos.
“Please take this,” she meekly says. “It will make you feel better.”
Showtime realizes at this moment that the voice is not in his head, but next to it. She is holding out a vile of robin egg blue powder and shoving it into Showtime’s hand. He realizes what is happening and refuses to take the substance.
“Thank you, but no,” he is able to muster.
“It’s alright, it will cure what ails you. I am very skilled in these sorts of things.”
“I’m sorry, but I’m not one to take random powders from people I don’t know,” he says as he tries to look away. He finds that his eyes are locked onto the elderly woman and unable to break her gaze. Involuntarily his hand reaches out and tosses the powered down his throat. There is a sudden cough, but his other hand forces him to finish the other half of his water bottle, washing the substance down. He is able to choke out, “Who are you?”
“Most just call me Granny, and for the Enlightenment to commence you needed to ingest this,” she says with a sick twisted smile. Panic erupts in Showtime’s mind and his legs carry him at a run into the New York City night. He is at full sprint as he runs through Columbus Circle straight into Central Park.
The whole time in his mind the same word is repeated over and over again.
Andy
