- Invitation Status
- Look for groups
- Looking for partners
- Posting Speed
- Multiple posts per day
- Writing Levels
- Adept
- Adaptable
- Preferred Character Gender
- Nonbinary
- Transgender
- Agender
- Primarily Prefer Male
- Primarily Nonbinary
Fading sunlight cast long shadows across the city streets as a tall figure quietly made his way down the sidewalks, cursing every so often when his feet clumsily caught themselves on the cracks and edges of forgotten concrete. The once-thriving neighborhood had fallen into disrepair, with boarded-up storefronts and graffiti-adorned walls standing as silent witnesses to better days. The Elysian Playhouse loomed ahead, a relic of a bygone era, its weathered facade a testament to the passage of time.
Outside, the theater stood like a forgotten gem amidst the urban decay. Its grand architecture, adorned with intricate carvings and ornate detailing, hinted at its former glory. The marquee above the entrance displayed faded letters, barely visible in the twilight but still bearing the name that had drawn Nick's attention from the start. Hunger gnawed at Nick's stomach, a reminder that he had yet to eat. He brushed a hand through his tousled hair, trying to tame his ruffled appearance. The long hours of travel and the anticipation of what awaited had left little room for nourishment-- but his hunger paled against the fire that burned within him, an insatiable yearning to explore the depths of his artistry and confront the shadows lurking within his soul.
His phone rang, startling him, and he held it against his ear as he leaned against a nearby streetlamp.
"Yeah."
"Did you make it into the city okay?" Nick sighed. The caller was his manager checking in, already jumping to hold a tight leash on him. Victor Sinclair was a sniveling rat of a man, ready to snatch up any opportunity and to run when the risk was too high. If even Sinclair was willing to buy this dump, he thought, there must be something to it.
"Everyone's all settled at the hotel, save for one whose flight got delayed. I'll be picking them up at Midway later tonight." As he spoke, his eyes followed a stray pigeon chasing a piece of trash that floated down the street like a sad balloon. He shivered as the wind picked up, wishing he had thrown on his windbreaker.
"Good, good," Sinclair muttered. "Remember not to go into the theater until the workers are with you and the other actors tomorrow. You never know what could fall on top of you, what with the old and unstable support beams. We'll be completely remodeling the interior." Nick turned his attention back to the theater, its beauty apparent even under the sickly orange glow of the streetlights. "You'll stick with its theme?"
His manager chuckled. "Who wouldn't? Everyone adores neoclassical architecture." The conversation quickly stuttered to a stop after that, much to Nick's relief. Immediately ignoring Sinclair's orders, he approached the old theater. Excitement raced through him. Nick had to see the place in its former glory, and he cared not for potential danger. If it had been standing for this long, it was probably alright for him to take a quick look around.
Taking a deep breath, Nick pushed open the heavy wooden doors, their hinges creaking in protest after years of neglect. The scent of aged wood and musty velvet enveloped him as he stepped inside. The soft glow of twilight filtered through the stained-glass windows, casting a mosaic of colors upon the worn floorboards. Nick's footsteps echoed through the empty foyer, the noise a reminder of a void waiting to be filled with life. He glanced around, taking in the faded elegance of the space. Tattered curtains hung limply on either side of the stage, their former grandeur reduced to mere remnants. Dust particles danced in the rays of light that streamed through cracks in the high ceiling, lending an ethereal quality to the scene.
His hand brushed against peeling wallpaper as he explored one of the backstage rooms. The room was cluttered with discarded props and dusty costumes, remnants of past productions. Nick's gaze fell upon an old trunk tucked away in a corner. Intrigued, he knelt and fumbled with the rusty lock until it finally yielded. Inside, a treasure trove of forgotten memories awaited Nick's discovery. Carefully, he lifted the lid, revealing a collection of faded photographs, playbills, and handwritten letters. Each artifact carried whispers of a bygone era when the Elysian Playhouse thrived with life and artistry. Nick ached to sift through them. Glancing at the time, however, he knew he had to make his way to the other side of the city to pick up the stray actor. Time had flown by without his notice, too engrossed in the theater's past to notice.
With a groan, he stood and stretched, his joints creaking nearly as much as the floorboards. "You," he whispered as he began to yank the trunk across the floor, "are coming with me."
Outside, the theater stood like a forgotten gem amidst the urban decay. Its grand architecture, adorned with intricate carvings and ornate detailing, hinted at its former glory. The marquee above the entrance displayed faded letters, barely visible in the twilight but still bearing the name that had drawn Nick's attention from the start. Hunger gnawed at Nick's stomach, a reminder that he had yet to eat. He brushed a hand through his tousled hair, trying to tame his ruffled appearance. The long hours of travel and the anticipation of what awaited had left little room for nourishment-- but his hunger paled against the fire that burned within him, an insatiable yearning to explore the depths of his artistry and confront the shadows lurking within his soul.
His phone rang, startling him, and he held it against his ear as he leaned against a nearby streetlamp.
"Yeah."
"Did you make it into the city okay?" Nick sighed. The caller was his manager checking in, already jumping to hold a tight leash on him. Victor Sinclair was a sniveling rat of a man, ready to snatch up any opportunity and to run when the risk was too high. If even Sinclair was willing to buy this dump, he thought, there must be something to it.
"Everyone's all settled at the hotel, save for one whose flight got delayed. I'll be picking them up at Midway later tonight." As he spoke, his eyes followed a stray pigeon chasing a piece of trash that floated down the street like a sad balloon. He shivered as the wind picked up, wishing he had thrown on his windbreaker.
"Good, good," Sinclair muttered. "Remember not to go into the theater until the workers are with you and the other actors tomorrow. You never know what could fall on top of you, what with the old and unstable support beams. We'll be completely remodeling the interior." Nick turned his attention back to the theater, its beauty apparent even under the sickly orange glow of the streetlights. "You'll stick with its theme?"
His manager chuckled. "Who wouldn't? Everyone adores neoclassical architecture." The conversation quickly stuttered to a stop after that, much to Nick's relief. Immediately ignoring Sinclair's orders, he approached the old theater. Excitement raced through him. Nick had to see the place in its former glory, and he cared not for potential danger. If it had been standing for this long, it was probably alright for him to take a quick look around.
Taking a deep breath, Nick pushed open the heavy wooden doors, their hinges creaking in protest after years of neglect. The scent of aged wood and musty velvet enveloped him as he stepped inside. The soft glow of twilight filtered through the stained-glass windows, casting a mosaic of colors upon the worn floorboards. Nick's footsteps echoed through the empty foyer, the noise a reminder of a void waiting to be filled with life. He glanced around, taking in the faded elegance of the space. Tattered curtains hung limply on either side of the stage, their former grandeur reduced to mere remnants. Dust particles danced in the rays of light that streamed through cracks in the high ceiling, lending an ethereal quality to the scene.
His hand brushed against peeling wallpaper as he explored one of the backstage rooms. The room was cluttered with discarded props and dusty costumes, remnants of past productions. Nick's gaze fell upon an old trunk tucked away in a corner. Intrigued, he knelt and fumbled with the rusty lock until it finally yielded. Inside, a treasure trove of forgotten memories awaited Nick's discovery. Carefully, he lifted the lid, revealing a collection of faded photographs, playbills, and handwritten letters. Each artifact carried whispers of a bygone era when the Elysian Playhouse thrived with life and artistry. Nick ached to sift through them. Glancing at the time, however, he knew he had to make his way to the other side of the city to pick up the stray actor. Time had flown by without his notice, too engrossed in the theater's past to notice.
With a groan, he stood and stretched, his joints creaking nearly as much as the floorboards. "You," he whispered as he began to yank the trunk across the floor, "are coming with me."