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selene-and-the-cold · 12 days

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Curtain Call | Act I

So excited to share the first part of an RP I've been writing with the great @w1ngxd - it's centered around a pair of 19th century magicians and a very old Opera Theater full of secrets...

Meet our OC's!

Horace : (Horace bits written by me) - Famous and bitter magician stuck at the Opera Theater, the Eurydice, for far too long. Drinks too much, gambles too much, all drama no substance.

Felix : (Felix bits written by @w1ngxd ) - Hopeful new magician looking to study magic and make it in the business. Seeking an apprenticeship, not realizing the complicated world he's about to step into..

CW - Feather allergies, dust sneezes, stuck sneezes, stage sneezes! Magician/stagecraft level thrills (fake knife throwing) mentions of drinking and gambling The parts written by @w1ngxd will be signed with W

The parts written by me will be signed with B

W ----------

The Eurydice was absolutely beautiful. Felix tilted his head back and shaded his eyes with one hand as he peered up at the overhead chandeliers. He had heard mixed things about this theater, that it hadn’t been well-cared for and lost most of its beauty over the years, but he had seen a lot of old theaters, and this one still had plenty of charm and appeal. Sure, there was peeling paint, and the carpet was threadbare in places, and maybe the chandeliers were a little tarnished, but there was still a sense of grandeur that had taken his breath away when he had come in through the front doors.

But what was most exciting was the fact that he had gotten seats to a show by Master Horace - an artist that Felix had heard about from the first magician that he had ever seen live. The man hadn’t been incredibly impressive, but he had pulled off some tricks on stage that Felix still hadn’t figured out, and when Felix had tracked him down afterwards he had spoken highly of the Prince of Darkness. But then Felix’s mother had gotten sick, and he had spent the better part of the next year caring for her and helping his dad out around the house until they had both gotten back on their feet. It had taken some time for him to be able to pursue the arts again outside of work, but now that things had slowed down he was looking forward to diving back in.

Horace’s first act had been a good start to the evening - a classic combination of some card and coin tricks with some audience participation and even some “hypnosis.” But what Felix really wanted to hear about was an act that Horace hadn’t done in years: a tank escape that had been the talk of the community for over six months. So when the act had broken for intermission, Felix had pocketed his playbill and had decided to do something risky.

Sneaking backstage had been easy. Finding Horace had been a little tougher, but then he had heard raised voices, and he had found the man arguing with someone that Felix recognized as his assistant from the first part of the act. But he had gotten this far, and the Prince of Darkness was right there, so Felix stood to the side with a polite smile on his face, awaiting the end of their discussion.

B ---------------

“You gotta be joking? Now? You’re leaving now?”

But the man wasn’t joking, he really was leaving now, right in the middle of the performance. It wasn’t entirely his fault. It was true he hadn’t divided the week’s free between them yet on account that he hadn’t been paid yet. Horace had thought he’d already explained the situation. Communication it seemed, was at a breakdown.

Horace didn’t bother to chase after his now ex-assistant. He didn’t appreciate being called “a fucking burnout” but he couldn’t say he disagreed. Horace sighed, resigned to the fact he’d have to scratch off the knife throw tonight.

A long time ago he would have been bold and chosen someone from the audience, a real test of his skills, but management at the Eurydice discouraged that sort of thing. Maybe he could cut the performance blessedly short, just not walk on the stage at all, let the evening turn to the dance hall girls.

Slumping in his makeup chair, he poured himself a small glass of wine (was it wine? The label was missing..) and stared at himself in the mirror. He’d been feeling on the edge of a good, drawn-out, brood today. It was as sure a thing as a storm cloud on the horizon. Such a shame too, he’d done a good job with the stage makeup today. He slicked the side of his mustache with a thumb, thoughtfully. It always seemed like when he was looking his best his stage show would be at its worst. Some unknown law of nature made it so, like gravity or magnetism.

he could feel someone watching him out of the corner of his eye. Another fan hopeful for an autograph? He sighed, knocking back the little glass of..apparently not wine-something worse, something that burned his throat.

“Sorry, I don’t sign anything. If you want a signature, speak to the doorman..”

W –--------

“Oh!” Felix straightened hopefully, moving out of the way of Horace’s (former?) assistant as he stormed out of the small space. “No, that’s actually not it, although I would love an autograph at some point, but I’m actually here as an appreciator of the arts? Or rather, as a magician-in-training?”

Horace didn’t seem about to toss him out, so Felix crept closer until he could see himself reflected in the mirror that the man was sitting in front of. He twined his hands before him, his palms suddenly growing sweaty. Here was the Prince of Darkness, in the flesh!

“It’s just that I’ve heard so much about the tank act you performed several years ago, and I wanted…well, I wanted to know more, and when I saw you were doing a show here, I just had to come and see you perform! People in the community have been singing your praises for years. You’re really one of the main reasons I decided to pursue magic.”

Was he laying it on a little thick? Perhaps, but he was genuinely thrilled to be here, even if the other magician was about to eject him from the premises.

B –-------

So this wasn’t just a fan. This was far worse. A would-be magician. Horace turned around in his chair, looking up at the young man wearily. He could see the same bright spark of enthusiasm he probably had.

“Thanks, I retired that act a while ago. Honestly can’t even remember how I did it, so if you’re looking to replicate it I’m not much used to you.”

It had been a gloriously tricky performance to pull off. Of all the escapes he did, the tank one used to make him the most nervous. Being submerged upside down in an elaborate glass tank of water, having to wriggle out of his bonds and unlock the trapdoor to freedom? It wasn’t even like it was that hard.. It was the water really. Even now he could feel the anxiety of it, the pressure ringing in his ears. Worst of all he’d always get it up his nose, an unpleasant experience to deal with when trying untwist from the chains. He didn’t know how many times he’d spent his curtain calls on the edge of a damn sneeze, dripping, ears fully plugged. No one ever noticed how uncomfortable he was, the audience was too blind by the spectacle to see. Just as this young would-be magician was blind to the fact that he wasn’t in the mood to talk shop.

“Look, I’m not trying to be rude but I can’t chat right now. I’m currently deciding if I should get back on stage half-an-act or just call it a night.”

He adjusted his crow-feather cape around his shoulders. It was always sweltering hot in his dressing room, it made him regret picking the whole “evil harpy” look in the first place.

W –--------

“Oh, I’d never be able to replicate it, or at least not yet – I’m just starting out, and I don’t think I have quite enough talent to throw myself into that much danger.” Felix took another step closer, emboldened despite the other man’s clear disinterest in speaking with him at this moment. “But you’re a legend! I was surprised I was even able to get tickets to one of your shows.”

His eyes flicked across the other man as if for the first time, taking in his slightly haggard appearance. At least his costume still looked to be in good shape, though the crow-feather cape made Felix’s nose itch just by looking at it. And maybe Felix was just catching him on a bad night – after all, it seemed like his assistant had just bailed on him mid-show, which had to be a huge disappointment. “Oh no…do you have a back-up assistant, or someone else you can call? Can you perform the second act anyway? The show must go on, after all!”

B –-----

Suddenly, the door of the dressing room swung open revealing an exasperated stagehand.

“You got five minutes Horace! You hear me? Five. Minutes.”

The stagehand disappeared in a whirl of panic, leaving Horace without a moment to negotiate. He took one last swig of his drink and stood up from his chair.

“Right. The show must go on..”

He began to quickly dig through a pile of neglected costumes and props until unearthing an old suitcase bulging with clothes. He rummaged through the many mismatched, dusty fabrics until he retrieved what he was looking for. It was a feathered cape just like his own, except a bit shorter and a great deal older to look at. He gave it a shake, sending a flurry of loose feathers and gritty particles into the air. Striding over to the young hopeful he placed the cape on his shoulders, fasting the clasp around his neck quickly.

“You want to learn the craft? Alright then. Rule number one, never turn down a gig. Have you ever done a knife throw?”

W ----------

But Felix couldn’t reply, because he had taken a hasty step back and twisted away from Horace to catch a sudden pair of sneezes in his fist as his nose immediately reacted to the effusion of dust and dander into the air. “hh’IDTCHuh! ISHHH’oo!”

He surfaced with a sniffle, shaking his head like a dog coming out of water, and then blinked as his brain caught up with the situation at hand. “Um, no, but I’ve seen a couple of them. Wait, seriously??”

Was that really all it took to get to work with the great Prince of Darkness? Just showing up and showing enthusiasm? And being in the right place at the right time, he added mentally, one hand trailing down to the edge of the cape that had been placed on his shoulders. His eyes were beginning to itch, and he thumbed at the corners of them with his other hand as he sniffled again.

“Snff! What do I need to do, then? Just…stand there? Look flashy?” And hope you’re as good at your job as everyone says you are?

B –--------

Horace recoiled a little at the sudden outburst from his substitute assistant, then plucked a single loose feather from the curl of the would-be-magician’s hair.

“Yeah, do both of those things. But more importantly don’t move. The knives are rubber but the audience isn’t. They’ll know if something is phony. They want it to be phony. We have to make them believe it’s real.”

Adjusting his own cape he began to head off to the stage, beckoning the young man to follow. Standing behind the curtains, Horace took a few cleansing breaths, the kind that cleared his mind and regulated his senses.

It’s fine, Horace. The stage is already set up for you, the stagehand knows what to do. Just get out there…then you can leave.

He felt the velvet texture of the deep red curtains, musty smelling, old. He turned behind him, looking at the nervous substitute. Just a second and they’d be on stage..

“Oh, yeah, what’s your name?” Horace asked, right as the curtains drew back..

W------------

Stand there. Look flashy. Don’t move. Well at least Felix had dressed up nicely for the show this evening, so with the addition of the cape he really did look quite professional. Unfortunately the cape was incredibly dusty, and every time he moved it seemed to shed little bits of feathers, many of which seemed to be going straight up his nose, if the growing irritation in his sinuses was any clue.

He had to sneeze again, but Horace was taking his place behind the curtains, and Felix only had a moment to scrub at his itching nose with the heel of his hand before saying, “It’s Felix,” just in time for the curtains to slide open and reveal the audience, but from the opposite angle of where Felix had been sitting earlier in the evening. He could see the knife-throwing board where he was supposed to stand set up in the center of the stage, with a pile of “knives” further downstage for Horace.

But oh, the combination of the dust and feathers were beginning to get to him, and it had only been a handful of minutes. But all he had to do was stand still and not move and allow Horace to finish the act, then he could duck off stage and blow his nose and sneeze as much as he needed to. He could handle this.

Felix directed a friendly smile out towards the audience and obediently took up his position in front of the board that Horace was indicating as he explained the act. Could he rub at his nose once more for good measure, perhaps subtly enough that it wouldn’t draw attention from Horace? He took a chance and knuckled briefly at the left side of his nose, where the tickle was growing the strongest, then sniffled as quietly as he could. It helped a bit, for now.

B-----------–

Horace made some kind of joke to the audience about how different his assistant now looked. He had no idea what it was, but it must have been funny enough because the audience laughed along with it. If there was one thing he always felt comfortable with, it was manipulating the mood of the crowd. It was a talent that saved a show more than once.

What really worried him was new-guy-Felix. Sure he said he was a magician but anyone could claim something like that. He did appreciate the sheer audacity of approaching him backstage, Felix seemingly had the tenacity needed for a proper magician.

The rubber knives were already laid out for him, smallest to longest. They were convincingly painted, certainly real enough to an audience sitting far away. It wasn’t typical for a staged knife throw to actually involve throwing anything, most performers relied on a rigged contraption to pull the stunt off but Horace was not a typical stage magician thank you very much. He used to throw real knives once, relying on sheer technique.

But that was a lifetime ago, shows held in back alleys and tiny corners of dingy clubs. That was where he was really alive, really perfecting the craft. Performing for real people, not the dolled up aristocrats swimming in perfume and opulence.

Horace took up the smaller knife, spinning around with proper dramatic flourish while babbling on his usual spiel about death defying whatever. Felix had already taken position in front of the board, and to his credit he seemed to know what he was doing. Proper leg position, arms spread out just so.

The first knife throw went smoothly. Maybe this Felix had done something like this before.

But as Horace was readying the next rubber knife, he could tell something was troubling Felix. There was a gloss to his eyes, as if he was ready to cry or something. Or perhaps he was going to…oh..

W---------------–

Felix managed not to twitch as the knife struck the board, the rubber wobbling subtly enough that the audience would not be able to see it. He kept his smile plastered on, playing the part of the dutiful assistant holding still and fading into the background.

Except…

His nose twitched suddenly, almost without warning, and he crinkled it to try and fight the itch that was worming its way down his irritated membranes. But the tickle was too strong, and he found with dismay that his breath was beginning to slowly grow uneven. He was going to sneeze, and soon.

He managed to hold it off until Horace had thrown his second knife and was reaching for the third. Felix pressed the back of his hand beneath his nose and flinched forward in an unsatisfying sneeze. “hdd’ISHHiuu!”

Now his nose was really running, and he sniffled in frustration, though the smell of the musty cape draped around his shoulders triggered yet another sneeze, which burst from him so quickly he almost missed covering it with his hand. “h’ITDDCH!”

There was a smattering of laughter from the audience, and Felix forced himself to laugh as well before giving a little “oh well!” shrug and spreading his arms wide again. He couldn’t look at Horace. Hopefully the other man wasn’t too upset with him.

Because his nose was still tickling, and he could tell that there was no way he’d make it through the rest of the show without giving in to a full allergic fit.

B-------------–

The show must go on

This wasn’t the first time something like this happened to Horace on stage. Colds were easily swapped in a theater environment and he recalled some of his most glorious moments on stage were acted out under the cloud of fever. Granted, he had yet to actually sneeze on stage, but there were many previous assistants who did.

Maybe I should rethink the feather cape thing.

He had the final knife to throw, one that required him to aim directly above Felix’s head. If he wasn’t careful he’d accidentally bop the poor kid in the face. Not lethal in the slightest, but certainly unpleasant and also disappointing to the audience.

Horace hadn’t spent a lifetime improvising shows without learning to be quick on his feet. An idea occurred to him, as he picked up the last knife and presented it to the audience. It would require some timing, and careful observation. And patience.

Quickly he strode over to Felix, play-pretending to adjust his arms in a pose. In reality he whispered to him, low enough even the stagehands couldn’t hear.

“I need you to sneeze again, and I need you to bend over with it. Almost mime it if you must. I’m going to aim this knife directly at the bullseye when you do. Trust me, they’ll think this was all a part of the act.”

Horace gave Felix a final reassuring wink, and stepped away again. This time standing even farther than he was before. He knew he wouldn’t have to wait long, he was observant enough of a man to tell that Felix was just a hitch away from sneezing again.

He lifted up the knife, poised, waiting for Felix’s eyes to flutter close…

W------------------

“Shhh – sure thing,” Felix managed to murmur in response, his nose already flaring and trembling with yet another building need to sneeze. At least Horace didn’t seem like he was about to kick him off the stage because of his ill-timed allergies.

As Horace made his way back to the daggers, Felix’s breath began to hitch again. Even without the dust and feathers draped around his shoulders, Horace saying that phrase - I need you to sneeze - was too much for his already sensitive nose. He had always been extremely susceptible to the power of suggestion.

This sneeze, however, was taking its time. He wriggled his nose left and right almost comically, sniffling as his eyelids began to droop in the unmistakable buildup to a powerful sneeze. His nose was absolutely on fire, the itch spreading down from his sinuses to the very rims of his nostrils, which were now quivering with need. He was sure he looked like a complete and utter mess in this moment, but all he could think about was the urge - no, the need to sneeze.

Horace was waiting on him, tossing the dagger playfully in his hand, and Felix turned his head ever so slightly to the left to catch another whiff of the offending cape. It was enough to send him over the edge, and he gave a final vocal inhale (Hhhh!) before hurriedly cupping his hands over his nose and bending forward at the waist as he gave into a particularly itchy and forceful sneeze that made his ears ring.

“hhht’JJDITCCH’oo!”

B---------------–

Perfect timing. Horace didn’t waste a second. As soon as Felix ducked into his hands to sneeze the knife was thrown, hitting right where Felix’s head would have been if it wasn’t for the duck. It was a wonderful visual and the audience erupted in delighted applause and laughter, clearly thinking the entire fit was definitely a part of the act.

What a strange balance you have to maintain between making an audience believe just enough while still keeping one foot planted firmly on the ground. As long as they had the relief of knowing everything was under control they could fully enjoy something.

How dreadfully dull.

But he was getting paid, and that’s all that mattered right? His residency at the Eurydice was secured for another day. A quick signal from the stagehand indicated the show was cutting short tonight, for whatever reason the dancers were being pushed up on the roster and so Horace bowed and kissed the audience a goodnight before the curtain blessedly dropped. As did the grand, fake smile he had plastered on his face. Sighing, he cracked his neck to the side and began unbuttoning his collar a little, ready to remove the hot, heavy cape and grab a proper drink at the theater’s bar.

“Bless you.” Horace said, glancing over at the still sniffling Felix. “You’re not sick are you? If so get the hell away from me, the last cold I got almost lasted a month..”

W-------------------–

One hand still held beneath his still-tingling nose, Felix waved to the crowd with a proud smile that, unlike Horace’s, did not fall from his expression once they had returned to the shadows of the backstage. He pinched at his nose with a harsh sniffle that was more liquid-sounding than he would have liked, then let his hand fall to his pocket again.

“That was incredible!” He said, glancing back towards the curtains where he could hear the audience milling about on the other side. “I haven’t seen a knife throw like that done in ages. I really think they believed it.” Another sniffle. “Even my sneezing.”

Just talking about it was making his nose itch again, and his hand fluttered back up to his nose to rub beneath his twitching nostrils. “I am sorry about that. I’m not sick, though, I promise. I’m just dreadfully allergic to dhh – hhih!” His hand curled, cupping around the lower half of his face. “htt’dISHHoo! Snff. Dust, sir. And feathers, I believe.”

And he would be at this all evening, if he didn’t get out of this cape, but first he had a more pressing matter to attend to. “Do you, ah, have an extra handkerchief on hand? I seem to have forgotten mine.” He sniffled again, scratched a finger along the side of his nose, then reached up to rub at his eyes, which were also beginning to itch and water.

B---------------------–

“Oh, damn, sorry about that.” Horace fished for an unused handkerchief he always kept in his pocket, and handed it to the poor guy. Afterwards he quickly untied and removed the cape from around his shoulders, wincing at all the dust and feathers melting off the thing.

“I really need to get a new costume idea, this thing is so hot.” He shrugged his own coat off and gave it a little kick to the side. He could hear the tinkling of piano backing the dancers begin already, the sound of their heels hitting the stage in a rhythmic tapping.

“Say, you want a drink or something? Drinks are free for the entertainment..guess you’re a part of the entertainment now. At least for the night.”

Horace made to leave, ready for a refreshment with or without his new apprentice.

Was he a new apprentice? It's not like he had any real paperwork for the job..

But he was quick to pick up on my instruction, even in the middle of a dreadful allergy attack, and he doesn’t seem like he’s going to take a flat no as an answer.

W------------------------—

Felix took the handkerchief with a murmured thanks, breath already climbing into yet another sneeze as he angled his torso away from Horace and buried his face in the cloth with an itchy-sounding “h’ISHHiuh!” He recovered with a wet sniffle and an irritated blink, then folded the handkerchief over and tried to quietly blow his nose. It helped, for the moment, with the incessant tickle radiating down from his sinuses, and he gave his nose a thorough rub through the cloth before sniffling again and pocketing the handkerchief. He knew there were still dust and feathers sticking to his clothing, and that he likely would be itchy and sniffly until he was able to get home and change and bathe, but as long as Horace understood that he wasn’t contagious, he didn’t mind a little bit of sneezing here or there.

“A drink sounds great, thanks!” His eyes were still itching and watering, and he was sure his nose was beginning to look red and swollen, but nothing sounded better in this moment than a good shot of liquor to celebrate his first (if impromptu) on-stage performance in years. “I was going to offer to treat you, for taking me on like that, but I supposed I’ll just have to owe you for another time.”

Would there be another time? Because it did seem like Master Horace was short an assistant, at least for now, and Felix had apparently checked all the boxes (though the bar did seem to be rather low). Even if there wasn’t, the chance to sit at a bar and chat up one of the most influential local talents in the magic community was one he couldn’t afford to miss.

B---------------------–

The bar used to be much larger in the Eurydice’s heyday, but was since halved due to a fire that broke out some point before Horace ever stepped into the building. Half of the bar was permanently covered with tarp and sectioned off by velvet ropes, a row of decorative vases placed in front as an attempt to hide the eyesore.

It was crowded, already filled with patrons more excited for a drink than seeing the rest of the night’s entertainment. The air was filled with an eye watering amount of perfume and fragrances, intermingled with smoke. Horace felt a spark of a headache already, even as he took a seat in a small booth at the back. The server already knew exactly the kind of drink he wanted, bringing it to him before he even ordered. He took a swig, cringing at the way it stung the back of his nose. Pinching the bridge, he tried to will the migraine away as the server returned to get Felix’s order.

“So, Felix. Have you always wanted to be a magician, or is this a new thing for you?”

Horace sniffled, just a little. God, why did they have to wear such foul smelling perfume? He felt like his brain was slowly pressurizing from the overload of scent.

W-----------------------–

Felix relayed his order to the server - a mojito, which sounded incredibly refreshing after his brief but exciting time in the limelight - and peered over Horace’s shoulder into the rest of the bar, which was surprisingly full for this time of night, considering the show was still going. “Fairly new, I suppose? Well, I’ve been interested for years, but I haven’t had the time or opportunity to go to shows for a bit, so I had to put that dream aside for a bit. I’m a concert pianist by training.” He flexed his fingers reflexively. He was a rather unremarkable-looking man, which was appropriate for his work fading into the orchestral pit as an accompanist, but he had wondered here and there if he had enough of a distinct look to be a stage magician. Perhaps it was nothing that a little makeup couldn’t fix.

He rubbed briefly beneath his nose with a quick sniffle. His sinuses were still irritated from the dust and feather exposure, and the cloying scents of perfume and cigarette smoke thick in the air of the bar was beginning to make him congested. But he returned his attention to Horace, though one hand moved to his pocket to palm the borrowed handkerchief, just in case.

“How long have you been performing at the Eurydice? I was so excited to get a ticket to the show when I saw that you were going to be one of the main acts.”

B-------------------–

“Ten years now, can you believe it? Too long to be anywhere..” Horace stared glumly into his drink, studying the bubbles. He rubbed a knuckle against the side of his nose, trying to press the cloying, flowery scent out of it. Why’d these aristocrats have to drown themselves in perfume anyways?

“How long have you been performing then? I could tell that wasn’t your first time on the stage. You – snff– ‘excuse me… you hold yourself like you’ve been in front of a crowd before.”

His headache was worsening and his nose was going stuffy. Just fantastic. The air was so thick with that artificial aroma he could practically see it, the light from the chandelier picking up little particles of dust and who knows what else.

Glancing up at the light was a mistake, a sharp tingle sparked to life at the back of his sinuses, a warning sign of the inevitable.

He preemptively grabbed the handkerchief in his front pocket, unfolding it with tired resignation.

W--------------------–

“Ten years?” Felix’s eyes widened in awe. “That’s incredible. Has the place changed at all since you began working here?” He didn’t know much about the history of the Eurydice, beyond the odd rumor that he’d picked up here and there, but there tended to be rumors and lore surrounding all of the older theaters. Their mysteries took on a life of their own, particularly when it was stage magicians perpetuating them, who were prone to exaggerate just about anything for the sake of a good story or flashy performance.

Before he was able to answer Horace’s question, however, his nose gave an insistent twitch, and the urge to sneeze was on him so quickly he didn’t have time to fully unfold his handkerchief. He caught the sneeze in his fist, a quick “hih’ISHH’oo!” that felt more like a reflex than a response to an irritation. Ugh. That likely meant that he’d be at this all evening.

“Pardon,” he said with a sniffle, straightening the handkerchief with a flourish and wiping it briefly beneath his nose, which twitched again in response to the rough handling. “I’m afraid I’m going to be doing that for a bit.” He could feel something suspiciously like the beginnings of a fit hovering just on the edge of his sinuses, a deep tickle that would not be satisfied by one or two sneezes, but hopefully he could hold that off for the time being. He sniffled again, only semi-effectively through his stuffy nose, and kept the handkerchief in his hand at the ready.

“But – thank you, really. I haven’t done much stage magic, but I’ve been performing in some fashion or another as long as I can remember. My parents are musicians as well.” A hint of a wry smile. “I think they would prefer that I stick to piano, instead of chasing after the allure of magic.”

B----------------------------–

“Don’t apologize. Kind of envy you, being able to just get on with it.” Horace sniffed “The sneezing that is. I feel like it takes me ages to get a proper one out. Terrible.”

He brought his handkerchief up to his nose for a discreet blow, hoping to coax the process along. It very nearly did, his breath suddenly caught and for a brief moment he teetered on the edge of a sneeze. Keeping the cloth tented over his mouth and flaring nose he squinted up at the chandelier again, trying to– almost–

“Hiiih…damn. See what I mean?” Lowering the handkerchief again he squirmed his nose a bit, the stench of the perfume burning up his sinuses. Blinking away, he kept the handkerchief ready and tried to return his focus on the conversation at hand.

“I must agree with your parents, being a piano player is certainly a more stable career. Always a need for a pianist. Not much for some bloke trying to pull a rabbit out of a hat.” Horace dabbed at his nose again. “You do that sort of thing? Disappearing rabbits?”

Out of the corner of his eye he saw some commotion happening at the bar. Voices raised, the bartender sounded defensive and angry…

W------------------------–

Oh, Lord have mercy. Watching Horace struggle with an oncoming sneeze - and talking about it, no less - was all it took to make Felix’s nose quiver with need. He had never been able to resist a good sneeze after hearing someone else talking about it, especially when he was already as sensitive and irritated as he was this evening. He turned ninety degrees in the booth, putting himself in profile to Horace as he crushed the handkerchief to his already flaring nostrils. It was two sneezes this time, the first coming on the heels of the second with barely enough time for him to catch a breath in between, though he tried his best to muffle them in the folds of the (now well-used) fabric he held tightly in both of his hands. “hdd’ISHHiuh! hh – ngg’GTSHuu!”

“Damn,” he swore under his breath, resurfacing with a sniffle and using his thumb to dab at his watering eyes. “Well, you’re welcome to as many of mine as you’d like, because there will always be more.”

Especially if he thought too long about the itch that must be worming its way through Horace’s sinuses, about the thick tendrils of the smoke and perfume that were making the other man’s breath catch in an uneven pant. Nope. Felix shoved the thoughts away, determined to keep from embarrassing himself in front of the first person who’d cared to talk magic with him in a very long time, if not ever.

“I’ve done the rabbit bit a few times, yes. It’s a classic. Haven’t managed doves or pigeons or what have you, though.”

The elevated voices caught Felix’s attention as well, and he turned fully to look, throwing subtlety by the wayside. “Huh. Sounds like they’re already well into their cups for the evening.”

B-----------------------–

It was more than just raised voices. By the time Horace took a bleary glance over his shoulder the commotion at the bar had turned into an altercation. Hard-looking men in long coats and hats were accosting the bar-tender. The largest of them grabbed the poor kid by the lapels and nearly pulled him over the counter.

Horace’s heart sank when the bar-tender pointed right at him.

“Shit. We gotta go. Now.” Horace rose from his seat quickly, guiding Felix away roughly by the shoulder. He wove through the bodies of over-perfumed theater goers, trying to remember where exactly that hidden doorway was… it’d been a while since he had to use it.

“Those men at the bar been tracking me down from Monte Carlo. Not for cheating or anything! I swear on it! Just uuh.. Bit late on some payments. Everyone misses a bill at some point right?”

They turned into a narrower part of the Eurydice, a hall decorated with large portraits of patrons long dead. There was very little foot traffic here, the carpet musty from neglect. Finally Horace found that little latch in the wall, just behind one of the old decorative curtains. He flipped it, and a creaky part of the wall gave way.

“Sorry I’m dragging you into this, but you have to understand..if they saw me talking to you they’re going to assume you’re an associate and you won’t like what they do to associates of deadbeats. Not that I’m a deadbeat.”

Horace squeezed behind the hidden door, pulling Felix inside.

There wasn’t much inside, at least not visible. As big as a broom closet, with only a few forgotten frames piled inside. Horace squeezed as close as he could to the side of the plaster wall, giving Felix as much space as possible.

“This theater has all sorts of surprises. This is just one of them.” Horace whispered lowly.

--- to be continued.....

#This is lovely!#🥰❤️

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