“Might it be fairly impolite to intrude upon one’s own personal abode without declaration?” André questioned lightly, words tinted in slight with merry jest. “Alas, when company is such as yourself, one is hardly the type to complain.” He turned in his seat to better face her, letting a leg drop across the armrest. A part of him still felt the tug of courtesy to stand up; however, his little intermission was in part to avoid all the standing his show required. Therefore, he chose to remain seated.
“Bonsoir, Mademoiselle, et merci. Charming is most of what I aim for.” A thing about this place was it seemed the longer an individual stayed, the less common sincere smiles seemed. He’d like to have seen her smile—not the kind she adorned for her act—but something genuine. If that were not an option, certainly a plain face was better than a face of false delight. “Off from your tent though, while the show still runs, surely Madame Sombre would be one to complain?” Of those likely to be caught though, Annaliese seemed one of the least likely.
André swung himself from his chair. Courtesy had seized the moment. His movements had oddness to them, resembling the marionettes he so often spent time with. Originally it had been a trick of the show, he’d move in a way to make himself seem less realistic. Now he was not even entirely aware when he did it. An overdramatic flair to a gesture, or a disjointed and somewhat stiff way of moving were the most common and noticeable parts. In a smaller place like this, it was much less prominent.
Now standing, he took a brief moment to examine what looked like a flaw on his newest puppet. She was a porcelain and fragile thing, with a sorrowful expression and a narrow nose. Her skin was made to be pale white without a hint of grey while her eyes were tinted lavender. She was garbed in a wedding outfit. All white and not a shade of grey to be seen. Pearl replicates and tiny rose recreations were trailed all along her veil and dress. Even in such a small scale, he could not help but feel proud of her. He’d worked on her for quite some time, only finishing recently. If she were to be ruined after all his work, André would no doubt find his day worsened. Thankfully, it had been but a trick of the light, oil lamps, while comfortable, tended to be poor sometimes. With worries alleviated his attention returned to Annaliese.
“Might I interest you in a drink, my dear? I fear I’ve not been the fairest of host.” André moved over to a small cabinet type of thing which inside he knew contained several foods of his particular favourites. Next to it was an ice chest, the only thing in the room which seemed truly of modern design. “I’ve not tea or lemons to offer properly, yet, I’ve plenty of Cola and some coffee to warm.” Although something of a more proper etiquette, tea was not something the Puppeteer enjoyed often. André took a bottle of the soda from his ice box before taking the few steps to return him to where his chair sat. Placing the bottle on the armrest of the chair, it balanced timidly as he gave his doll another glance.
“Belle demoiselle, still requires a name. If you’d like I’d give you the opportune?”
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Welcome to the RPG, Megadraco! If there is something I can help you with, let me know. Otherwise, I hope you enjoy your stay. ^^
Immortal iridescent lights decorated the midnight canopy. No curtains made of clouds concealed them. André almost felt as though only a few years had passed instead of several decades when he looked at them. Yet there was little time to look at stars, for tonight was another of the many ‘Opening Nights,’ and he had a show to put on for those who might leave their generous donations.
Fanciful colours and decorations of showmanship would not have once been outside of André’s interest. Nevertheless, a life lived in without such had learned to ingrain itself into his mind and make it the norm. Inside his tent, the floor was half a stage and half a place for the curious to watch, whether they chose to stand or sit. Oil lanterns were primarily the source of lighting, hanging from ropes which were crossed from the ceiling and along the walls.
Wooden shelves lined the back of the stage, supporting many dozens of finely detailed puppets, all which dressed in the fanciest of monochrome clothing. Many wore that which reflected the early 1900s. Others were garbed in finery resembling the Upper Classes of famous European time periods. In addition this majority there were others dressed much more uniquely. A few looked traditionally Far Eastern, while two were dressed in ceremonial military uniform, three or four resembled the traditional garb of the Middle East, while a party girl of the 1920s could be seen next to a ballerina. Still, none looked more intentionally modern than the first half of the 20th century.
André stood at the centre of the stage, only a single of his marionettes had joined him. She was sitting crumpled on the ground, lifeless, just next to his right leg. The Puppeteer had been waiting for guests to fill in, until a sufficient amount arrived, he chose to remain still. After a significant number of individuals occupied the room he left his motionless stance. “It’s time, Marie,” he whispered to the puppet, before addressing the crowd.
“I welcome you to my show, dear ladies and gentlemen.” As he spoke André stretched out his right arm before bringing it across his torso for a bow. Marie stood up, imitating a curtsey in time with his gesture. When they were done, both stood straight, arms down and looking at the crowd. They were like this only for a moment before he took a step away from her and gave her a vexed look. She remained where she was, but turned to face him, tilting her head a little.
“Surely you can do better, Marie? Anyone can manage such a small gesture.” Her hand flickered up to her lip a moment before she swung it out widely. “A dance? Truly, a lovely suggestion!” With a wave of his arm in the direction of the shelves, three more puppets jumped lightly to the ground. One strode the stage over to where Marie stood, while the other two walked so they stood only a short distance away. “I think a waltz would be lovely, don’t you?” The four marionettes nodded. “Excellent!” André made his way to the record player which sat some distance from his lovely puppets. Aram Khachaturian’s Masquerade Waltz was the piece he’d chosen. The music swelled and they began to dance. Just the two pairs at first. Then more, as others sitting on the shelves chose to join in on the dance. Eight pairs ended up swirling around the stage, timed with near perfectness to the music.
Most of André’s act comprised of his marionettes performing various types of dances or performing silent sketches. His finale was when he encouraged at least half of his dolls to get down from their shelves and run around the stage, interacting with each other in various ways. At the end of these exchanges they would all move to find themselves a partner. The music would become more prominent as they engaged in one final dance, usually another waltz. Meanwhile the puppets on the shelves would hold tiny little candles, sized just for them. After that all the puppets on the stage would give a bow before walking back to their spot on the shelf. Just when the guests seemed to be unsure if it was over, all the marionettes and André would give a final bow.
“Adieu!” The Puppeteer called as the crowd made its leave of the tent. “Thank you for your patronage!” With a final salute he exited off the stage from the back and into the smaller adjoined tent. André was taking a personal intermission between his shows as there was hardly time to do so during the event. He sat himself down and opened a nearby bottle of Coca-Cola. Sometimes, it was nice to enjoy not being on the stage. However, this did cause him to think of things he’d been trying to not think of. While he was French at heart, that didn’t change the fact that the Cirque de Noir was currently quite close to the place that had been his home for the longest. A part of him wanted to go back, just to see. “Surely a bad idea,” he said to one of the few marionettes who had not joined his show. “Non?” No one would be alive now anyway. They couldn’t, could they?
Meanwhile, Marie remained behind on the stage, holding a sign which read: ‘Monsieur André is Currently Away.’
Fanciful colours and decorations of showmanship would not have once been outside of André’s interest. Nevertheless, a life lived in without such had learned to ingrain itself into his mind and make it the norm. Inside his tent, the floor was half a stage and half a place for the curious to watch, whether they chose to stand or sit. Oil lanterns were primarily the source of lighting, hanging from ropes which were crossed from the ceiling and along the walls.
Wooden shelves lined the back of the stage, supporting many dozens of finely detailed puppets, all which dressed in the fanciest of monochrome clothing. Many wore that which reflected the early 1900s. Others were garbed in finery resembling the Upper Classes of famous European time periods. In addition this majority there were others dressed much more uniquely. A few looked traditionally Far Eastern, while two were dressed in ceremonial military uniform, three or four resembled the traditional garb of the Middle East, while a party girl of the 1920s could be seen next to a ballerina. Still, none looked more intentionally modern than the first half of the 20th century.
André stood at the centre of the stage, only a single of his marionettes had joined him. She was sitting crumpled on the ground, lifeless, just next to his right leg. The Puppeteer had been waiting for guests to fill in, until a sufficient amount arrived, he chose to remain still. After a significant number of individuals occupied the room he left his motionless stance. “It’s time, Marie,” he whispered to the puppet, before addressing the crowd.
“I welcome you to my show, dear ladies and gentlemen.” As he spoke André stretched out his right arm before bringing it across his torso for a bow. Marie stood up, imitating a curtsey in time with his gesture. When they were done, both stood straight, arms down and looking at the crowd. They were like this only for a moment before he took a step away from her and gave her a vexed look. She remained where she was, but turned to face him, tilting her head a little.
“Surely you can do better, Marie? Anyone can manage such a small gesture.” Her hand flickered up to her lip a moment before she swung it out widely. “A dance? Truly, a lovely suggestion!” With a wave of his arm in the direction of the shelves, three more puppets jumped lightly to the ground. One strode the stage over to where Marie stood, while the other two walked so they stood only a short distance away. “I think a waltz would be lovely, don’t you?” The four marionettes nodded. “Excellent!” André made his way to the record player which sat some distance from his lovely puppets. Aram Khachaturian’s Masquerade Waltz was the piece he’d chosen. The music swelled and they began to dance. Just the two pairs at first. Then more, as others sitting on the shelves chose to join in on the dance. Eight pairs ended up swirling around the stage, timed with near perfectness to the music.
Most of André’s act comprised of his marionettes performing various types of dances or performing silent sketches. His finale was when he encouraged at least half of his dolls to get down from their shelves and run around the stage, interacting with each other in various ways. At the end of these exchanges they would all move to find themselves a partner. The music would become more prominent as they engaged in one final dance, usually another waltz. Meanwhile the puppets on the shelves would hold tiny little candles, sized just for them. After that all the puppets on the stage would give a bow before walking back to their spot on the shelf. Just when the guests seemed to be unsure if it was over, all the marionettes and André would give a final bow.
“Adieu!” The Puppeteer called as the crowd made its leave of the tent. “Thank you for your patronage!” With a final salute he exited off the stage from the back and into the smaller adjoined tent. André was taking a personal intermission between his shows as there was hardly time to do so during the event. He sat himself down and opened a nearby bottle of Coca-Cola. Sometimes, it was nice to enjoy not being on the stage. However, this did cause him to think of things he’d been trying to not think of. While he was French at heart, that didn’t change the fact that the Cirque de Noir was currently quite close to the place that had been his home for the longest. A part of him wanted to go back, just to see. “Surely a bad idea,” he said to one of the few marionettes who had not joined his show. “Non?” No one would be alive now anyway. They couldn’t, could they?
Meanwhile, Marie remained behind on the stage, holding a sign which read: ‘Monsieur André is Currently Away.’
:Gender:
Male
:Age:
Appears around twenty; ~117
:Role in the Circus:
Puppeteer
:Magic:
The ability to give “life” to humanoid objects. This faux-life is an extension of himself. Generally they can’t do anything unless he commands them to. Other times they can get a bit “lively” of their own accord. Either way, they can only be animate so long as they are not too far away, should he leave them or they stray, they return to deadness. “They” must be resembling of a human to a certain degree. André tends to mostly use the marionettes which he has made.
:Reason for joining the Circus:
André has several reasons for joining the Cirque de Noir. Most prominently was the escape from war.
:Past Life:
André’s life began in small village in northern France. His father, Alexandre Leclair, was the town woodcrafter. Alexandre was skilled in his trade and took pride in it. Seeking more from his talents was largely the cause for the family’s eventual move to Paris. In his earliest years, André had possessed a fondness for replications of humans. He felt like he could hear them, and like they could hear him. As though they had a life of their own. These thoughts were some of the few things he could remember of his earliest years. Another of them, was the marvellous wooden toys his father made for him. The humans were always his favourite.
Shortly after his arrival to Paris the boy learned of les marionnettistes when he saw some performing on the streets. While his father worked to try and spread his craft and his mother did… well, whatever it was she was doing, André would tie string to the toys he had and imitate the show he’d seen. Yet, there were things to do, things to help mother with, so these small shows did not last long. Especially as things got worse. His father could not make a business out of his woodworking and was having trouble finding another source of steady income. So the family decided to leave their home again, this time they planned to sail across the sea, to America.
The Leclair's arrived in a foreign and strange world. They spoke little English and both parents were required to take jobs to support the family. Madame Leclair had only intended to work until her husband had worked his way up. Nevertheless, both were gone many hours, and this left André who was still young, much time to himself. There were others there, but they had things to do. Important things. So the boy continued his practise of puppetry. To his surprise, he discovered he did not need strings. The toys would move on their own, if he let them. Occasionally he’d put on a display, and people liked it. A part of him hoped something would come of it. He didn't quite understand how that what he was doing was abnormal.
For several years things were not unwell, however, there was never a promotion in sight, and both Leclair parents continued to work. They became more bitter, and the warmth of his youth was lost to the tired and worn-down faces. The distance between those who lived at the house only continued to grow, until at fourteen, André chose to leave. He was not the type to require much, so he managed to live off of the coins of strangers. Around three years, he continued like such, until he started to develop a sickness. At that time he realized exposure to the elements was going to kill him. Returning home seemed best, where he stayed, until his health had returned to full. Even once his health improved he remained with his family, now offering them support. André continued to perform when chances permitted, which tended to be few. Still, things were not so bad.
Alas, war came to America. He fled home after being drafted and while on the run found the Cirque de Noir.
Mad Scarlet said
Fire breather, animal tamer, acrobat, knife throwing, puppetry, juggler, or any role that you would really like. There can always be more than one of something.
I was originally going to go with Fire Breather but was having trouble with that. Going with Puppetry! I hadn't even thought of that, thank you.
Anyone have any suggestions for a role within the circus?
Mad Scarlet said Any role that you would see at a circus or carnival is open for the taking, except the ringmaster, of course. The "magic" that I'm speaking about is extremely talented folk. In the illusionist's case, she could preform actual feats like vanishing and creating doves from handkerchiefs. Does that kind of make sense? It's like the stage magic is actual magic, like it's really being transformed. The type of "magic" that your character could use would be solely based on what role you wanted to play. Like a tamer, for instance, could actually be able to transform into animals and speak to them as if they were people. A fortune teller could actually tell you your future if they chose to give you the full truth.
And the immortality... ah, this is going to be one of my favorite twists. The immortality is something that prevents the members from dying. They can get injured and sick, but they heal at an abnormally fast rate. Aging-wise, they never age. They are trapped in a sort of time limbo where they can not move forward nor can they move backwards. Their body performs regular functions, such as consuming food and drinking liquids, as well as expelling them. They are fairly normal, except for the healing and aging part. Due to the healing part, they are unable to die. They no longer possess souls, as they are part of the circus as a whole--that's what powers the circus and gives it an air of mystery. Say an acrobat were to fall from the ropes, which is highly unlikely but still possible, something or somebody would catch them. Most likely a rope would wrap around their legs and prevent them from hitting the ground.
And I'm sure you can imagine how many of the older performers would like to be able to move on and simply die, but they can't. Leaving the circus would only drive them mad and bring them back, and they can't commit suicide or get ill enough to fully kill off their bodies.
Hopefully this makes sense.
It does make sense, thank you. ^^
Interested. Still very much on the fence about joining it or not, though. I could use a little more information about the roles. What is "Magic?" More specifically, what are your limitings on it and/or general things you can tell me about it? Also, what's the immortality like? Do characters heal? Can they even get hurt? Or are they just not able to die?
My apologies everyone. I'm officially withdrawing from this. Things have become busier and my interest has dwindled. Good luck and may this RP flourish.
...Sigh
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