Wainwright's Delusion (Solo)

[Duffy]

Wainwright's Delusion (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GUcXI2BIUOQ)



Part One of the Story Arc 'Take Pride In Failure.'

Lucian held the shadow form of his dagger to the night sky, and admired the moon’s chalice overflowing through the semi-tangible steel. Long ago, before he had fallen, his former self had acquired the blade from the tombs beneath Scara Brae, fighting tooth and nail to wrench it from the grip of a liche master. Such a deed had gone unnoticed in history, but the benefits of his trial was two-fold; it had given him cause to create other artefacts, and given him the power and edge over his contemporaries, the ability to eradicate the competition with a delicate little cut.

He turned his attention to the cityscape before him, and ran his gaze along the distant streets far below. From his vantage point, floating directly above the Queen’s tower, he could admire his entire former domain in its resplendent glory. “Soon,” he croaked, the grainy edge to his voice the consequence of undeath, “I shall return it to its rightful heir…” he made three cuts in the air, leaving a trace of corruption in a triangle pattern and faded into nothingness, the sound of cackling and daemonic laughter drifting out through the shadow folded portal as he vanished.

Down in the early morning solitude, Duffy sat on the edge of the stage of the Prima Vista scribbling on a piece of parchment with a tatty old quill. It had once been the feather of a peacock, a turquoise splendour to adorn the creative process with a little bit of elegance, which was now nothing more than tuft of brown plume and a greying spine. He shivered suddenly, as if a ghost had plummeted from the sky to collide with his mantle, and looked over his shoulder. Seeing he was alone, he put it down to the time of day and his growing lethargy, before continuing his sentence with a clenched buttock and a scrunched up expression of concentration.

It did not take long to finish, and with the first Act completed, the thief set the paper to one side and slid off the stage with a delicate thud. As he put on his boots, and dusted his backside down he looked up through the sun shaped dome of the Tantalum Troupe’s home and admired the full moon. It looked back at him, smiling goofily and illuminating the rag-tag collection of stage props, dress rails and rickety looking ladders with an eerie blanket of possibility. As he yawned and stretched and eased away the discomfort of his cold and tired joints, Duffy thought about the good old days, and wandered off down the stairs into the warmer, cosier and often cabbage scented dining room.

As the night turned to day and all fell silent in the city, with sporadic exception for early morning traders and chamber maids, something stirred in the ancient tombs below the streets. Its great maw resting wide open and teeth stained with the blood of an ancient adventurer who had stolen something precious long ago. The liche churned his cauldron, and poured in another vial of blackened blood with a foreboding hiss and a crack of arid lungs. “All the pieces in place,” he began to stir the concoction with a bony digit, “all the pawns set to play one last game…”

The sun rose, and a new day dawned on the bard, the baron, and the fallen-king.

[Duffy]

The sun peered through the cracks in the windows of the Tantalum troupe’s ramshackle kitchen, illuminating the abandoned sink and the understocked cupboards to the world. Lilith, the self titled chef de partie had been occupied with sewing for the forthcoming play that she had no time left to clean or prepare meals. The players had lived on a diet of fruit and bread for so long they had forgotten what a pie was, never mind warm food. It was just one of many small sacrifices that needed to be made in the run up to a new debut, a new notch on the bed post for the theatrical elite.

It was early morning and Ruby waltzed down the stairs opposite the stage steps wearing a flattering satin nightdress she had acquired in a curious set of circumstances; which she refused to repeat to anyone. The dust floated through the Spartan light available and the musky scent of men working too hard filled her nostrils. She did not see her friend but she knew that he was asleep on the dusty old sofa once again. Its tall floral back was facing her, hiding the thief from view but not from her nostrils. “Duffy Bracken, if you don’t get up right this minute!” She tapped her bare foot on the last of the steps, the hollow sound an accompaniment to his groggy and slander filled awakening.

“I wasn’t – I wasn’t…” He sat upright, his head popping into view and the tell tale signs of a late night covered his chin in shadow, and his clothes in crumbs and ink.

“Sleeping?” Ruby offered, sweeping around the side of the sofa to give him a glare that could shatter the sternest of lies. “I can’t believe you’ve been up all night with today being today, I always thought you were selfish but this is simply unbelievable!” She offered him no chance to defend himself and sped off through the kitchen door, breaking the flabbergasted silence a few moments later with the sound of clattering dishes and domestic frustration. Duffy sat and put on his boots, thinking very hard between knots about what it was he had supposedly forgotten; clearly something important was today but when he started writing so proficiently, so obsessively, the days turned to weeks turned to months without a thought.

“I don’t know what I’ve done this time Ruby,” he pushed himself upright and leant over, as if projecting his voice to the kitchen whilst giving him a few extra inches to flee, “but I’ve finished!” Almost instantly the sound of dishes being moved and cleaned stopped.

Her crimson hair appeared around the battered doorway, a cut of ham in one hand and a dishcloth in the other. “You’ve…finished?” Her anger faded for a moment, before being replaced with a scowl, “that is still no excuse for forgetting Lilith’s wedding!”

A little explosion ripped through Duffy’s hung-over state, ringing bells and pounding drums between his ears. The smell of ash, smoke and dust brought it all back and he remembered the previous evening’s lecture all too well. He had been informed, several times, yet the alcohol from Lilith’s husband to be stag do had caused a wave of inspiration and he had stayed up well beyond mortal confines to take advantage of it. On the one hand, he tried to work out how she looked so beautiful after Lilith’s hen night, but on the other, he desperately sought the energy to spring into action to get ready for the ceremony. It would be in the temple on the far side of the Numarr Slums, a building nestled between the Acropolis and the Shade Mansions.

“Forgive me for asking Ruby but have you se-”

“It’s on the edge of the stage!” She interrupted, the sound of dishes replaced with the clashing of carving knife and fork. The tradition of ham sandwiches for breakfast the morning of a wedding was not one Ruby been able to explain to Lilith, or to her family, who all waited eagerly for this ‘Scara Brae’ delicacy. She wished she had thought of a more culinary delight type lie to tell around the cocktail party last night, but she had been so enamoured by the roast dinner it had consumed her gin soaked ramblings. Although Duffy could not see her face it was wracked with a level of pressure she had yet to encounter in her many years. She was dreading to think what she had been like on her own wedding day, if she was this close to boiling after sun up.

In the distance the bells of the temple rang and a flock of doves scattered into the halcyon sky. With each chime of the great domed cathedral Duffy bounded across the living room and dissipated up to the stage, ignoring his hangover long enough to gain the momentum required to clear them without throwing up. The potter patter of boots on rickety wood brought a calming notion of readiness to Ruby. She dropped the sponge into the soapy water and dried her hands. "So much to do, so little time," she mumbled.

[Duffy]

Duffy rattled up the stairs into the Prima Vista’s stage room and stopped at the crest of the spiral to check his surroundings. True to her word, his wedding attire was resting half slung over the edge of the performance platform, a single ray of sunshine illuminating it conveniently from the circular stained glass dome that topped off the troupe’s hideaway grandly.

He waltzed over and picked it up by the wire triangle that kept the shoulders neat and twirled it. “Perfect,” he chimed, flopping it back down before unbuttoning his shirt. It did not take him long to replace his lanky, damp, sweaty clothing with the pristine (at least by slum standards) suit. With a slow and tiresome sigh he stepped in front of the full length mirror the troupe used to check their costumes and appearance in and prodded his chest, fiddled with his buttons and combed over his hair.

Jokingly, he tried to imagine how he would feel if it were him getting married one day. Whilst he had sworn he never would, he imagined the best man the world over went through the exact same denigrating ritual. He knew full well that no-one would ever find it in their heart to marry Duffy Bracken.

“Duffy!” Ruby’s voice somehow penetrated the ceiling of the kitchen and rattled around in his brain. He whelped with a startled expression and looked hesitantly at the top of the stairs. “Get downstairs this instant!”

With a rolling pair of eyes and a mumbling soliloquy about how he was supposed to be in control, he padded across the dusty floorboards, gave a longing look over his shoulder at the sun dome and stumbled back into the living room to be shouted at as usual. As he descended into the stale odour and unclean hollow, the smell of pea and ham struck him.

“I’ll be right there, mother!”

[Duffy]

He bounded down the stairs a few moments later, dress to the nines and ready to kill, metaphorically speaking. Ruby wandered in from the kitchen, having taken to the solitude allowed by his absence to calm her nerves and her erratic tongue. She looked at him with a smile for a moment, before nodding with an approving and enthusiastic shake of her head. Her red hair jostled in the twilight, and she rinsed her hands on the towel she carried tucked into her waist sash free of the suds.

"Good. Good good good, now, finish the dishes, and let me get ready - we can be there on time for once!" She tossed the cloth and waltzed to the bottom of the stairs. Duffy rolled his eyes with every step, ensconced in his own hangover and self loathing to put up any resistance.

"We leave in an hour, although I expect you'll twiddle your thumbs and leave without me, so I'll say see you there?" She glanced over her shoulder with cold indifference, and walked up to the stage without waiting for an answer.

Duffy stood for a minute, still as a statue and incapable of independent thought or reasoning. He was half excited because he had finally finished a scene, and half excited because in no time at all, Lillith Kazumi would finally be married, and he would have her done away with her fancy man with royal behest and blessings aplenty. it was a shame, he mentally mused, that something would go wrong today.

He didn't know how he knew, but he knew, and it worried him.

Lucian was coming, the shadows flickered in foresight, and Duffy was dreading the consequences of his warning all those years ago.