Steps that balanced between measured and watery stole a most elegant, svelte form towards the grandiose facade of an old, well kept theatre still alive and well in the heart of Rhydin proper. She was tall, almost too tall; a vision of things all men should fear, and all women should take arms against. Long hair bright as peppered anything haloed down in a straight fall that went on about halfway along the supple byways of her lengthy legs. Bone fine fingers with a sinner's come hither curl just waiting to preen for and crook at an unsuspecting soul. Anyanka was a creature born to serve the purpose of her kind, one could tell that from the eerie first moments they laid their gaze to her, but like any strange beauty, she was quite more than meets the eye, be it appreciative or apprehensive.
The siren moved in a way that belied her dangerous nature; her limbs sometimes seemed more fluid than flesh, as if the gods themselves had found a way to give water a body just to watch it move and sway.
It was these reasons, all physical and airy, that made the doors open for Anya as she walked up the sprawling staircase of the theater. Not magic, no, but a pair of young boys in little hop-top uniforms and neat little gloves that parted the glassy, smudge free panels to allow their notable guest into the building. A voice called out to her almost immediately from the upper stair's balcony, it woke up a lone custodian in the far corner of the marble floored entrance room, making the scrawny looking scruff straight an skitter away.
"Mrs. Faeraar! What an unexpected pleasure! But your performance, nor the rehearsals aren't for another two months. Is there something I can help you with?" The voice that rang out and echoed through the wide open space, but it made the owner of it no more impressive. He was a stout man. Stout and portly in all the wrong places, and all those wrong places were emphasized, unfortunately, but a waistcoat, vest, and pants set that squished him tighter than a freshly wrapped sausage in all the oddest of ways.
Anya smiled to the little froggy man sweet as anything though; and she smiled with her sharp, sharp teeth.
"I've come baring a thought in mind, Count Veego." The siren's voice was velvet smooth, even and huskily uttered; an actresses' voice, tried and true. The charm was turned on the instant she began to speak, not ask.
"... I shall be away, unfortunately, for the next few weeks." Seeing the count's sudden squish about his face; an attempt at a downtrodden, disappointed look; Anya held up a hand, sparing one finger in a little tick tock back and forth.
"Ah, ah, aahh my Patron. I shall return in plenty of time to rehearse, but until then I've a pet project in the works though. One who's profits will benefit a local charity, and in turn will give the theater here another lovely storm of sparkling publicity... Who knows Count. You might find your lovely theater handling a whole new angle to fill the time between performances after this." As the siren spoke down to the portly count, he seemed to jump from visibly calming, to discontent, and then back up to a wide, almost greedily excited smile.
"Excellent, most excellent my lovely Anyanka! The theater is yours to use, of course. Any room, and series of props, any bit of the stage we're not using. Also at any hour of course." Beady eyes blinked rapidly behind a thick pair of spectacles one fashionable size too small. His smile was only growing. It was obvious Anyanka had done such before due to his lack of demand for the who, the what, the where, the when, and the why; he just offered it all. The Count had clearly benefitted quite a lot from Anya's brainstorms in the past. Why else would such an obviously profit driven man give over every resource of his livelihood to an actress, best headliner or no.
"Mmm... Such a magnanimous reception. You're too kind Count Veego, far too kind and trusting." It was a thank you, a compliment, and an insult all at once. The Count seemed none the wiser to the latter.
With that, Anya set a delicate handle of fingers along the Count's shoulders, their nails ticking idly at the peacock fringe of his tacky little coat. As they waltzed aimlessly about the never ending splendor of the building, the siren with her patron, she began to explain the bulk of her idea....
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http://fc05.deviantart.net/fs36/i/2009/348/c/a/Theatre_by_yellowcaseartist.jpg
The siren moved in a way that belied her dangerous nature; her limbs sometimes seemed more fluid than flesh, as if the gods themselves had found a way to give water a body just to watch it move and sway.
It was these reasons, all physical and airy, that made the doors open for Anya as she walked up the sprawling staircase of the theater. Not magic, no, but a pair of young boys in little hop-top uniforms and neat little gloves that parted the glassy, smudge free panels to allow their notable guest into the building. A voice called out to her almost immediately from the upper stair's balcony, it woke up a lone custodian in the far corner of the marble floored entrance room, making the scrawny looking scruff straight an skitter away.
"Mrs. Faeraar! What an unexpected pleasure! But your performance, nor the rehearsals aren't for another two months. Is there something I can help you with?" The voice that rang out and echoed through the wide open space, but it made the owner of it no more impressive. He was a stout man. Stout and portly in all the wrong places, and all those wrong places were emphasized, unfortunately, but a waistcoat, vest, and pants set that squished him tighter than a freshly wrapped sausage in all the oddest of ways.
Anya smiled to the little froggy man sweet as anything though; and she smiled with her sharp, sharp teeth.
"I've come baring a thought in mind, Count Veego." The siren's voice was velvet smooth, even and huskily uttered; an actresses' voice, tried and true. The charm was turned on the instant she began to speak, not ask.
"... I shall be away, unfortunately, for the next few weeks." Seeing the count's sudden squish about his face; an attempt at a downtrodden, disappointed look; Anya held up a hand, sparing one finger in a little tick tock back and forth.
"Ah, ah, aahh my Patron. I shall return in plenty of time to rehearse, but until then I've a pet project in the works though. One who's profits will benefit a local charity, and in turn will give the theater here another lovely storm of sparkling publicity... Who knows Count. You might find your lovely theater handling a whole new angle to fill the time between performances after this." As the siren spoke down to the portly count, he seemed to jump from visibly calming, to discontent, and then back up to a wide, almost greedily excited smile.
"Excellent, most excellent my lovely Anyanka! The theater is yours to use, of course. Any room, and series of props, any bit of the stage we're not using. Also at any hour of course." Beady eyes blinked rapidly behind a thick pair of spectacles one fashionable size too small. His smile was only growing. It was obvious Anyanka had done such before due to his lack of demand for the who, the what, the where, the when, and the why; he just offered it all. The Count had clearly benefitted quite a lot from Anya's brainstorms in the past. Why else would such an obviously profit driven man give over every resource of his livelihood to an actress, best headliner or no.
"Mmm... Such a magnanimous reception. You're too kind Count Veego, far too kind and trusting." It was a thank you, a compliment, and an insult all at once. The Count seemed none the wiser to the latter.
With that, Anya set a delicate handle of fingers along the Count's shoulders, their nails ticking idly at the peacock fringe of his tacky little coat. As they waltzed aimlessly about the never ending splendor of the building, the siren with her patron, she began to explain the bulk of her idea....
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _
http://fc05.deviantart.net/fs36/i/2009/348/c/a/Theatre_by_yellowcaseartist.jpg