Wild Magic (Chyril 23rd ET, open)

[Morg]

Nestled amid several great cultural structures, the Promenade Theatre holds the distinction of hosting the finest entertainment one can find in the line of play acting. While play acting has grown to popularity at the Promenade, it is but one of many attractions that include such events as concerts, recitals, and balls. Reserved and used virtually every night, the Promenade Company receive as much revenue for performances as they do for leasing the magnificent structure, for they own it outright. This eveningtide's performance was likely to be a particularly profitable one. For the first time in living memory, one of the Mouth's Colleges of Magick, the Ghearan College, was showcasing its arcane arts in a public demonstration of magical power and finesse. Magic in the Mouth was feared and respected, thanks to religious pressure and to the colleges' usual aloofness, and so the turnout of curious citizens was high.

Street vendors of food and drink and of useless trinkets were jostling for position outside the entrance to the theatre, all trying to jump on the bandwagon and attract the crowds as they went inside. Two girls were checking and selling tickets at the gate. Within the circular structure, people were milling around in the audience pit, chattering gaily as they waited for the show to begin. Normally this central area was open to the elements, but today, if one looked up, one could make out a wobbly translucent dome covering the whole theatre. Through it, threatening clouds could be seen. The storm had not yet broken, but the mages had already taken precautions to shield their audience from the rain.

Much of the Promenade was made up of very steep sets of covered stands from which better-off spectators could enjoy the presentations from the raised stage. One quarter of the circular building is sectioned off as an additional, deeper stage, with an extensive collection of backdrops and props for general use. In the very centre of the theatre, hovering several spans above the stage, was a perfectly smooth silver sphere. It was the size of a small carriage, and had no obvious means of suspension. Dancing around it, in set patterns of orbit, were numerous tiny spheres of red, blue and yellow light. On the stage, although somewhat overshadowed by the magical decoration, a string quartet were playing gentle melodies.

Several of the Mouth's notables had turned out to watch the show. Most theatres had a Royal Box, but not the Promenade, for the Mouth didn't take too kindly to royalty these days; instead the most opulent private box was known as the "People's Box". Occupying it was one of the city's Magisters, the tall, goatee-bearded Rineault Gabrielli, Lord Treasurer of the Mouth... and possibly one of the most financially influential people on the face of Tazlure. At his side was a stunning red-headed woman, whose full bosom was only partially contained within the sheer, figure-hugging red gown she wore. The next box along contained two men whose age belied the power they both wielded: Councilor Guillaume Indigo, a handsome young patriarch, and Gian Filippo Mancini, Bishop of Highton, who was in many respects the leader of the Prodesse diocese both spiritually and temporally. The two were deep in discussion.

All around the theatre, people were waiting expectantly for the commencement of what looked set to be a very memorable performance.

[Guest]

There might as well have been big bullseye targets painted on every one of their foreheads.

Marks, every last one of them.

Oh, the show seemed to be building as such that it would be a grand performance, and Behn was sure that it would be entertaining. Behn, however, was not a 'big attraction' kind of guy. Where there were attractions, there were crowds, and where there were crowds there was alcohol and where there was alcohol there were drunks and where there were drunks there were easy scores. He wasn't skilled enough to go toe to toe witha cogent mercenary or schooled fighter, and nothing would be worse then accidently stumbling across one while trying to rob them. He knew that from watching Dusquene in action. He had taken on six men, trained fighters and cutthroats all, and killed five before he took his fatal wound, having been slowed by the wounds from the others.

No, his marks--the ones he was confident he could take down, anyway--were of the more inebriated type. As with any thug, he'd spent a long time eyeing the treasurer hungrily. He knew what kind of funds the man had access to. He spent far longer, however, eyeing the red-headed woman next to him. It had been some time since he'd ever felt the warm caress of a woman, and not once had it been one he hadn't paid for. He spent a long moment staring at her half-covered, accentuated bosom and the corset-enhanced curve of her hips wolfishly before turning away.

This was about work, not pleasure. He had to keep that in mind.

Quietly he passed through the crowds, taking in the sights not only of the performers, but of the clueless citizens about him, milling about and chattering quietly with excitement at the show that was about to take place. Constantly his eye roamed, seeking those that looked rich in both coin and drink or, lacking those, people who seemed likely to have a coin or two in their pocket worth taking and might have had a swig too many.

Speaking of...

He turned awkwardly, his leg lifting as his hand reached down, his body shifted to the side. He slipped the flask from his boot, unscrewed the cap, and took a small swig. He couldn't get drunk, not yet, but something to calm his nerves before a 'heist' seemed like a good idea. Screwing the cap back on and slipping it back into his boot with another awkward--though noticably smoother--movement, his eyes continued to seek targets.

Big money, big money, big money, big money, no whammies, stop!

[Morg]

Bernardo Grigori glanced anxiously around as he passed into the stands. Although the Harbour Master knew of nothing to worry about, the words of the Director of the ULT had put him on edge, and he was more alert and flustered than he could ever remember himself being. Of course, his wife, Maria, and his eight-yahren-old son Valentino couldn't understand what all the fuss was about. They were just excited about the wonders they were about to see. Nevertheless, Grigori kept a tight hold of their hands. I hope this show is good enough to take my mind off whatever might be happening down at the Arsenale, he thought, glancing up at the dancing lights.

To Behn, the fat middle-aged man who marched past him with a young boy held in one meaty hand and an equally fat woman in the other was likely not a suitable target. He appeared wealthy enough, but his manner was almost that of a hunted man, constantly stealing glances around him. Others were far more oblivious to their surroundings. A rangy man in a smart burgundy doublet was showing off to a pair of giggling girls, and an immaculately coiffured achadhiel woman in an aquamarine dress sauntered through the crowd with a ridiculously bulbous purse at her waist.

In the meantime the conversation was becoming more animated as the appointed time for the start of the show drew nearer.

[Guest]

The fat man made a tempting target, but a paranoid man who jumped at shadows made for a poor mark. Skip. He moved on to the next one, the rangy man. Showing off meant arrogance and cocksuredness...but with girls standing opposite him, it'd be difficult to work his magic. Skip. The third, the achadhiel woman, made for the most tempting of the three, especially considering she was alone...but achadhiel were known for their reflexes and agility, and Behn, unlearned as he was, always believed there was something...unnatural about them. He was naturally suspicious of them, and if she got it, all the better, though a part of him feared her catching him and performing some sort of strange voodoo magicks on him.

But tonight, a night of merriment, might be that her guard would be down as she enjoyed a night at the show. Perhaps...perhaps it was worth a shot.

With casual demeaner he navigated the maze of people, slowly, casually, easily moving through the crowds. Slowly he went, in no particularly obvious movement, in her general direction. Like a shark, he circled, trying to get behind her. If everything worked out, that purse would be his...but first he had to get close to her and look for an opening. If none presented themselves, he had a different tactic in mind. He'd hate to hvae to resort to it, and he wasn't even sure it would work, so he'd prefer to just be able to lift it and leave.

He wasn't a fan of crowds, but he'd do what he had to, and he needed money...

[Maeve]

Slowly Behn got closer, deftly avoiding bumping in to the various people that made up the crowd inside the theatre, which was slowly getting thicker in anticipation of the show. The adhiel lady was moving as well, towards the stage, apparantly eager to have a good spot in front and certainly not paying much attention to the possibility of pick pockets.

Around the Pitch that contained most of the crowd Behn would be able to spot a few well muscled yet lithe men wearing burgundy tunics with nice golden tassles watching what transpired, occassionaly stopping a curious person from going backstage.

[Tristam]

Tristam arrived on the scene with the dark haired Akasma on his arm. The gorgeous Lily was a source of comfort to him. He needed all the friends he could get in this time of Vendetta. Tristam's dress was deliberately ambiguous for those watching. The colors were dark and somber for such a happy occasion yet he stopped short of wearing signs of mourning. Let the tongues wag and the minds wonder what message he was sending.

Tristam would not have come at all but for Niccolo's suggestion that he establish an alibi. He was certainly not in a festive mood. Even an afternoon of soothing by the Lillies did little to calm him. Too much rested on Niccolo for Tristam to feel at ease. Still, this time tomorrow things would be much clearer for better or for worse. At least then Tristam would know where he stood.

"Come my dear, let's get a good seat while they are still available." Tristam suggested. "I don't want to miss a thing."

[Guest]

Fletcher entered the Promenade Theatre with one hand on the hilt of his longsword, lost in a quick scan of his surroundings. He searched the crowd for faces, gestures, any information that could feed his judgement of the situation and better prepare him for further exploration. The crowd seemed generally content if not alittle excited. Many formal and informal greetings were being exchanged, and Saul weaved through them casually, taking each one into account. Straining his kneck, he looked up to take in the Private Boxes. Through his dealings with the gentile noble and merchant classes, he had a feeling he might spot a face or two; maybe even one that would call him up for a drink. He smiled calmly, slowly blinking. Events like this made some of those wealthy patrons feel slightly ..on edge. It was the chaos and the lack of total control that drove them to men like him. More protection might ease that pain if not alittle. So the smile was not for the sake of his popularity, but rather for the veil of friendship hiding the animal nature of fear or exhilaration that a token invitation might present.

He gazed further up towards the "People's Box" and was not disappointed; the ample cleavage displayed was hard to miss at this vantage point. Besides that, he saw a tall man whom seemed somewhat familiar; Fletcher retraced his thoughts to when a time their paths may have crossed before. He was more than likely a Magister or someone of great importance to hold that seat, and something in his head rang the word Tunairre which would make him Head of the Treasury if he was indeed a Magister. That was not unexpected, but very interesting considering his personal interest in the Standing Nine and the Tunairre in particular. Fletcher made a fresh scan of the area looking for any Black Guards or any person whom seemed as interested in the crowd as he was, then back towards the private boxes to catch any eyes that wanted his attention.
The night was young, and the excitement was contagious.

[Guest]

Very nonchalantly, making sure that both the adhiel lady and the men in burgundy wren't paying him any special attention, he closed in on her. It was a shot in the dark, but he'd give it a shot. Slipping up next to her--however long it took--he tried to use his modest slight of hand talents to slip the pouch from her when she wasn't paying attention, looking specifically for a moment when she was distracted by something or someone.

If successful, he would drift away from her, keeping the pouch hidden under his cloak, and make for the outside. If unsuccessful...well...that remained to be seen on if he was caught red-handed or not...if so, he'd try to force it from her and flee through the crowd, if not, he'd try again.

This was the moment of truth.

[Mezatino]

Much like Bernardo and Tristam, Mezatino was also at the spectacular show for an alibi. However, unlike either of them, it was doubtful that he would even need his; all he was doing was robbing bondhouses, not setting fires to all of the Mouth. He simply felt that he should show up, be noticed by a few peoples, then discreatly disappear in time for his own action.

He had easily passed the guards at the gate, mainly because he had actually paid the entrance fee. They didn't even hassle him over his newly acquired pet. It was a white-faced capuchin monkey that Mezatino called Ladro, as the little devil was quite a thief. All day he had been stealing small insignificant things, clearly it was a klepto, and Mezatino had no idea where it had come from. He had just gone to his house from the Punt Den massacre, and there was Ladro in a cage. No note, nothing to explain itself to Mezatino. Hopefull it wouldn't cause too much havic at the show, but then again, having such a kleptomaniacal pet in such a grand crowd, could do nothing but gain rewards.

Today Mezatino was not a jester, he was not a beggar, he was not a contact, he did not even seem a thief; today he was a sophisticated swashbuckler. He dress told it best. Imaculately outfitted in rough silk, it was smooth to the touch and shimmered in the light, never knowing if it was gray or black. The jacket was very close fitting with a hood whose edge was frayed looking alot like the flaring sleeve cuffs, all of them had that cob-web like fabric, enhanced by silver threads that barely glinted, leaving even Mezatino wondering if he had seen it. And his boots, oh his boots clicked and clacked on the flagstone steet like steel hitting iron, it resonated everywhere and the toes as pointed as they were, allowed him to be even lighter on his feet than usual.

He noticed Behn, noticed exactly what he was doing, but mearly wanted to watch. He began to do the same thing, he slowly non chalantly watched and closed in on the large thug. When we was within earshot, he stopped and waited, feeding a small slice of apple to Ladro.

[Morg]

(OOC: Sorry about the delay, everyone; let's get this show on the road.)

Akasma inclined her head in the positive. While the dark girl could be a fountain of conversation when she wanted to be, she also knew when to maintain a demure, obedient silence. For now she simply melded into Tristam's side like a part of his outfit and accompanied him to the seating higher up the theatre. The best remaining seats were just below the box containing Indigo and the Bishop of Highton.

Tristam's presence did cause a few comments. "That's Tristam Tormson," an older man near Fletcher could be heard to say to his associate, gesturing at the dark-clad merchant. "Constanza's man. I'm surprised he has time for attending social events, what with the House in chaos."

"It's important to keep up appearances," the second man responded, shrugging.

Fletcher could spot only one man wearing the uniform of the Tunairre, a slim man with sergeant's stripes who stood at the back of the People's Box. His gaze swept from the entrance to the box to the box's occupants to the crowd below, although not without pausing to take in the sights of the stage. The majority of those surveying the crowd were marked out as members of the Libritairre legion by their green gauntlets. At least twenty of them were dotted around the periphery, and in charge seemed to be a youngish man with a long mane of dark hair who was only slightly lighter in build than Saul himself. Fletcher would also recognise Bernardo Grigori and family; the two had spoken briefly on one occasion. Due to his association with the Union of Labourers and Teamsters, the Harbour Master had been rising in the world of the Mouth, and these days often associated with the merchant classes, although as yet he'd never hired a bodyguard.

Ladro had already procured a silver brooch from somewhere, but dropped it on the ground as he was fed a piece of apple by Mezatino. The press of the crowd made it difficult to observe exactly what Behn was doing, but the dark-skinned man's height meant that it was not too difficult to follow his movements through the audience pit.

Behn himself was soon presented with the opportunity he needed. The silver sphere had begun to rumble audibly, and was shaking in its position, causing the attention of most of the crowd to be drawn to it. This vibration didn't subside. Instead it slowly rose to a crescendo as the music died down, the movements becoming ever more violent... and then with a shrieking BOOM the sphere shattered, silver shards of it hurtling outwards in all directions.

But before anyone could be injured, they changed their course. Some force was pulling them upwards, and they followed a glittering trajectory towards the top of the dome, where they were sucked together and disappeared into nothing.

The sphere was revealed to be hollow. Inside was a white disc, which now descended to the stage. Standing on the disc were three Mouthies, two men and a woman, wearing bodysuits sparkling somewhere between gold and silver. The woman was in the centre, flanked by the two men, who hefted bright swords of flame as they stepped off the disc onto the stage. A first ripple of applause emanated from the audience at this display.

And Behn was moving away, with a hefty pouch in his hand, his mark unaware of the crime that had just been committed.

[Mezatino]

Mezatino didn't see the pocket poaching go down, the crowd disrupted his view so bad that technically he could not say the he was positive that it had gone down at all or was even an intention. But Mezatino was a sharp minded and most of all, a career criminal, he knew another when he saw one. If anyone in this crowd is as crooked as the Purificatio then this son of a bitch is it, Mezatino thought to himself. So as with all things, he filed the guys face and demeanor away in his head, as he might come in need of it at a later time.

He barely heard the clink of metal on stone, and looked down to see a shiny necklace. Upon realizing that Ladro must have 'borrowed' it, he slowly bent down and picked it up, twisting it in his fingers as he gazed into it.

However his attention was shattered, when the giant silver orb on stage did like wise. Defensively he held up this left forearm to shield his face, only to bring it back down with a hearty chuckle to himself.

Then for his usual giggles he began to scan the crowd for any past associates, old friends, or gorgeous beauties that he might know.[/i]

[Morg]

(OOC: By agreement with the remaining player, locked and archived. No skills awarded.)