thebackstage | a little kink [the It's Curtains kink meme]

GUIDELINES/RULES:

All requests- smut, fluff, gen, or otherwise (alternate murders, anyone?)- are welcome so long as it's about It's Curtains. Fic and art fills are all good.

This is for all rounds of It's Curtains. Intermingled cast requests ("what if so-so and so-so from this and that round met?") are acceptable.

Stay anon because it's funner that way.

Use proper trigger/content warnings for sensitive and/or offensive subjects, just like you would in a game proper. If you don't, it will be deleted.

This is a judge free zone; however, be mindful of character ages, esp. in regards to the younger characters.

If you do not want your character to be involved with the smut or things that make you uncomfortable please contact me. A list is being prepared to remind everyone.
Respect player wishes if they ask to not have their character be in smut, or anything out of their comfort zone. Again, comments in violation will be deleted.

Have fun, darlings! If any rules are violated please don't hesitate to to PM this account or alert one of the mods.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

The Balladeer stands in the wings, waiting. The votes are taking a while to come in, but he can hear the cast's voices beyond the curtains. They'll be done soon.

"This isn't fair," he whispers, flicking off his mic to ensure no one hears. "It was an accident. A suicide, if anything." It never should have happened. He knew how Billy felt. They talked this week, a few days before the end, and he'd known that it hadn't made anything better. Maybe if he'd just left his office that night and gone to keep him company...

The Player puts her arm around him, laying her head along his shoulder. "Iiiii know, baby. It's awful. But you know we can't just go changing the rules now. If we start mixing up the execution formula, they're all gonna start coming up with ways it wasn't really their fault. Even if Charming doesn't deserve it, others are gonna."

He folds his arms around himself rather than answer. If only he could convince himself there wouldn't be more...

She squeezes his shoulders a little. "Look. If you really wanna cut it short, I won't say anything. Just make it look good, okay?" The Player reaches up to ruffle his hair, and vanishes with the blackout. All votes have been cast.

When the lights return, he steps out on his cue. Raoul is already there, backing away from the crewmember wearing Billy's hoodie. They're friends, he thinks, as much as any of the cast is his friend. He brought him that cookbook from the library, when no one had to bring him anything. But when he glances over at the Balladeer's entrance, it's obvious that he's not expecting any help.

The Balladeer takes a deep breath and nearly misses his verse.

Past the point of no return, no backward glances
The games of make-believe are at an end
Past all thought of if or when, no use resisting
Abandon hope and let your fate descend

He moves deliberately across the stage as he sings, keeping eye contact with Raoul as he goes. His steps are awkward; he's too conscious of the weight at his hip. But he sticks to their blocking, and does nothing to stop the crewmember from pressing in. There's a noose in their hands. Raoul fights back as well as he's able, but it isn't enough to keep the rope from his neck. He didn't keep his hand at the level of his eyes.

The Balladeer has seen hangings, and this one doesn't look right. That length wouldn't snap anyone's neck. This will be a slow and lingering death, for absolutely no reason at all.

He's seen too many of those already.

Below, the cast is shouting. They remember how Heather fell last week, how long it took until she was finally dead. But the Balladeer barely hears them. His motions feel too smooth, foreign, almost as if someone else is moving his limbs for him. He's never practiced this. But he draws the pistol from his hip (Iver-Johnson .34, why was it here?) and fires in a single movement. Blood sprays across the stage. Raoul drops, nothing now but a limp body dangling by the neck. He got a kill shot, the Balladeer realizes distantly. Beginner's luck.

His hands are shaking. The gun drops. He can't stop the pained wail that's starting to leak out from between his lips, even as he tries to muffle it with his hands.

The stage lights go out. The curtain swishes shut.

The cast doesn't see him again until Tuesday.

a little kink [the It's Curtains kink meme]

tw: suicide mention