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The scene is set in the downtown section of a city. Like downtown Chicago, but far from the tourist streets and closer to the spaces beneath the Loop (under the overhead tracks on which the trams run tirelessly) and behind apartment buildings. Beggars of all kinds – the handicapped, the able-bodied, the not-quite-sane, the wily…they line both sides of the street, shaking tin cans or plastic containers in practiced motion. Locals and homeless alike mingle without interacting, and slowly they all form a chorus.
Chorus
We’ll take back our dreams, we’ll hunt down the sweeper, we’ll clean up this mess if we have to.
We’ve been scorned, left behind, but no more, no longer. We’ll clean up this mess if we have to.
Marianne, a woman in her forties and a loose grip on her sanity, walks from the chorus and brushes her hair out of wide, wild eyes. She is hunched over, and her suit looks like it once was polished and well-fitted, but is now dusty and covered in gray.
Marianne
One question too many, one doubt too heavy. One small misstep was all it took for me to stand in the mistake I stand in now.
She straightens, chin up, and looks on with resolution.
Marianne
But I’ll claim my share of fame, I’ll take back my space onstage – one last shot to take my bow.
She shuffles back into the crowd and another man takes her place. Gerald is dressed simply, in a tee and jeans, but a tattered straitjacket hangs from his back like a cape.
Gerald
No one ever believed and no one ever listens – YOU DON’T SEE WHAT’S LEFT BEHIND!
He takes a deep breath and looks around furtively before wrapping the sleeves around his neck like a scarf.
Gerald
I know what he’s done and I’ll tie up these loose ends. – NO ONE LEAVES MY DREAMS BEHIND!
Doctors rush in but Gerald has already melted back into the crowd. A young woman, twitchy, and wide-eyed, as if she were still a child, emerges from the chorus.
Isabella
There’s more of us and I know it. There’s more of us and we’re everywhere. We’ve been left behind – cast into the dark with no way out. Abandoned in piles just like our dreams. Just like our dreams…
Isabella trails off, gazing into the distance with glazed eyes and is led away by a police officer. Shuffling behind them, unnoticed, is a short red haired man carrying a traveling bag. His eyes are hard and his demeanor resolute.
Walter
I see my dreams in front of me, I live them day to day. And yet, there’s much to come in this city – this city of decay.
He shifts the bag from one hand to another and looks at the people around him, shaking his head and walking on.
Walter
This wasteland we live in – where dreams now claim home. The dreamers will return with the sweeper – or make one of their own.
The chorus now walks forward, swallowing him up in the crowd. Their voice grow louder, and stronger, like an army returning with a vengeance.
Chorus
We’ll take back our dreams, we’ll hunt down the sweeper, we’ll clean up this mess if we have to.
We’ve been scorned, left behind, but no more, no longer. We’ll clean up this mess if we have to.
It’s a sheet of rain that’s falling from the sky
It’s sheets of silky rain that’s falling falling falling and the air is thick and clear all at once
And I look forward to the petrichor when it’s done
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“You’re joking.”
Maury sits on the ledge of the bunk bed, hunkering down a little so that his head doesn’t scrape the ceiling. Standing across the bed-shelve combination, Claude is doing his best, staring at me with mild annoyance. I pop another bubblegum pink jelly bean into my mouth, ignoring him all the while.
“Oh no, I’m not,” says Claude, still glowering, fingers twitching but making no motion to take the bag away from me. “She just walks in, ignoring me all the while, completely disregarding how much money it would fucking cost — “
“Shut up, Claude, you know I had a bad night,” I say gaily, slowly scraping off the sugar coating with my teeth and savoring the artificial flavor of the small candy. “I’ll just make up for the cost by eating the whole thing over the course of…oh, say a week or two.”
“Fourteen dollars worth on jelly beans!” exclaims the goldfinch dæmon, throwing his hands in the air in exasperation, “And you weren’t really hungry, or craving them, you just — you just —”
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Inspired by this picture by Susan Meyer and songs by Emilie Autumn
The camp leader often warned them about wandering too far into the forest at dusk, due to the risk of wild animals or unsavory peoples roaming the area. In a few hours, Marina guessed, before the bell would ring to signal a headcount before sleep time. But a few hours was more than enough time for her to walk amongst the trees and admire the wildlife that made their temporary home on this leg of their tour.
Stretching her limbs and taking a deep breath, Marina savored the fresh air and solid ground beneath her feet. Soon it would be time for them to move to another town, another city, and she could have to suffer through more caravan rides that made her back and backside ache from the rough roads. It would be much nicer, she thought ruefully, if the driver would stop insisting on taking the scenic route to show them the supposed “historical paths” traveling performers before them had taken.
But there would be time to gripe later, right now she wanted to walk around and generally admire —
snap
Marina whirled around and impulsively pressed her back to a tree, preparing to climb up it in a dash before remembering to look up and check the tree for any dangers. There was none. Like its surrounding neighbors, her tree was bare of any leaves in preparation of the approaching winter.
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Claude dislikes the wind. It isn’t so much of the wind itself as it is when the wind is gusting all around and his wings are straining to prevent himself from being buffeted about. A practical solution would be to use his human form, but flying takes less time and the person he’s meeting was told to expect a goldfinch anyways.
Next time, he thinks vehemently, I’ll agree to meeting in a cafe, or a restaurant, or the corner of a street. Not some stupid, in-the-middle-of-nowhere hill.
“There’s no way we can get her back,” hisses Maury, hiding behind Viera. “There’s too many of them, we have to think of something else —”
“Like Hell, we will.” With that, Viera rushes forward and stands on a table. The sudden appearance stuns most everyone into silence, though a burly patron stands up and moves to pull her down. Quickly, she grabs a tankard and smashes it against the front of his head, sloshing liquid around the other customers and dropping the large man down onto the lap of nearby person.
“Everyone shuttup!” she cries, “I’m looking for a little girl and I know she’s here. I want her back.”
The entire hall is silent. Viera has the attention of everyone and Maury watches on from the shadows, smacking his hand to his face. At this point, he would very much like to tell her to apologize, try another way, maybe someone else knows where Isabella has been carried off to.
Someone in the crowd shouts, “What else are you gonna do? I see no army.”
Maury flinches and Viera slips out two daggers from their sheathes, holding a blade up to the light in a casual manner before addressing the speaker.
“Or I’ll just kick the ass of everyone in this establishment until I get the information I want. Or the kid. I’m not in a picky mood tonight.”
I’ll be working on Script Frenzy for this month, but unfortunately I have no clue on how to integrate my comic panels from Celtx onto tumblr. So updates to this blog will be rather…rare-ish? I’ll dump snippets whenever I can, though.
I’m on page 8 of day two. This is gonna be good.
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aka: Cynthia dicks around with a fandom she has no business dicking around with in the first place
WARNING: SHAMELESS CROSSOVER
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The first night he appeared, she was sitting at the computer desk and doodling instead of studying.
“Your father could come upstairs at any time, you know?”
“AUGH WH—” Michele screamed and nearly fell off the chair while turning around. What she saw next almost made her scream again, but knowing that the room would echo, she hastily stuffed her fist into her mouth.
“Such language,” tisked the Cheshire Cat, floating above her head like an idle balloon, “is unfitting of a pretty lady such as you.”
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Birds of a feather will flock together
But never stay when the party is over
Because why stick around
When there’re so many other feathers to see
And songs to listen to
In the end
The ones that stick around are the ones that matter the most
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