Tilda took the tickets gingerly. Smile warmed as she listened to Xen explain the how and the why of their seats. When her pink ears heard the horns and Nobles bit, her face screwed up, brows pinched and lips pouted.

But it was hard to hold on to the heat of anger whence a hand wrapped about her own. Fingers laced between each other. A little squeeze of excitement there between them.

It softened her ire. Turned it to mischief. "Say, what would you say, if I told you, I knew of some seats, no Noble could ever pay for, hm?" she smiled like a cat, ready to play.
 
Anger did not sit pretty upon Tilda's face. But the look that followed was something Xenovia was all too familiar with. 'I'd say, what're rules for, if not to be broken?' Grinning, she crumpled the ticket in her hand, cast it aside.

I hope I won't be needing that later, she thought, too devil-may-care to give a damn about the consequences.

Pulling Tilda to her, the Deva led the dawnling through a spin, a bit of footwork bringing her in close behind her belle. She smiled, allowing her gaze to wander, low, high. 'So,' she purred, 'where be these seats o' yours, o' knight of mine?'
 
Tilda's brows arched in surprise, and a small breath caught in her throat as Xen tossed away her ticket. "Oh," "a hand had reached out to try and catch it, but it had already fallen away, and a strong arm pulled her away and into a spin.

Another little whoop escaped the knight, her feet following the flow of their private dance, until she found herself laughing and in Xen's arms once more.

"Well," she said, enjoying the tickle of Xen's voice in her ear. The heat of Xen's breath wash across the nape of her neck. It made her skin tingle with goosebumps. "You just have to follow me and find out," she said with a crane of her neck towards Xenovia. Her weight leaned unto the mercenary, ever so much, just before she plucked a step forward. "This way!" she said all smile and tease as she pulled her along.

Across the back of house, the actors and stagehands were still a whir. The pair of doting daters were but another pair of faces in the hurry. Could-be-actors or doubles. Everything was too near to curtain up for it to matter much. Tilda all bob and weave, duck and scoot amidst the rush of bodies.

They would arrive at a rigging net, the sort one might expect to see upon a ship. The web of knots and rope spanned up and up unto the rafters, where a few of the crew manned lights, and weighty sand-bags swung like pendulums as they weighted to fall and the curtains to rise.

"Come on, up we go," Tilda said as she hurried onto the ropes and up a few rungs. Grinned and turned back to look at Xen. "Try not to stare at my ass too much now, you hear?" She turned back around and hurried up another couple of rungs. "You need to mind your footing!" she called back.

"Five minutes! Five minutes till pre-rise!" a stage-hand called out.
 
'Hmm? What was that?' With a not-so-innocent smile, Xen looked up to meet Tilda's gaze, her face warming at such a brazen accusation. It wasn't the first time Tils had drawn attention to her arse, and odds were it wouldn't be the last. 'Why don't you focus on what you're doing, unless you plan on falling straight into my arms?'

"Five minutes! Five minutes till pre-rise!"

Tilda had quite the head start by the time Xen began climbing. The netting swayed gently with every movement. The higher she climbed, the more she found herself making sure her hands and feet were where they were supposed to be.

She makes it look so easy, thought Xen, almost like she's done this before. Gazing upwards, the Deva blew an amused breath as the dawnling reached the gantry.

Not wanting to be left behind, she picked up the pace, climbing faster and faster until she felt her hand close around cold metal. Down below, all had grown quiet in the final minutes leading up to the play's opening. Xen found herself holding her breath in anticipation as she turned to regard Tilda, teeth bared, her eyes like burning coals in the darkness above the stage.

What now?
 
"Now..." Tilda purred back over her shoulder as she hung her weight back. "That doesn't sound so bad, does it?" she winked and hurried up the way, too comfortable by half as she climbed the rigging as if she'd grown with them tied in her hand.

A leg hooked up to the gantry, ankle an anchor, with which she wrenched her weight up with a pull of her arms. A quiet grunt as all grew silent, and the gantry way tinked soft with the steps of their boots. Tilda smiled the wider as Xen mouthed her question, and she tilt her head for the Deva to follow. Turned about and snuck down the way.

Out to the center of the overhead bridge, they could see some of the stage hands perched in distant shadows, and their own nest hidden by the bold drapery that adorned the crown of the stage. Tilda sat down on the wooden planks of the rafter, and folded her arms on the rail, her chin there atop of that. Eyes bright with a youthful joy, and a smile wide as the thief's moon, split across her face.

"So," she whispered as the Narator came out unto the stage that was below them. "What do you think of our new seats?" she couldn't help but smile.

Draped in a fine blue doublet, steel grey sleeves, emroidered with silver and green threads that made him look a heron. His long legs, proud nose, and sharp black eyes only added to that impression.

The actors could be seen in the wings. Whispering to each other as they readied to make for the stage. Final touches to the wigs and makeup. Vocal exercises to help ensure a strong voice.

How Tilda loved it all.

 
Xen followed along, happy to be led. The gantry clicked and clunked beneath their boots, the sounds going unnoticed this high up. Not that anyone would have noticed anyhow. The play's about to begin, she realised excitedly, planting herself down next to Tilda, a smile betraying her thoughts. Maybe I'll finally get to see what all the fuss is about.

Below, upon the stage, a lone figure stood. Basking in the spotlight, chest puffed out like a penguin's, he announced the play's opening without a hint of nerves. Xenovia had faced down much in her short life, but a theatre full of people?

I'd be shaking like a leaf, she grinned, made all the happier by the look of joy on her companion's face. 'What do I think?' She whispered back, afraid to break the silence shared by hundreds. 'I love it! Found us a nice lil' perch, so you have. Just a shame I didn't bring my cloak,' she smiled, folding her arms upon the rail, so that they formed a comfortable pillow. 'Could've built us a nest. Not that I won't take any excuse to cosy up to you, mind.' The light faded out, plunging them into darkness entire, only to return shortly thereafter.

The rolling thunder of percussion followed suit, sending goosebumps crawling across Xenovia's flesh at how sudden and surprising it was. She giggled to herself, casting Tilda a spirited glance.

This is going to be fun.
 
"Well," Tilda answered, soft spoken as the percussion rumbled down beneath them. A pair of actors, made there way into the stage, and into the glow of the spotlights. "You won't hear a complaint from me," she said as she cozied up. Whispered the quieter into Xen's ear. "But I do take my theater, very seriously , I'll have you know," Tilda smiled, eyes glued to the happenings down below.

It was the beginning of act one.

Sahandeep Chuluyan played the part Mantegro Fischer, a braggard and sell word, who was the narratives main protagonist. His steps exaggerated, his movement full of swagger. He counted on his bastard brother, Philipe De'Terran, who was played by Iliana Valmont, to keep him honest.

The play took part during the First King's War. At the birth of Altalusia, and the two brothers spoke of all the dread to come.

Houses divided in their loyalties. The empire's legions a long and distant march, whole the real foe were the traitor barons, and the mad march lords who culled the forests and hunted any witch or wizard who dared weave without proper sanction.

"Tarry no longer, brother mine, for my blade seeks too eager its wicked work, my hand moved by the the mere promise we might be free of this dreadful time!" Lamented Mantegro, eyes cast out into the distant horizon of the crowd.
 
'Of that, I do not doubt.' With one last smile, Xenovia turned her attention to the stage below. Her legs dangled in the air over the two actors' heads. She could not for the life of her remember their names, though she had surely read of them in the screamsheets.

None of that seemed to matter as the brothers started to speak. Of war and woe, and the desolation to come.

History had a way of repeating itself, or so she had been told. It's in the name. The First King's War had not been the last. Unification always came at a cost, and the formation of Altalusia under one sovereign ruler had been no different. Victory had been achieved, yes, but a peace paid for in blood could never last. Such was the lesson the First King's ancestors would soon come to learn. Again, and again.

'Calm thyself, brother! Steady thine hand! The iron storm approaches. Doth thou see it?' Philipe's gaze followed his sibling's towards a horizon beyond time. Iliana Valmont and Sahandeep Chuluyan! How could I forget? The ambience in the theatre changed as coloured shades were placed across the spotlights. The music rumbled and rolled, filling the audience with a dread the actor's were quick to portray.

'We cannot hope to withstand it, so fierce does it grow. But I have a plan!' Sweeping in, Philipe De'Terran spread his wings, an arm encompassing his brother's shoulders, as his shadow soared high across the backdrop. Neat trick, Xen smiled, feet treading thin air.

'Attend, we must, to the enemy within,' said the bastard, all wit and cunning. The brains to Mantegro's brawn. 'Listen, they will, to you, oh brother mine. And if they do not...'
 
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