Posts Tagged Wolftever Theater

[scrap] Mitch.

Oct 11

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The first dream was the scariest.  I don’t mean it was a nightmare or anything; it’s just that it was so obviously not my dream, that I worried someone might have gotten into my head somehow.

That was, of course, vanishingly unlikely, but I was, what, twelve?  They told me I wouldn’t have any magic, so I figured it was projected in from outside.

But when I’d woken up, the dream was gone, and nobody seemed to be trying to put anything further in my head.  I lay in bed and listened.

And I started hearing things I’ve never heard before.  From Toby’s bed I heard a rumbling, a rustling, a far-off running train.

It came in his mental voice—I knew it was him.  I knew his telepathy was strong, but… that wasn’t quite right at all.

I listened more.

I heard more.

I got up from bed and headed out into the hall, the wooden floor cold under my tail and paws.

Mařa’s room was across the way; I heard—I heard her mind’s voice crying quietly.

She wouldn’t have been projecting that.

I noticed what my mind was doing unconsciously.

I stopped listening.

It was quiet again.  No broadcasts, then.

I started… listening again.

I started hearing again.

Could it really be happening?  Could I really be getting a knack after all?

I went back to bed.  In the morning, at least, I’d have to test it.

I went back to sleep.

The dreams kept happening.

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[scrap] Mařa

Oct 21

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I don’t know the best way to start talking about what happened. I should probably start with an introduction.

My name is Mařa _____. I started the Wolftever Creek theater with my brother Rouss, not long ago when we first moved into town. We share the business, and the living space, with our friends Mitch and Toby Kowalski.

Mitch and Toby are demihumans like us, but that’s not the only reason we’ve taken them in—both have what you might call special needs.

Mitch was born without any illusionary ability. Demihumans tend to vary considerably from the standards of human appearances, and our illusion, though generally not very powerful, is a necessity for living in human communities.

His cousin Toby is usually able to cover for him. Toby’s trouble, though, is on a rather larger scale—being a giant, upwards of forty feet tall. Illusion is of little use in concealing this; he lives in a large subbasement under the theater, and sends an illusionary projection of himself instead of going out into the world.

The inactivity is not doing him well. Life is hard for giants.

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[scrap] Kelly

Oct 19

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I don’t know if I’ve posted anything about this story before—site search isn’t coming up with anything—but I’ve recently started trying to pull it out of my head and get it on paper. Not sure if this fragment will make it into the narrative, but it gave me a few ideas about this character’s character.

Ever since I was a little girl—as long as I can remember, really—I’ve been able to tell when people are lying. Any sort of lie, really—everything from ‘you look beautiful today, Kelly!’ to ‘Daddy still loves us, but he has to move to Atlanta for his job…’

The lies just kind of stick out—just like you can tell if someone’s talking to you in English or not, I can tell if you’re telling the truth.

Sometimes, if the lie’s really obvious, I can tell what the truth behind it is.

Doesn’t happen near as often as I’d like.

Now, people lie all the time—you think I’d grow up to be pretty cynical because of it, but that’s almost exactly what didn’t happen.

I love lies.

There’s the white lie, it’s my favorite. You’ve got a good person talking to you and there’s an uncomfortable truth coming up in the conversation, and the first thought that comes up is ‘This will hurt you to know. How can I bend reality to keep you from finding out?’ It’s so sweet—behind every white lie, a white knight.

Then there’s the false promises—from sad little puppy dog minds: ‘Trust me… please trust me… tell me it’s okay and I’m a good guy…’ Those’re the well-meaning ones, anyway.

There’s also the backstabbing sort of lie. ‘Look how I’m pulling the wool over your eyes. How stupid you are to trust me…’

Those, actually, I’m not too fond of. But nobody’s dared try that on me twice.

I’ve gotten very good at lies myself over the past seventeen years—and I can get away with some big ones of my own, easy as pie.

It’s just like speaking a foreign language I know quite well—one that goes straight in to other people’s heads.

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