Violet Parr
Thespian
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Feb-26-2007 02:51
It was Wednesday night when Miss Violet Parr got out of a black car, and walked towards the steps of the large building that appeared to face her in the pitch black darkness of the night.
The loud music, blinding lights and sharp noises of laughter and chatter emitting from the large building did not deter Miss Parr from taking a few more confident steps towards the building, the length of her violet velvet dress trailing behind her. A cold chill came over her and she tightened the purple feather boa she was wearing around her bare shoulders. “So this is what he turned the place into.” She commented casually to herself.
Before her stood what once was the Marquee Theatre. Newly designed and quite obviously fully refurbished from the inside as well. Miss Parr reviewed her findings: The ownership of the Marquee has been transferred to Mrs. Georges and her husband Mr. Georges, the previous owner, was nowhere to be found.
The infamous socialite Mrs. Georges had, quite expectedly, turned the Theatre into a Ball Room/Party Hall, and reduced its long creative theatrical history to one long ongoing party. What was once the Marquee Theatre was now the Marquee Grand Hall.
Though the Marquee was not very popular with the New York crowds, Miss Parr more often than not enjoyed viewing the classic shows the Marquee produced whilst she awaited Mr. Georges’ availability or her own recreational benefit.
Miss Violet Parr was determined to expose whatever information Mrs. Georges had to hide. Though she has never met the lady before, Violet was certain that the answers to her most pressing questions would somehow lie under the layers of fur and jewels that Mrs. Georges choose to bury herself in for most newspaper photographs.
Right before she would enter the Marquee Hall, Violet wore a feathery purple mask that would conceal her identity. Tonight she was to be Miss Feathers once again, and she carefully chose to attend Mrs. Georges’ Masked Ball for this very purpose.
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Harrelson
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Mar-31-2007 10:51
A well-dressed man walked slowly and confidently toward the docks. He stared steadily downward, pausing here and there to sprinkle a dark powder on the ground.
As he neared the ship closest to him a gruff voice whispered from behind him "Where do you think yer goin pretty boy?" Two men stepped from the shadows flanking the well-dressed man and softly laughing to themselves.
Keeping his pace, Mr. "well-dressed" lifted his head and smiled. He did it slowly as if to some private joke. It was all the more malevolent because he was wearing a elegant black mask that covered everything but his cruely curling lips.
The rough sailor in front of him started and took a step back. "What the... who wears a mask?" he motioned to the other large man and the two theives scurried back into the darkness they had emerged from.
"Mask?" said the well-dressed man staring after them, "Oh yes, the party..." But before he remembered to take it off his head was back down toward the strange powder he had thrown down. As he watched , orange footprints became slowly visible by the light of the moon still in the sky.
"Wonderful" he mused, "the reaction is perfect. I might just find her again after all..."
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