LX and Sound Droid

I felt ready to be sick before the show started, and fuck was I out of practice. But the audience was happy, the performers were happy, and my higher ups were bragging about how I absolutely earned my pay tonight.

The most reliable way to make a sighting is to offer food - being sure to announce, audibly, that the food is intended for the Technician. The food need not be in the open - the Technician will find it. In fact, a secluded location might be conducive for a longer sighting.

Once the technician is alerted to the presence of food, it will promptly emerge. Ensure you are not in its path and do not interact with it, and you can observe as it silently fills its mouth, a plate, and its pockets with a variety of foodstuffs. Though Technicians are omnivores, many prefer a diet rich in meat.

Hunger sated, the Technician will retreat to its den.

Focus and/or frustrations at a light.

How lovely and peaceful! I wish I could perch up here more often.

And here is a large reason why I no longer work in theatre.

Board Op: Why have I suddenly lost two LED lights mid show?!?!

Post show problem solving:

SM and CM: Oh, theres nothing wrong with the lights, but all the DMX has been taken out the hazer?!?!

Passing Actor: Oh yeah, it was making a funny noise so I just ripped out the cables

— You’re in the greenroom, listening to the play onstage. Your cue isn’t until Act II. You look at your phone to check the time. You look back up. Your cue is in three lines.

— “Never anger the costume designer,” they tell you, laughing. “You’ll be sorry.” You laugh along, until you’re called in for measurements. They pin cloth around your body, murmuring forgotten prayers and chants, claw-like nails digging into your skin. If you move at all, their eyes flash red.

— Working in tech, you always joke that you’re invisible to the actors. It’s not until the lead actress walks directly though you, that you begin to reconsider certain things.

— You love your director. You would die for them. You would kill for them. You would follow their every word without question. You love your director. You have died for them. You have killed for them. You follow their every word without question.

— The stage manager gets more stressed the closer it gets to the show. They begin to look more haggard, less human. On opening, they have horns and cloven feet.

— There’s a name and picture in the playbill you don’t recognize. No one has mentioned it. You’re afraid you’re the only one who sees it.

— Mid-play, you look out into the crowd of a faceless audience. For a second, they all become truly Faceless. You look away.

— Onstage, someone forgets a line. Backstage, time freezes. No one moves. Everyone is forced into stasis. You’re not allowed to breath. The line is remembered, and your lungs fill with air.

— During tech, a cue doesn’t work. Everyone holds while you try to fix it. It works. The scene continues. The cue doesn’t work. Everyone holds while you try to fix it. It works. The scene continues. The cue doesn’t work.

— The curtain opens and you walk out onstage, heart pumping. You blink, and it’s curtain call, with no memory of the play. Everyone tells you it was your best performance yet.

— Over the headset, the stage manager calls a cue. You play it. Over the headset, the stage manager yells at you for playing the cue when they didn’t call it.

— You’re new to theatre, and joking around with the cast. You mention the “M” play, and the silly superstition. Around you, faces pale. Then the stories come.

— In the dressing room, you grow comfortable changing in front of everyone. The others grow comfortable too. You start noticing things, scales and fur and claws out of the corner of your eye. You focus on doing your makeup, not wanting to be rude.