𝙩𝒉e 𝙨𝒉𝒐𝒘 𝒎𝙪𝒔𝙩 𝙜𝒐 𝒐𝙣!

and when the curtain falls, what will remain of you? only a shadow, an ember, a memory. / an independent rp blog for mr. reca of honkai star rail. penned by lucian.

"you have the air of someone who knows the tightrope walk of the stage: you're certain you've never performed?"

"words are worth a fortune, as i'm sure you know: my dear one-man show, won't you spin me another tale?"

"oh briiii~ar! my dearest interim cinematographer, what a pleasure it is to see upon my stage," a flourish of one hand, theatrical in all he does, as he lays his hand over his heart. he bends, just enough, to flash a simper - gone as soon as it arrives, replaced with a dull look.

Her hands quicker than a camera shutters snap: Assistant Directors head caught in the palm of her hand, pressed into her eye-lenses. Bibi allows it to sink in that he's been caught in the act. Before speaking her warning, "Those are private."

a flicker of emotions flash across his face, a shutter shot that piles an array of expressions: first, his candid, captured surprise. then, his festering intrigue cracking through. third, finally, something tinged, more elusive -- bargaining off a playwright's tongue.

"now just a moment, my dearest archivist," my latest and greatest subject piece, my idolatry de fascination. you who sought to destroy after your sky was shadowed without your sun, devoured by your grief -- of course they're private. isn't this the most honest expression? it truly is captivating. had he a heartbeat, it would pound in his ears. his wrist. his throat. the only remnants that it was ever there was how his eyes widen, the bags beneath his eyes exaggerated with interest. "there's no need to be so hasty."

nor put your hands on a vital member of the crew, sits on the back of his tongue, waiting. --no, no. teeth dig in, holding it down to the bottom of his mouth, before it can burst through the cut of his teeth and crack at her. it wouldn't be a first that his dear assistant was destroyed in the process of capturing a truly beautiful moment -- but it has never brought him joy to summon her once more, lamenting each fall. the film, reliably, would stay -- he'd accounted for this, as any known director should ( imagine that, a whole catalogue of film, lost in the fire; oh, he can't stomach the loss of his work. hypocrisy's deaf to his ears, overshadowed by the roar of an excellent piece found ) but he can play along with the panic, the pleading, the pleasantry. fit him into the role, and he'll act no matter the method.

( for a performance to be convincing, there must be truth. conviction. )

"please, unhand my assistant -- let's talk."

"don't worry: even the most seasoned of performers go through a tremendous bout of fright when first stepping upon the grand stage: let's take five, shall we?"

"and miss a shot of an avenger of the galaxy in his element, swayed by the life of song? oh. no no, i think not."