SpawnoftheArcane

Jason agreed with a simple, "Got it," even though they both knew he didn’t have a real choice in the matter. Rory gave him a sympathetic nod before walking off, his clipboard already pulled up as a distraction. But Jason wasn't bothered. This was damn near perfect timing. 

Everything was going according to plan. 

As soon as Rory turned the corner, Jason let the smallest smirk curl at the corner of his mouth. He tapped a finger against his chest—right where the hidden comm was woven seamlessly into the costume's lining, tucked just beneath the neckline. It wouldn’t interfere with the sound equipment during his final performance tonight, but it would keep him connected to Slade the moment he stepped off stage and into Blackwell’s private suite.

He headed back to his station, rolling his shoulders once before stepping in front of the mirror. Time to get ready.

The structured black turtleneck leotard glittered under the soft dressing room lights with a ruby red letter “A” at the center of his neck, giving the illusion of a choker. The sparkly fabric of the whole piece hugged his frame in all the right places. The white accents were carefully stitched—sharp at the chest and sweeping around the curve of his backside, contouring the black fabric like deliberate handprints cupping his pecs and ass. A little unsubtle, maybe. But that was the point. The design was meant to provoke, to play into the fantasy his persona, The Scarlet A-ngel, had built night after night. Jason admired the effect with a slow turn of his hips before reaching for his makeup.

A little more rouge to plump up his already full lips. A precise line of kohl to sharpen the smoky gaze he was now known for. The character he’d been living inside these past weeks deserved a proper sendoff. And he was going to do everything in his power to make sure he got it.

He finished up his last touches before grabbing the sparkly black bowler hat that was hanging off a small hook in his station and heading for the stage.

Jason could already hear the distant swell of the house band warming up, the low thrum of the beat bleeding in from beyond the heavy curtain. He knew that the rest of the performers were already in their places. The timing was always tight on final curtain nights. Everyone knew to hit their marks. 

Jason stepped through the wings and made his way onto the stage where the curtains were still drawn. He could feel the hum of the crowd—excitement, anticipation, champagne-fueled hunger pulsing just beyond the barrier. The ambient music masked most of it, but Jason felt like he heard everything. Every whisper, every spilled drink, and every raucous bout of laughter. The theatre was filled with life.

He took his seat at the center of the stage in front of the faux vanity set that the props department had built—big bulb-lit mirrors glowing like halos around him. The wood was scuffed and worn in all the right places; lived-in glamour. His fingers traced the edge of the table as he settled in, and he adjusted his stance as he got into character.

Just off stage he heard a stage hand’s voice call through his comm: “All performers at places.”

Jason didn’t move, just let the corners of his lips tug up slightly as he heard the quiet creak of the curtains beginning to rise behind him. The hush from the crowd was immediate. Hungry.

He knew he’d have them roaring soon enough.

Still, all he could think about, despite the rush of adrenaline coursing through him, was what Slade would think. The case was about to be closed. The bait had been laid and the trap was set. Blackwell was already ensnared and tonight, Jason would pull the string that unraveled all of the man's plans.

But first, he was going to put on a show.

Just for Slade. Just for them.

As the ting of the drummer’s cymbal rang out and the lights shifted into something darker, sultry and hot, Jason reached up, set the bowler hat on his head with a teasing tilt, and looked up at himself in the mirror.

He smiled.