#darktheater

Dates didn’t matter so much, though she remembered. Likewise, if dates didn’t matter, neither did the reasons, just that everything was. Lila, Hinduism called it—not war, of course, but the play of the world. There was nothing of God in the play of war, however. If she had gathered anything among the death swathed in every year that passed, it was that there was something very real about darkness. Oh, she remembered.

She was drawn in by ‘truth’. There was a poster, plastic and paper, that caught her attention in Vighulir and it seemed so mundane among the pulsings of magic. ‘The truth of North Korean concentration camps,’ it told her, and knowing, now, that Christmas was a celebration of gifts, she appealed to her own peculiar selfishness before she would pursue a job. Seeing a musical would be her own gift to herself, even if it was so much later than the proper gift, and would just as well end the rest of her excess funds—Qadira’s savings never counted, even if there was plenty of that with hundreds of years of her own secreted within that stash.

Tucking the corners of her grey scarf in more securely to keep out the cold, even if it was only for a few more minutes, her fingers twisted together until she was handed her ticket. It was a more private performance, it had said, so tickets could be bought at the booth, but even small performances could be skillfully intricate. In three hundred years, she had indulged in theater more than just once. Stepping inside the doors, she unraveled her scarf so it draped over either side, sighing softly at the foyer warmth. Merry Christmas, she thought, amused and wry as she smoothed her hands over the program they had given out. It was still professional. Perhaps the playfulness, the cheer of the service’s smile, was to diffuse what Katesch knew couldn’t be a light play. Her silent nods were acceptable, even with the opposition to efforts. Tightening the Habera, she waited until the moment where they would open the doors. Though she had been alone for more than two centuries now, she still fiddled with things, the calm in her posture forceful. She had, for the most part, avoided large cities, but this, again, was an indulgence. The elbows and jostling, smell and greyness were not things she had enjoyed, but the smaller foyer, not overly crowded, was easier to embrace than other circumstances. Tucking her hair behind her ear, she was opening the program to look uncomprehendingly at names before stilling consciously. What had she learned? Look like you belong, or if she was going to look uncomfortable, make it irritable, right? Biting her lip in a frown, she maneuvered between bodies to fit herself against a wall closer to the doors. Just a few more minutes and the darkness of the theater would make her feel less out of place; darkness tended to be all the company one needed.