That danky coffin sitting centerfold was the last place Gordon ever wanted to stash himself away in for a good minute or two. Sure, it made for an interesting place to hook up, to say the least, but one could hardly breath its air, much less stand the mildew clustered on the inside. The crew babied the exterior, so much that the VIP tours - hah, what suckers - often had the patrons dumb and gooey, the gothic moldings searing in Snapchat technicolor. But with all the carefully placed suspensions strung along the inside, it was impossible to be comfortable in there.
Coffin his ass. Gordon slipped into the wings undetected, shrouding himself invisible with his magic, his illusion settling into the cavity of the box.
It was only a matter of time before his producers would seize him away to the dressing room, so Gordon got comfortable. Lounged around the sofa used in act one, kicked his feet against the parakeet cage - squawk down, Pollyanna - and kept his eyes focused on Connor like he were a camera.
For once, Gordon felt like an audience member as he sipped his Diet Coke and snacked on Cheez-Its. The showâs reins had spiraled from him, a bull free from its cage, a complete spectacle. He only wondered where it could spin, what pure destruction could arise from it, how the Captivating Connor could heed his words and continue the legacy.
Kid had presence; Gordon was living through him.
Perhaps this was too easy, too predictable. He hated when he could guess the ending. His show was growing stale after all. Captivating Connor would cast his wand, the coffin bursting with iridescent lights in streaks of light, and the ghost of Ayes-Sage would fly upwards. And some time after, the Great Griffin would appear in a billow of smoke, still alive.
Heâd abandoned that script a long time ago. It was time to test how well Captivating Connor would do well under pressure. And, for that⊠Gordon had to become - âAh-Ahaha,â his voice, eerie and maniacal, rang through the auditorium as Connor bowed to his final round of applause.
Gasps flew over the audience. One last edge-of-the-seat surprise.
With a lazy flick of the hand, Gordon made the silhouette of Ayes-Sage rise from the coffin, merely a phantom. The puppet looked down at Connor, its head busted, snapping to the side as its fingers prickled over the air. âYou⊠would blindly⊠follow someone⊠who bears a legacy⊠no⊠a curse!â The puppet spat the words at Connor, cackling through the auditorium, holding the audience in its psychological grip. âYou inherit his legacy⊠and the Griffin curse!â
Gordon could barely believe his own words - heâd practically destroyed the bible behind his character and violated some copyright law for intellectual property. But hell was he going to be some skeletal script: Gordon was mad with power as he realized what crazy shit he could pull off just imagining. Itâd been too long. Much too long.
Now⊠how could Gordon make this one fucked up, unforgettable experience for his heirâŠ
The puppet cackled, its voice echoing. Gordon took the opportunity of having everyone distracted to have pillars of smoke shoot up from the stage, coating it entirely. With a careful flick of the hand, he casted an array of illusions over the stage. Dark mist seeped from the coffin. The background stands warped into a twisted graveyard, the stage beneath them darker. The shadow of Ayes-Sage flew upward before a large purple dragon descended from the catwalk, glaring at Connor.
Strings, of course, attached to its spine. Couldnât scare the children. The temptation to hide them was growing, but Gordon needed this to be his new marketable show - no scaring the children.
Even worse, Gordon hated the dragonâs mouth. Sure, the thing looked scary - robotically scary, like it could snap free at any moment and crush the stage below - but Gordon hardly had the energy to fix it. He was already straining himself with these large-scale illusions, as if he were moving multiple chess pieces in some claustrophobic space. His mind focused on one of the producerâs early concept art of a dragon that could be kid-friendly, and he snapped onto it. Creating anything would be too taxing, far too much.
Still⊠the dragon had a mouth shaped like a butt. Its mouth was below, but⊠it seemed all too incorrect. It was just like a misplaced ass.
There wasnât much he could do. Gordon was nearly sweating, keeping himself composed, concentrating hard. He hoped to dear fucking God that Connor could at least play off this, impress him.
Oh, he was having too much fun with his heir. The kid deserved a long reward for at least humoring his twisted mind. Gordon desperately needed one too after this - he longed not to think, just to feel.
With one last trick up his sleeve, Gordon made the smoke around Connor dissipate into thin air the dark haze⊠in his place was the silhouette of the Great Griffin.
He had to be in the spotlight, whatever he could take.
âYou still blindly follow your magician? I will see that you live with this curse so long as I live. I will take everything away from you.â God, this dialogue was pathetic. But itâd have to do. Ayes-Sage roared, crushing the coffin with its claw. Or so it appeared. The crew would be mad; they did spend a lot of time. It merely descended into the stage below.
God, this was tiring. Gordon wanted this to be effortless and free, hoping Connor could do something quick. He had an ideaâŠ
From where the coffin stood was a lone tome of spells. It levitated upwards towards Connor, flipping its pages to a spell: the one spell that truly banished the dragon spirit of Ayes-Sage thousands of years ago. Only for a masterful magician.
Fuck, he couldnât hold any longer. Though he remained invisible, Gordon released the passive illusions he wore on his body, intensely focused just to keep the moving parts on stage cohesive. Heâd slip any time soonâŠ
Inhale, Griffin. Exhale.Â
Inhale, Griffin. Exhale.Â
Now what? Connor had âdefeated the magistrate.â Had ascended to magician status. There was nothing left for him to do. He looked out at the rows of occupied seats, observing the faces who stared expectantly into his. Should he tell more jokes? Run offstage and perform smaller tricks for them? Teach yoga, or--
The audience gasped, their faces contorting slowly into versions of âThe Screamâ painting. Connor heard shouting that there was something behind him. The fuck? Gordon said nothing about any extracurricular activities onstage! Was finding an heir an excuse for Gordon to have someone take his place while he left the country, never to be seen again? Was he making Connor work for his sexy ass?Â
Connor spun around to see the spirit of Ayes-Sage hovering above the coffin, battle-worn, saying something about a...curse? Okay. Connor was actually a part of Gordonâs fan club and heard nothing of the sort. Instead of throwing down the top hat and wand like he wanted to do, screaming a huge âfuck thisâ to everyone in earshot and running out of the room himself (where Tessa was probably still crying in the lobby), he stood his ground and played along. Donât say he never did anything for the community.
âAyes-Sage! Monstrous marionette of magic, what is this curse of which you speak?â Connor stood boldly before the puppet, âI, Captivating Connor, channeled your energy into this wand...earning my place as rightful heir! It is you who is blindly following...your way into a permanent grave!â
Smoke shot up from the stage. Some of the audience began to scream. Connor was lost in blankets of the vapor, his visibility low and tension high. Did he do something wrong for all of this to happen? The stage transformed into a more darker, haunted house-version of itself. Ayes-Sage vanished, and in his place was a dragon. On strings.Â
Dammit! Dammit! Dammit! Was this ever going to end?!
Audience members panicked, despite the friendly-looking exterior of the beast. Come on, it wasnât that bad. But calming down the audience was a priority; if they werenât watching this shit, then Connor was doing this for nothing. And Connor hated wasting his time. âEveryone! We canât let the darkness win! We have to be brave...no matter how long this is dragon on!âÂ
Connor grimaced inwardly at his joke--the screaming around him turning into laughter. Gordon was going to pay for this!
He studied the dragon. Clearly it was an animatronic mess. A cheaply-made piece of crap that was bound to fall apart at any second. Other than that, it...wait...did it have a butt for a mouth? Gah, this was too embarrassing! Connor facepalmed, playing it off as a straightening of his hat. Really? Really? That ass was better than his!
With the smoke billowing around the stage, hopefully no one would notice the dragonâs anatomy issue. As if on cue, the smoke was gone. The shadow of Gordon appeared, and Ayes-Sage spouted lines only found in Saturday morning cartoons. Someone was trying too hard to keep this dying show alive.Â
âIt is my destiny to carry on the majestic lineage! You wonât have much to take, demon, seeing as I do not bury myself in material possessions!â Which was a nicer way of saying: That dragon is more put together than me right now, and thatâs saying a lot. Iâve lost everything! What the hell are you taking?
The coffin was then crushed to bits, startling the audience, leaving a book in its wake. Before Connor could move to retrieve it, it had levitated up to him, flipping through its own pages. The book stopped to a spell only for a masterful magician. As if Connor didnât don Gordonâs hat twenty minutes ago.Â
âLetâs get this over with.â Connor mumbled, showing off the book to the crowd, âAlas! A piece of the Great Griffin still lives! He has given us this grimoire from beyond the grave to aid us with our troubles! Iâll need the help of everyone in the audience for this one! Please, close your eyes and find your inner magic to defeat this dragon!â Anything to hide that hideous ass...
Once the audience had closed their eyes, Connor pointed the wand at the dragonâs mouth, watching as the same bolt of energy from before attacked the beast, clouds of smoke drifting from it. The dragon was lifted by its strings, up into the stage somewhere.Â
âLook! The dragon has been defeated! I may be the Great Griffinâs heir, but even I need help sometimes! Thank you! Give yourselves a hand!â Connor bowed again as the audience, eyes open and ecstatic, kept clapping and clapping...
There was a fine line between garnering attention and being smothered with it. Connor wanted to get the hell off of that stage, pronto.