A very esteemed anniversary!
Most of Imogen’s days played out the same, they had been for a while. She couldn’t complain too much, she did enjoy the comfort of routine, just not the solidarity of her current one, and today that loneliness burned just a bit more than usual. She hadn’t intended to memorise the exact date it all started, but the moment she woke up, she knew (Whether that was simply her own memory tormenting her, or the reminder was due to a certain watchful entity was a question that she didn’t feel keen to know the answer to.) At no point in her life could Imogen have claimed to have a particularly healthy sleep schedule, as a child she found herself staying up late to feel as if she had just a bit more control of her own life outside her moms tightly planned schedule for her, through her teenage years she’d found it difficult to sleep due to the constant feeling of surveillance and generally excessive amount of caffeine she’d drink to keep her grades up through it all, during the beginning of her arrangement with Immi, she’d find herself in her studio with no sense of time and never felt the need to sleep. After the events of what started exactly a year ago, her and Immi had fell into a mutually beneficial routine, one she greatly missed; Immi would spend the day out of the painting, going to work and all else that she busied herself with, while Imogen would spend her day resting and painting in her studio. Come night, Immi and her would switch places, immi opted to sleep in her room inside the painting, and Imogen would spend her time around the house, usually cleaning up behind immi, then cooking the other breakfast and sometimes packing her something for lunch (Imogen hoped it would convince her to eat more, she tried to pretend she didn’t know that Immi frequently skipped these meals regardless) , then waking Immi up, and they’d switch places again. But Immi wasn’t here anymore, she hadn’t been for a long time, and Imogen had sworn to spend the time Immi was away bettering herself, and unfortunately, that included proper-self care.
Imogen slept on the couch of her apartment, since neither her or Immi slept in the bedroom there, Immi had taken to using the space for her various projects, fabrics and beads were strung out across the floor, random magazines were lain across the bed, with parts of them cut out and drawn on, and various pieces of paper and notebooks littered the room in piles. Imogen couldn’t bring herself to touch anything in the room, when she looked into the room in this state, it almost felt like Immi was still there, and that any moment now she’d add a new project to the rooms collection. Imogen did try to sleep for eight hours, but she usually got closer to six, today she got around five and a half, waking up early in the morning. Due to this, she settled on going for a run as the streets would be relatively empty and she wanted to avoid as many people as possible. Imogen didn’t mind consistently exercising, in fact she liked it, it gave her somewhere to put the constant feelings of anger and resentment she found herself still holding onto, especially today, she spent most of the run thinking about how she struggled during the performance due to the fact she wasn’t fully physically equipped, she wouldn’t let that happen again.
Imogen tried not to spend the day dwelling on her memories, and this she did by keeping herself busy. She spent a good portion of the day in public (which was rare for her, but being around people to whom this day held no significance helped keep her mind off it), sitting down in a cafe for a few hours to work on some art, both for leisure and for some commissions, then she went around a few stores, picking up a new eyeliner, buying some new paints and browsing HMV for any new madoka magica merch or a new vinyl. Finally, she went by her local asian grocery. Ever since her Dad had moved back from Korea and had contacted her in hopes of making up for missing almost all of her life (which, in his defence, was mostly her moms fault, not his), she had been trying to connect more with his culture, since her mom had deprived her of that side of her. He had given her quite a few recipes of meals he made and grew up with in Korea, so she’d been trying to teach herself to cook them for herself, and hopefully for Immi soon. She’d settled on making some marinated eggs, accompanied by rice, some pickled vegetables and a tea. Since Immi had left, Imogen had tried to pick up journaling, in a way, she knew immi felt upset at the fact she was missing out on so much, so Imogen wrote about every single day, she planned to give it to Immi when she got back to make sure she wouldn’t feel behind, so she wrote about today as she ate, it took her mind away from remembering, she just wished she could stop writing entries soon.
Immi really struggled to manage keeping up with the passing of time within the theatre, she couldn’t quite see the sun from the windows, the theatre must’ve been just a few paces too far for it to reach, so the nights and days tended to blend into one, not that it mattered much, she felt very little need to sleep or eat while here (she hated this, these needs made her feel just a little bit more like humans normally, so no longer needing them made her feel disconnected, which just made her feel a bit sad.) Regardless, she knew what day it was, how could she forget? It was the first time seeing them again since she’d left, but they were all different, denouncing the past version of them that Immi held so dear. The Director was so different to who she remembered, she tried to picture their face, to envision their small smile and slightly stern gaze, that she would catch softening sometimes when they thought she wasn’t looking; but all she could see was their cruel smile and mocking gaze. She tried to remember the words they would write for her, they were so poetic and filled with the emotion they couldn’t show on their face, but all she could recall was the scripts filled with misfortune and torment, each line written merely for entertainment instead of expression. She tried to think of their touch, the strange, almost porcelain feeling of their ‘skin’, the way they held her hand as if she’d disappear any moment, but all she could feel was the possessive grip, their nails pushing into her skin ever so slightly. All her fond memories of them were being lost, replaced by those of a familiar face, who somehow felt like a stranger to her.
Immi had a hard time getting up from the crimson velvet couch she’d settled onto, she wondered how her friends would think if they saw the state she was in, her hair was a mess and she barely bothered with changing or doing her makeup anymore, the floor beneath the couch was littered with bottles, she had certainly making use of the seemingly infinite drinks and confectionary stand. She barely had the will to do anything anymore, for all the lies she told the people who cared about her, the only one she could never quite fool was herself. Once she managed to find her footing, while trying to ignore how lightheaded she felt, she made her way up the stairs, entering through a door labelled ‘Audience members prohibited!’ into a room filled floor to ceiling with scripts. The Director organised their works meticulously, each one was titled and dated in curling gold numbers and letters, each shelf organised perfectly alphabetically, it was obvious how much care they put into them, she felt intrusive even being in here, around what they were once so eager to share with her. Regardless, she looked around, finding the spine inked with the title ‘The Performance’, then she looked for ’The Prologue’, placing them together on the floor. ‘The Epilogue’ was stored separately to the other two, encased in its very own display case, clearly the Director’s fondest work, Immi was extra careful as she removed it, adding it to the pile. She settled herself onto the floor, pressing her back against a shelf, choosing to read through the in order they’d occurred. Each page from start to finish, every piece of planned dialogue, stage directors and every single one of their pencilled in notes.
When she was finished, she returned the scripts to their places, she tried as best as she could to make sure they looked untouched, but she knew The Director would know she’d read them, of course they’d know. She left the room, heading to the drinks and confectionaries stand, entering through another door forbidden to audience members. Looking around the kitchen area, she’d left most of the mess from the last time she baked, but she didn’t quite feel up to cleaning them (she probably never would) so she just pushed them to the side to sit and fester while she made a new mess to procrastinate dealing with. She knew quite the range of recipes off by heart, which was certainly helpful in her current situation, so she searched through the cupboards and fridge, which were always conveniently fully stocked, taking out any ingredients she needed, placing them onto the counter. She settled on making a raspberry and rosewater sponge, and while that sat in the oven, she made a lemon buttercream to ice the cake with, once the cake was out of the oven, she spread a layer of buttercream over the top, splitting the remaining of it into five separate bowls, adding a drop of colouring to each and using that to pipe pastel flowers onto the top of the cake. She took her cake back to the couch, cutting herself a slice. Looking at the cake reminded her of being at the institute, she remembered how excited she would be to bring in baked goods for her colleagues, offering Rosie some as she came in slightly late (as always) and sitting in her office with the baked goods, seeing if Elias would be tempted e nough to come to her office and enquire himself. She took a bite of her cake, it’s undeniably complimentary sweet flavours feeling nothing but sour in her mouth. She decided she wasn’t hungry.
Well well well! What a day it was, the one year anniversary of the start of their very best work! The Performance had begun exactly a year ago on the eighteenth of April twenty-twenty-five, their very own debut to the world as well! It really was a day to remember, they would say they weren’t trying to gloat, but there certainly were, why shouldn’t they? Their work was and still is brilliant. They could admit how entertaining it had been to see the host and the fool airing out their grievances for all to see, of course it was especially entertaining to see the shock and horror on the hosts face when they presented her life and secrets ever so artistically (pun intended!) and of course, their dearest epilogue. The epilogue really was their most fond work, honestly, their idea to trick the host into dropping that spotlight onto the ‘special guest’ was genius! It was hilarious to see the real audience members, who were so used to being the ones in control all antsy, trying to work out their plot points, truly the best. Although, a year later, looking back on it all, they did have some personal points of improvements. While their old design was certainly impressive (all credit to them, of course!), their new one is certainly more practical and put together (though they were planning on making some changes to their outfit soon…). Along with that, the audience participation was a exciting gimmick and all, but it didn’t quite go how they intended in the end, and probably wouldn’t bother faffing around with it in the future, they were more original than to rely the same niche twice!
But! There really was no time to reminisce, they had bigger and better plans for the future, because of course they did, the only one that could ever one up them is themselves. The ending of the performance was a bit unsatisfactory last time, as dramatic and entertaining of an ending as it was, they really weren’t a fan of the fact that the host ended up being the victor, so of course, they’d been planning their actions to prevent this repeating. They really weren't fond of her, especially this attitude of hers, going around talking bad about them! Of course, everything she said about them wad usually true, they didn't like hearing it from the likes of her. They did find quite a bit of entertainment in their escapades to her apartment, it almost always ended in a fight, which they could use to familiarise themselves with her weaknesses and methods, not that they needed to, their body was immensely superior to hers, physical destruction was little more than an inconvenience to them, while it was life threatening to her, how pathetic! They were, however, beginning to question how she had continued with life as normal, what with the state of their fool and all, the director knew she was obsessed with her morals and justice and blah blah blah. She wouldn't give it up that easily. So why was she suddenly so blasé? They'd have to find out, it seemed some snooping must be in order when they found the time, surely they'd find something in her apartment, and if not, they'd just have to entertain themselves by taking all of her scalpels again!
Of course they had a lot in store for the future, A grand sequel and all, especially with all these plot-points to wrap up and side characters to deal with (some for specific reasons, some for their own entertainment, obviously~) and as the brilliant, motivated individual they were; of course they wanted to get on with their plans, but they did want to treat themselves with a little celebration, it never hurt every once in a while, hmm? So! They decided to pair three of their favourite past times, first, they took a few of their opioids, just to get a bit more excited, then, they walked over to a theatre, the playhouse theatre specifically. After dealing with the first person there they picked out, they managed to get themselves entry, isn’t that fortunate! They really did enjoy the show there, everyone loves a cabaret after all, and all of the not so subtle changes revealing themselves throughout the performance, truly entertaining. Just to treat themselves a little bit more, they stopped a few individuals in the theatre and had some fun… chatting with them, those people really must’ve enjoyed the performance, seeing as they never quite got to leave the theatre (Just like their fool, how well timed!) After that lovely escapade, they felt thoroughly satisfied with the future ahead, just as they did this time last year.
Little note from the backstage team ( aka the esteemed creator ) ~
Goodness me. I cannot believe it’s been a year !!! I wanted to thank you all sosososo much for interacting with my content, and once again apologising for how long the statement is taking me, unfortunately I am very busy, but I promise I am working on it, and I hope this makes up for it, just a little bit.
Thank you all again, my esteemed audience <3 !
