sorry for being so angry tonight. a better world is possible, we have the engineers, the knowledge, and the power to do it. but our world is driven by a greed and hatred unlike any other, one that sucks the soul out of us all.
we can live lives filled with peace, love, and relative comfort but it's been decided for us that we can't. we can uncover the secrets of our world and universe, but we only chose to do so when it's profitable.
there are so many amazing, wonderful, beautiful people on this world. so many vibrant cultures, so much love, so many hopes and dreams. but the west takes it all. capitalism takes more than the world can provide, pushes people into poverty and slavery, all so only a few can play with us all as mere toys and have dick waving competitions.
we're turned against each other, we're told others are savage and inhuman, that they're just a number, just a percentage point. they play god, and as one that is filled with nothing but vengeance and rage. one that only seeks to punish and hoard all that there is, until there isn't anything else anymore.
we could've made such a beautiful world for ourselves by this point if a few key things had gone through, but greed and hatred was won time and time again.
my only hope is that we can finally start to push this horrid system into the fire, and we can truly start to set things right. for all its failings, i think the internet has really started to bring us together. i just want people to live and be happy. i want everyone to be able to follow their dreams and feel love. i really hope we can reach that point someday.
day five bringing us some bittersweet love, and my first attempt to write Virgil.
ships: prinxiety
tw: death and gore ment.
The lights of the old theater hum and flicker as they turn on, testament to how long ago they probably should have been replaced. Virgil huffs a laugh to himself as he walks towards the stage. The ghost lamp is still sitting there, which he flicks off in a moment. It’s not as if it actually does anything, on or off, but it's a habit at this point. He stands there for a moment, waiting to see if anything, or anyone, would appear, then turns towards the wings.
“You’re so late today, I’d begun to worry you’d crossed over to my side without consulting me,” a voice calls from behind him. He kills the smile that begins to form as he turns around. Standing with his arms crossed is Roman, the utter asshole Virgil had somehow befriended during his long nights working at the theater. His brown hair was carefully unkempt as always, his white costume perfect except for the ugly stain of blood, still a bright red, across the center of his chest along where the gash that killed him sits.
Oh yeah, Roman is a ghost. Virgil has a whole sixth sense, “I see dead people” thing going on. Another reason he doesn’t get along well with people.
“What makes you think I’d have time to consult you before I died? It’s generally not a choice, as you’re well aware,” Virgil responds. Roman throws his head back in a hearty laugh that from anyone else, Virgil would be sure is completely fake. But no, Roman is just like that.
“Fair enough, my knight in gloomy armor,” Roman says. “What are we working on today?”
“We aren’t working on anything. I’m doing a double check on the stage props, making sure nothing’s missing. We haven’t got that long until opening night,” Virgil says, throwing the response over his shoulder as he heads further into the wings. Roman, predictably, is not far behind him.
“Is that so? How long exactly is there?” Roman asks.
“Two weeks. Opening night is the twenty-seventh, today is the thirteenth,” Virgil calls back absently, making his way through the mess of a backstage he’s been left with. He doesn’t notice how Roman trails behind slightly at the comment.
The rest of the night goes surprisingly well. There’s nothing incredibly important missing, none of the stage props have massive portions of them that are damaged or unfinished, and most of the hand props are also complete and unbroken. Virgil walks through everything once more to double check, and then heads to the stage manager’s podium to make sure that they have the lighting cues noted. Through the whole night, he notices that Roman is being oddly quiet. Certainly not silent, but he trails off at times, or starts rambling on about stories he’s already told, which he usually never does. They make their way back to the stage, and when Roman lets out another forlorn sigh, Virgil stops in his tracks.
“Alright, what’s up with you tonight dude? You’re acting all,” Virgil flails his arms, gesturing at Roman’s bent posture, “Weird. I dunno.”
Roman wanders to center stage before responding. “I died 34 years ago today. I officially have been on earth as a ghost longer than I was alive.”
Virgil grimaces. “Oh. I, uh, didn’t know that.”
Roman chuckles, sad and empty and not at all like his normal, boisterous laugh. “There was no way for you to know. I never told you.” He sits down on the stage, legs pulled into his chest. He looks so… young, like this. Virgil sits near him, a few feet away.
“Do- do you wanna, like, talk about it?” Virgil knows he could have done that a little better, but he openly admits he’s bad at emotional conversations. He’s out of his element here, but he’s trying.
Roman seems to appreciate it, at least, because he gives Virgil a small smile. “I was supposed to be the prince in a performance of Cinderella here in 1984. We were doing our last dress rehearsal when something went wrong. Somehow, one of the lights shattered right before I got to have my dance with Cinderella. I pushed her out of the way, but… I wasn’t fast enough to save myself.” He looks down at the gash running from just below his sternum to his stomach. Virgil follows his gaze and notices, from this distance, that the wound is more jagged than he thought. He can imagine some massive piece of glass falling from the catwalk, sees Roman running to push his co-star out of the way only to be impaled. It’s… not a pleasant image.
Roman sighs, looking out into the house. “I just wish… I wish I could’ve gotten to have that dance. Maybe it’s selfish, but… I don’t know,” he trails off, letting his head fall to his knees. Virgil can’t do anything but look for a moment. He’s never seen Roman so small, so sad. He wants to do something, to help somehow, but it’s not like he could magically give him that last dance.
Unless…
“Wait right here!” Virgil shouts, then runs to the speakers. He plugs in his phone, and goes through his phone to find the track he was looking for. Thank God he didn’t delete the songs from his last show.
He runs back onto stage just as the first strains “Waltz for a Ball” began to filter through. He stops just before he runs directly into Roman and holds out a hand.
“Fair warning, I don’t know the choreo for this, so you’ll have to guide me,” he says. Roman looks from his hand to his face, and he breaks into a bright grin. Virgil can’t help but smile back.
“Worry not, I’ll be able to get us through this,” Roman says, full of his normal gravitas again. He grabs Virgil’s hand, feeling surprisingly solid, if a bit cold. Then he sweeps them into the dance.
The dance is, in all honesty, quite simple. Virgil remembers that much from when he ran sound for it at another theater a while back. There’s lots of people dancing all in unison, so of course it’s relatively simple and easy to coordinate. That doesn’t make it any easier for Virgil, who is not a talented dancer (he works backstage for a reason), and who is rapidly becoming aware of just how bright Roman’s eyes are, and that he has a splash of freckles across his nose and cheekbones, and that he’s close enough to Roman’s face to make out details on his nose and cheekbones.
Roman chuckles at some point, muttering that he’s “literally dancing on his own grave”, and that statement shocks Virgil back into a bit of reality. He’s dancing with a ghost. This isn’t some cute guy he somehow managed to flirt with, this is the ghost of a man who died decades ago, whose only source of companionship is the one person in the world who seems to be able to see him.
It doesn’t make the heat leave his cheeks, and it doesn’t slow his beating heart, but it does sit like a rock uncomfortably in his stomach.
The final strains of the song fade out, Virgil laughing as Roman says all of the lines of all of the actors in dramatic, ridiculous tones. They step away from one another slightly, Virgil’s face slightly red, Roman with a bright grin across his face.
“I… thank you for that , Virgil,” Roman says suddenly. Virgil looks up at him, and he continues. “I never actually got to do that whole dance in costume. Obviously, this isn’t exactly how I thought it would happen, but…” Roman glanced up at Virgil, his eyes flitting over Virgil’s face. “I couldn’t ask for a better dance partner.” His soft smile knocks the breath right out of Virgil’s lungs, so he can only stare for a moment. In fact, it’s his prolonged staring that makes him realize something.
“Uh, Roman? Why are you getting more see through?” Roman’s face morphs into a state of shock when he looks down at his own body, apparently also seeing the way he’s quickly fading. Then he lets out a slightly hysterical laugh.
“The last dance. That’s what was keeping me here. But you helped me resolve it, so now I can-”
“You can pass over,” Virgil finishes his sentence with not a small amount of dread. If Roman passes over, he never gets to see him again. He never gets to have long, ridiculous conversations about absolute nonsense during his long hours.
Roman gives him a sad sort of smile, like he knows exactly what Virgil is thinking, which of course he does. He seems to be able to read Virgil like a book. He reaches out and lays a gentle hand on Virgil’s cheek.
“Thank you. Not just for this last dance, but for all of the nights you kept me company. For all of the secrets you divulged to me. For all of the love you let me feel, for the first time in a very long time. I just ask one thing of you: don’t forget me, please.” By the time he finishes, he’s almost completely gone. Virgil puts his hand over Roman’s, trying to cling to his last few moments with him.
“I couldn’t forget you, even if I wanted to,” Virgil whispers. Roman leans forward, eyes closing, and brushes a soft kiss against Virgil’s lips. Before Virgil can respond, he’s gone.
