La Milana & Vakhtang Beatbox • MIRFF 2016 • Marbella International Russian Film Festival • Watch the full video on www.stylepassion.net/style-passion-tv 🎤🎬🎭📺🎶#mirff #mirff2016 #marbella #russian #costadelsol #stylepassionnet #filmfestival #instagood #instalike #instafollow #movie #smart #video #arianasoffici #tvpresenter #music #dancers #spain #show #singers #awards #redcarpet #lamilana #flamenco #beatbox #vakhtang #meltingpot #multicultural (en Palacio de ferias y congresos de marbella)
MIRFF 2016 • Marbella International Russian Film Festival • Watch the full video on www.stylepassion.net/style-passion-tv 🎬🎭📺🎶#mirff #mirff2016 #marbella #russian #costadelsol #stylepassionnet #filmfestival #instagood #instalike #instafollow #movie #smart #video #arianasoffici #tvpresenter #music #dancers #spain #show #singers #awards #redcarpet (en Palacio de ferias y congresos de marbella)
MIRFF 2016 • Marbella International Russian Film Festival • Watch the full video on www.stylepassion.net/style-passion-tv 🎬🎭📺🎶#mirff #mirff2016 #marbella #russian #costadelsol #stylepassionnet #filmfestival #instagood #instalike #instafollow #movie #smart #video #arianasoffici #tvpresenter #music #dancers #spain #show #singers #awards #redcarpet (en Palacio de ferias y congresos de marbella)
Act One; Scene Two: It’s really love for the theatre
***
Act One; Scene Three: The Gods are party animals
The air had began to cool as the sun gently dipped down towards the horizon. The city wound down from the daily bustle, meat markets closed and vegetable stalls packed up for the night. Coloured lamps were lit for the night life to begin.
Mirth watched the preparations from where she lay on the, surprisingly comfortable, stone ground. She had seen the lights and heard the mortals celebrating loudly from the outskirts of the City where she had rested for the past two nights. It was funny that she only stayed out of the city to avoid detection from the Gods, fearing that they would be more attentive to rogue immortals at night, and yet here she was enjoying the presence of two of them and who seemed to enjoy hers in return with no malice. Any fear or anxiety that had loomed over her were silenced, for now. It was peaceful.
Movement from the corner of her eye made her look over to see Stage standing up and composing himself. Brushing the dirt from his robes he looked up at the stars appearing from the fading light and hummed to himself.
“We must go now, or we'll be late for my celebration.” He pivoted smartly to face Mirth with a smirk, his red chiton flowed behind him as he strode towards his new companion and offered his hand to her.
“Oh no, we don't want to miss the festival that's been going non stop for three days!” Durel dryly remarked, picking off dirt from his purple exomis and adjusting the black and gold badge that clipped it to his shoulder.
Mirth had sat up and eyed the God's outstretched hand before accepting it. He lifted her to her feet and led her to the middle of the theatre where draped in the air, was a pair of velvet red closed curtains.
“That wasn't there before...” The new Deity hesitated and bit her lip, feeling a chill wash over her. It isn't a trap. Stop panicking! Stage paused and gazed back, squeezing her hand reassuringly.
“It's okay. This is the quickest way to get to the Pantheon.” He encouraged, but she was reluctant to take another step, her uncertainties froze her in place, her mind bickering at itself.
Pantheon? That meant it lead to a place that was a gathering hub of Gods. That anxiety crept back in at the thought of being faced with so many at once... She felt herself grip Stage's hand tighter and take in a deep breath. If they're anything like these two, I should be fine... I will be fine.
“It's really the only way to travel.” Durelivoks strolled to the curtains, parted them and with a cheeky smile to the pair, disappeared through them. The curtains wafted gently back to place.
Mirth's hand dropped to her side as Stage let it go and strode towards the curtains. He looked back at her, his eyes soft, “It won't stay here for very long,” Then he too disappeared through them before she could utter a word. The theatre she stood in suddenly felt very empty.
The woman inelegantly soared through the red velvet curtains. She noted that the floor her face was now in acquaintance with was made of grey and white marble instead of dirt and stone of the theatre. As her mind caught up with her body, she felt the curtains behind her vanish.
“Come on or he'll leave us in here.” The Deity was helped to her feet by the God of Voices who linked arms and led her through the large impressive looking theatre. Marble faces looked down upon them from the pillars, each with a different expression and wearing their own different masks. The only sound was the echoing of their foot falls. The woman clung tighter to her escort for comfort, who rubbed her hand reassuringly.
The God of Performances waited for them by a pair of blue curtains, his hands held behind his back, face expressionless until they stopped in front of him. A twinkle lit his eye from a brief smirk. He then turned and forcefully pushed apart the curtains and strode through with his companions following in his wake. The curtains wafted dramatically from their entrance into another realm.
Pan pipes and laughter danced above their heads, while drones of conversations erupted around them. Bright orange flames flickered on curved horned torches, illuminating the huge room, its pillars were adorned with carvings of plants, fruits, strange beasts and winged children that rose up to meet a ceiling that disappeared into the inky darkness above. The walls too were decorated with murals of the Gods and their domains, the colours bright and vibrant. The scent of roasting meats and fresh bread filled the air, enticing the senses and stomachs, offering a warm welcome to those arriving into the Pantheon.
Durel looked down at Mirth on his arm, he could feel the blood flowing back through it as she curiously studied the various gods and goddess scattered around this grand room. She returned his gaze with a shy smile then looked toward where Stage was further ahead of them. He was in great discussion with a familiar looking tall, red headed woman, who was dressed in rich crimson, gold and white.
“That's Amber.” Durel's voice was low in her ear, almost a whisper, causing a chill to run up her spine. “We'll let them talk a while longer, I'll introduce you to a few others first.”
“Your tonic is really long and thick, aren't you hot?” A female voice bluntly enquired from behind them.
“I- uh. Um….” Her male companion stuttered in response.
Mirth searched around to find who the owners of the overheard conversation belonged to.
“You should put on a shorter, if not lighter tunic, you must be boiling under there.” The first voice was owned by a brown haired woman in a revealing white feathered dress. She adjusted the purple antlered mask covering her eyes as she looked down at the short man in front of her, the other hand on her hip.
“I’m used to long robes... Sorry."He fidgeted with a cup in his sun-kissed hands, not meeting her eyes. His grey robes did seem to engulf his smaller form, covering one arm completely and trailing down to the floor.
“Ah! And here we have Behax the Winged Messenger. Stunning as ever!” Durelivoks had grabbed hold of Mirth by her shoulders and steered her towards the peach toned Goddess and the nervous silver haired God besides her. “And, give me a moment... Whim! Justice, right?”
“Uh, yes? Th-that is to say-”
“Durelivoks, flattery will get you everywhere.” Behax purred with a smirk, then looked at the woman he held in front of him. “Hello there, another new deity? I supposed that means more work for me then.”
“Whim, Behax, this is Mirth the God of- Deity of.. mirth? No. Humour! The deity of Humour. That sounds much better doesn't it?” Durel asked cheerfully receiving a nod from his charge.
“Hello.” Mirth smiled shyly still trying to override the irrational fears of being attacked right now by anyone in this room. She squeezed her companion's hands with her own and noticed from the corner of her eye, Stage looking over to her as he spoke with Amber. Her cheeks warmed as she felt reassurance from both of their presence.
“Nice to meet you, Mirth.” Behax smiled warmly, then her gaze darted past them. “Oh, but there's someone I need to speak with. Festivals like these are the easiest place to track down Deities. Especially this one. Excuse me.” Beams of energy erupted from her back, creating six large white wings. She flew up and over their heads to her intended target.
Whim bowed to Mirth, the braids prevented his long, thick hair from falling forward into his face. “Greetings, Mirth, Deity of Humour. Please, let me ah, introduce myself, um, more formally. I am Whim, God of Judgement at your service. I too have not been in Greece for long, so I am afraid I uh, can not help with showing you around.” He stood straight again, his dark eyes flickered up then settled down to his extremely interesting drink. “ The ah, silk scarf suits you.”
“Thank you. Nice meeting you too.” Mirth beamed, awkwardly bowing in response, she was feeling a little more at ease.
“Tour tiiiime!” Sang the God of Voices in Whim's ear causing the man to leap out of his skin as he was pulled to Durel's side in a one armed hug. Next to him, in the same embrace with his other arm, Mirth gave an embarrassed smile and shrug with an unspoken apology. “I'll just point out Deities of interest to you both, instead of going around. We'll get to speak with everyone eventually, I'm sure. We have eternity after all.” He seemed to be unaware of the discomfort from the silver haired deity with this display of overly affectionate help.
“Ah, th-thank you... ” Whim squeaked, trying to shrug off the embrace without much success. “but I really couldn't-”
“Nonesense!” Durelivoks scoffed, releasing him and sweeping his hand slowly across the room, “Just point to who you want to know more about and I will reveal aaaall! Well, at least their name and domain and maaybe a little titbit more about them, but I don't expect you both to remember everyone, it will be a lot to take in. Hopefully you'll remember some names.” This was his way of trying to ease their fears from asking about the others.
“Don't worry, I have an excellent, uh, memory.” The God of Judgement smiled with sudden pride. “I won't forget anyone.”
“Good!” The Voice of All beamed and leaned in towards him, expectantly. “So ask away!”
“Oh...” Whim's smile faltered as he looked away from the stare, trying to choose another god to move the interest onto, his hands went back to fidgeting with the cup.
“Okay, so who's Behax talking to now?” Mirth enquired quickly, partly to save the silver haired God from squirming even more under Durel's grin. Their eyes followed her gaze to the feathered messenger in an animated discussion with a very tall and curvy dark skinned Goddess who clutched a small blue parcel under one arm. Her long dreads bounced into her face as she laughed so she brushed some back away from her right eye, revealing a deep scar across it.
“The Spirit of Adventure, but she likes to be called Digiri. If you ever need to go on a quest or a treasure hunt or explore lost ruins and civilisations or anything like that, then she should be your first choice in your team.”
“Spirit?” The deity of humour studied the woman, awed that she was considered to be as a God by those around her. How different would I be now if were treated as such? Would I still be a Spirit of Mirth rather than a Deity of Humour?
“Um, I heard there are other, uh, new deities besides ourselves. Is that true?” The God of Judgement was scanning the sparse crowd, but he couldn't be certain who were the older and wiser gods here.
“Of course! It's easy to spot them, just look for the awkward looking ones.” Durel joked, although he wasn't far off from the truth at this party as Whim pointed out a stubby antlered Goddess in a blue and silver chiton.
“Ah Nunzia!” Durel sounded fond mentioning her name. “She calls herself The Network. Why she couldn't have a proper title like “Goddesss of Communications” or “Goddess of Sound Vibrations” I don't know. She's not much of a talker ironically, until you get her on the subject of those new fangledhydraulic telegraphs, then hoo-boy can she talk your ear off! However she's pleasant to be around once you get to know her and yes, she's pretty new around here.”
The Network was in a corner of the great hall on a soft chair while nursing a drink and listening in on a conversation between two other Goddesses over on the next chairs beside her, Durelivoks followed her gaze.
“The reddish haired one is Aegolia,” The woman he introduced wore a long, red and gold chiton and a brown feathered shawl over her shoulders. “She's a Patron of scholars and storytellers. She's not one to offer help freely or at all usually, unless there's something in return that she wants. The white haired one is... give me a moment... Her name is on the tip of my tongue.”
Aegolia seemed to be in deep conversation with a sad looking, currently nameless, Goddess who was wearing a long snow white exomis with a silver broach clasping the fabric to one shoulder. Her legs were pulled up under her as she twirled her long hair. Six tiny ivory coloured wings flickered and floated around her back as if they were impatient.
“Got it! Walker or her full title is The One who Walks Between Life and Death. I knew I'd remember it eventually. She tends to be more of an odd entity and have brought back some mortals from the grip of death, liiikely upsetting La Daphine, Goddess of Death and a few others in the process. She's still pretty new so I don't know much more about her than that.”
The lean God scanned the hall. “Let's see. Ah! You may know of this one.” He nodded towards a brighter section of the hall behind them where a blonde man leant against a pillar with his arms folded across his bare chest. He wore an elegant golden headpiece with a small floating sun hovering above it. “Helios, although you may know him of a different name. He's a very old God, however he doesn't get out much from living on the sun and tends to keep to himself.”
Curiously, he didn't wear a traditional exomis or chiton, instead he wore shiny, black metal clamps around his neck, wrists and ankles and his lower half donned the same material for the armour on his legs.
“The two lovely goddesses next to him are Nicole the Healer, who is an actual Phoenix bird, so if any of you get seriously hurt, she's the one to go to and Sakoyo, the Goddess of Sunlight who, as her name implies, has got a nice sunny disposition, you should say hi at some point. I'm sure I don't need to tell you who is who?”
Mirth smiled and shook her head, it was indeed easy to tell who they were from their appearances. Nicole wore a blue short dress that had orange and black feather trimmings and had three long thin feathers from the top of her ginger head. Sakoyo wore a floor length blue dress, with a short orange chiton over it. A large sun broach clipped a yellow shawl around her shoulders and she wore a gold circled crown with fine detail upon her blonde head. The Phoenix and the Sunlight Goddess were talking like old friends and even from here, Mirth could feel the warmth radiating from the three of them.
Durelivoks walked on to point out other Gods, “And that one dancing in the golden dress over there is, I think Sen-Rei? Wait she's a Familiar, so where's the God she serves under-?” Mirth wasn't listening to his introductions now, she had noticed that Helios wasn't paying any attention to the two women he was with. Instead he wore a longing gaze that the Deity followed across the room into a deep shadowy area. The torches that lined that end of the hall had been snuffed out, allowing the inky darkness from above to settle to the floor. She could just make out two figures watching back, then turn to each other in conversation, but the feeling of being watched was still there.
“Over there is a giant turtle held by some elephants and-you're-not-listening-Mirth.” Durel huffed when he noticed the Deity of Humour he was showing around was still where he left her several feet away. “Whim is paying attention, you should be more like him.”
“Oh? Um...” The small God looked down to the empty cup around in his hands feeling his cheeks burn from the oddly phrased praise.
“Who are those two in that shadowy place?” Mirth had started to feel uneasy standing there and squinting into the darkness, but she was slowly getting a better look at the pair. She could see that one had very long aquamarine hair that moved as if she was under water - No, it moved as it it were alive. Creepy! The woman had pale skin and must be dressed in black to look like she was part of the darkness that engulfed them, the other covered themselves completely in a dark cloak, revealing nothing but a slender outline.
“You shouldn't stare, it's rude.” Mirth jumped at Durel's low voice chiding her in her ear, but the man wasn't standing behind her, he was still several feet away. She gave him an annoyed look and a head jerk to come over. The Voice of All sighed and walked over with the God of Judgement who was curious to hear about the dark deities too.
“First off.” The tall man grabbed the pair by their chitons and dragged them to some nearby chairs. “Let's not irritate them further by staring and whispering about them.” He pushed them down onto the seats while he stood, arms folded across his chest. “Secondly, you may want to keep a healthy distance. Banshee is the gorgeous, yet terrifying Goddess of Twisted Dark and Mischief and the one hiding under the cloak-”
<Leave it to the title dear, you don't want to say my name.> Durel was stopped by the cloaked figure's voice in his head. A chill ran down his spine, it was always best to follow Pandora's requests. He snapped out of the glazed look with a polite cough. “Yes well, all you need to know is that she is the Keeper of the Clockwork Throne and saying that both are trouble is an understatement entirely!”
“So why are they here?” Mirth was trying very hard not to look in their direction, if they were so bad it seemed strange to let them come to this festival. Whim just stared at his hands on his lap, but she could see him glancing up again from the corner of her vision.
Durelivoks rolled his eyes. “Just because some of us don't agree with what they do, doesn't mean they shouldn't be allowed to frequent the City of Gods whenever they please. And this festival is an open invite to all immortals to join in.” He shook his head. “I shouldn't even need to be saying this.”
“Oh, of course...Sorry.” The Deity of Humour's cheeks blushed as she found the floor interesting once again. She berated herself mentally, and gave a sidewards glance at Whim who was nodding thoughtfully. Beyond him, Helios gave a stern, almost jealous glare at them, causing Mirth to shrink further down into her seat in embarrassment. Well, at least no one is trying to kill me... Yet.
***
More deities to meet in the next part! Uh it's not done being written yet, so will be a much longer wait. This is where we find out who gave her that scar she kept touching in the last part.
Continuation from Scene One Tragedy is the In Thing
****
Act One; Scene Two: It's really love for the theatre
On the third day, it was another bright, clear morning and the immortal took the form of a woman with a much paler complexion than the last form. She still wore a golden yellow and white chiton, but it flowed down to her ankles and her long bay coloured hair was braided back to keep it out of her pale grey eyes. She wrapped a patterned gold and red silk scarf around her neck, one she had taken a shine to at a foreign stall the previous day and set off into the city towards the market. She took her time to go around the stalls and browsed the wares idly but her thoughts kept wondering away to the actor and singer at the theatre.
The festival was still ongoing and so was the wine. It wasn't hard to spot the ones who had been drinking all night, or indeed the whole three days. It was amusing to watch mortals stagger about from intoxication sometimes, they were such frail creatures. A stench of a man reached out to grab The Mirth, but she easily sidestepped him and giggled as he fell flat on his face and cursed at nymphs that teased him. She spent the rest of her morning dodging drunkards, drinking mead and wine and dancing with the maenads until it was time to go to the theatre once more.
This time, she was early and had the chance to peer at the rest of the audience. Some of the faces seemed familiar from the previous two days and unsurprisingly most were women. She recognised the group that were talking to the Singer yesterday and it was their gasped excitement that alerted The Mirth that he was now on stage.
A puzzled silence fell. There were no singing nor music with his arrival. The tall, slim man stood in the centre with his head bowed down and his auburn hair covering his eyes. The surroundings seemed to dim around them, even though it was still the middle of the day without a cloud in the sky. Time felt like it had stood still. She chanced a look around her, everyone was expressionless and staring intently at the Singer.
He finally spoke. Softly, but as clear as if he was standing right next to her.
“I must warn you.” He paused and lifted his head to look at the audience one by one. “That this performance will not be easy to witness. Tragedy itself will weep. If you are of a delicate nature-” His gaze rested on The Mirth a little longer than the others, before he looked away. “Then please take your leave, for we would not want for you to suffer as our protagonist will.”
No one spoke, nor got up to leave. They waited. The performer closed his eyes and smiled sadly. “Then we shall begin.”
His low mournful song snaked its way across the theatre, it's tendrils chilled the air and sapped the very notion of happiness, but there was no story in the lyrics, only woe of what was to come. A masked man strode with confidence to the centre of the stage, his wine red cloak flowed behind him elegantly and in that familiar nectar laced voice he spoke.
“It all starts with noble intentions.” The mask covering his head and face wore an arrogant sneer and the song faded into silence as the play began.
The Mirth felt nauseous watching this story unfold before her, a heavy weight rested on her heart and she hugged her legs against her chest tightly. From the corner of her eye, she could see that her neighbours looked almost as uncomfortable. And yet through this sadness, she followed the threads of the tale intently and she found herself thinking ahead of what they would do or what could happen and various other scenarios during those much needed brief intervals. The twists and reactions surprised her, but she would then process the next steps, linking invisible threads together working towards her preferred outcome as tears dripped down from her cheeks.
“And it ends with his death.”
The Actor turned slowly away from the audience and took off his mask. He held it out at his side at arms length, his head down. The sound of it smashing into the ground reverberate around the theatre.
The Mirth wiped the tears from her face and looked around, she wanted to say something, but was hesitant with the heavy silence surrounding her. When it was apparent that both the actors and audience weren't going to break it, she meekly stood up and spoke.
“This could have... a happy ending.” She stiffened, fists clenched as everyone turned to look at her with hushed mumbles and curious glares. Except for one. The Actor hadn't moved. She pressed on, her voice becoming stronger, her pale eyes fixated on the back of his tangled ginger hair for any movement of acknowledgement.
“-There is a possibility, the threads are all there just waiting to be weaved back into the story. It wouldn't be made up or out of nowhere, although it may be a bit of a stretch in some parts-” Her gaze had drifted off into the distance, darting from left to right as if reading from a script so she failed to notice the Actor turning to face her while she spoke, nor did she see the faint tell of a smile on his lips and the glance he gave his companion.
It was only when he was walking up the steps towards her, his hazel coloured eyes fixed on hers, that she trailed off and lost her momentum, her chest tightened and her blood run cold.
“Then why don't you tell us how this story can have a happy ending.” He insisted in a low voice and a smirk, taking the immortal's hand. A wave of sickness washed over her from his touch. He's a God! She shivered, why didn't she notice that earlier? The energy here. Now it made sense. What a fool! She should never have spoken and could have just slipped away unnoticed for the last time.
The God tilted his head and held her gently but firmly in his own rough hand. He knows what I am! I can't escape this. Just... just play along. The Mirth bit her lip, not wanting to do anything to anger him, maybe she could appease him and he would let her go without harm? Her free hand subconsciously touched the burnt scar on the side of her abdomen that was covered by her chiton as he carefully led her down the steps.She could only hope.
Taking shaky breaths, the immortal stepped onto the stage. The audience was confused, their voices rose from hushed whispers until the Singer quietened them back down to gentle murmurings. He then gave a nod and a wide smile as he stepped from his place and motioned to her to stand where he had been. Her gut clenched tighter as she looked into his emerald green eyes. Another God! There was no escape, no doubt there were more around, probably watching her every move, maybe in the audience too. The Actor let go of her hand and went back to his position. She turned stiffly to face the many eyes staring at her.
The audience were silent and expectant. It was now or never. Filling her lungs, the Mirth pushed away the thoughts of the Gods and concentrated on the tale and the audience. The air was released from her chest and a deep calmness washed over her spirit, she was completely in her element. Nothing would go wrong. She closed her eyes and slowed her breathing. When she opened them, a coy smile danced upon her lips.
“Death may be the end of the journey for many, however, for some when certain circumstances have been met, it is merely another obstacle in their path.”
The women held the audience's complete attention once she got into the rhythm of the tale. The Actor, with a new mask, and the Singer, played their parts well. She even got music and a song. It was as if they had rehearsed this beforehand and not just following her spur of the moment narrative. Then the twist she built them up for was finally revealed and the theatre reverted with laughter, many nodded, some shook their heads in disbelief. It wasn't so much of a surprise ending, but how it was delivered.
The two Gods stepped towards her from both sides and The Mirth flinched at how they towered over her smaller stature, but they each took a hand in their own and bowed to the crowd. The second and third dip she bowed with them, feeling the rush from the audience cheers.
“Well done! I didn't think anyone could twist his tragedy into a bitter-sweet ending like that. And the humour! I never heard anything like it. I mean, we do satyr but you seem to have upped it by far!” The Singer hugged her with one arm around her shoulders, causing her to blush at the unexpected praise and oddly comforting warm touch as the crowd dispersed. The women who had fawned over him the previous day hovered by the edge, but were shooed away with a flick of his wrist. The Mirth almost snorted in laughter at the dirty glares they gave her as they left.
“Just don't go changing all of my tragic plays, I still have people interested in those.” The Actor smirked playfully. The immortal nodded quickly, suddenly realising who she was with dealing with.
“I don't think I've seen you around here before, but you do seem familiar.” The God pulled The Mirth around and stooped down for a clearer look at her face, his own wrinkled into a curious frown. She looked at him briefly, his emerald round eyes were cheerful and friendly against his bisque complexion. The floor became more interesting to her as a heavy weight churned her insides and the blood ran from her cheeks.
“I- I only-” The woman hugged herself tightly and stepped backwards out of his hands, but bumped into the larger God standing behind her instead, she froze against his warm body.
“It's okay, we know.” He soothed and cautiously placed his large hands on her hunched up shoulders, then rubbed them reassuringly, feeling them lower under his touch. Her heart skipped a beat and a twisting knot formed in the pit of her stomach, she fought a conflict of interests in her head, but she didn't want to move away from his touch.
“You've been coming to our theatre for the past two days and it was a shame you left so quickly afterwards. I'm glad we finally met you and saw what you could do. Hopefully, you'll stay for a bit longer so we can show you around?” He enquired in a low, soft voice.
The immortal nodded as her pasty face flushed pink, she bit her lower lip again. Running was out of the question, not because the God had hold of her, it would be easy enough to escape out of his gentle grip, but she now felt conflicted over their intentions. If they wanted to harm her, they'd have done it by now, however there was still a nagging doubt as she stroked the scar hidden under her yellow fabric. Once bitten, twice shy, I guess. she mused.
“Do we get a name, Goddess?” He leaned down to look at her face from the side, his hands still on her shoulders.
The Mirth's mouth went dry at being addressed so highly, she turned her head towards the Actor with a timid, wide eyed look. His mask was gone, so she could see him grinning fondly at her. It was a sincere smile that warmed his copper eyes and freckled cheeks. “I-” Her heart fluttered and her stomach baulked as she steadied herself from wanting to press herself against him further.
“Perhaps we should introduce ourselves first?” The Singer beamed, jolting into the Actor playfully, forcing him to take a step back to regain balance. The Mirth almost fell backwards, but caught herself and spun to face the Gods, glancing at the exit behind them. She stood straight, looking up at the pair with a dry swallow, while her hands at her sides fidgeted with her robes. The wavy auburn haired man grinned eagerly at them. “I'll start shall I?”
He stood proudly and lifted his hands, palms facing upwards, into the air slowly as a chorus of beautiful voices surrounded the trio and gently rose in volume around them, the words were unintelligible but soothing. “I am Durelivoks.” His voice boomed and appeared to be everywhere at once, The Mirth even felt her own voice utter his name in unison. “God of Voices and Voice of all.” The singing erupted louder then softened and faded into whispers and he gave a smart bow, a soft smile and in a silky voice added; “You may call me Durel.”
After a pregnant pause.
He nudged his companion to follow suit.
The Actor's only response to the nudge was an unimpressed look, then he gave a flourished bow of his own to the woman. “Dionysus.” His hair fell in front of his face until he stood up, a black mask with bull horns covered only his eyes and a wreath of vine leaves rested atop his head. Behind him two pummels of smoke erupted and an invisible orchestra played dramatically, emphasizing his introduction further. “God of Performance and Grand Maestro.” He took The Mirth's hand and kissed it, the music stopped dead. “But you may call me by my Stage name.” His expression flickered to a frown momentarily.
Durelivoks rolled his eyes then clasped his hands together with a big grin. “So! Now that myself and Stage have introduced ourselves,” He stressed the other man's nickname, as The Mirth managed to retrieve her hand back with a suppressed snicker. “May we have yours?”
The woman's smile faded and her face became pallor, she barely had a name and especially not a title or a lavish introduction to perform. They'll think I've deceived them. I'm not a god, let alone a god with a domain. These thoughts caused her to cower back from them, her mouth opening to try and form words that wouldn't leave her throat.
The towering Gods shared a bemused glance.
“I think you may have given her Stage fright.” Durel concluded with a nod.
His companion gave him a long hard look.
“What?”
“Did you just-?”
“Did I just what?”
“Did you just say, what I think you said?”
“Oh? Oh! I did, didn't I?”
“Yes.”
“But like you can talk with your own play on words, “Call me by my-”
“THAT was a slip of the tongue.”
“That's always your excuse.”
“I don't-”
They were interrupted by poorly suppressed sniggering from the immortal, who after a pause for breath looked at their frowned puzzled expressions, then promptly burst out laughing.
Her helpless giggles were contagious and overwhelmed the two Gods with laughter. The trio only had to catch each other's eyes when they had thought they had calmed down before they cracked up again. Their laughter echoed around the theatre until finally they were slumped against the trees and wall props, chuckling under their breathes and wincing in pain.
“Why... were we... even laughing?” Wheezed Durel in surprise, clutching his sides as he leaned against a tree for support. He blinked rapidly at the water that had welled up in his sight, the tears soothed his burning cheeks.
“Mirth.” Stage gasped, leaning against a wall prop, his mask was held in one hand while wiping his wet flushed face with the back of his other. His breaths were deep and shaky while he gestured towards the young woman on the floor in front of them. “She's... Goddess of Mirth.”
“No... I'm n-” But she stopped herself, absorbing the effect she had on these two Gods, and the mortals she had entertained in the past. The name she had been given all those years ago had been her domain. She made people laugh and feel happy. The immortal was a God after all. “Deity, not... Goddess.” She adamantly stated instead as tears streamed down her aching, red face. Her body still shook gently with amusement and after a short comfortable silence getting their breaths back she added. “You may call me Mirth.”
***
Part 3 will take longer to put up since I'm still working on it. Unless I feel it's getting too long then I'll cut it and post what I have, but it may take a while. I still have a lot left to write.
Forenote: This story still isn't finished, but I thought I'd give you some of the beginning and may add the second scene in a day or two after. I'm still working on scene 3. :)
***
Act One; Scene One: Tragedy is the “In Thing”
After lurking in the edge of the city for an hour and observing the mortal culture and appearances, The Mirth took on the form of a young man with an olive complexion and dark, long hair to blend in with the majority of humans. He wore what seemed fashionable with the other men, a knee length golden yellow and white chiton with bronze clasps on each shoulder. The sandals were something he'd have to get used to, usually he went bare footed or used wraps, but he had never walked on stone floors before either. This was going to be the first of many new experiences.
He gave a heavy sigh, praying that by looking like the locals, he wouldn't be spotted so easily by unwanted attention from the Gods and Goddesses here. He stroked his side, the previous wounds from such encounters centuries ago had barely scarred over, although the mental ones proved longer to heal. These deities would be no different from the last, even if he hoped otherwise, he didn't want to risk being proven right. With a deep, calming breath, the man walked towards the main road and joined the crowd to enter the city of Athens.
The city was alive! Voices of hundreds of people merged into one with the odd ones rising above the soft buzz to attract attention to their wares. This entity had never seen so many mortals in one place. He had to weave between the swarming bodies in the market place and couldn't count the number of times he was knocked into or had bumped people, twice almost falling over. He finally found himself in a calmer area to stop and get his bearings and take a breather. Although the musky scent of animals and sweaty humans still dominated the air, he could also smell fruits, flowers and perfumes from some of the nearer stalls. Children wearing masks ran past giggling, causing a smile to light The Mirth's face.
He slowed his pace now and just watched the mortals go about their businesses. One thing was certain, there was excitement and celebrations in the air. The streets were decorated and some dancers further down were wearing fawn skins and shook long sticks wrapped in vine leaves and tipped with pine-cones instead of rock or metal. How bazaar! They seemed intoxicated in their maddened dances and as The Mirth followed an unknown force pulling him through the city, the wine flowed freely amongst the rest of the mortals. He of course gladly took an offering from a very pretty and tall, red headed woman for himself. She gave him a once over and smiled in a curious way, disappearing into the crowd before he realised he felt an ebb of energy pass by him with her.
The man was then led by the large crowd down a slope to a huge building with a large semi circle in the front and stone rows of steps climbing upwards. No not steps, they were seats. This is a theatre! The new word formed in his head as hundreds of people were filling up the stone seats and he followed suit. The immortal could feel the energy seeping from the stone, but he realised, as he sat down, it wasn't quiet the same energy he was searching for. Confused, he closed his eyes to concentrate, this theatre held great power, but-
Music and singing caused him to opened his eyes again. The actors had started their play. Intrigued The Mirth watched, but halfway through the first act he was getting uncomfortable and bored. These were pretty depressing plays! Where was the fun? The animal tricksters? The jokes? These were performed pretty okay, but there was nothing to keep the immortal's attention and he could still feel that sliver of energy wanting to take him somewhere else.
The Mirth didn't want to stand up and leave as it would take too long, so he became his small golden spirit form and only partially heard some gasps from behind at his sudden disappearance. Luckily it was completely invisible to the mortals now as it floated down the seats and around the theatre to explore. It soon started to feel frustrated that it couldn't find the energy that it was sensing in the building, but instead outside it. The spirit left the theatre and found itself down an empty and narrow path.
Now a man again, he looked around curiously, pushing a bay coloured strand of hair behind his ears. It didn't seem to be a well used route, but he could feel the pull was stronger down this way, so he strode down it's winding stones. Trees grew from the sides of the path, the buildings thinning out until he came upon another theatre tucked into the side of the hill. It was much smaller than the previous one and was surrounded by taller trees that broke the sunlight between the leaves. Here, only around thirty humans sat and drank, but this crowd seemed far happier than the sombre theatre that The Mirth had left behind and were laughing and joking as they waited for the play to begin. He sat down on the only free stone seat near the front and was welcomed with a cup of wine by his neighbour cheerfully.
Before he could say anything, an incredible handsome voice sang out from the clearing below, then settled around them. The immortal was transfixed in searching for this heavenly singer that had silenced the rowdy crowd.
His silver coloured eyes spotted a man wearing a grape purple exomis with gold and black print on the edges. Walking towards the centre of the stage, the man's voice changed pitch skilfully as he sang the opening song with each careful step. His auburn hair flamed into a rich red as the dappled sunlight touched it.
As his song ended, the singer switched to a narrative tone and introduced the play that was about to begin. These Greeks sure do love their tragedies. The Mirth sighed, resting his chin on the back on his knuckles and closed his eyes to listen to that voice.
He was suddenly aware of a heavy silence and in a horrifying thought he hoped he hadn't been the cause of it, he sat up quickly, eyes wide and there in front of him, merely metres away was a large, terrifying masked warrior, wearing the pelt of a beast on his back and wine red fabric tied around his waist. The immortal froze in place, his heart rose up into his throat. The warrior's sword was drawn, sweat glistened from his pale chest in the light as he walked boldly towards the seated man.
The mask worn looked on aggressively at the helpless immortal as the warrior swung his sword and struck at a spear thrust at him from his left. Another masked warrior in purple fell from the blow, then rolled around and picked up another weapon to strike the red fighter from his other side. Again he fell to the hilt of the... fake looking blade? The purple fighter repeated the motion of picking up a weapon and being defeated by another mock blow twice more.
The Mirth covered his face and almost laughed out loud. This was part of the play! The weapons they had were wooden! And the Singer was playing the part of the purple warrior. He slouched back into his seat, feeling the adrenaline still coursing through his veins as he giggled silently to himself in relief.
“I STAND BEFORE YOU, DEFEATING EVERY OPPONENT THAT HAVE BEEN SENT AGAINST ME, IS THERE NO ONE ELSE WORTHY?” The red warrior, no, Actor bellowed at the crowd. He stood tall, the angry mask still covered much of his face and head, but peaking underneath at the back, were a tangle of bright orange hair. The Actor now spoke softer, but firmly as part of his character's narration to address the crowd as if they were Gods judging his worth. The Mirth leant forward again, not really listening to what was being said, but how it was said. The Actor's voice flowed like liquid nectar, rich and deep and with strength and confidence behind it. He could see the man's bare chest rising and falling with each carefully planned breathe causing the rusty grey pelt hanging over his shoulders to feel alive and breathing too.
Another song filled the theatre, snapping The Mirth's gaze from the Actor who now retreated to the back of the stage. As much as he enjoyed hearing the Singer's handsome voice he couldn't help but want to catch sight of the face of the masked man. Strained glimpses revealed him changing into another character, but his face remained hidden, now under another mask.
The Mirth leant back and watched the rest of the play, transfixed by the two performers in front of him. When it ended with the warrior losing everything he had fought for, the actor kneeled down with his back to the audience, his sword was drawn out and held to his throat. With a flick he pulled the mask off with the tip and let it drop to the floor.
The Actor rose to his feet slowly, then spun on his heels and bowed, his long curly hair falling over his freckled smirking face. The immortal remembered to breathe again as the audience applauded.
The Singer's smooth voice drowned out the noise without rising his voice. “This is only the first play of three during the Festival of Dionysus. The next is tomorrow at the same time. We hope you can make it back again.”
The crowd rose and The Mirth followed, but stopped and gave one last glance to the pair of performers, who were carefully watching the crowd leave. Before he could catch either of their eyes, he turned and left the theatre and headed back the way he came.
The immortal retreated outside of the city as the sun started to dip towards the horizon. His mind whirled from everything he experienced that day. The energy that had drawn him here was very strong and it had surrounded that little theatre, mostly on the stage with the two men. What did that mean? Was it something to do with this festival or with the Deities that seemed to be around? He knew they were here somewhere, but he hoped since he hadn't spotted any or been blasted at, that they haven't noticed his presence or hopefully were tolerating it. He sighed and sat against a tree in the forest away from the main road. The Mirth replayed his memories from today in silence, there were a lot to take in, he wrapped his arms around his curled up legs and sighed once more wistfully.
It was a clear, crisp morning when the city stirred with the rising sun. The Mirth rose with it and walked through the entrance to beat the crowds. He spent the morning exploring the city and accepting free wine handed to him by the dancers every so often, sometimes he would catch sight of the tall, red headed women, but she always disappeared before he could talk to her.
The stalls provided much interest with curious looking vegetables, strong smelling spices, bright and patterned fabric made from silk, cotton and hemp and metal and pottery trinkets from far off lands. Some boys ran passed with a ball, kicking it and throwing it to each other, laughing and urging each other on. The Mirff wanted to have some fun before he had to go watch another tragic play, so he played ball with the other boys until his knees and elbows were sore and bloody and the sun rose just past it's peak in the sky.
He had made it to the little theatre just in time for the opening song to start, much to his relief, although he did get some curious looks since he seemed to be the only child there, but their attention soon turned back to the play.
It again ended with a tragic fall of the main cast, a more depressing end than yesterday's performance, but the vocals and acting awed the immortal the most and was what kept his attention all the way through. This time he didn't move with the crowd to leave, but stayed sat in his seat, he could see the Singer was engaged in conversation with a few women who seemed to be fawning over him. The Actor had his own small group wanting to speak with him, but he watched the crowd carefully instead, as if searching for someone. The Mirth could see him frowning slightly, until he stared right at the him, causing the child to promptly leap to his feet and flee. He didn't stop running until he had left the city.
The immortal arrived back at his clearing in the forest and slumped against the tree heavily. He didn't know why he ran, he could only remember a sense of anxiety and a tightening of his chest that only released him once he was outside the gates. Why was he so scared of a mortal actor? The Mirth bit his lower lip, as he stared at a bug crawling on a blade of grass. At the back of his mind he knew there was something more to it.
The boy stood up and started to walk away from the city, then hesitated. He took another step and frowned and looked over his shoulder. From the forest he couldn't see it, but he still could hear the faint noise of its people milling about within its walls and could feel the energy pulling him back towards it. The Mirth still wasn't entirely sure what that energy was or really how to describe it other than a feeling. He took another couple of slow steps, the memories of the first time he heard the singer and saw the actor pushed its way to his conciousness. A small smile appeared on his lips. There was definitely something about those two that had affected the immortal and the thought of missing their last performance felt as if a hole crumbled open in his chest. The boy sighed and sat back down against a tree, waiting for the new morning to arrive.
