The Bully Harbor Opera House was, for a building that held the world record for 'most times blown up', remarkably opulent. Plush crimson carpet adorned every floor save for the front entry hall, which was tiled with marble in patterns of dark chocolate brown and cream. That same marble decorated walls, columns, and pilasters throughout the first floor, appearing more sparsely rising up to the second and third, where off-white columns rising to vast vaulted ceilings were the order of business, one large, cathedral-esque section making up the main hall. Fabric wallpaper adorned with fleurs-de-lis and curving vines ran in panels up the walls between doors to various lounges, coat rooms, and, of course, the theatre itself. Curving staircases to the north and south ends of the hall served to safely ascend those working-class denizens of Bully Harbor who scraped together enough for a cheap seat high in the theater's second balcony, while for the properly wealthy, a separate, far more opulent staircase looped from the ground floor up to the first level, splitting and doubling back on itself, then repeated this graceful dance once more up to the third, where, on a balcony overlooking a gathered crowd of dignitaries, benefactors, and those who had lucked into a ticket, Vice Minister of the Arts Callan Burns, a middle-aged gray-furred wildcat in a neat suit, tapped a glass of champagne with a spoon to quiet the room.
"Thank you all for coming," he declared to the room as the murmur of conversation died down. "It is of course a delight to have you all here to celebrate our beloved Minister of Niceties, Afton Kilaris." There was a small smatter of applause as everyone turned to look toward a young, handsome rat in his mid thirties dressed in a far more opulent suit than most here, burgundy with gold threading. Kilaris gave a small, practiced wave and a grin, acknowledging the crowd gathered at his own behest with a modicum of faux modesty. "When Afton joined us," Callan recalled, "he immediately distinguished himself above all others in our ministry, including those far his senior. It was clear that he was destined for great things. Even I could not anticipate the rapidity with which he rose to such a lofty and esteemed position as minister - an ascent that puts him in the good company of such greats as Miles Mistofelees," he added, gesturing to a bust of the former minister in a recess in the wall, "and Marquo Senderjay." He gestured to another recess similarly adorned. "Indeed," he added, putting on a cryptic smile, "it may not be long before we see our Afton Kilaris memorialized here as well."
Abruptly he turned and, suddenly queasy, heaved onto the carpet of the balcony. After a few shallow retches, he managed to recover his composure, waving a paw at his face to fan away the sudden sweat that had come over him. "My apologies," he told the room as murmurs of concern arose. "Waiters, perhaps it's best we pull the shellfish from the table near the palm lounge," he suggested, and a few moved in that direction. "My apologies again, everyone, for the display, and for the delay in entering the theatre. I am pleased to state that the room is now open."
The doors to the theatre swung open, and there was a murmur as everyone packed into the hall saw what had taken so long. The seats on the ground level had been either removed or concealed as a massive extension, running level from the front entrance to the stage itself, formed a flat platform complete with dining tables, chairs, and an open area for milling about and dancing if desired. Select members of the philharmonic orchestra sat up on the stage, the orchestra pit being covered over as well, and chamber music drifted through the hall, aided by the phenomenal acoustics of the theater. Atop the stage a golden plinth, far more ostentatious than the already ornate gold leaf accenting the hall and theatre alike, had been erected just below the chandelier, where it almost glowed in the candlelight. Judging by the scrape marks on the stage, maneuvering the thing had been quite the technical challenge, and was likely responsible for the delay.
"Now," Vice Minister Burns continued, "please, everyone come in and celebrate this wonderful occasion, and the life of our dear Minister Kilaris!"
"To Minister Kilaris!" the crowd echoed, raising their own glasses as they echoed the toast.
~~~
Minister of Misanthropy Dusk Rainblade raised her own glass as well, smiling coyly in Kilaris's direction. She took a small sip of her own champagne - poured from a flask hidden in her sleeve, rather than that provided by the servers. An occasion such as this was ripe for a poisoning, after all, and a minister really should be careful of such things. Really, failing to take precautions is just asking for trouble.
There were Unsmudgeables and MAUL agents all throughout the opera house, ostensibly assigned to security; the Smudgies, by nature suspicious of their comrades in MAUL, were keeping an eye on the agents more than on the entrances and exits. As for the agents, Dusk had stressed to them the importance of making sure this event went smoothly. Nothing would make the Smudgies quite as distracted, she knew, as the paranoia arising from MAUL agents seeming to conscientiously do their jobs. The fear of what it is they're missing will drive them to distraction. That would be just perfect for the real plan to go off behind everyone's backs.
Dusk took another sip, then refilled her champagne from her flask. Oh yes, she reflected. This was the perfect occasion to kill a minister.
~~~
Lily Lesse hated the stiff white collar, the black bowtie, and the tight black corset vest into which she'd been stuffed. All of the waiters were wearing outfits like these, apparently designed by the minister himself in one of his deluded moments of believing he understood fashion. A fit of madness could be the only possible explanation for putting the waiters in jodhpurs.
The vixen didn't know the full plan; she only knew that the Vengeful were taking the opportunity to strike now, with all of the traitorous elite of the city gathered here. Her role was mostly as a lookout, keeping an eye on the party from within, and, if necessary, acting. With any luck, this would be a night that went down in history.
"Thank you all for coming," he declared to the room as the murmur of conversation died down. "It is of course a delight to have you all here to celebrate our beloved Minister of Niceties, Afton Kilaris." There was a small smatter of applause as everyone turned to look toward a young, handsome rat in his mid thirties dressed in a far more opulent suit than most here, burgundy with gold threading. Kilaris gave a small, practiced wave and a grin, acknowledging the crowd gathered at his own behest with a modicum of faux modesty. "When Afton joined us," Callan recalled, "he immediately distinguished himself above all others in our ministry, including those far his senior. It was clear that he was destined for great things. Even I could not anticipate the rapidity with which he rose to such a lofty and esteemed position as minister - an ascent that puts him in the good company of such greats as Miles Mistofelees," he added, gesturing to a bust of the former minister in a recess in the wall, "and Marquo Senderjay." He gestured to another recess similarly adorned. "Indeed," he added, putting on a cryptic smile, "it may not be long before we see our Afton Kilaris memorialized here as well."
Abruptly he turned and, suddenly queasy, heaved onto the carpet of the balcony. After a few shallow retches, he managed to recover his composure, waving a paw at his face to fan away the sudden sweat that had come over him. "My apologies," he told the room as murmurs of concern arose. "Waiters, perhaps it's best we pull the shellfish from the table near the palm lounge," he suggested, and a few moved in that direction. "My apologies again, everyone, for the display, and for the delay in entering the theatre. I am pleased to state that the room is now open."
The doors to the theatre swung open, and there was a murmur as everyone packed into the hall saw what had taken so long. The seats on the ground level had been either removed or concealed as a massive extension, running level from the front entrance to the stage itself, formed a flat platform complete with dining tables, chairs, and an open area for milling about and dancing if desired. Select members of the philharmonic orchestra sat up on the stage, the orchestra pit being covered over as well, and chamber music drifted through the hall, aided by the phenomenal acoustics of the theater. Atop the stage a golden plinth, far more ostentatious than the already ornate gold leaf accenting the hall and theatre alike, had been erected just below the chandelier, where it almost glowed in the candlelight. Judging by the scrape marks on the stage, maneuvering the thing had been quite the technical challenge, and was likely responsible for the delay.
"Now," Vice Minister Burns continued, "please, everyone come in and celebrate this wonderful occasion, and the life of our dear Minister Kilaris!"
"To Minister Kilaris!" the crowd echoed, raising their own glasses as they echoed the toast.
~~~
Minister of Misanthropy Dusk Rainblade raised her own glass as well, smiling coyly in Kilaris's direction. She took a small sip of her own champagne - poured from a flask hidden in her sleeve, rather than that provided by the servers. An occasion such as this was ripe for a poisoning, after all, and a minister really should be careful of such things. Really, failing to take precautions is just asking for trouble.
There were Unsmudgeables and MAUL agents all throughout the opera house, ostensibly assigned to security; the Smudgies, by nature suspicious of their comrades in MAUL, were keeping an eye on the agents more than on the entrances and exits. As for the agents, Dusk had stressed to them the importance of making sure this event went smoothly. Nothing would make the Smudgies quite as distracted, she knew, as the paranoia arising from MAUL agents seeming to conscientiously do their jobs. The fear of what it is they're missing will drive them to distraction. That would be just perfect for the real plan to go off behind everyone's backs.
Dusk took another sip, then refilled her champagne from her flask. Oh yes, she reflected. This was the perfect occasion to kill a minister.
~~~
Lily Lesse hated the stiff white collar, the black bowtie, and the tight black corset vest into which she'd been stuffed. All of the waiters were wearing outfits like these, apparently designed by the minister himself in one of his deluded moments of believing he understood fashion. A fit of madness could be the only possible explanation for putting the waiters in jodhpurs.
The vixen didn't know the full plan; she only knew that the Vengeful were taking the opportunity to strike now, with all of the traitorous elite of the city gathered here. Her role was mostly as a lookout, keeping an eye on the party from within, and, if necessary, acting. With any luck, this would be a night that went down in history.
