Post by EmperorMyric on Oct 21, 2023 18:16:36 GMT
Prince Hercos Open air theatre, Veulas, Vaplana
It was early evening in Veulas, the sky a deepening blue with reds streaking across the sky. The weather was perfect, as per usual, with not a cloud in the sky. The gathered crowd in the Hercos theatre was humming with anticipation, with every second that ticked by the closer they got to witness the spectacle that was to come. Visitors had traveled from all across the galaxy to witness this widely publicised event and excitement filled the theatre and even the wider city that surrounded it. Those not lucky enough to have a ticket to watch the contest firsthand could watch on screens set up across Vaplana, surrounded by the festival stalls celebrating the Aymer culture festival. Alternatively, for those not fortunate enough to be on Vaplana to celebrate, the Ancnet was host to several streaming sites so nobody would miss the spectacle. Finally, it was time.
“Ladies and Gentlemen, honoured guests, and viewers from across the galaxy! Welcome to the Aymer festival’s most anticipated event, the Grand dance-off! We have a spectacular lineup for you today, with participants here from across the galaxy to wow you with their talent.” Iarla Devane, a well-known Vaplanan influencer walked out onto the stage arm in arm with her co-host Lorenzo Abito, Vpalana’s most flamboyant musicals star. Iarla wore a stunning electric blue form-hugging gown that rippled like waves whenever she moved. Lorenzo, in character, wore a loud bright pink spangled suit.
“That we do, Iarla darling. We have a truly diverse cast to present to you today, folks! From the masters of culture Eysra, to the loveable Zetyans, we have dances that will truly appeal to all of you out there.” With the mention of Zetyan, a small runt wanders onto the stage, the two hosts oblivious. The crowd chuckles in response, clearly a well-timed joke to establish a cheery and light mood.
Iarla continued, “The purpose of Vaplana’s Aymer festival has always been to celebrate how we Vaplanan’s express ourselves, this year through the form of dance,” Another runt stumbles onto the stage to join it’s brother, the both of them staring blankly at the backs of the two hosts. “And I’m sure I can speak for all Vaplanans when I say that I am excited to share the joy of expression with you tonight!”
“Well you don’t need to speak for me, darling, but I do say I agree!” Lorenzo chuckles before finally noticing yet more Zetyan runts wandering onto the stage. A small group of them were now forming behind the pair, and Lorenzo paused for a second in confusion before continuing on, assuming it was a practical joke the producers were playing on them. The show must go on, after all…
“This year the Aymer festival is more important than ever, with the galaxy facing unprecedented strife and conflict celebrating togetherness and peace is essential for…” Lorenzo tailed off, watching in horror as yet more Zetlings climb onto the stage right in front of the co-hosts, encircling the pair.
“Oh, uh, it seems our little Zetling friends agree with your sentiment, Lorenzo…” Iarla smiled outwardly, but a quick glance backstage to see the staff there panicking sent butterflies coursing through her stomach. Suddenly, the refined background symphony that was playing to accompany the opening spiel was cut short and a cacophony of sound burst from the speakers, whirring the now overwhelmingly large group of Zetyan runts into action…
At first, it was funny. One of those dumb kids shows up after they mention the race most famous for them, a good background joke. Funny, right? Good for keeping the humor light, great for the kids.
A second one arriving shortly after, well, maybe the producers were a bit insistent. The subtleties are often lost on those who sit on golden thrones, and the event planners were probably no exception. A few more chuckles, some goofs they were! They'd probably be gone by the time the speech finished.
Fourth, fifth, seventh, eighth? Maybe it was more aimed at the hosts, or someone had an odd sense of humor. Security would deal with them, surely.
Actually, where was security? And why were there more showing up? And why were they emerging from just below the stage? And-
Oh dear.
As the two hosts watched in abject horror, ten turned to twenty turned to one, two hundred runts filling the space around them as they stared back with blank, soulless gazes. Each was a snowflake, unique in their own strange way, and yet as the horde of children conglomerated around the two hosts they all seemed to blend together like a shit-brown slurry. The exponential growth had thankfully stopped around two-hundred fifty, though for those watching it was cold comfort.
More concerning, however, was that they were all wearing earbuds.
Suddenly, the lights began flickering, before they transitioned into stage mode as the symphony cut off. Four dozen spotlights, reserved for more flashy displays, now blew a bright, harsh white as the theater suddenly had the gates of heaven open right in front of the horrified crowd, before suddenly the speakers cut in, and the screen encompassing the rear of the theater transitioned to...
...what the hell was that Zetyan wearing? Was that a neon-lit zoot suit? Wha-
Suddenly, an impossibly loud and overly bass-boosted song came on, and the Zetyan displayed on the screen suddenly started spouting nonsense, the spotlights around them changing colors and flickering like mad as the entire theater turned from a gathering place into an impromptu mosh pit. The runts seemed to change position with every flicker, going from pose to pose every time the lights shone on them almost like robots, still maintaining an unblinking stare on every face as the madman on the telly spat out some... actually rather impressively paced bars.
"YEA YEA $PITZ $HITZ TAKIN DIS ONE AWAY"
At the end of his scatting session, suddenly the runts went into a stone-straight position. The hosts stood in the middle of the horde, wildly confused and terrified at the hijacking before them.
"I PAID 2000 SIGEC FOR THIS GIG YEW LOT BETTER ENJOY THIS STINKIN SHIT"
The Zetyan's voice boomed through a low-quality microphone, grating to the ears in a special kind of way.
"WIKKED"
The beat was about to drop, and still they stood still. The hosts could feel hands tugging on their legs.
3, 2, 1...
"BIDIDIDIDIDIDIDIDIDIDIDIDIDIDIDIDIDIDIDIDIDIDIDIDIDIDIDIDIDIDIDIDIDIDIDIDIDIDIDIDIDIDI-"
The concert transitioned into seizure central, as the mosh pit turned into a mess of color and noise and bass. The runts began their pose-changing routines once again, but now engaging in much larger scale choreography and incorporating the hosts into their routine like a perfect fit. A giant star, a helix, a... something unmentionable, even a middle finger, they took on increasingly complex and seemingly inane poses within a span of seconds as the Zetyan kept spitting bars.
The performance only raised more questions as it went on-how were they moving so fast? Why were they using the hosts as central focuses? Why were they including the hosts in the first place?
Was that one naked?
The... experience went on for an excruciating 2 minutes and 23 seconds of overly charged bass, seizure inducing rave lights and the giant screaming projection of a Zetyan before the music and routine finally began to slow down, from every two seconds to every six seconds. The giant projection continued to spit bars as the 'performance' neared the merciful end.
"YEA YEA DIS WAS THE FUKKIN $PITZ $HITZ SESSION"
Finally, the song stopped, and the lights returned to normal. The filler serenade from the speakers made a donut around the now extremely dazed and confused hosts as they made exaggerated bows.
"YEA YEA NOW GET ON WIF DIS FUKKIN SHOW"
The runts didn't move.
"...oi
OI. OI YOU FOOKIN TWATS GET OFF THE STAGE. GET"
The runts finally left the stage, spitting in the face of the concept of security as they calmly shuffled off into wherever they came from. The twin hosts were left sitting where the donut was once centered, now looking decidedly less organized than when they came in.
"OI OI URPLE SHIRT GIT"
Lorenzo's attention was taken from his being to a now much more directed source, as the voice now came from above the theater.
"YE LOOK LIKE YA SHAG GIRLY MEN"
A figure scuttled away into the ceiling of the arena, but not before shouting out one last word while laughing like a madman.
"FAGGIT"
Akari Taosu, the Jade entrant, watched with wide-eyed surprise. The Zetyans were a perfect example of chaos and order intertwining to make something that was equal parts enchanting and appalling. Certainly they wouldn't've been her choice to start the proceedings, but she wasn't an event organiser, just a dancer. Perhaps the Vaplanans knew something she didn't.
Contenting herself with that reasoning, she took a few moments to enjoy the uniqueness of the display - no-one had been harmed and it was something she could tell stories about one day. She turned away from the screen and back to her mirror, preparing herself whilst they waited for the next act to begin...
There was the clicking and bustling of tools intermittently coming from the backstage patch the Okekolu delegation had taken up. Chief amongst them was a dark-skinned fairy framed, some would say dominated, by a huge, airy cloud of pink hair that made her look more like a winged cotton ball from behind. When she turned around she could be seen drinking in the festival with big, pleading eyes, with a kind of alertness that only making a living rounding corners and dodging certain doom at hundreds of miles per hour could teach. This was Sera Soleil, one of the 3K Club's top racers, and a recording artist known across Ancerious as the Okekolu Accord's reigning top pop star, as well as the sworn rival of more than a few musicians in the Little Light who also raced in the Club scene.
She was taking in the Zetyan...well sure, it was definitely a performance...and letting her brain chew it, testing it for its flavor and texture. She was the only one, as her crew of Monotrack technicians and backup dancers, all comparable beauties by Okekolu standards and illegally cute to a lot of the rest of Ancerious, all simply looked around and at their current jobs, confused. Apparently, they weren't looking at the stage and had all assumed their equipment broke.
A group of four figures - tiny figures, from four to five feet tall - had finished headbanging to the blaring Zetyan music. They didn’t exactly appear to be any particular species: merely four upright things which could have been humanoids, but which could have also very well been four-legged flowerpots with reflective helmets on.
Each was cloaked in a black shroud that seemed to flow like quick water over their bodies; with hoods covering the tops of their helms and strange oil-rainbows shimmering on their surfaces. When they gestured to each other, the fabric didn’t fall over their apparent limbs so much as it made solid junctures from the ground to their bodies. When they talked, it was through totally reflective, mirror-finish orb helmets - and when they laughed, their voices bubbled and warbled like cheery soda-fizz mixed with the chatter of teenagers.
“Goddamn! Those guys had some kind’a somethin’ goin’ on, huh? That attitude was rockin’!”
“Reminds me of… hm. I’d say speedcore? Speedcore hardbass…”
“…Ain’t my taste. It’s good, but -“ (sip.) “ - it could be better.”
The Hooded Figure shrugged, swirling their drink around with its strange, metal ‘straw’ that looked less like steel and more like restrained gallium. “Seemed like fuckin’ varmints to me, but if people like it…”
“Eh. I think we should stick to Plan C.”
“As in, funky-fresh or…?”
“Nah, nah! She’s - she’s talkin’ about, uh, about the moon one! Get some jazzy vibes into this house!”
“Not a bad idea”, the figure with the drink conceded, taking another swig. “We runnin’ crowd engagement?”
”Duh.” The bouncier of the four ‘boop’ed her hardass companion on the helm, chuckling. “Only, like, one bangin’ way to cheat at soft power!”
“Plus,” the previously-silent fourth figure amended to the snappy attention of her companions, “that way, we can run the full act.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah! This is so friggin’ exciting!!!”
“Huh. I wonder when the, uh, next one’s coming on..”
Io’Kad watched the performance from her backstage position, allowing the energy of the performance to fuel her preparation. She was not used to being an audience member, and the barrage of visual stimulation was more than enough to get her blood pumping.
She knew very little about the Zetyans, but she had to admit, they put on a good show.
As the performance gradually came to an end, Io found herself thankful for the little creatures and their chaotic presentation. It would not be easy to stand out with contestants such as these, but Io’Kad relished the challenge.
Lorenzo and Iarla sat disheveled in the centre of the stage for a moment, watching the zetyan horde retreat back from wherever they appeared until Lorenzo let out an uncontrolled burst of laughter that shocked the theatre back to life.
“Is it really that obvious, Iarla? I mean, I do like to attract the right kind of attention, but am I too much?” He hummed and hawed over his outfit while getting to his feet and offering a hand to the still dazed Iarla.
“You are never too much Lorenzo, without all that you’d be a different man altogether.” She took Lorenzo’s outstretched hand gratefully and too stood to face the audience. “So, folks, is everyone else as confused as we are?” She was back to smiling widely for the crowd.
“We do apologise for that surprise act, of course, nobody expects a horde of dancing children to appear from nowhere… But I for one am grateful they did! We have been pleasantly surprised by an extra act, everyone! So, shall we see if any of our lovely judges have anything to say?”
“Before we jump to the judges, Lorenzo, let’s inform the crowd how this section of the show will work. If a judge wishes to comment on an act they will light up their star, so we know they have something brilliant to share! Our very own Vaplanan Prima and head judge, Amilia Barilis will always have something to say. So, everyone, shall we see how our surprise act fares in front of the experts?”
Four multi-coloured lights flashed to life above the judge's panel.
“First we go to Sedinamit Asidemaio, master of the Furrelian’s Senitarit traditional Style of dance.”
Looking in pure confusion, Furrelian Judge Sedinamit Asidemaio was just in awe from the Zetyan act. It seemed she had accidentally pressed her light in the aftermath of the performance, or during its chaos. Either way, just not being sure what was going on with the two-hundreds Zets, she, in no way positively said "I am just in shock, this is too much chaos for an act."
“Well, that’s certainly not wrong, but some certainly see chaos as it’s own art form, yes?” Lorenzo smiled, not wanting the poor Zetyan group to feel too sad about the negative feedback. “Next we have Velles Haylen, the infamous magical dancing all-rounder from Eysra.”
“Well, for a start I can’t exactly class this ‘performance’ as dance. It was mediocre in that regard at best, let alone the vulgarity. However, I do find myself amused at this display of chaotic vigour. It was certainly creative and flashy which is appealing.”
“I could not agree more, we have all been presented with the flashiest display I believe our humble stage can offer.” Iarla chuckled, sneakily pawing at her less-than-perfect hair while attention was elsewhere. “Next is Brachus, a star in musical theatre from the Infinite Praetorian Empire.”
“Thank you.” Brachus looked intrigued, as if he was trying to figure out some deeper meaning behind these lost Zetyan children invading the thearte and putting on such a show. “We do not quite understand the meaning behind this piece... We were hoping to see something more refined. This sentiment is shared with the Empire. We give 6/10.”
“I hope the performers do not get too anxious at the prospect of an entire empire’s worth of people critically judging their performances! I personally find it exciting..! Anyway, finally we go to our darling Prima ballerina, the lovely Amilia Barilis!”
“I would like to start by stating what an honour it is to sit beside my fellow legends of dance. All seven of you are very welcome here to my humble home, and I hope you enjoy the spectacle of the Aymer festival us Vaplanans cherish so dearly. Now, to the act. I have never seen something so chaotic and raw classified as a dance before, and yet I can’t help but find myself drawn into the performance. The speed and precision pulled off by those so young is impressive, and while I do agree with Velles that it was rather vulgar, I personally know many who are probably overjoyed at the thought of such vulgarity being broadcast live to the entire galaxy. I’d judge this overall as average, but the Zetlings are undoubtedly holding a place in my heart.”
“Thank you, judges! Now, moving swiftly onto who should have been our opening act! Everyone welcome to the stage Sera Soleil, representing the Okekolu Accord. Some of you may have seen her not on the dance floor, but on the race track!” Iarla introduced the next star of the stage.
“We here on Vaplana love to see stars with plenty of talent to give, and Sera matches that perfectly! If I could be a top racer, pop star and dancer all in one I’d certainly be one happy man. But enough of me rambling, let’s get back to our scheduled programming.” The two co-stars swiftly turned and left the stage, leaving the theatre temporarily bathed in darkness as the next act prepared to wow the crowd…
For a moment, everything remained plunged in darkness. Tension built as the silence settled, then was suddenly cut by the shriek of Monotrack engines. The high-pitched yowls sounded from both sides of the stage and were joined by their running lights flashing on. Riders hurtled out onstage, circling as the lights slowly came on, and more details revealed themselves as the stage was bathed in more and more light. The Monotrack-class bikes were sleek, torpedo-like streamliners with aero elements that kept their engines from overpowering them at speed and making them wheelstand, long tails, elegant lines. They looked like luxury.
The riders weren't in the full racing crouch behind the long fairings, instead, they were sticking up over the windscreens a bit, letting banners fly. The Okekolu Accord's flags, the 3K Club's team banners, and the emblems of their main supplier, Flora Powerjet, flew from each one as their bikes caught the light and they continued to ride around. The message was clear: the Street Festival season that had been planned before the war began had been cancelled, so the racers were all stuck at local, or if they were lucky, system-wide competition. Since they couldn't compete there, they were competing here. These weren't just Sera's backup dancers, they were her fellow team riders, the ones that had clawed their way to the top of one of, if not the Festival scene's hardest discipline, and resplendent in stylized renditions of their formfitting riding suits, requiring just removing some of the panels and opening some of the cooling cuts to show some skin and make them into flashy stage gear. Around and around they rode as a kaleidoscopic display of bright colors, and then Sera revealed herself by breaking from the orbiting packs and skidding to a stop at center stage as everyone else did the same. In one fluid motion she and her team all dismounted, wings buzzing as they lifted into the air, and her teammates started waving their banners around like they were big rhythmic gymnastics ribbons.
Sera started the performance proper, spreading her soul limbs wide and letting glittering points of light fall on the crowd like prismatic snow.
"Are we ready to party tonight?!" She didn't wait for a crowd reaction, rolling right into the performance as the thumping of percussion bass and a trancey accompaniment started building a melody layered atop the drums.
She started a song considered one of the anthems of the Street Festival circuit, and a leyline runner's song above everything else: Inversion, a heart-pumping prog trance track with a pop flair thanks to layering her vocals all over it. But as she started finishing the first verse, something happened. One of her backup dancers zeroed in on her, aimed with her monotrack, rode towards her, and with a flourish, passed her bike to Sera, who mounted it and swapped songs on the fly. It wasn't her song, it was a brief cover of someone else's, this one still a pop song, but completely dropping the heavier techno beat for a moment while she gave someone else a shout-out by doing one of their tracks. Then she leapt off the bike, passing it to another of her fellow riders, and seamlessly as a perfect gear shift, dropped right back into Inversion.
She juggled beats and songs by dancing and juggling bikes, effortlessly mounting and dismounting in midair, and changing her song every time. To anyone who knew Little Light culture, she was doing the Okekolu display of acknowledgement by reference, homage, even style parody. She was standing for them all, her high-pitched voice easily carrying the range and power to drive her routine forward.
She looped in and out from the trance anthem to brief interludes, taking the audience on a tour of music in the Little Light: a verse of Kraterion hard rock standby Hell Patrol Don't Sleep by the band Smog Inspection, bars from Duilleag rapper Boso Ultimate's high-speed classic Ready Now, fellow Okekolu artist 2OP's famously risque dance banger Monoglove. It always looped back to Inversion, finishing on her getting passed her bright pink Monotrack back, ending the song standing on its seat and performing the final repetitions of its refrain as the stage went full rave. They then bid the audience good night by firing up their machines all at once, obscuring themselves with a smoky burnout, and when the smoke cleared, they were all gone. The lights went out, and they left behind their stage lighting, flashing on repeat before it too faded.
The performance over, Sera led her team back onstage when everything onstage was brought back to normal, parking in a line to thank the audience, waving, blowing kisses and generally just being psyched they got to do their routine. Then they rolled offstage, waiting with bated breath for the verdict on their act.
As the act concluded a blue haired woman stood off stage by the places reserved for the performers, resting her elbow on her hand she tapped her lips with her index finger, apparently in thought.
"What do you think Sarey?", another woman emerged from the dark this one with fiery red hair.
"Oh, I mean, they were quite impressive, for what's supposed to be a racing team they could probably make career in Eysra, if they wanted."
The red haired one looked to the stage.
"Oh, you think so? I mean, yeah they were quite fancy but that's little lighters for you I'd say. That aside, I can't wait to get up there myself."
The blue haired one crossed arms in front of her and tilted her head.
"Well, Tiara, I suppose at least we'll see all the competition beforehand if we're last."
The other one laughed.
"Oh, you know yourself we're just here to have fun today!"
"Racing for a dance festival?"
"I think it is quite interesting honestly, certainly beats the assault on my senses that the Zetyans put out"
"I don't even think that was the planned Zetyan show"
The Union group was sat in the wing watching the shows as they went by. Compared to the other groups they had surprisingly little in the way of a cast. A human dancer, Akale, a Cylaurian, Veshan, a Jorgal, Topan, an Elsi, Wesjam, a Violar, Izzrert and, while they were not here right now, a special surprise. It was one dancer for each of the major Union races, and their act was to be much more... Refined than those shown so far.
The Allure Azure as they were called were top class premium dance and performers, having come to prominence during the Uprising era their performances had captivated the Union and its allies in a series of large tours. Saudra before its fall, Mirach, Athena, Karvoskaya, Rhelm Kalarmn, all sorts had hosted their performances, focused around the tone of unity, progress and moving toward into the future.
"I believe... We will... Do quite well" Izzert chimed in.
"I do too, either way, it is good to be performing given the situation going on the galaxy" Veshan patted his friend on the shoulder.
----
"THIS IS AN OUTRAGE!" The Orillian roared at the security and organisation staff "HOW CAN THE UNION BE PUT BEFORE US? THIS IS COLONIAL BIAS! FAVOURITISM!"
The Orillian State Performing Society or OSPS had stayed silent while watching the other acts, their handlers and organisers did most of the work, directing the make up and costumes carefully and with scary precision. But the head organiser, Rashixx Giorn was having absolutely none of the ongoing placement.
"WE SHOULD BE GOING FIRST, AS FITTING A NATIVE NATION! THE ZETYANS AND LITTLE LIGHT AND MANY OTHERS ARE GIVEN THIS BLESSING, NOW SWAP US AND UNION IMMEDIATELY!"
It is said that the standards of beauty change with time, and a multitude of art historians and brand analysts spend their careers cataloguing the fashions and aesthetics of each time. For some time many started to suspect that there was a deeper underlying fact to the history of fashion and beauty: that the standard is just continuously changing, every second, and there is no precise cleavage to when an aesthetic is in or out. Historians studied snapshots of a time's popular fashion and deduced the evolution and taxonomy of styles; but the standard of beauty of any one day was a fleeting thing, only visible in hindsight.
For many years, this discourse never really left the debate halls of university philosophy departments, argued for by decidedly unfashionable, hyper-focused academics looking to publish papers. But what had once been just a monotonous and overly abstract debate carried out by boorish intellectuals became embodied by Exalted Calithea of Iqzina. Once she became famous, the debate about the moment-by-moment "geist of beauty" became the talk of the elites of #ZEITGEIST and Iqzina, a much more fitting home. And she did it without uttering a word, just by embodying the idea itself.
Calithea of Iqzina was a continuously shape-shifting being sculpted and re-sculpted in the image of the ever-changing standard of perfection. The shape of her nose, the trim and cut of her dress, the glimmer in her eyes and jewelry all perpetually changed to keep her in the bleeding edge of the galaxy's avant-garde. If something was considered beautiful by enough people in the galaxy, Calithea's powerful engines of statistic modelling and data processing took notice and compiled everything into the perfect and most appealing sum of all elements. Not only was each of her minute-long looks a masterwork of visual combinatronics and fashion design but the computers -located in faraway worlds- also made sure that the transitions between Calithea's appearances were elegant and flowed into each other. Elements that had fallen out of fashion some hours ago were brought back on Calithea's dress, reinterpreted and given new life while new visual motifs detected on all seven corners of the galaxy were integrated on her, blooming like flowers before receding back into subtler forms or disappearing from her body altogether.
"Dynamic, is what I have to say." the Exalted said, her makeup adapting on the fly to accentuate her milimetrically-calculated expression, pondering the Okekolu's performance.
"Dynamic? Don't call anything dynamic unless there are dead bodies on stage and your body can't decide whether to ejaculate or vomit. It's not dynamic, it's EDM barely drowning out the screeching of tiny engines. Bring me the Zetyans again, my artistic sense craves for more of those maestros! Inject their grotesque brutalité into my veins again, their force de vivre!"
Calithea and her co-judge couldn't have been possibly been more different if the artistic culture of the galaxy had been left to evolve for another hundred years. René Golconde, hailing from the anarchistic wreckage of what had once been the Republic of Saintraint and had now trascended into something beautiful: Saintraint Surréaliste, a realm where waking life itself was abstract art. An impossibly prolific modern painter and visual artist proudly bearing his 68 years of age while Calithea's apparent age oscillated some years back and forth around her mid 20's depending on what was found to be more fashionable at the instant.
It had taken a while for Golconde to finally make it to the judges' desk, in between several interruptions to his mental link to Aluminaria and getting stopped nearly 13 times at the entrance trying to sneak in guns. He hadn't been exactly subtle about his intentions to kill Calithea as a form of artistic expression, and every single one of his plans had been easily foiled by the fact he'd made long poems about them weeks before. The exhausted bouncers had finally found a way to calm him down by giving him a sketchbook, which kept the painter occupied while police outside discreetly towed away Calithea's shuttle to defuse the bomb within.
"Dynamic..." Golconde mocked while Calithea rolled her eyes. "To someone who literally can't decide on a look everything must look dynamic! Are you going to take the pink fairy's hair?"
The Saintrainter doodled on his sketchbook, scribbling a chaotic mesh of disparate elements and hallucinations that were projected
The Orillians shouting backstage was beginning to cause a scene. The terrified victim of the tirade, an apprentice barely older than 16, was looking up at Rashixx Giorn from the seat at his desk. The soft glow of the computers reflected off the fear in his eyes, he was a deer in the headlights. Any security that had been present backstage were now gone, they had all scrambled to deal with the surprise Zetyan visit and to ensure that René Golconde’s late entry into the stadium was both weapon-free and unnoticed by the audience. He was alone.
“I’m sorry, ma'am, the turn order was randomly generated. We are already behind schedule since that Zetyan performance was not planned. Please stop yelling… You are disturbing the other performers…” The lad stammered, turning his computer screen towards the angry Orillian to prove that the turn order was, in fact, randomly generated and was not a political statement at all. This clearly angered the woman more, and her tirade continued.
All of the commotion had caught the attention of a couple who had previously been sat quietly together in the performer’s waiting area. They were the Vaplanan entry to the contest, Violet and Felix Ulmus. Seeing the poor support apprentice’s plight they walked over to intervene.
“Please stop yelling at him, ma’am, he is just a child,” Violet spoke softly, hoping to diffuse the situation before it got any worse. “If your position bothers you that much we would be willing to swap with you.” She gripped Felix’s hand for support.
“I’d personally love to be closer to the end anyway. The last acts always get higher scores, it's a psychological thing. Your spot is prime real estate, so if you're that upset about being close to the end I’m sure any of us would jump at the chance to swap. Your choice.” He shrugged, ignoring his wife’s nudge and sour looks to stop provoking Rashixx. Felix was the opposite of Violet’s calming presence, he was smug and confident, almost daring Rashixx Giorn to argue more.
Meanwhile, the show continued on from beyond the bubble of backstage drama. The judges were all seen applauding politely, some more interested than others. Lorenzo and Iarla had barely walked back onto the stage before Calithea and Golconde had begun bickering. Once Golconde had finished they took their chance to jump in and try to bring proceedings back on track.
“Art and expression is such a personal issue, which we are so glad is represented in our illustrious judge’s panel.”
“Would any other judges like to make comments on that wonderful performance?”
Velles Heylen’s star lit up. “While usage of vehicles is usually a malus for me, seeing them being used so creatively alleviates my first impression. The performance seemed more reliant on singing than dance, however, the mesh of cultures displayed today was enjoyable. I liked this performance.”
Amelia also lit her star up to comment. “I do agree with Velles on some aspects. While reliance on vehicles can be considered un-pure dance in some regards, I have come to the conclusion that such creative use must have taken a lot of dedication and skill. As a ballerina I appreciate the strength and determination it would take to master such a niche skill, and I am glad to see such pride in your work and of your culture. Thank you for such an enlightening and enjoyable experience.”
“Thank you judges!” Lorenzo quickly wrapped up the commentary, well aware they were already behind schedule and that Golconde could easily begin another tirade at any point. “Let us move swiftly onto our next wonderful performance!”
“Hailing from the United Echotian Empire, Io’Kad has a fiery performance planned for you all today! Those in the front row, prepare to feel the heat! Just be careful not to get too close, or else you may get burned!”
Rashixx waved a hand at the young boy as he showed her the screen.
"I simply don't believe you I don't think you unde-" She was interrupted by the Vaplanan performers and turned to face them, eyeing them like a cat Rashixx seemed to puff herself up, looking them both up and down like she was surveying them and sizing them up for a fight. With a look of distain and a 'hmph' she turned away from the boy.
"In our culture being at the front is considered a great honour. I cant believe they let some Zetlings get away with what they did, to steal such a momentous moment. It is to be first, the essence of the prime from which all others should follow. I wouldn't expect you to understand" but she smirked.
"But if your willing to swap your slot with ours, I would be willing to take that. We have a story, a mission, a grand vision to show the galaxy. The sooner the people see our performance the better" She waved a hand.
"Ill let you make the arrangements, you have the connections here" With that and a dismissive gesture she walked off.
Io’Kad took to the stage without delay, ascending the stairs and giving a wave to the audience, her brilliant blue warhelm folding away from her face for a moment, allowing her beaming smile to be seen. She was keenly athletic, though it was clear she lacked the bulk of House Blood soldiers. Io specialised in the agile and graceful, and her lithe form was reminiscent of peak physical perfection, at least by Echotian standards. She wore a fur cloak that draped around her shoulders, and sleek plate armour that was clearly more for style than function.
As she reached centre stage, her music began to increase in volume, and she revealed in her lower hands two quarterstaff-looking objects. Her warhelm closed around her face, and she let the cloak about her shoulders fall.
There was a flash of blue flame from the ends of both staves, as the true nature of her performance was made clear. Her energy was palpable, and even as the tempo kicked off, she could not help herself from delivering a trill-like bugle before beginning.
The lightning fast movements of the staves spun wild patterns into the air around Io’Kad, with the blue licks of flame streaking across the stage and dancing with the Echo as if she had been joined by a party of elemental creatures. Her hand movements blurred as she twirled her staves into faster and faster rotations.
Her whole body moved with the rhythm of the beat, swaying and spinning with the flames in a passionate partnership of skill and fire. Small jets began to burn along her legs, burning a similar blue colour and highlighting her movements as she kicked into a more complex routine, with the staves now being traded back and forth between her upper and lower limbs.
The music dipped suddenly, allowing Io to slowly tease the audience with wide turns of her staves, contorting her body to display her physique. The staves slowly rotated around her muscled arms, flowing from hands to shoulders and back to her hands once more. The moment of slow peace revealed the delicate strength of the dancer, allowing the audience to appreciate just how much skill it took to master such an artform.
As the set began to culminate, Io’Kad began to spin the staves behind her back, allowing for a moment where she appeared to possess a pair of fiery wings. She spread her upper arms as if she were about to take a dive into the audience, before suddenly leaping upwards and into a wide backflip. Fire suddenly roared all around her as the form of a great beastial mouth rose from the flames, swallowing the dancer in the eerie light.
As the mouth clamped shut, its form exploded outwards, revealing Io’Kad with her staves raised high. The holographic blue flame faded into soft embers that floated about the Echo, reminiscent of fireflies on a warm summer evening.
Her performance completed, she gave a respectful bow to the judges, and then to the audience before exiting the stage.
As the performance concluded this time it was Velles Heylen who was first to answer, he had been following the performance with an unexpected interest and if one were to see behind his veil, they could have observed a thin smile on his delicate lips.
"Whilst I am not one usually for traditions and rituals, which this performance was clearly inspired by, I have to say there was something in this performance which elevated it beyond mere technique and training. It was passion, a fire burning not only physically on the stage but within the heart of the dancer, it meshed the traditional elements with a new fire, melding the dancer and the dance into one, which is something I can only appreciate."
With this Velles Heylen finished his impressions and the star went dim, along with his eyes to which the usual mysterious coldness returned.
Backstage, the Vaplanan couple watched Rashixx’s retreating back.
“Are all Orillian’s so haughty?” Violet whispered so only her husband could hear.
“Apparently so, or according to what I’ve heard. No wonder the galaxy’s at war…”
“Even at events like this though… I was really hoping people could relax and forget about all of that tonight.”
“You’re beginning to sound more and more like our sponsor, Violet. We are only dancers, not politicians. Let’s just focus on doing our jobs and spreading some cheer, yeah?” Felix squeezed her hand in support before turning to the relieved-looking apprentice sat beside them.
“Think you can swap us and the Orillian’s to keep the peace, kid?”
“It’s already done, sir. Thank you for rescuing me from her. Good luck with your dance, all of Vaplana is rooting for you.”
Meanwhile, the hosts were clapping enthusiastically as they sauntered back onto the stage.
“That was certainly one fiery performance, Iarla. I could feel the passion from backstage!”
“Let’s hope our dear judges agree!” They motioned for the judges to make their comments, Velles Heylen jumping at the chance to go first.
The next judge to speak was Haskaaria Sheehana, Tetheranyan ballet star and instructor. She had been in quiet contemplation up until this point, but had finally found her opportunity to speak. Her gaze lay on the stage as they exited, her lips pursed in general upsetedness before she spoke clearly and defined to herself. “Unhinged and without proper rhythm, while I can respect the obvious technique the dancer has for traditionalist music, the ritualistic dances are not to my taste. However, I should note that they are skilled, nevertheless, and out on a passionate and obviously spectacular performance” Haskaaria said no more as she took a deep breath, sipping the drink beside her and writing a few notes before her ever watchful and condescending gaze returned to the stage.
She was followed by Brachus. He looked rather unwell, or as unwell as one from the Praetorian Empire could look under harsh studio lighting. He stuttered for a moment, then finally found his voice.
“We do not quite understand the meaning behind this piece... We were hoping to see something more refined. This sentiment is shared with the Empire. We give 6/10.” It was exactly the same as he had said for the unexpected Zetyan show, causing some raised eyebrows from the other judges and an awkward glance shared between the hosts. Noticing the awkward silence, Amelia stepped in and finished off the comments.
“I found this performance very interesting. I am not too familiar with this style of dance myself, however, I still managed to find the performance captivating. Your passion for rhythm is inspiring, and your dedication to your craft is clear.”
“Thank you, judges! Shall we move onto our next performance, Lorenzo?”
“Yes, I am excited for this one! Next up is the wonderful Akari Taosu from the Jade Empire!”
The stage once again dimmed to welcome its next performer.
The blowup backstage wasn't ignored by some of the other entrants. Sera's crew had been in earshot as they rolled their shut-down monotracks back behind the curtains, and were making a good effort of holding in their reactions as they passed. But the moment they were free, they all started making noises like balloons slowly deflating as they let it all loose and started laughing. It gave way to more tastes of the Okekolu love of parody, with Sera leading the others in imitating stereotypical diva demands. Everyone took turns, but Sera took over before long, firing her mouth off on lengthy rants about avocado juice, blue Skittles and other impossible or otherwise goofy, word salad demands. She had to be grabbed and brought back on task by her crew to pay attention to the next act in line.
There was silence on the stage for a moment, with no lights whatsoever. The quiet and darkness seemed to stretch, and just at the moment people began to shift in their seats, a single strum of a bass shamisen sounded. Each note was accompanied by a glowing light, a brief flicker of crystalline magic in the form of a kanji, each a different brilliant colour. Those who happened to understand Ingenious kanji, or else had a translator software readily available, would find that they seemed to be simply naming different geological features; sea, sky, wind, mountain, river and so on.
As the last kanji faded the shamisen was joined by other instruments, both traditional and more contemporary, to form a calming and almost hypnotic melody. Two orbs of light appeared center stage, along with the faintly glowing outline of a yokari. Akari Taosu's natural luminescence, from her skin and the onibi orbs atop her horns, were the only source of light. She was dressed in a shimmering aquamarine yukata, loose and airy, that seemed to ripple as if suspended in water, along with her hair.
She was floating, barefoot, seemingly suspended in midair. With gentle movements, she began to sway, her whole body drifting in the air as if propelled by invisible currents. Gradually, a warm light began to glow from above, and she slowly rose to meet it, arching her back as she levelled out, lying on her back near the top of the stage. Her clothing wrapped itself neatly around her and her hair tied itself into a neat bun as she seemingly drifted to sleep. The glow from above slowly faded, disappearing offstage to the right, whilst from the other side of the stage small, glowing lights began to dance at ground level. They came in glittering greens, rich yellows, brilliant blues and cool whites, and took the abstract forms of mountains, trees, fields and rivers. They slowly slid below and past Akari, as if she were floating over a vast landscape in her sleep.
_
Eventually the glow faded altogether and, with an exaggerated shiver, she woke, stretching. Her stretch grew and she turned it into a graceful flip towards the left of stage as she turned head over heels. Suddenly she lanced down to the ground, accompanied by a myriad of falling sapphire sparks that burst when they hit the ground. The music's tempo picked up as an intricate guitar riff surging in intensity as drumbeats and percussion blended with the magical rainfall, and Akari sprang into action, a forward flip turning into a full sprint.
Although she ran in place, she seemed to be moving in a chaotic, rapid tumble. She flitted lightly from ethereal stepping stone to another as they whipped past underfoot, whilst behind her the magical trees and hills flew past, gathering speed. Sometimes sprinting, sometimes leaping, sometimes tumbling and cartwheeling, she flowed past a giant bear made of orange lines as it snapped a ruby salmon from the air. She dove beneath a mountain, the only light her onibi orbs, before bursting back into the light. Finally the scenery behind her ended and she leapt, arms outstretched in a fluid dive, seeming to come to a stop as she floated back into the air, her yukata and hair loose once more as the music and lights faded and she began to gently sway.
As the lights faded, she sank to the ground in the darkness, her assistants rushing to her to cover her onibi and bundle her offstage. She was physically exhausted, having conjured the entire act herself using idshii magic. A priestess of the Precept of Grace of the Huoming Temple, art was her form of worship, but such a display was extravagant and tiring
The Hooded Figures had long since left the audience’s floor. They’d stayed there to watch the Zets and the 3K Club, but they’d had to slide backstage as Akari’s performance began. Their chrome bubble-helmets cooly reflected the faces of the audience as they’d pushed through, showing expressions of confusion and surprise and disgruntlement, but they spoke not a word as they went—vanishing into the edges of the area.
Now, sat behind the stage in the back-spaces of the Aymer Festival, the four-to-five-foot tall things which could have been flowerpots and could have been seemed to turn toward one another.
Considering the oily iridescence of their black orbs and their utter, smooth symmetry, it was part of hard to tell.
“…Was that… a stage play?” One murmured in burbling tones, its voice distorted by the helmet.
“A really cool stage play!!” Another raised two limbs as if in celebration, the liquid fabric stretching seamlessly down to the floor with the motion as if it were a cast shadow made slick and solid. “Did you see all those lights and effects?? The-“
They waved the appendages around, waggling the indistinct ends for effect. “-Crazy lights and the scenes, the sounds, the movements; it felt like - like magic!!!!”
“Ain’t no such thing, dumbass.” The one with the drink cooly replied, having found a new muse to enjoy. They slurped in an echoey way through the liquid barrier of their helmet, raised a straw which looked like liquid gallium held in place, and then sucked it into the bubble’s surface like some kind of spiked proboscis.
“Them was all probably just fancy holograms. No way in Sam Hell did they pull real trees out of thin air like that.”
“Oh!! But she was floating, too!” The energetic one butted in, moving as if they’d taken a step forward. “How do you think that happened???”
”…Drones?” The quieter of the four mumbled, stepping a bit away from the group. ”But. But then, uh, we could. We would’ve seen them…”
“I ain’t buying that she did that herself,” the one with the drink scoffed again, interrupting her oaky seawash-tones with a sudden spear of the straw again. “There’s gotta be some sort’a-“
“Hush.”
The three went stock-still, turning to the fourth member; who had been largely silent.
“We will be performing after the judges’ verdict. Check that you have your instruments, and dispose of any…”
There was a silent spell, which bore down upon the less polite of the three like a broiling stormcloud.
“…Refuse. Before we’re called.”
As the others melted onto the ground and let their cloaks plume around them like fat dresses, the one with the drink seemed to slide away. It dripped a limb near a waste disposal, grumbled in a liquid way, and dumped the cup; silently weaving back toward its companions in the darkness.
As the fourth knelt down again, the quiet one raised its soft tones to a sickly-sweet and subtle jab.
”You should have overfilled before we left.”
“Oh; can it, you damn—“
There had been some continuous murmuring coming from the two equally bright yet antithetical judges of Iqzina and Saintraint, on the performance of the Echotian. Bright lights, dynamism, loud music, athletic movements and a touch of high technology mixed with tradition was all that Calithea wanted to see out of a performer. Golconde, on the other hand, decried the lack of symbolism and overly modern ambiance of the act as the moment that art had been ruined forever. It wasn't the first or the twentieth time that the surrealist painter had declared art to be a lost cause and that he was going to dedicate the rest of his life to his old occupation, carpentry. But it was definitely one of the rare such occasions where he was unarmed and thus could not take out his anger on the performer, the audience, his co-judge and himself.
"It's over." Golconde crossed his arms. "We finally live in a post-art world. Ol' Simonis and your dear Celestial Mandate of Brovarone better start transitioning to fast food franchises or something, because that horrible pastiche just killed art."
"Art has been over for old codgers like you for a while now." Calithea let out a haughy laugh. "Same deal as with Little Sera's performance, you're looking at it with those meaty eyes of yours... would you consider it fair if someone judged your paintings after rubbing vaseline on their glasses? Ah, no, you need to learn how to look at and value art. Io'Kad looked nice enough in the visible spectrum, but oh dear her performance on radar and doppler was something else! The way her movements rippled across the room's magnetic field, the look of the wings in ultraviolet..."
"I'll have you know that people have gouged out their eyes before judging my paintings." Golconde said. He was no longer in the mood for sketching now that art had been supposedly murdered on stage, so the incoherent mishmash of kaleidoscopic hallucinations that the random number generators implanted on his brain made him see were of no use anymore. Despondent, he reched inside his coat pocket for a small glass bottle full of antipsychotic pills but Calithea stopped him, placing her hand over his.
"Don't you dare go sane on me, René. We still have more acts to look at." She winked at him and ordered more alcohol to be brought to the stands with a helping of Qanis. "If anything what you need to do is open your third eye even more".
It normally took a couple minutes for a Qanis shot to hit and Calithea was still swirling hers inside her mouth when the sound of the shamishen pierced through the dark room like a spear and René Golconde was thrown off his chair, making a sound akin to a dying animal that was so loud it had to be dampened by the chief sound engineer of the festival so people didn't notice. A cuboidal hologram shrouded the two artistic judges, giving everyone the impression that Calithea and Golconde were calmly sitting and observing when in reality there were 3 security guards trying to stop Golconde from jumping off the balcony and attempting to run on stage. With each luminous kanji that the musical magic generated, René had a near-death experience of complete ecstasy. Art was back. He would never be a carpenter again. Of course as soon as he heard that the Akari Taotsu was next the first thing the surrealist did was turn off his Ingenious autotranslate so the kaji seemed to him more like cryptic synesthetic hyeroglyphs which beffudled and evaded any attempt at comprehension. As soon as he recognized any patterns in the kanji and started getting ideas of what they meant, they were gone.
Was the onerial dance of the Yokari somehow connected to the meaning of the kanji? The surrealist painter wondered, refusing to turn on autotranslate. What did the colors mean? Were the two orbs of the Yokari and her silhouette under the warm glow overhead also describing another kanji? A dynamic one, one whose ideogram was not fixed like the others but changed over time, a kanji that extended not just in space but in time.
"René, for Simonis' sake, she's literally just floating there and swaying."
"I NEED THAT WOMAN TO KILL ME ON STAGE." Golconde managed to wring one of his arms off of the lock that one of the guards had placed him under, smashed his glass and grabbed the biggest shard he could find before being subdued again.
"René... you're making a scene right now..." Calithea said with clenched teeth and an increasingly worried tone, running short on ideas on how to look beautiful and stunning when she was just a couple feet away from a 73 year old man having a complete meltdown. Even under the dozens upon dozens of layers of artificial beauty that Calithea cocooned herself in, the hesitation started cracking through and the Iqzinan influencer saw her follower count slowly start to top out and decrease.
"WHERE IS NOW?!" Sweat-drenched, bleeding from his nose, Golconde opened his eyes as wide as he could and fixated on the Ingenious performance to take it in like an animal gasping for air after nearly drowning. Looking like a fighter pilot trying not to faint from the G's, the surrealist's mind was deconstructed by the Ingenious performance.
He was, in fact, having a massive thrombotic stroke, and by the time Akari flew past the bear and swung under the mountain Golconde had forgotten what bears or mountains were, or where he was or what was anything. Everything was now just shapes and colors devoid of any meaning, including Calithea and the guards pinning him down. Was everything part of the performance? It was. It had always been. Shattered by a huge intracerebral hemorrhage, Golconde's consciousness vanished in one last kaleidoscopic firework of gloriously empty signifiers and pure artistic forms, guided to the other side of the veil by the fading music and saluted off the world of the living by the final gesture of the priestess.
It was over.
"Oh my god!" Calithea curled up on her seat, terrified at the sheer amount of foam coming out of Golconde's nose and mouth. Two of Golconde's friends quickly made their way to the balcony with suitcases full of medical equipment, no matter how much she covered her ears Calithea did not manage to escape the crunching of bones and the sick cracking of tendons. Her trascendental makeup began failing her, and slowly she reverted to her actual real, biological appearance: a vulnerable, scared 19 year old girl far away from her Aluminarian family, thinking about the long chain of events that had led her to that place. At first she thought Golconde's two surrealist friends were going to help him, but the reality was much worse.
From the outside it just looked like the two judges were making polite remarks at each other. It stayed a few minutes like that and almost looped the entire animation. When the hologram finally switched off, Golconde and Calithea were back acting normal, and the painter of Saintraint wordlessly stood up and silenced the entire auditorium with a thunderous clap of both his hands and his spirit. Then a second one, then a third one.
"Bravissime. There is nothing to add."
Calithea stayed paralyzed for a couple seconds, before voices from underneath her table hurried for her to move.
"C'mon, clap or something, you're looking suspect." Said one of Golconde's friends, another surrealist painter going by Pablo Guernica, as he and fellow surrealist Salvador Cadaques were huddled under the table and were puppeteering Golconde's corpse with some Anjou medical abomination to fulfill the late surrealist's contract to remain technically alive during the whole show.
"I... would say it's easily the most folkloric show we've had so far. Very, um, dynamic." Calithea said, hiding the fear deep inside. She did not copy any trait or aesthetic from the Yokari's show, because all that brought to her mind were visions of what had just happened. Her follower count dropped further.
"You died, René." Salvador whispered onto his phone, keeping an eye on the meandering lines that passed off as Golconde's vitals on the screen of his medical device. "You're a lifeless corpse."
'Well, what was the show like?' The painter asked on the other side of the line.
"She showed the kanji for 'mountain' and then showed an image of a mountain. Not exactly high-level stuff if you ask me." Salvador's gaze continued to dart between the rapidly decaying vitals and Guernica, who kept puppeteering the dead body to get him to sit down.
'Well it must have been if it bloody killed me. It must have been a 10.' The surrealist replied. 'René Golconde does not die to 9s'
"Get your ass back in here, René-"
"Is he going to be OK?" Calithea discretely interjected, fighting to regain her composture like her life depended on it. "He's going to be OK, right? Golconde is going to be OK?"
"I'm going to be real with you." Guernica replied in a facsimile of the accent and slang of Calithea's generation. "I missed his cerebellum with the spike so I have no control of his bowels. He will soil himself, there's nothing we can do but be prepared for it."
"Fuck THAT"
Calithea got up and walked away, without anticipation, without a fancy movement of her fingers through her hair, in a very un-Iqzinan way. The Exalted of Iqzina threw herself into the grindstones of the ancnet celebrity rumor mill rather than bear witness to one single additional second of the insanity that was going on under the table. Soon enough her socials were cratering and all over Boomr there were being multiple terabytes per second of gossip being generated. What was Calithea's problem? She's making Iqzina look bad. She's not cut for #ZEITGEIST. Is it because the dancer was a Yokari? Is Calithea of Iqzina racist? Calithea of Iqzina is racist and hates Yokari.
"Bloody thanks for all the support, dear." Salvador spat out indignantly as he saw Calithea abandon them.
"His brain is mushed, I'm starting to lose control of his arms, he's... turning blue!" Upon noticing that last point Guernica was quick to react and pull Salvador towards him. "You're stepping on the oxygenation line, dammit!"
It was then that they noticed that they had done their medical 'intervention' in such a hurry that the oxygen, dyalisis, blood and synaptic lines of the puppeteering device were all over the floor and it was close to impossible not to step on them or get tangled up.
"Get in here, René, you're falling apart."
A war waged in the backdrop. Calithea's chief of socials ordered his full staff into damage control mode, but by the time the war room of Calithea's talent agency turned on people and AIs were already digging up Calithea's old Booms and videos and trying to interpret them through the lens of her supposed anti-Yokari racism. What had started as a chaotic firehose of accusations suddenly started getting more and more organized: talking points were being spread and coordinated, counter-arguments prepared and memes spread. This was getting bigger, rival talent agencies were getting involved and trying to bring Calithea down from her throne of teen popularity through astroturf campaigns using billions of bots. Calithea's professional army of 'social bodyguards' and simps embarked on the herculean task of trying to control the narrative when their enemies had several minutes headstart. From Voynych to the Emerald Republics, vast datacenters were retasked to wage information warfare in defense of the Exalted of Iqzina, mobilizing an unimaginable amount of bots and AIs for the task.
It wasn't long before the raging comment war around Calithea's possible cancellation merged into the much larger CONA-SAGA nationalistic flamewar that had engulfed the net well in advance of the first shots at Aedelshaven. From then on the overly online would be dragged into an inescapable vortex of mass psychosis and conspiracy theories fanned not only by obsessive shut-ins but by actively malicious actors from the Orbeoler to Leistunganos.
For a moment the viewership of the festival began decreasing as millions of lost souls departed for the depths of countless internet rabbit holes. However, the numbers eventually went back up once word spread of Golconde's standing ovation and the surrealists of the galaxy tuned in.
'My next body won't be ready for a bit'
"Call for a break you knave, there's technical issues." Salvador berated. "Get a body, any body."
Guernica began grabbing napkins off the desk by the fistful.
Backstage Akari Taosu and her attendants were met with a small team of medics, offering the exhausted priestess wherever she needed to recover from her performance. The Vaplanans looked upon her with wonder and admiration in their eyes, her performance being something that had struck a chord within them all. The hosts on stage had the same look in their eyes, smiling contentedly at the audience.
“Wasn’t that such a wonderful performance, everyone?” Iarla placed a hand to her heart and took in the thunderous Vaplanan applause.
“Shall we see if our judges panel agrees?”
All attention was drawn to the judges panel.
Once Calithea walked away chaos erupted backstage, social media analysts were panicking and doing all they could to ensure the festival itself would not be dragged into the shit-flinging mess that just erupted. But the other judges were oblivious to that ordeal in particular, only having to deal with the invasion of their space by two deranged strangers puppeteering their colleague’s corpse. Child’s play, really, in comparison to attempting to wrangle the Ancnet. Knowing that the audience had seen none of it they all had unanimously agreed, without even having to utter a word to each other, that they would have to act natural for now. The show must go on! That hadn’t stopped Amilia from mashing a button under the desk that would indicate when the judges would require a break in the line-up. Hopefully, the producers had gotten the hint that a break was sorely needed right now, even though the contest had only really just started, and they would take her request seriously.
Velles Heylen was the first to attempt to speak after Calithea had left the panel, breaking a somewhat awkward silence to hopefully usher back a sense of normality and calm.
“As mentioned before traditionalist sources and slow dance are not quite to my personal taste. However, this performance excelled in storytelling through interpretive dance. I found that aspect particularly appealing. I am familiar with this particular form of worship within Ingen, and while the specific message seems to allude me I find the mystery adds to the entertainment value. Aside from all that, I greatly appreciate the effort from this contestant to conduct the magic herself.”
Once the hard job of speaking first after such upheaval was done the other judges found it easy to follow Velles’s example. The Novakian judge, who until now had been silent for the first round of performances, now spoke for the first time. Where once was quiet contemplation, there was now only conviction in his voice and posture, a satisfied look in his eyes.
"I... am impressed. The entrants display a proper understanding of balance between chaos and serenity, unlike our previous contestants. Graceful choreography, appealing composition, and a story well-told. 9/10." With that, he pressed his star light, and returned to a position of watchmanship.
Brachus seemed to be frozen, like a sculpture someone had moved in. If one were to listen close, a tick-tock chorus of machinery could be heard, as he lightly jerked around. Clink, clack, and before the silence could drag his voice emanated from a voicebox in his 'throat', scratching like a DJ record as it seemed to flip between various phrases. It was unknown whether his condition was due to the chaos around him or whether his aflcition was lingering from the last performance. Nonetheless, he still spoke up.
"Though abstract, the meaning is definable- We see a refined and well-honed performance. It-We see flaws in the exfiltration- soundtrack- minor. This sentiment is shared with the Empire. N-8/10."
Asidemaio's star light had lit up almost as soon as the performance was finished, although she was glad she had some time to compose herself after watching her colleague die and be desecrated like that before it was her turn. As she spoke there was an unspoken applaud in her voice.
"Though I'm not all familiar with stage play formats, even a rookie could see the passion put into this performance. I can only second what the other judges have said in regards, though I see few if any flaws. Impressive work all around."
Finally, it was Amilia’s turn. She had enjoyed the performance very much, having been drawn in by the story about nature. She enjoyed it so much she hadn’t noticed Golconde’s antics until it was all over, and the shock at seeing him suddenly dead beside her was almost overwhelming. But hearing the other judges act as if nothing was wrong for the sake of the show was stabilising, and she too took a deep breath and visualised the performance in her mind so she could return to that moment to give her thoughts.
Overcome with emotion Amilia wiped a lone tear from her eye, the audience assumed it was due to the spectacular performance just witnessed, although it was in reality a mixture of that and the stress of hearing Golconde’s friends whispering under her table and stealing her napkins. “That performance is something that will stay with me for the rest of my life. Beautiful, refined, spectacular. The dedication to your craft and the worship displayed is inspiring. But, even better than all that is the story you tell with your work. We Vaplanans have witnessed a kindred spirit in this theatre today. Thank you.”
With that the judges had finished the performance of their lives, and once attention was off them they scrambled away from Golconde’s desecrated corpse to their break room, refusing to return until the situation had been dealt with. The producers would just have to think on their feet, as working next to a corpse was just too much to ask. The hosts announced their break, and one of the planned breaks had to be moved up to accommodate everything. The audience would be fine, they were being entertained by a group of Vaplanan children performing a dance or two for them.
Backstage the chaos continued. Everyone was glued to their phones watching the drama unfold, some even taking sides on the issue of Calithea’s alleged racism. However, once the discourse started to warp into SAGA/CONA territory a tense silence descended. The Vaplanan’s especially felt a sense of despair, the whole purpose of this event was to draw attention away from the war and to promote something better. The tension was broken when the sound of clicking heels and approaching footsteps broke the silence. A lady decked out in the finest silk gown approached the chief producer, her PDA in hand. She had several attendants and guards swarming her, making it hard for the contestants to identify her. The Vaplanan’s in attendance, however, knew within moments who this lady really was. Only one person would be able to waltz backstage unimpeded with such a large retinue… they all stood frozen on the spot and bowed or curtsied accordingly. It was the sponsor of the entire contest, Queen Fidelia herself.
She shared a few heated words with the producer. Nobody could hear exactly what she muttered to the poor man, but she was clearly not happy. Judging by the PDA in her hands she was upset about the SAGA/CONA commentary now associated with her festival, and must have been begging him to do something, anything, to get social media’s focus onto literally anything else.
Once the extended break was over the atmosphere backstage had cooled off to a simmer, waiting the online drama out had seemed to do the trick and Golconde’s crew had been given more than enough time to figure something out. It was time to bring on the next act, before people tuned out of the broadcast out of boredom. Next up were Bellini, Martini, Cosmo, and Mary, representing the Sodalytes.
The silence was deafening as the four figures stepped on-stage.
Nobody had actually heard of the Sodalytes before. It was entirely possible that they were some undiscovered and minor Unaligned, but then, one had to wonder where exactly they'd come from. It seemed wholly and utterly improbable that an entire undiscovered species had just made its first appearance at an interstellar talent show of all things, but then again, stranger and less likely things had happened before. All the same, the uncertainty created a kind of aching tension suspended in the air and drilling into the chests of those gathered. Nobody was quite sure what to expect.
Each of the four slid gently and slowly onto the stage's platform like a liquid ghost. They had been fairly distinct among the crowd—but nobody had really paid them much mind until they came up onto the stage. After all, there was remarkably little to discern.
Each was dressed in a strange kind of liquid cloak. Under the colorful tones of the dusk sky and the lights of the stage, the black stuff shimmered in iridescent tones of flowing oil. Each cloak seemed animate: huddling around the figures as they glid such that they didn't make a single errant motion. It was like watching chess pieces guided by an invisible hand, brought to rest in a four-pointed row. They made no noises and moved not an inch: only heightening the invisible noise of the crowd's dread. Each had no visible limbs, nor a visible body, nor even a visible head—for that was covered by a sphere of perfect, reflective stuff. Each of the flawless mirrors was drenched in the images of the sky, the stage, and the crowds. The sights bent around their eerie surfaces, leaving the true colors of their chrome rims and gleams visible at the edges of their circles.
It was only barely clear which one started talking, but the voice was just barely unlike anything a solid throat could produce. It warbled and bubbled in soft tones, which the helmet amplified and carried across the entire stage by vibrating as if it were possessed.
"Gathered peoples of the Ancerious galaxy," she (for it must have been a 'she' with that timbre) began, "we are honored to stand before you today." Each of the figures drew forth one limb from each of their two sides and touched it to somewhere near their chest, but the cloaks didn't drape or open. They simply loomed under the silhouettes like solid shadows, touching the ground at perfect, flowing verticals. The salute was impossible to discern through the fabric, but it almost looked like an 'X.'
"We have not arrived to compete," the speaking figure in the middle continued, drawing its arms down toward another in a strange, looming wall. "We are not here to send a message, or to spout culture and superiority. We, the members of Sugar Rush, have come for one reason only." Each of the figures gripped the sides of their helmets in bizarre and triangular shapes almost like solid architecture, and pressed the things inward. "We... have come... …to celebrate!”
They ripped the helmets open, unfurling them into tall, mirrored collars and eye-wear. Their cloaks flew open as well; shearing away from their arms and billowing behind them. On their interiors were swirling lights in a star-like miasma of chemical glitter, and now, those wearing them were visible. Each of the 'Sodalytes' was a figure somewhere between four and five feet tall, and constructed in a humanoid fashion. They had lithe necks, and narrow shoulders, and thin waists; and their hips flared out into thick, well-formed legs. Each of them had spots on their rounded cheeks and faces between noses and snouts—and each now struck a pose in the center of the stage.
Each of them was colored in a spectrum of orange-yellow to red. The leftmost held her arms swept behind her head in a cross, grinning in a wide and cartoonish way. Her glasses were shaped like two huge circles speared through by a wide toothpick. The chromes of her suit had flashed into a dark, indigo color: highlighting her collar and face in a brilliant way under the curls of her orange, liquid hair. The one at the other end was a deep, bloody maroon: glaring through a wide 'X' of bright, turquoise gel-shades. Her arms were folded in front of her chest, leaving most of the drama to the side-swept wave of knee-length hair framing her figure. In the middle were a peach-colored Sodalyte and a pink one, respectively wearing shades shaped like four-pointed stars and hearts. One was crouched on the ground with a leg stuck out, black shades and collar framing her ponytail and eye-covering curl. The last was knelt down and pointing out to the crowd, bearing a sweet smile surrounded by her 'hood' of waist-length hair.
Each was dressed in some kind of suit of the same complementary color, with a collar matching the shape of their glasses. The hem of each suit was cut diagonally from the armpit to the waist, and the waists of their black skirts were similarly held at an angle. Covering their legs were complementary tights made of some kind of gel, and their hands and feet were cloaked by black gloves and shoes.
The pink one opened her mouth, the spots on her cheeks flushing into a bright red. Apparently, she was the speaker from before - and her collar was busy amplifying her voice for the crowd to hear.
"Meet the Sugar Rush pop idols Cosmo," said the first,
"Bellini!" cheered the left,
"Mary," drawled the right,
and "Martini" muttered the peach-colored one in the middle. Each stood up in unison, thrusting their hands out toward the crowd and flinging sprays of solid bubbles in their wake. They all grabbed their instruments at once as they came down from high arcs in the air; catching a gooey pipe instrument, a liquid keytar, some kind of fluid theremin, and a semisolid string instrument.
Comso winked as the four took up positions. "We proudly present..." And then each snapped into a playing position, all calling out at once.
"FLY ME TO THE MOON!"
>> PLAYING: "Fly Me to the Moon"
As the four began playing—Bellini whistling away on her pipe, Martini rocking her keytar, Cosmo striking with her theremin like a rapier crossed with a slide whistle, and Mary shredding her violin-esque string instrument—a mist arose from the bubbles tossed into the crowd. While the stage's lights hastily flicked off and angled to follow the four idols, a chemical light-show of colors and bursts glowed and swept and popped to match their tune. The four skipped around one another in a complex dance, performing slides and even some flips as they played. When one's role fell out of place, the other would lift her into the air in a spin - and it formed a flowing, complex choreography that at once excited and drew the eye around it with stunning coordination.
They weren't the only ones dancing, however. Those crowd-members with enough room and mobility to dance found themselves surprised by their bodies betraying them; getting up and touching hands with total strangers. It was like a dream - and many of the audience members seemed more baffled by what they were doing than they found themselves disliking it. In fact, as they formed spirals and lines of flowing arms and spinning groups like a bunch of undercover backup dancers, they felt a kind of serenity passing over their minds.
Had they used a Quiet Weapon to turn the audience into part of the act?
As the four progressed, they soon seemed to grow bored of merely being on-stage. They made more poses and flung smaller bubbles near the front of the crowd, landing close to the edge of the stage. They danced closer and closer to the brink, Cosmo singing her heart out against the backdrop of the other three's voices. As all four hit an 'I Love You', they suddenly sprang out into the crowd itself. For a moment, it looked like they were going to fall and be trampled by their own dancing audience members. Then, however, the second Quiet Weapon activated. A nebula of dark clouds and sparkling lights enveloped those beneath them, forming a lake of stars. The four merely posed and gestured atop the crowd, riding their unnaturally-coordinated waves and surges like high-speed surfers.
This continued for the last half of the act, although they did take the opportunity to fling themselves impossibly high into the air with noises like cracking pressure. While they vanished under the stars upon landings, they soon resurfaced to join the dance once more. Now, the act had taken on a kind of exciting dynamism. They did aerial tricks and even pushed off of one another mid-arc while still singing, leaving one wondering what sort of madness they'd pull off next.
As the act came to a close, however, they prepared for a final stunt. The four Sodalytes surfed toward the middle of the crowd, spinning rapidly in a circle. The members of Sugar Rush seemed to brace, crouching down, and then fell beneath the mists as if they'd been devoured by the gaseous night. With a surge in the music and a final 'I Love You,' however, the four burst up from the darkness together. Their arc was followed by the last hurrah of the second Quiet Weapon, which had erupted in a crackling reaction that resembled a rocket's arc trailing from their feet. As the four struck their last notes and fell to the ground in the fountain of light, the crowd found themselves calmly ordered back into their seats and sat down or stood in place once more.
The four were left standing just before the stage as the mist cleared, arranged in the same row as they'd started in. Bellini, Martini, Cosmo and Mary all raised their hands and made half-heart gestures, letting the festival's energy settle, and then bowed in unison.
They eagerly awaited the audience's final reaction, still bowed before the stage and illuminated by four shafts of brilliant light.
Velles Heylen had been watching, silently. He had been watching out of the corners of his eyes, when Golconde drew his last breath, again, when his companions rigged his body to keep up the performance, when Calithea decided to leave her seat at the display at hand. He sighed when the cameras weren't looking and shook his head. "By the stars, I suppose expecting you not cause ruckus even once would've have been asking too much." Despite his outwardly cold demeanour, he seemed to be rather displeased, though resumed his former position and kept up the charade, now was not the time and Golconde was already dead anyways. To be honest, he should have expected as much, knowing the surrealists, though Calitheas behaviour was no better as the supposed representative of Iqzina, as much as he disliked the place.
The crowd cheered loudly for Sugar Rush, having been drawn inexplicably to very much enjoy their short stint as backup dancers. Amilia, too, was on her feet cheering loudly. Rather out of character for her usual professional demeanour. Even the hosts skipped onto the stage arm in arm, having clearly had a brilliant time dancing together backstage.
“What a show, folks! Did you know that Lorenzo is a brilliant dancer? He practically swept me off my feet!” Iarla giggled, hanging off Lorenzo’s arm in a mammer more commonly seen in drunks.
“What can I say, I am full of surprises!” Lorenzo was also grinning widely while simultaneously straining to keep Iarla on her feet. In heels that tall it was a miracle she was still standing, honestly. “Let’s hope the judges enjoyed the show as much as we all did!”
All attention now was upon the judges stage.
Caught up in the throes of color and noise, the Novakian judge was ill aware of his body's attempts at traitorous actions, his mind clouded under a layer of silk. Of course, noone would have noticed; even if he couldn't keep composure, the emergency holograph and AI voiceover systems already being used by the dying surrealist and petulant Iqzinian would happily smooth over any flaws he might have shown while speaking-though for arguably less valid reasons. "...it is good. Very good, my, my only issue is the... the buildup. Far too long, showy. 9, 9/10. Well done."
Next up, Brachus. He repeated his statue routine, even through the throes of the performance and seemingly unfettered by whatever tricks the Sodalytes performed, skin of steel and mind of copper acting as a potent insulant. Yet he, too, seemed to be under the throes, as his voice betrayed himself with glitches and cracks layered over illegible feedback. "I-we-we-performance. Well honed-practiced-d-d too showy. Much more than pref-f-f-f-satisfactory. Sentimempire. Si-Se-Si-Se-10.egrgkkr-star." An AI autotranslator filled in his meaning as best it could, for the viewers at home; alas, the in-house attendants had to make do with guesswork, and the stage personnel would have to guess if his voicebox was giving out.
The next judge had a stony stare for the contestants, in stark contrast to the joyous or conflicted others.
As Velles Hellen had observed the performance of this new species, his mood, increased again, albeit only momentarily, until his magical wards against mind alteration triggered. His fist clenched, though even now he reminded himself, he was on Vaplana and representing Eysra, he had a reputation to uphold and as such would keep himself moderated.
"Quite a colourful, performance, quite dynamic, new, fresh, I appreciate it and so do I appreciate displaying and using the alien biology of the dancers bodies. However..." He paused and thin blue mist raised through his fingers, only to fade into thin air. "What I do not appreciate nor condone, is the use of mind altering abilities and substances, in an official tournament on the audience, without their consent no less. There are certainly times and places where such a performance is acceptable though I do not think this is either of them. As such, whilst entertaining, I am afraid there will be no points for this performance from me." The man fell silent again, leaving the word to the other judges.
Amilia was frozen in shock at Velles’s comments. She had been smiling happily and swaying in her spot until that moment. Velles had snapped her out of whatever spell she had been under, and she quickly sat back down in embarrassment.
“I was going to say that I found this performance enchanting. Your acrobatic ability is very impressive, and your work with the crowd was revolutionary. In fact, I couldn’t help but feel compelled to dance along with you. However, considering my esteemed colleague’s observations I cannot condone these alleged methods. This requires a deeper investigation, I believe, before I can comment any further.” Amilia shook her head in disappointment before letting the show continue on. A shocked silence filled the stadium as all absorbed what had been revealed. The hosts, too, quickly separated themselves and quickly moved on without further comment.
“Well, uh, welcome the next contestant from the Union of Worlds…” Iarla stammered before quickly leaving the stage in a haze, Lorenzo following behind her scratching his chin.
“Using memetic weapons for a performance?”
“Yea its pretty crazy, I can’t imagine using those on anyone honestly” The Union performers commented just before the wrap.
But the announcement came next. They were on.
“This is it. Lets give it our all”
The stage was dark.
Then there was light. A single dancer, male, in a simple and undefined costume. He danced slowly, carefully, calling for someone in the dark.
A second light came. This time a Cylaurian women, her costume too was dull and bland. She danced close to the human, their faces showing both happiness and distrust. They danced close but never touched, even as orange lights danced to light and their costumes blazed with fire. The Bridgehead war, and the act that led to the Unions creation. The Cylaurian dancer blazed softly around the human, whos dance took on a split and pained expression.
Finally, he brought his arms up and out, and a pair of wings sprouted from his back, his costume springing to life into a vivid and sharply cut Union outfit. The Cylaurian spun in, taking his left hand as her costume did the same. A third light came, an Elsi wearing the same. The three held their hands high as they danced together, throwing each other around and expanding slowly out on stage. A Jorgal joined the group who they danced around, then a Violar who danced around the group before joining the fray. Others joined them, Torne, Indbis and Godorok.
They continued to dance, some of them even being lifted into the air as their costumes changed, becoming more vivid and advanced, finally a Skia manifested in the middle of the performance, its black and coiled form dancing in and out of the group. They acted as one, performing each move in synchronicity before there was a singular drum beat.
Black and fiery shapes coalesced around the dancers, their dance becoming more desperate as their uniforms blackened and the darkness threatened to consume them. The Draken war was raging as the dancers were forced by the holographic shapes into a tighter and tighter ring on which to dance, suffocated and trapped it seemed like their own dance would be snuffed out.
The with a mighty flash of blinding golden light the darkness was banished, the dancers each ascending on wings of light as they leapt into the air. They twisted, turned and once more danced in synch with one another.
Finally they landed back onto the stage, the Violar and the Jorgal at the bottom, followed by the Elsi and Godorok then Torne and Human then at the top Cylaurian and Indbis with the Skia floating above them. As a reinforced self made pyramid. One last message as they held their fists high.
“For the Union!” They shouted in unison.
Lorenzo and Iarla emerged from the darkness, looking much more put together than when they had last left. The poor make-up and hair personnel backstage had yet again worked a speedy miracle.
“Such a wonderful performance, everyone! Don’t you agree?” Lorenzo and Iarla smiled and clapped for the performers retreating backstage. The audience, however, were not as united. Half were cheering loudly, the other half booing and jeering the patriotic display in a non-political space. It was mostly split down those whom supported SAGA or CONA, however, the Vaplanans in the audience were also split. As neutral parties, some were offended that political statements had invaded their festival. Others did not care in the slightest about the message behind the performance, they were just here to have a good time and witness the dances the galaxy had to offer.
Iarla chuckled nervously, not entirely enjoying being booed on the galactic stage. She dreaded to think what the reaction on the Ancnet would be. “All the best performances drastically split opinion, wouldn’t you say Lorenzo?”
“Well, whatever your opinion on this piece you have to agree the dancing was dynamic…”
“I believe that is for the judges to determine, Lorenzo. Shall we see what they all have to say?” Several stars lit up in response.
The first to light up their star was Velles, as per usual, but before he could speak his turn he was interrupted. The Novakian had neglected to light up his star in protest, and he did not seem to care that Velles had shot him a look before politely letting him continue his interruption.
His expression had remained at a poker face throughout the performance, and even as it ended it felt like a statue had taken his place. When he spoke he was stone cold, harsh, and for the Novakian watchers at home they finally caught a viewing of the judge they were no doubt waiting for.
"....much too patriotic. Simply a retelling of history, though creatively done. Symbolically, sufficient. 5/10." He leaned back in his chair, arms crossed. One could almost hear the outrage from the more fringe of Unionite viewers, or perhaps the screeching of 'BASED' from any Orillians in the area.
Now back to his turn, Velles pondered for a moment, having taken in the performance hailing from the Union. It was admittedly a welcome distraction from all the derangement that occurred during the last couple rounds. Though there were aspects of it he still felt uncertain about, was it politically influenced or merely pride in their nation? He spoke up when the Novakian had finished without hesitation, so as to not be interrupted again.
"As expected a solid and grounded performance by the Union, it reminds me much of the earlier performance from Ingen in that it is almost a theatre piece, though in telling the Unions history it may have gone a bit too far into the theatre and too little into dance, something which I will have yet to ponder on. Overall it was admirable to see all the different races represented, even the rarely seen Skia, and melded together in the performance." He fell silent again leaving the word to the remaining judges.
Once again, the clockwork inside of Brachus began to move, though the undefinable quiet weapon that addled his system before was in the works no longer. Yet disappointingly, he merely repeated. All the way down to the letter, his response was carbon copy of the one he gave to the Jade performance-already, one could hear the raucous social media comments and outrage that gripped the popular AncNet at the slightest hint of disrespect. "Though abstract, the meaning is definable- We see a refined and well-honed performance. It-We see flaws in the exfiltration- soundtrack- minor. This sentiment is shared with the Empire. 8/10."
Finally, it was Amelia’s turn to round off the judges' commentary. She tried to tread carefully with what she had to say. She was under strict orders to not display undue favoritism to either side of the war, lest she send a political message Vaplana did not intend to send. She sighed, events on such a scale were always so stressful to manage, and during such a tense period too! She mentally muttered a silent prayer, put on her usual warm smile and spoke up.
“What a symbolic piece! It is lovely as always to see different species with such different anatomies and personal styles working together in unison to create art. I have always been an advocate for using the arts, especially dance, to teach history. Thank you all for your performance, and for the lesson in unity and friendship.”
“Thank you, judges, for the insightful commentary. Next up we have the Zetyans!” Lorenzo smiled outwardly, but was looking around nervously to make sure the mention of the word would not summon them again like last time.
“Now, many of you will be thinking, they have already performed! Well, we must admit, that performance earlier by the little Zetling children was very much a surprise.” Iarla added, also keeping a watchful eye out. It seemed being danced around in such a chaotic way had affected the pair more than they would like to admit. Though, surely, they would find the courage to laugh about it one day.
“A very welcome surprise!”
“So, please, put your hands together for the planned Zetyan performance!”
Meanwhile, backstage, The Queen was still milling around. She had drifted her way over to a familiar face, or more precisely two. Felix and Violet were quietly reassuring their Queen, a rather unconventional moment considering they had only met Queen Fidelia a couple of times before.
“I can’t believe they would do such a political performance! Now everyone online is arguing, and the audience is booing! Booing! This festival was such an awful idea…” Fidelia was glued to her PDA, watching all of the angry comments fill her social media and that of the festival.
“It is just a blip, Your Majesty. The people will calm down eventually.” Violet rubbed the Queen’s back, while Felix tried to gently pry the PDA from her grasp.
“Until then, maybe you should just enjoy the moment and watch the performances, Your Majesty. You sponsored this event, so you should get the chance to enjoy it.”
“I just wanted to promote peace… Is that really so much to ask?”
“No, not at all, but maybe keeping such close tabs on feedback as the event is live is not the best approach…”
“I appreciate your advice Mr. and Mrs. Ulmus. I should let you prepare for your performance, I am so very looking forward to seeing you both in action again. I know you won’t disappoint.” With that, the Queen wandered away back to her retinue. Felix noticed, however, once she returned she handed her PDA to someone. It seemed she would finally be able to enjoy the show she had worked so hard to organise.
The Zetyan performance was an enigma, as were the performers. While scant glimpses could be caught of a presumably female zetyan in a dress, a few runts carrying supplies, some practical effects being ferried along by full-growns, the bodacious reputation of their people was nowhere to be seen, and everything had been kept under wraps. So far as anyone could tell, they had barely even traversed through the main atrium backstage, let alone step foot in the styling and staging rooms-though, in fairness, it wasn't as if they had a whole lot to 'style' anyways.
Now, as it was their time, the first to see what they had planned was not the crowds and judges they had come to please, but the backstage attendees. From seemingly nowhere, an entire orchestral troupe of runts in suits marched in formation behind the stage, all in uniform and with strange implants on their heads. A director was among them, stick in hand and looking as stereotypical as one could get, while various attendees both zettish and non-zettish brought along boom mics, hooking them up to the stage as the lights began to dim.
The performance started simple, a dancer in a red suit came on stage under the high-res projection of a nondescript city onstage. His movements were simple, without flourish, and he wore a rather melancholy complexion. It continued for a bit, until another dancer came on stage-a zetyan in a red dress, whose movements exuded flourish, and grace. Her presence brought life to her counterpart, who at first danced in confusion, then in wonder. When she leapt through the air, she practically soared-thanks to the help of a jerry-rigged agrav device under the dress-and the male dancer could not help but follow along, giving heartened attempts to copy her leaps and bounds, flourishes and falling short, yet with effort nonetheless.
Their movements grew closer, more fluid. Where once the female simply soared above, or paid him no mind as he vied for her, now she danced closer, nearer to his being. Where once he simply copied, now he added his own flourishes, bursts of himself that shone through just as much as hers as now he soared to the heights she did, often as she did. Eventually, they came so close as to be almost touching.
Then a third entered the stage.
A zetyan in a black suit now appeared, his movements cleanly interrupting the others as he spun through once, twice. The red suit broke off from the duet, now engaging in dance with the competitor as the girl tried to dance with the zet in red before dancing on her own around them in a wide circle, almost out of focus as a spotlight now shone on the duel. Their movements now 'clashed', as the two suit seemed almost to bounce off each other, two differing styles interrupting in a way that was strangely coherent, fluid. The orchestra began to pick up as their movements intensified in speed, motion, by the apex they were practically whirlwinds against each other. There was a break in the orchestra, as they spun around each other in a circle, as if in combat-
The red suit suddenly stopped, and danced over to the lady, who now lay on the floor.
While the focus had been locked on the clash of the two suits, a third had come along and 'offed' the lady(after making sure she fell gracefully), dancing with her for a short while before leaving just as quickly. Where the red suit went, the black suit followed, and soon they made movements around her in mournful, flowy gestures. It gradually egressed to the simple movements seen at the start, as the two remained on stage for a while. Then, a peculiar thing began to occur.
Their suits began to change color, triggers in the eyes causing a chroma shift in their hues. Where once were colors that could not be any more different, now they turned, darkened and lightened at once into a shade of crimson; red and black mixed together. Their movements began to come closer together, as the waltz returned to the melody it was before-albeit slower. Soon, they were dancing together once more, sharing a style different from the ones they had shown before.
They had a sort of conviction as they danced; movements not as flowy or graceful as the lady's, yet with a force all of their own. Both added flourishes here and there, yet it was homogenous as they continued on, and as they danced the third from before now slowly began to enter the frame, as he was catching up to them-or them catching up to him.
Without warning, the two suddenly descended on the third, clashing movements as the orchestra reached a final crescendo. Suddenly, with a blow, the third fell in a decidedly ungraceful manner, and simple movements returned for a moment. Then the two returned to their previous dance, even as their suits now both turned back to what they were. They did not separate in dance, despite the now glaring differences-if anything, they were more in-tune with each other than ever.
The waltz concluded, and the two went off stage. A brisk walk back, the other two picking themselves up, and a bow soon followed, and then they were gone. The spotlight turned off, the projection was gone.
...
That the Zetyans of all people would give a performance like this-it was almost disappointing.
“Well, wasn’t that the most pleasant surprise of the night so far!” Iarla waltzed onto the stage clapping, clearly extremely relieved there was not a repeat of the first performance.
“I personally always had faith that the Zetyans would be incredible, theyre always so full of surprises.” Lorenzo trailed behind her, gesturing with his arms dramatically. That was, of course, an understatement considering how the runts had besieged the venue not even an hour earlier.
“Will our beloved judges agree?”
Velles Heylen, for the first time during the event seemed actually surprised, if only mildly. His eyebrows lifted at the performance and its stark distinction from the first and the usual display of Zetyan behaviour. A curiosity for sure.
"I must say, this was in fact quite fascinating to see, in particular from the Zetyans who, may the artists forgive me, are usually not known for their fine arts." He paused for a moment gathering his thoughts. "It was a performance, telling a story, without words but without being vague whilst still keeping the aspect of dance, the purpose of this event in the foreground, it had a had a certain force to it but was missing the... glamour, explosive passion for my own tastes..." His arms swayed outwards slightly, a thin mist of stars emanating from his hands before he put them back together. "...however, that did not detract from the performance and we appreciate the use of a live orchestra, something one rarely sees these days, overall it was an excellent display, showing that even those nations which may not be seen as such can house great artists."
Next was Brachus, still slightly glitching although he seemed to be adapting to his impediment with time.
“T-t-this performance was m-m-much too simple for my taste. The symbolism present was- was- was welcome. No extra merit for the soundtrack. This sentiment is shared with the empire. 7/10”
Finally, Amilia took her turn. She was grinning widely, having been pleasantly surprised by the Zetyan showing.
“I find myself overjoyed at the presentation of a simpler style of dance. There is great merit to be attributed to not relying on gimmicks or fancy tricks to tell your story. The way you used the music, costumes, lighting, all aspects of the performance to guide us through the emotion displayed was beautiful. This was a beautiful showing, a much-welcome deviation from the chaos that was surely expected from this act. Thank you.”
The hosts saw on the autocue who was next, and they couldn’t help but share an apprehensive glance before continuing the show. They were sure they were further down the list, but something must have changed since the show began…
“We hope you all join us in extending a warm welcome to the next performers.” Iarla stated, taking Lorenzo’s arm for support. Her smile was wide, but those backstage knew it was a nervous one.
“They are very eager to share with us their performance, I’ve heard. I wonder what marvel they have prepared for us.” Lorenzo made a great effort to act as if he was sharing scandalous gossip with Iarla, even winking at the camera as part of his act.
“If they are that keen, we shouldn’t keep everyone waiting, Lorenzo!”
“Then we shall welcome Orillia to the stage…”
The Orillian performers came onto the stage with minimal lighting.
A single light illuminated a male and female, both wearing ancient ceremonial dresses that their race had worn thousands of years ago. They stepped forward, slowly walking as the music calmly mirrored their progression.
Soon the lights changed, and more Orillians appeared, they built, they grew, their prospered. The Orillian people reached for the stars as flitting bolts of light raced around the venue, the dancers were giddy with joy, deals were made, and their people flew higher and higher.
But soon the darkness came. Fire swept across the stage, destroying holographic beauty constructed by those below. Monstrous things crept in the shadows of the stage picking off dancers one by one and howling winds ripped through almost carrying the remaining dancers away. But they held their ground, planting their feet they produced a standard, the flag of the free state which flapped and held in the impossible winds.
Working together closely, the Orillians rebuilt, slowly as the music changed once more to one of triumph. They entrenched themselves, no longer would the winds affect them as they rose once more, rising to the stars but this time with renewed strength. More dancers came on, stepping onto burned and destroyed worlds as holograms of recognisable nations looked down on the dancers below like jealous gods.
The Orillians finally leapt into the air as a star was lowered onto the stage, together they surrounded it, recreating the construction of Istralan with their own bodies wrapped around the light source. From Istralan huge fleets came, acting as a bulwark against those observing from above.
With one motion an Orillia dressed like Yrillix planted their feet, holding their arms outstretched as several non Orillian dancers came onto the stage, each from one of the native peoples. Together they formed the symbol of CONA out of light and held it up high. Blinded the colonials disappeared and the dark lighting that had typified this segment of the dance receded.
The dance had no giant crescendo ending it merely stopped with the natives and Orillians dancing with joy across a holographic galaxy projected onto smoke which whipped around their feet. The dancers came to a hault and finally bowed before holding up their hands and intertwining them, fingers outstretched to make the symbol of CONA.
“Freedom for the natives of the galaxy!” The lead dancer shouted.
Initially, Orillia’s performance was going down very well with the crowd. Like many other performances of the night, the piece was saturated with symbolism and storytelling that the Vaplanans eagerly drank up with great enthusiasm. However, once the dancer dressed as Yrillix appeared the atmosphere began to shift. First, the Vaplanans who made up the bulk of the crowd grew uneasy, then as the performance came to a close the unease quickly turned into rage. The Vaplanans knew exactly what kind of message the Orillian’s wished to broadcast here; a message that was against the one rule of this contest. It was unfair! Other acts had to tone their messages down or limit themselves to follow these rules, who were Orillia to decide that they alone were above the rules?
The result of all those mixed emotions was an eerie silence filling the theatre. Nobody dared make a sound, lest they were the spark that would ignite the flames scattered into the crowd by the Orillians. The atmosphere was suffocating, and poor Lorenzo and Iarla were forced out onto the stage (after a rather noticeable absence) to try and salvage the situation without causing more trouble.
Iarla was the first to break the silence.
“We would like to remind our audience both at home and afar the purpose of this great event. Vaplana has a rich and lengthy tradition of keeping and promoting peace, and to have our traditions disrespected on this very stage is a great offence.”
Lorenzo had lost all of his preppy bounce, putting a stern and serious face on for the first time.
“As the previous performers broke the one rule of this competition we regretfully have to announce that they have been disqualified. We would take this opportunity to state that Vaplana holds no ill will to the talented Orillian performers, however Vaplana does not associate with such views.”
“However, the Orillian performers still deserve to hear impartial feedback on their show. So, with all of that in mind, we pass over to our judges panel for their final thoughts.”
There was an uncertain and somewhat awkward silence from the judges tables after the performance which nobody seemed to be really comfortable with. Though amongst them one stood out. Velles Heylen, who up to this point had maintained his calm demeanour, seemed to be quite displeased about the Orillians... display. There seemed to be a cold air about him and there indeed seemed to be an actual faint veil of condensed mist around him. There was an icy edge to his tone when he started talking and unlike before he seemed to be addressing the performers directly rather than talking broadly to the audience.
"You have known very well, that this event was hosted with the intent of moderation and peace in mind and yet, despite having the opportunity to display all of the rich culture beneath the harsh surface of your society, you instead deliberately chose this kind of politically oriented atrocity?!"
For the first time, he stood up from his seat and then shook his head.
"We will not stand for this, we condemn this display and what it stands for. At least the Union had been subtle about its political posturing if it was any at all, but you? This performance was a clear provocation and you knew that. You have defiled a stage meant for the display of arts and peace for war propaganda! I am greatly disappointed, in both Orillia as a state and you as performers. The former using a festival for peace as a canvas for their populist propaganda, the latter for, as fellow pursuers of the arts, letting yourself be turned into such a piece of propaganda so readily! You said you stand for the natives and yet you spat on Vaplanas culture and what it tried to stand for. I, Velles Heylen van Eysra, will see to it that your performer group is banned from staging wherever my influence reaches, until a formal and sincere apology is made to the host of this event, Vaplana, who allowed you to perform here in a display of goodwill and trust, despite being well aware of the risk that came with it!"
The man sat down interlocking his fingers and going silent again after his outburst, it was likely he was even more angered than he let on, considering he even went out of his way to mention the Union's performance in his tirade, adding insult to injury.
It seemed that Velles Hellen was not the only judge who felt enraged on behalf of their hosts, for the negative reviews did not stop there. Novakia was next in line to speak.
As the performance went from start to finish, the Novakian's complexion shifted over time from one of intrigue to that of pure and utter fatherly disappointment. Eyes narrowed, body stiff, when the performance concluded he simply leaned back, arms crossed.
"...no vote. 0/10."
That he refused to even give feedback was a damning sign enough-atleast with the Union's, he bothered to levy criticism and a measly 5.
The blood pressure in the audience was likely rising, if not because of the Orillians then because of the people in proximity to the Orillians.
Brachus remained still for a disconcerting amount of time, staring ahead through a white lens and clockwork eye. When he broke his silence, it was with a jolt, as the construct came to a ready stance and rattled off a veritable NDA of a verdict. "Subjectperformanceisinviolationofthe080AMEstandardfestivalrulings2.5,6,7,9,15regardingpolicitalstatements,slander,andthreatsofiviolenceagainstreallifenations,organizationsand/orpeoplesandisherebydisqualifiedfromofficialrulingsaspercontractclause. Allperformerscoordinatorsanddirectorsinvolvedareherebyrequestedtorendevouswiththenearestsecuritydetachmentbackstageandtheoffendingorganization,persons,groupsor-barringapplicability-nationswillbefined100SIGECasperfairplayandtermsofparticipationclausesanddocuments. FailuretopaywillresultinlegalactionandcourtservicebyVaplananauthorities."
"...1/10."
Finally, it was Amelia’s turn to speak. She knew she needed to be careful with her words, as a representative of the scorned host nation her words would mean so much more than her colleagues. But, she was so enraged at the entitlement and gall on display that she simply could not hold it in. She clenched her hands into tight fists, placed them before her on the table and stood to her full height.
“As you broke the rules and are subsequently disqualified, it is pointless to comment on the skills required to give such a performance. Instead, I comment on the attitude of the performers and their team. To so flagrantly trample my culture, our culture, and promote such horror on our very own soil is a disgrace. I am a native to this fine galaxy, like billions of others watching tonight. But, Orillia, you do not speak for me, so do not presume that you have the right to announce such. I hope you learn from this severe and ongoing lack of judgement so you do not so horrendously disrespect other stages you somehow manage to grace. You have much to learn about respect, kindness, and dignity. I hope I never have the displeasure of witnessing such a performance ever again.”
“Well, with that over with, let us move swiftly onto our next performance.” Lorenzo clapped his hands and perked up, albeit a bit less enthusiastically than before.
“We are blessed to host the Red Bulwark next! I have to admit, everyone, we are all in the dark about this next one!”
“There is a rather large betting pool backstage about what this performance will entail, and I personally cannot wait to finally know what is in store!”
The pair left the stage for the next act, but the fallout of the previous performance did not halt there backstage…
Queen Fidelia was very glad she had given up custody of her PDA. She could only imagine the commentary online now, but she was not focusing solely on that anymore. A grave injustice had just been served to her nation, and she would not let it go unpunished. She was filled with righteous fury as she marched past her escort directly towards the Orillian troupe.
“You were invited here under the banner of peace, Madame Giorn, and you decide to defile my hospitality and undermine me in such a public manner? This offence will not go unpunished.” Fidelia was normally a calm and peaceful presence, but now… Her entire aura was just overflowing with rage, and it’s effect was infectious. The Vaplanan backstage staff stared daggers at the Orillian group, wiling their Queen on silently.
“You are no longer welcome here. Gather your effects, and leave immediately. Security will escort you to your vessel, and you will not hesitate for any reason until you are out of Vaplanan space. Additionally, if I have received no formal and public apology from your Government for this egregious offence within 8 hours, your nation’s diplomats and representatives will follow suit. I would say Good Day, Madame, but you are undeserving. Get them out of my sight.” Fidelia turned on her heel, not giving the group an opportunity to offend her further with objections or reply. A swarm of event and palace security took her place as she turned and walked away, slowly escorting all the Orillians from the theatre and leaving only a heavy silence in their place.
Dictatorputski [Red Bulwark] — 19/12/2022 04:16
A group marched past them seemingly not paying a modicum of attention to the ruckus caused by the performance. Like a small disciplined army in fancy suits they walked in formation towards the stage, bringing with them a large metal crate as the venue's lights began to dim...
Soon enough there was pitch black across the whole structure. A half minute of silence dragged on, anticipation rising until, as if some giant author watched over the stage, text wrote itself into the centre.
𝓐 𝓼𝓽𝓸𝓻𝔂 𝓪𝓰𝓮𝓭 𝓫𝔂 𝓶𝓲𝓵𝓵𝓮𝓷𝓲𝓪
𝔂𝓮𝓽 𝓷𝓮𝓿𝓮𝓻 𝓸𝓷𝓬𝓮 𝔀𝓻𝓲𝓽𝓽𝓮𝓷...
It faded away into the dark, and a few moments later, a bell began to toll.
Spotlights turned on in sequence, revealing that the stage had been altered into a new format with two grey and red tiered cylindrical sections on both sides. on each tier stood a circle of dancers standing patiently. Each one wore a black suit adorned with smooth gold trim and a deep red shirt underneath topped with bowties. Their most striking features however were the reflective black facemasks each wore, covering their whole head, and more so the 'tails' they all possessed, seeming more like a pair of prehensile tentacles, all of them still in a curled position behind them.
Most of them held large staffs in front of themselves with others going empty-handed. As the music began however, the lights were still switching on, but the groups of dancers already revealed began to slam the ends of their staff into the stage in time. And then as it bursted again, they all pointed towards centre stage where an odd hologram presented itself-a stylised outline of Earth. The planet seemed to assemble itself layer by layer as the music and the dancers jolted on beat.
Just as suddenly however, the lights dimmed again, hiding everything on stage except for the holograms and 2 singular performers at the front of the stage, facing eachother. Their suits seemed of different designs, one being more black and white, yet more utilitarian, and the other with a focus on red, but far more extravagant, with a large collar and golden highlights yet each possessing the key features of the other dancers, including staffs.
For the first 'act' they seemed to dance far apart to each side, spotlights tracking their movement as they performed in different styles reflecting their portrayed backgrounds, the whimsical tune reflecting them being at peace, living out their own lives. Then, as the tone takes a sudden shift, the focus is brought off of the pair and towards the hologram, where some sort of darkness or corruption begins to engulf it, slower and slower, almost covering the whole planet until it's suddenly blown away by an explosion of light and sound.
Dancers are lit up and thrust their staffs into the air, each projecting holograms resembling a pillar of fire that creates a fountain-like effect. This continues on, performers moving in large arcing motions and trailing fire in time with points of light appearing on the globe and the beat of the drums. Eventually the main performers are brought back into the light, seemingly being tossed and flung around by the others behind them, their own staffs trailing white and red. even as they seemingly crash in the middle of the stage and twirl about each other, they begin to get dragged apart until they begin pulling each other across the stage in time with the eruptions from the music.
This performance lasts a long while. Each new mood set by the piece seemingly detailing a new part of this story. It seemingly goes on to represent something being built, and a huge fiery serpent being formed from the dancers staffs even as the earth decays. This serpent coils and pulls a spark from the planet that splits into more. The main dancers seem to be affected by all of this, being dragged apart and reaching out for eachother, falling into some sort of slumber as the sparks seem to trail around the whole building, even upward into the sky, orbited by the holographic snake as they go.
The whole display seems to burst into a circular pattern as it dives into centre stage, dancers all pointing their staffs toward the ground, before pulling them up, forming a new world as the earth had silently been consumed by fire and burnt away beforehand. It seemed from this world that complex array of holographic displays would bring themselves forth in time with how the performers seemingly pulled and pushed in their movements, swinging and tossing their staffs in an intricate rhythm, utilising the tentacles on their backs as an extra means to do so. If it wasn't obvious that what they'd brought was their own custom holo-projector, it would soon be apparent as the light grows together into a huge mountain-like pattern of wireframe, pulling itself out of the stadium, making the performance visible for miles as the grandiose music accentuates its growth.
It does stop soon enough, the focus bringing itself down to the main pair, but the holo-structure remains, as it seemingly would until the end of the performance. The two look to be separated once more, waking at different times. As they do they seem to be searching as they dance, pleading to imaginary figures and eventually the both of them move to the tiers, the countless other dancers not stopping in their own routines as the main two have to weave and flip between them, eventually ending up on the very top of each side, seeming further apart than ever.
Slowly however, the other dancers part and group behind them, allowing them to slowly step down each tier, guiding them with with elegant swings of flame from the dark until finally they're together once more. The music continues however, seemingly celebrating their unity before making them the centre of a series of more holographic displays. The serpent makes a brief return, swirling around them in time with the other performers before its body disintegrates into countless pearls of various colours, spread everywhere around stadium, twinkling and static. What's odd about these is that some of them seem to be solid, members of the audience able to grab them and see that they're miniature planets, each adorned with different colours and maps.
The song finally comes to its end as the main pair begin to use their staffs to push the planets into an organised arc of 7 over the central one, and then look to both grab one for themselves, lifting it up into the air, with every one of the performers pointing their own staffs outward from the centre to form the wings of a giant eagle, the last planet forming its eye.
They said nothing, instead they'd all sweep out their poses into a formal standing pose and bow deeply as the field of planets, the eagle, and the mountain overhead persisted, yet slowly faded away into the dark along with the lights.
To her absolute credit, Madame Giorn did not back down as the Queen of Vaplana trudged towards her with clear fury, her voice raised and shouting. While many of the Orillian actors took a step back or looked worried Giorn looked as stubborn and unmoving as a rock being battered by the ocean’s fury.
“You allowed the Union to tell their national history, politics and all. And yet we are treated different, only when our true history is told do other nations decry us and challenge us for facing up to the lies told by the colonials.”
She crossed her arms even as Fidelia raged at her. As security began to escort them out Giorn began shouting back.
“We will leave this place at once. No formal apology will come your majesty, Vaplana has clearly chosen her side in this war, and there is no point of continuing relations with a nation who so fervently defends bias ideals.”
The Orillian removal from the event came with outrage from those of the population being escorted out along with some other of the more CONA aligned people who had come to attend. The Orillian delegation was first taken to the embassy, the ambassador clearly watching events as they unfolded and receiving witness statements from Giorn and the troupe.
Communiques were sent between Celebransk and Vaplanan embassy branches, but in the end the decision was the same.
They would not be publically humiliated like this and in such a bias manner. The embassy staff were recalled and began packing immediately, burning important documents as they did so. A single statement was offered to the royal chambers of Vaplana and its government.
The Orillian Free State does not deal with bias and ignorance. Those who ignore history, are doomed to repeat it. We will cut diplomatic ties following clear diplomatic predisposition towards the colonials and an inability to set a defined fair standard in international events and relations. Unless we receive a formal apology publicly over this incident within 4 hours there will be repocussions
The Vaplanan government had, albeit briefly, descended into chaos. Messages were frantically sent to and fro between departments,all desperately trying to find an accurate report of exactly what had happened at the Prince Hercos Theatre. When the truth trickled in the verdict of the civil servants was very mixed. Everyone was outraged, but the targets of the politicians’ ire varied wildly. The majority were furious at the disrespect shown towards Vaplanan culture and hospitality, but there were those that felt unease at the Queen’s split-second decision that would impact them all so greatly. Nobody had the heart to openly say it, but the whole affair was incredibly undemocratic. Given the choice, they would have likely felt the same rage their Queen had so clearly felt but wasn’t it for the people to decide something so monumental?
The militarist camp, however, was delighted. Orillia seemed to be manoeuvring very aggressively, almost by design. It would be foolish to remain so pacifist now in the face of such a threat. Queen Fidelia had so swiftly backed herself into a corner, and everybody knew it.
Back at the stadium tempers were being dampened by the next performance, but there was nonetheless a weight in the air suffocating all present that would not shift. Even the once cheery Lorenzo looked somewhat sombre stood centre stage. The banter between the hosts was gone, and they seemed to be rushing through the show to try and end things as soon as possible.
The judges seemed just as muted. As usual, Velles Hellen was first to break the silence.
Velles Heylen had been boiling on the inside since the last performance although he had long calmed on the outside. The Red Bulwarks performance was nothing... outstanding or particularly exciting but it was still a welcome distraction to the number of disasters which had already happened on this evening. He didn't expect to get so worked up over a Judge role like this, yet here was. Despite his internal whirlwind, he spoke up when it was his turn as normal.
"An interesting performance from the Bulwark, solid execution, another piece which is likely influenced by its nation's history, albeit I am admittedly not familiar with it. Nothing excitingly out of the ordinary in terms of the performance, an interesting choice in stage costume but neither anything bad by any means."
As his part closed he receeded into his thoughts and started pondering how he could perhaps fix what had been broken this evening... Perhaps even something which could entertain him? A mysterious smile entered the man's face after his short speech, though none that would be seen behind his veil.
The next judge had been poker-faced throughout the performance, eyeing the prolonged routine with an interrogator's gaze as it continued. As the raucus died down, and the two hosts gave their remarks, the light eventually shone on him, a sign for his turn to speak.
"...a retelling of history, again." He almost drolly noted- were it not for the Zetyans, it would have been the third in a row. "Creatively done, a fair balance between chaos and order. The lack of politic is appreciated. Symbolically, sufficient. 6.5/10."
It seemed the shock of the previous performance had temporarily fixed Brachus's odd speech ailment, though his voice was still a strange thing to hear-various clips spliced together with the faint clicks and clacks of industrial parts within. A thin wafer contained in brass slowly snaked its way down the leg mechanisms, frayed intonation recorder slips stealthily disposed of at the rate one would fax an office binder.
"The performance is-sufficient. Prolonged in presentation-not ideal-creative, flashy. Goldilocks. This sentiment is shared by the Empire. 7.5/10."
Finally, it was Amelia’s turn. For a split second when the lights descended upon her her head was hung in shame. But, the show must always go on irregardless. She looked up and continued to play her part, trying not to think about what people had thought about her outburst.
“This performance was refreshing, a lovely retelling of history that does not stray into the realm of propaganda and warmongering.” There she went, running her mouth again. Such behaviour was unbefitting of a woman of her position, but at this point, she couldn’t help but desperately try and justify her actions to the galaxy.
“The formality, while stiff and unyielding, seems to play into the desired effect. Your usage of props was dynamic and skilful. I thank you for your grand display.”
With that, the next act was quickly spirited onto the stage with much less ceremony and pomp than the first acts. The atmosphere in the theatre had been permanently wounded after Orillia’s attack, and it was unclear what it would take to recover the joy and celebration usually associated with the Aymer festival.
Try as the managers might to find said entrants, the Divine Lotus Blossom’s contestants just couldn’t be found! For a moment it seemed like nothing was going to happen, or the troupe was going to run late, until suddenly a host of humanoid figures appeared on the stage, sliding into existence as if walking out from behind invisible pillars, until a dozen individual performers were standing together. Each one was a riot of coloration, from gentle pastel shades to bold and vibrant hues both on their clothes, skin, and even the clearly artificial limbs and other inhuman features they proudly displayed. Indeed, it was quite clear these individuals were not biological at all. Some had human-shaped metallic exteriors with elegantly sculpted and classically beautiful visages, others seemed to prefer a softer look, with synthetic skin of a similar aesthetic standard, some purely reminiscent of human flesh save for its artificial tones while others were lined with seams as if the various segments of skin were applied one by one, each individual some combination of this spectrum of style, slightly different from their peers, to say nothing of the assemblage of multilayered robes which complemented their personal palette, ranging from massive flowing raiments to slim and practical if elaborately decorated affairs. And then, also from out of nowhere, the music picked up, a mixture of string, drum, and woodwind instruments sounding out an energetic beat, soon accompanied by the unorthodox addition of howling guitar riffs and synthetic tunes which combined with the more traditional instruments into an eclectic mix of styles.
As one, they smiled with their artificial faces, bowed, and cupped their fists before turning to one another and initiating a blur of movement as the dance began, the performers twirling and jumping about, even leaping atop and off each other in an elaborate display of gymnastic ability, turning the arena into a three-dimensional display of high-flying moves. Certainly it would be impressive, but there was always the fact that these dancers were clearly artificial humans. Could one really call this performance impressive when it may well be rote and simple for these enhanced transhuman beings? After the Serstine performance it was almost vanilla for the entry of a culture so clearly technologically advanced.
However!
The longer one paid attention, if they were observant, the more additional details seemed to unfold. The dancers weren’t just leaping over each other, they were actually making contact rather frequently, sliding off one another and briefly touching palms, arms, even legs only to dance away moments later and re-engage, or do the same with someone else. Furthermore, at certain times, a dancer would bow out and gracefully exit the stage with an elaborate twirl into some fold in space. The more one looked into the dazzling performance, the more complex and subtly nuanced it appeared to be, like a fractal that only revealed more detail the deeper you stared.
It would likely be any watchers with combat experience who realized what was happening first, followed by the generally perceptive. The way these performers moved, touched each other, darted forward and away- they were actually fighting! Their movements were clearly aimed at one another, not just as a means to dance but as a means to tap their chest or head, which always preceded a dancer leaving the stage. This entire dance must be in fact a kind of competition between the performers, with the dancers clearly engaged in some highly formalized martial art that demanded they keep pace with the dance itself even as they tried to tag each other out. Underneath their smiling faces each one was participating in a free for all duel, presumably to the last as more and more dancers exited the stage and the remaining ones only became more active, leaping from one end of the stage to the other and tens of feet into the air as they continued the performance.
Such a revelation recontextualized the entire display. The implications alone were surreal, that this act was not choreographed or rehearsed, but completely ad hoc, each individual dancer required to keep track of every other dancer on the arena and move not just to counter, dodge, and parry their attacks, but also to keep pace with the music and provide an enjoyable collaborative performance for the watching audience. Indeed, it may well be that many watchers could spend the entire segment completely unaware of the deeper facets of the Divine Lotus Blossom Empire’s submission. But would the judges? Regardless, the sheer amount of calculations that must be running through the minds of the performers may be an impressive feat in itself for those who could appreciate it.
Eventually, only two dancers remained, an elaborately-robed figure with seamed pink skin and cybernetics decorated in iridescent armor plating over black artificial musculature, and another resembling a porcelain ball-jointed doll with a glossy black exterior and gold filigree decorating her body covered in twirling jade-green ribbons. To the average onlooker it appeared like the pair were simply engaged in a very fast-paced and dynamic waltz, but to those who’ve caught on to the subtext it was plainly obvious these two final dancers were practically trying to kill each other, or at least they were taking this whole thing very seriously. Each of the dancers had been performing with utmost sincerity through this multilayered display, and it showed in the intensity of their movements. Their bodies flowed almost like liquid, intertwining around each other in a flurry of movements, of dances, of blows, only to dart away again in a different position and clash once more at a new angle. In the end the two collided in a final blur of movement, with the doll-like cultivator placing her hand on the chest of the other for just a brief second, only perceptible to slow-motion cameras or those with enhanced senses, and the two paused in a perfectly paired climactic pose before turning to the audience as the music faded away. They smiled and cupped their fists, just as the other performers seemed to appear out of nowhere to do the same, each of them bowing while the music faded into silence.
Meanwhile, a pair of cultivators floating somewhere in orbit watched the display through holographic projectors.
“Oh, my goodness. I didn’t think she could actually do it.” One said. Both were suited up in plain, segmented dark gray armor which left their visages hidden, covered by flowing robes which shifted and shimmered, emitting a subtle cloaking effect. The one speaking, a woman, looked to be reclining on a cloud which in truth concealed strands of nanofiber functioning as a nigh-invisible cushion. The other one, a male by the tone of his reply, simply stood in space a few meters above her as though he were on top of solid ground, hands folded behind his back.
“Hm? Senior?”
“The winner. I recognize her from the Hurandan Pylon expedition. Leader of the Radiant Wind sect. Her disciples helped secure it so she could obtain knowledge there. It led to her surpassing her tribulation and ascending to the third level, as you can see. Hah! To overcome her Tribulation so quickly, it was quite an upset. Ever since we have ended our isolation, new talents have been appearing everywhere.”
“So she entered this competition to increase her standing further?”
“So it seems. The Emperor arranged this display to discover unrecognized talents through this martial tournament as much as he allowed it for the sake of exhibiting our culture, as you may have guessed already.” She laughed. “In a sense, this is the truest display of our nature. Had he not dangled the promise of a reward in front of our entrants, no one here would have bothered to show up. We are a people of contest, but only if the prize is sufficient.” The woman paused. “In seriousness though, that Chang Lian is formidable, her progress in the psionic path must have grown significantly, to have managed such a victory. We should keep an eye on her, and any others who visit the Pylon from now on.”
“I see.” He looked down at the planet, thinking. “The Psionic path is rising rapidly in popularity. This event is proof that the Solar Powers are currently lagging in psionic defenses against attacks from entities within our level, or even below it. Being a mere initial grade, she would not have won against her superiors otherwise. This is a glaring vulnerability. No doubt it will inspire all manner of evildoers to mischief.”
“I imagine the empire will have quite the troubling period ahead, this has proven it.” She turned to look up at him. “Well, that aside, are you going to stay to watch the rest of the submissions? It would be terribly boring, floating alone out here.”
“I may as well. What I have seen here has been… enlightening. I am truly a frog at the bottom of the well, the varied cultures of this galaxy are as diverse as the stars of heaven.”
“Indeed, junior. It’s not very often we are assigned so pleasant a task. Enjoy yourself.”
“Yes, senior.”
The pair went back to observing the scene as the next group entered the stage.
Io’kad was enraptured by the performance, leaning forward in her seat as she watched the dancers weave through one another. Unlike many others surely watching, her eyes caught sight of the greater scheme early on, and now she had become captivated in her competitive mindset. Not for herself of course, to be here was an honour unto itself, but for the simple pleasure of betting on a victor.
When the performance decided the last two dancers, Io’kad found herself cheering with the crowd, applauding the final duo. Her lower hands heald tight around the arms of her seat, and her attention solely on the outcome of the performance.
As the dance came to its abrupt conclusion, Io’kad quickly rose to give her ovation. Within her helm, Io’kad made a note to reach out to the performers after the festival. There was no doubt in her mind, they would find no end to offers to tour the Empire.
The crowd erupted in delight at the display. Whether they understood the deeper meaning or not, everyone seemed to enjoy the show just as much as the person next to them. This moment made all of the efforts of putting the event together worth it. There had been drama, yes, but there had also been performances that embraced the pure delight of expression. And that was surely the purpose of the competition. Not politics, but coming together to applaud people who had dedicated their entire lives to the art of expression.
“I feel sorry for whoever has to top that performance!” Lorenzo grinned, his energy finally back to what it had been at the start of the show.
“What a show! Now, this is what the Aymer festival is all about, am I right everyone?”
“Well, the judges are the only ones who can officially tell us that! Judges, do you love that as much as we did?”
It seemed they did.
Velles had been watching what could rightfully be proclaimed as a spectacle, watching every move with his enhanced senses, following every play and counter play with interest. He was aware it has been a display of combat prowess, but one well concealed unlike many of the other... tendencies on this evening, as such there was no need to bring it up at the moment. He rose from his seat when it was his turn and took the word.
"An impressive display of both physical prowess and coordination, likely one of the highlights of this evening that may even be able to rival to some of those in shown in Eysra. The only gripe I had is that seemed somewhat... sterile, although the display itself was apparently not studied beforehand, it felt like there was a competition of ambition instead of passion and movements that were too fast to follow for the average galactic citizen though it was nonetheless a phenomenal display of the arts."
For the Novakian judge, it took until there were not but 10 or less on the stage, but once he realized the gambit, seemed almost morbidly perplexed by the display. His gaze seemed as if he was failing to understand something, or perhaps struggling to parse the meaning. However, he made no comment, only speaking when the spotlight inevitably flashed on him again.
"A very... interesting performance. I approve of the... element of improvisation. Performers are well-trained. However, I will respectfully abstain from judging until a later point. I am a judge of the arts, not a combat instructor. I believe my colleagues understand."
There was a confused murmur rippling through the crowd, especially the Vaplanans. Combat..? What combat? That was dance, in its purest form… But, was it? It was rather brutal, and aggressive, but that had been chalked down to cultural differences. No, it was definitely dance!
Brachus, meanwhile, did not seem to catch on. Or, if he did, he made no distinction-simply watching the performance through a cyclopic eye and an unflinching pose until it finished.
"The performance is-sufficient. Prolonged in presentation-not ideal-no story. Performers are-very trained-goldilocks. This sentiment is shared by the Empire. 7/10." Though it made no further comment, the Novakian could have sworn the ornate head angled itself to give him side-eye.
Finally, Amelia’s turn. She was grinning uncontrollably, a glint in her eye. “This is exactly the kind of performance I was hoping to see tonight. Unrestrained, yet precise. Wild, yet carefully controlled. Full of energy, full of skill, full of passion and dedication and love for your craft. That performance is a shining beacon, an example for us all to strive for. Beautiful, dignified, truly a masterpiece. I saw no combat here, just dancers throwing themselves unashamed into their art. The stars of the show. Thank you for gracing our stage, for performances of this calibre are exactly why Aymer created this festival all those thousands of years ago. To share such brilliance with all of Vaplana, and now, all of the Galaxy.”
“So, certainly an act to follow.”
“Surely there are only two people who could even attempt such a feat…”
“Well, they do have the home advantage, Iarla. It is time for us Vaplanans to throw our performance into the mix, and we do hope that you all enjoy it!”
“Welcoming to the stage, Vaplana’s star-crossed dancing stars, Violet and Felix Ulmus!”
The pair walked to centre stage hand in hand. Violet wore a long dress which dusted her ankles, the colour of which was impossible to tell. It seemed to reflect the colours in the lights, it shimmered so. The skirt was made up of many layers of overlapping fabric making it float gracefully around her as she bowed to the audience. Felix wore a loose-fitting Vaplanan dancing suit, the jacket and trousers in the same iridescent material that reflected the colour of the light. Once they bowed, they entered hold and waited for a moment for the music to begin.
The gentle notes from the piano signalled the start of the performance, and the stage burst to life. The backdrop was a brilliant icy blue and the lights a brilliant pure white. I was winter, and everyone could feel the chill in the stadium. Snow gently fell into the audience to get them in the mood, but it was not that cold really.
The dancers, too, swayed into action. They were holding each other tightly, waltzing across the stage. The winter was cold, lifeless, but also graceful. They spun around each other, mimicking the snowflakes that surrounded them. It was a slow start, but it was a wonder the pair maintained such perfect posture considering they did not stop spinning and twirling, the two seeming to be more an extension of each other than two separate individuals.
As the music quietened for a moment everything seemed to stop. The dancers froze mid-spin, Felix holding Violet steady as she leaned away in a precarious pose. Then, the music changed.
A bouncy beat struck up, and with a flash Violet spun away for a second, tearing a layer away from her skirt to make it knee-length. The lights shifted into pastel tones. Pinks, Yellows, and Lilacs filled the stadium. It was now spring, and with spring came a lindy hop. Flower petals now fell into the audience, a mixture of all types of tree blossoms. You could find petals of all delicate colours.
The dancers switched pace impeccably, going from slow and swaying wrapped in each other’s arms to skipping across the stage. Each kick, flick and step was perfectly in time with the beat and the two perfectly mirrored each other. They orbited each other, and when the distance narrowed to a close in time with the music they came into contact they performed wild and crazy tricks. Felix would fling Violet higher and higher into the air, and she landed perfectly every time. But spring would not last forever, as the march of the seasons was never-ending. Luckily, the pair’s love and trust in each other was just as assured.
The transition to the next part was a lot smoother than the end of winter, the music naturally blending into each other. The next tune was just as upbeat but more jazzy than bouncy. The lights got much brighter, the pastels shifting into brilliant yellows and greens. Petals still fell, but flower petals replaced the delicate blossoms. Roses, carnations, daisies. The colour was spectacular.
The pair came together again, back into the classic ballroom hold. But instead of slowly swaying and spinning as they had for Winter’s waltz, the pair took off across the stage. Their feet were a whirlwind of action, again perfectly mirrored in an intricate whirl of steps, but their top half was controlled, still. Their Quickstep incorporated the peppiness of spring with the classiness of traditional ballroom, a dance perfectly representing the calmed joy of the summer heat.
But summer would eventually fade to Autumn. The music again sopped, the silence and stillness filling a single moment. The dancers took a step away from each other, this would be their last hurrah. They had been saving their best performance for last.
A guitar filled the stadium as everything again shifted. The light was dominated by reds, oranges, and browns. The colours of the falling leaves now filling the stadium.
Autumn is the most dramatic of the seasons, and the couple intended to display that perfectly. The music started slow, the pair circling each other, inching closer. Then, once the beat stepped up, they again sprung to life. This was the Argentine Tango, a steamy expression of the more dramatic side of love. Perfect or the dramatic changes Autumn brought.
The pair were in hold again, but this was no traditional hold. They almost clung possessively to each other, hands grabbing at each other’s clothes. But, the best part of this dance was not the expressions, the passion. It was the intricate footwork. Violet flicked her feet between Felix’s legs at an impossible speed, and with a precision that did not match the ferocity of which she flung herself into the performance. She was constantly kicking in time with the music, at one point even purposefully stepping on Felix’s feet and legs for her to jump from.
The music started to crescendo, the performance was building to a dramatic end. The footwork was getting faster and faster, until, suddenly… Stillness. Felix dropped Violet low to the ground, her head held only inches from the stage, and his forehead touching hers.
The performance of their lives was over.
It was a standing ovation, the Vaplanans screaming out their support for their representatives. For their nation to have produced a stand-out performance that stood alongside those enhanced my magic and inhuman capability filled the patriotic Vaplanans with great pride. It was a testament to the Vaplanan passion for the arts and expressionism instilled in all from birth that they had done so well against all odds. The pair had just propelled their careers from well-known within their industry to Vaplanan stardom, and all it took was a few minutes.
“Wow! Wasn’t that brilliant! Not that I’m totally biased or anything folks!” Lorenzo was practically vibrating with excited energy, the aura of the theatre flowing through him.
“Lorenzo, we are supposed to be impartial…” Iarla nudged her co-host gently, making a joke out of his patriotism.
“I am very impartial! I just know a good performance when I see one.” He huffed playfully.
“Well, the best people to tell us whether it was truly a good performance are our wonderful judges.”
As it was the turn of the judges, Velles once more took the forefront, he stood up elegantly, almost as if floating off his chair and then nodded respectfully to the pair of dancers.
"A common theme interpreted in an interesting way with a mesh of different dances performed passionately and displaying wonderfully the feelings that stand behind one who dedicates their life to the dance, combining into an admirable and a fitting performance for the Vaplanans that was impressive, even without the use of any magic or advanced technology, more so, throughout the entire performance, the dance itself always stood at the centre. I will have to admit, our personal taste prefers something more... explosive, though that would likely be unfitting for the competition and would've only distracted from the display itself. It was quite impressive indeed, as expected from the hosts of the event."
His expression was, as per usual, not to be discerned beneath his veil, though he seemed to be rather pleased when he sat down and left the word to the next judge.
Throughout the Vaplanan performance, the Novakian had maintained a stoic visage, steepled hands set in front of his face as he analyzed the duo like an art critic would a masterpiece. When his turn to talk came, there was a comparatively pregnant pause as he seemed to ponder, then break it with a nod and a smile.
"A appreciable display. Well rounded, opts for symbolism instead of story-I appreciate the care taken towards the balance of elements. The entrants are well-trained, and have movements indicative of high veterancy. I approve-9/10."
It was the second time he had gone that high with the ratings on this night-discounting the unfortunate Sodalyte performance-and to the home turf, no less. Something to light up the queen's day, or to stir up some patriotic spirit, if nothing else.
The white eye on Brachus' head tracked their performance down to the smallest details. To an outside observer, it would seem as if to be his impassive, blank gaze, but under the white sheen and static pose his auge complex moved like wisps, taking in everything they could to deliver their final rating. When the light shone on him, unlike the Novakian there was no pause beforehand, as it spoke with immediacy that could only be achieved from having locked down a verdict before the performance was even over. "The performance is-sufficient. Performers are-honed-very. No story-not ideal-symbolism interpretable. We see flaws with the climax sudden-anticlimatic. Goldilocks. This sentiment is shared with the Empire. 8/10." Once again, the robot trod the paths well known between the numbers 7 and 8.
At a certain point, one had to wonder if they really meant it, were just playing it safe, or perhaps just happened to have a sycophantic streak. In either case, whatever reasons they had, their star lit up all the same.
Amelia had thoroughly enjoyed the Vaplanan performance, but it would be unseemly for her to make an official judgement of it seeming how it came from her own nation. She was many things, impulsive, passionate, and a perfectionist for certain. But she would not let herself be seen as biased. It was her responsibility, not just as head judge but also as a representative of the hosts. She had surely done enough damage to reputations with the Orillia business, it was time for her to claw some credibility back.
“As it would be seen as biased for me to officially give you both a ranking, all I can offer are these comments to impress upon you my great appreciation. This performance, along with most other performances of the night, further solidifies why we hold this festival every year. To share our passion for the arts, and for each other, just as you both have so proficiently displayed. I thank all of the performers and backstage staff who came here tonight with peace in their hearts for putting on such a wonderful show. I also look forward to the final acts. You have been preceded by so many wonderful performances, so I challenge you to give the dance your all and show the galaxy your passion!”
With the penultimate performance fast approaching, many people online had begun placing their bets on who would win. Each performance so far had its merits, and between the top contenders, it was looking like a close contest. Would the final two acts change everything?
The stage darkened once more.
As the next act was announced, the lights slowly dimmed out. All that was left on the big podium was darkness, together with equipment and instruments being moved from the backstage to the front. Cheers, shouts, screams, all sounds coming from the audience the moment the first sounds came from the group, now on-stage.
Isatiride, the group standing in front of an audience of thousands and millions of viewers off-world, was a music group of four Furrelians who had met eachother in the Furrelian educational system. Each of the members, three men and one woman, were around their early-to-mid twenties. The group itself was formed to combine the more popular music genre of electro with various traditional Furrelian genres. Traditional music instruments were a large part of its preformances, and through the years they became incredibly popular in the Union, hell, even abroad they had sold out entire venues for their concerts. It was not the first choice of the Furrelian Union's Broadcasting Service to send Isatiride. They had preferred it if more traditional groups would've been sent to the Aymer festival, but, through a vote and even endorsement by the leaders in the government, Isatiride had become the Union's musical face to the wider galaxy.
Starting slowly, a technological humming made place for a traditional whistling sound and drums. The large standing drum, played by 'Osi' Geradema, apparently had salt on it, because every time he slammed the giant drum with traditional paterns, large fountains of salt spewed upwards, creating a dramatic effect with the dim background lighting. With the flute and the giant drum, a basic tune had been put in place, reinforced by the electronic sounds. Once again slowly, the lead singer appeared. A small hum joined in with the tune, as Kelisinda 'Kelisi' Marisaio slowly became more visible to the audience with the brighter lighting. The music was continiously building up for a drop. Electronics, drums, flutes, humming all became louder and faster until it finally dropped.
Suddenly, the lights all flashed a bright white. The beat had dropped, and with all the power and emotion which she had, Kelisi sang out her lungs. With the singing, the lightshow expanded. On the back screen, traditional paterns were all joined in with flashing lights, lasers and all matter of colours shooting into the audience. The large boxes for music put out so much bass and sound that it pushed back some on the front row. Even with hearing protection, the sound came in with an inmense volume. All while the audience was blown away by the sound or jumping around, Kelisi had removed the microphone from the stand and had ran to the front, singing about the coming spring in a language almost no one in the room understood. At the front, she was giving a whole other kind of preformance compared to the endless jumping around others had done. Traditional dancing in 'traditional' clothes - same paterns, but more casual than the real traditional outfits - had become a staple of the band through its many concerts, and when she wasn't singing with all her live power, Kelisi was dancing with all that she had. The humming still continued, as did the electronics, whistling and drums.
After the singing came the dance, then came the singing, then came the dancing again. A preformance that was both traditional and modern, representing the Furrelian culture in a bright light. After even more of the extremity of the electronics, the music finally slowed down again, before the whistle re-appeared.
Kelisi moved back to the rest of the group, seemingly out of breath. She slowly and dramatically 'collapsed', falling down to the ground as the beat and lightshow almost came to a standstill. With her body fully on the ground, the beat returned with its buildup. She once again started humming the by-now familiar 'oooh-oooh', and just as how she had collapsed, she now slowly got up for her final verse. An ear-piercing scream, filled with all the emotion which the singer had, started the final part of the song.
The lights and lasers returned, the fast pace returned, Kelisi returned, the flute gave it all, the salt spewed up meters in the sky, and as she sang her final lyrics, Kelisi was all the way at the front of the massive podium, between various smoke canons. The flutist, 'Asi', ran forwards aswell, piercing through the smoke to give it his all with Kelisi. As soon as the final words had left her mouth, the song had ended, the lightshow ending to illuminate the entire stadium.
"Thank you Vaplana!" was the final thing Kelisi shouted, before the two members on the front dissapeared behind the smoke screen again. Their greatest show was over.
“Oh, I do love a good party!” Lorenzo clapped earnestly as he stepped into the spotlight.
“If by party you mean ringing ears then you are certainly right, dear. I do rather think that was our loudest performance yet!” Iarla almost shouted into her mic, her hearing clearly a little ‘off’ after the volume of Isatiride’s act.
“Oh, you all know me. The louder the better, I say!”
“Will the judges agree with you though, Lorenzo?”
As the attention moved over to the judges the first notable thing, as per the theme it seems, was Velles Heylen, the man sat in his place, fingers interlocked and... frowning. He did not seem angry as he did with Orillia, more... mildly confused. Eventually, he nodded and took the word.
"An... interesting display. I can see why one would pick this group from the Furellian Union for a song performance, a modern theme which is likely popular with youth local to the area they originate from. However it eludes us why one would send a group of singers to a dancing contest. A lateral entry for surprise value? I do not think this is the contest for this sort of escapade, unless it was solely to gain the attention of a broader audience. As mentioned before, an interesting display, though nothing outstanding or special in terms of the topic of the Festival." He went silent and handed the word to the next judge.
The next judge spent a good chunk of the act on the edge of wincing, the seeming lack of concern for hearing damage by the performers giving him a front row seat to the bassiest show of his life. Even when it ended, cochlear augs saving him the displeasure of tinnitus, he maintained a grimace for about a minute afterwards. It had washed away from his face by the time the spotlight shone on him, though in it's place was a mildly disapproving look contrasted with his star lighting up. "Flashy. Very... loud. Bordering on kitsch. Passion, however, is very appreciable. 5.5/10." It seemed the judges did not appreciate Isatiride’s boldness like Lorenzo had.
While the robotic judge was unphased by the noise, compared to their compatriots, it still maintained the stoic impassiveness it showcased before. Brachus's verdict, when the time came, once again had elements of copy and paste that he seemed so fond of-the first half of his verdict spoken in straight verbiage from the Cultivator's performance. "The performance is-sufficient. Prolonged in presentation-not ideal-no story. Performers are-honed-motivated. We see flaws with the-noise. Highly emotive. This sentiment is shared with the Empire. 7/10." Once again, they strode a middle ground. Perhaps Brachus was just a glass half full sort of robot.
Finally, it was Amelia’s turn. She had been frantically rubbing her ears when attention was place elsewhere; a futile attempt to silence the ringing. It was, however, obvious when her turn came that she did not realise how loudly she was speaking into her microphone, like Iarla. The two were clearly not used to the volume which was commonly deployed in Vaplana’s underground electro clubs. Lorenzo, on the other hand… Well, they were practically his home.
“Well, I must say I was not expecting a performance like that! You have great confidence and spirit, and I am sure in your field of expertise you are stunning performers. I found what little dance I saw enjoyable, a lovely blend of modern and traditional theming. But, I do wish I had seen more focus upon it given the nature of our contest tonight. Either way, a commendable effort.” Rather neutral, all things considered. Amelia did not wish to mention her impending hearing loss, the other judges had been rather harsh about that already…
“Now, gathered friends across the galaxy, we introduce to you our final act for this glorious contest!”
The stage went dark for a final time…
As the stage went dark one last time, strangely enough, it seemed to stay dark, there was no announcement, no speaker, even the moderators had fallen silent. Though they knew who was going to be on the stage, at least by name, they had been explicitly asked not to be announced. The final performance of the evening, a piece done by two renowned members of house ‘Stella Nocte’ from Eysra. A silence filled with anticipation had filled the area, so complete it was not even interrupted by any occasional murmurs.
A moment passed. Another.
Then, moments before the anticipation turned to concern, the lights went on, dimly illuminating the stage, two young women, clad in oriental free flowing clothing posed on the stage, one arm up in the air the other to either side of them, side by side, one in fiery reds and yellows, the other in oceanic blues and purples, wild long hair flowing down their backs, crowned by a tiara. They did not speak, but even a brief look of them into the audience as they raised their gaze from the ground to the sky, conveyed a barely contained fire, an anticipation that dwarfed even that of the audience itself, which many would remember for a long time.
Without a word, music started playing, there were violins, slow, melancholic, the sound filled the area without any palpable source or origin, like an ethereal hum, and with the music, the performance began.
Their hands interlocked and began with a slow whirl away from the front of the stage, movements, slow and elegant, close together to the point of intimacy, every step measured, interspersed with wide flowing spins, harmonious, holding each other at one hand, before coming together again, away and towards the audience, in a circle across the stage, looking at each other with a mesmerising passion, never apart for more than a few seconds. It was like a mix of a variety of dances, a waltz, ballet, tango, all combined into a singular fluent display, tact driven steps, carries, spins. All accompanied by the lights, gentle almost alien glows from above, like a curtain of northern lights, only interrupted by the stars somehow shining through the curtain of light.
It were captivating moments, so much so some dared not breath or blink, afraid to miss something. Though moments were not made to last, time had to advance, as such was entropy.
Suddenly, the music picked up, the violins grew faster, more lively and so did their dance, with an energetic toss the swung away from each other, movements going from intimate and controlled to playful and free.
Out of wide, circular and deliberate steps, became wide sways, jovial, joyful, free, the two women frequently parted ways now, spinning away from each other in pirouettes as the respectively other bowed playfully, coming back together into a spin or carry.
Then upon one meeting, fire sparked, they laughed with joy as tiny flames flickered in tandem with their voices, erupting between them mid-air like wisps as they spun away from each other synchronised, one step, another, suddenly, they treaded in the air.
Ever higher, ever more nimble, step by step taken with glee, almost jumping from invisible platforms one spot to another as if each of them was dancing a performance on their own. The light receded, instead of a wide glow, focusing on both individual dancers, their costumes flowing with the rapid movements making them look like exotic mythical birds or spirits dancing across the starlit canvas of the night sky, the surroundings now only lit by tiny embers and the light of their costumes as the spotlight vanished gently, several metres in the air, they reached their Zenith, meeting once more hand in hand and then…
Darkness.
For but a brief moment, the embers disappeared, the lights shut down, even the music seemed to have disappeared, standing in the audience, for but a brief moment, it was as if having been blinded and deafened, the audience muted by the spectacle.
An explosion of two colliding fireballs erupted on the stage.
Coming from the very edges, colourful orbs of flame, one blue one red, merging at the centre into a purple blaze that erupted outwards, revealing the two dancers, now opposed, one arm, stretched to the sky, the other towards the respectively other on the other side of the stage, as if offering a challenge!
Sure enough, they leaped forwards, half jumping, half gliding through the air like fae, meeting in the middle, one grasping the hand of the other as if an elaborate counter, throwing them overhead in a fluid motion, the other spraying flame from their hand forming a wheel of red fire as they spun to the side of the stage the other other had just stood at moments ago, they caught themselves, body contorting flexibly, gliding just at the border as if riding through a wave in a curve without touching the ground, the motion returning to the centre. Another time she was caught, or so it seemed, far more momentum in play this time, the blue dancer was lifted of the ground in a spin, creating another, this time blue, wheel of flames as she flew off to the side the red one had stood in originally, catching herself with a fluid spin that went low to the ground.
There was no pause, immediately they dove towards each other again, grasping each other by one hand, spinning outwards in the middle of the stage. With a sway of their arms a wall of multicoloured flames erupting outwards, letting go they parted ways again into pirouettes, each looking like a whirl of flames, shortly after, turning around only to encounter each other once more and again a wave of fire, a stream of multicoloured flame, thrown outwards each time they met, every time faster, more frequent, raising the cadence as if trying to compete with each other! Though there seemed to be no hostility between the two. A wide, almost maniacal smile on each face, each time they met, the movements almost as if trying to take the audience with them onto the stage, onto a journey, an experience, swathes of flames that should terrify one logically were going overhead or stopping just short of the end of the stage becoming like a warm touch, like a refreshing breeze, striking a feeling of freedom and excitement into the heart of the onlookers.
Simultaneously, those capable of seeing the flow of mana were sensing a flare of colours, the entire stage in constant flow of erupting and siphoned magic, what was happening here was a grandiose spectacle, in more than one sense.
Another meeting, another spin, first horizontal on the ground, with quick precise steps, swinging each other around, then as they almost stood intimate again, one swung up into the air, ascending, the other pulled after, flying upwards, descending and being caught by another hand, spinning apart mid air, at the zenith gliding in another fluid motion back to the centre, almost colliding.
Almost.
Sheathed in flames, they met in the middle, the flames intermingling and erupting outwards, suddenly…
The dancers were gone.
There was a still, lingering and fickle light left on the stage, as if a remnant, as if the world had taken a breath, as if uncertain whether the flames consumed them…
Ghostly, hazy movements within, the music calmed though still fast, urgent at a measured pace, the lights flickered. One would think one saw spectres in the light dancing, like ghosts under the fickle lights, like tropical alien fish, dancing in a sea of northern lights…
Then music reached a new height, picking up pace once more, new excitement in the melody, the audience could feel what was to come, they were approaching the peak.
The light erupted, the two dancers at the centre, back to back, each an intricately ornate blade raised horizontally above their head, the other arm in line with it, simultaneously, they spun away from each other, the blades meeting in the process, releasing a shower of sparks and a sound as if a stringed instrument had struck its first tone. Their blades spun with their movement fluently, like an extension of their body, first high, then to their waist and finally going low, they stopped halfway towards the corner of the stage, only for one to leap at the other. In a vertical spin, another wheel of flames, erupting high into the sky, though this one originating from the blade, as the wall of flame descended the blue dancer stood already prepared, parrying the strike fluently, parting the wall of flames in the process, sending another burst of flames to the sky.
The blade descended from blue to red, red spinning around blue in a tight dodge, using the momentum, they brought the blade down on blue again, who turned around, meeting it with their own, the swords caught each other, the metal of the blades once more singing like instruments, the tone varying with each movement, each advantage the other dancer tried to get by angling the blade differently, thrusting or pulling it away, before they parted ways again in another shower of sparks.
Once more they advanced on each other with elaborate steps, this time red stepping past blue, catching her by the wrist with her hand not her blade, the two spinning in the centre for a moment before parting again.
Another advance, another song of the blade, intermingling with the present music, meeting again and again, each time the blades flaring up, the fire lashing out, though diverted without damage, sparks flying out, new fire erupting more and more and more, dancing around each other gracefully, again and again, forming a storm of coloured flame, each time they met grew more intense, strike after after strike, followed by elaborate glides, dodges or spins as they parted and met again, first on the ground then in the air…!
As the blades flared incandescent, each dancer like a spirit of flame, a manifestation, they met one last time, blade rushing towards blade in blazing glory, meeting in the centre and recoiling!
The blades were flung out, sent away in the air like spinning saws, like disks of light, each dancer retreating to their side in a fluent glide to catch the others weapon, red to blue, blue to red, both dancers lit up in a purple blaze!
The spin did not end, the momentum continued, for but a brief moment, time seemed to stand still, the music reached its final zenith, the blades flaring up like tiny stars as each dancer brought their blade around with a wide ecstatic smile, the burning incandescence manifesting into two intense purple orbs of fire like miniature novae, launched at the centre stage at speed, as if they were going to incinerate the entire plaza!
Wide eyed with bated breath the audience stared, unable to move or think, unable to avert the eyes, both humbled and captivated by the majesty before them.
A final swing.
Blades raised upwards towards the sky like sculptures made from gods of war, the music reaching finality, the audience staring on as the balls of fire diverted their path, sent towards the sky, the stage fell dark, flying further, reaching above the skyline and finally…
Colliding.
The music fell silent as if having had a heart attack, all that was heard was the roaring of the fire in the sky as the clashing firestorms erupted into an unparalleled rainbow coloured firework, illuminating the entire city in a kaleidoscopic grandeur.
There was silence. Slowly, the first remnants of the firework descended, fickle embers, faintly illuminating the stage in gentle rainbow colours, showing the two dancers, side by side, bowing deeply to the audience, eyes to the ground, one arm in front of their chest, the other stretched outwards and towards the sky as if presenting one last time their glorious blaze.
One last time the ethereal violins finished in a couple of faint and humble melancholic strokes before fading out…
Then, the dancers were gone, the performance was over, though even now, as the mana receded, the magic of the performance stayed in the area, tiny embers descending even now, bearing testimony that what the audience had just witnessed had in fact been real …
“What a way to end the show!”
“Iarla, I’m sad…” Lorenzo was trailing behind Iarla as they entered the stage for one of the last times. He was sloucing over dramatically, pouting at the camera.
“How could you be sad after such a spectacular evening of dance, Lorenzo? I, personally, could not be happier.”
“That is exactly why I am sad! We have sampled all of the best dance the galaxy has to offer, how could we possibly see anything that will beat this?”
“Well, if thats not a tad dramatic… But have a little hope, Lorenzo! The night is not quite over yet. We have seen wonderful performances from our competitors, but I heard a little bird whispering backstage that there is one more show to come.”
“Well, if thats the case, let’s move this show along! Judges, what do you think of that last wonderful act?”
'Once more, one final time, the attention moved over to the judges, though this time something unexpected occurred or rather, did not occur.
Velles Heylen, who had taken centre stage amongst the judges for most of the event, was missing.
However, there was a note left with the moderators...'
A confused murmur filtered through the crowd. Velles Heylen had been a staple of the show, and his opinions were very highly valued by the audience. To see him gone was not only a shock, but also greatly upsetting. The next judge was ushered to speak up quickly to prevent the upset from settling in.
The Novakian judge spent this moment to collect his thoughts, hands clasped afore him as he silently pondered. Then, coinciding with his star lighting up, he gave a slight smile and a nod.
"Well-performed. Opts for artistry in lieu of story. Performers are well-trained, the usage of magical arts is finely honed and admirably deployed. 9/10."
The third in a night, and for the last performance as well. Perhaps the ice had melted from the critic's heart, just a little. The crowd’s dissapointment quickly melted away, cheering the Novakian’s melting heart.
The machine judge was much more immediate in it's judgement, in comparison to their compatriot on the left. The star lit up as soon as it was able to do so, and Brachus soon began speaking in prompt order.
"The performance is-sufficient. No story-not ideal. Performers are-very trained-goldilocks. Magical arts-appreciable-fine tuned. This sentiment is shared with the Empire. 8/10."
The last judgement for the momentous night, and it was once again a comfortable 8. Some would call Brachus a sycophant, others simply indecisive. But it was chosen for a reason, anyhow-or, barring that, the appointees couldn't voice their complaints until the show's end.
Finally, for the last comment from the panel, it was Amelia’s turn. She rose to her feet in applause.
“I would like to start by thanking all of our contestants today for coming together for us tonight. The love of dance is truly intergalactic, a uniting force for us all. I have seen wonders I thought never possible tonight, and I will never forget the pleasure of being able to sit in this historic theatre in person. I extend this thanks to all of the people working tirelessly backstage to make this contest happen, without your effort tonight would not have been possible. I finally thank everyone who turned up to cheer on our contestants tonight, it has been a pleasure to serve you all on this fine evening. Now, to my comments on that wonderful performance.
The blend of the physical effort and magical precision was a feat to behold. To be able to display such physical and mental discipline was inspiring to watch. You are truly talented performers in every aspect. That is not even touching upon how you cultivated such strong emotions from not just myself I am sure. Stellar performers and a perfect rouotine. Thank you for ending the show in such style.”
“Thats it then, the judges everybody!” Lorenzo clapped.
“Now, our experts backstage are going to begin counting the votes cast by our audience here in the Hecross Theatre as well as the judge’s tally to determine our champion.”
“But while they work hard doing that, we will not be left waiting! We have word that there is one more dance for us to witness tonight.”
“I hear this next one is improvised, is that true Iarla?”
“Very likely, for the idea was only presented to the producers during this very show! I think we are in for a wonderful treat, ladies and gentlemen!”
“Welcome to the stage our mystery surprise act!”
There was a silent murmur in the crowd, speculations as to who the surprise act could be, given the fact the most prominent of the Vaplanans had already had their turn and no special guests had been announced for the day, at least not officially.
Who stepped onto the stage eventually, as the announcers had made space, was as surprising to the audience as it was to the staff itself. Furthermore, it was even uncertain which of the two figures now standing on the stage was more of a surprise.
The first one, still clad in the same light blue flowing garments as before, bowed formally, almost overbearingly pompous in the movement, whilst maintaining form and decency, a wave like glittering stars came with the gesture, accentuating his every move, the sky glimmering as if someone had weaved additional stars into it.
It was none other than Velles Heylen van Eysra, the Judge which had been missing since the last performance and figure of almost mythical notoriety in Eysra itself.
The second individual, however, was no less of a surprise, a female figure, bowing courtly, her delicate features clad in a lavender dress, layers upon layers of thin fabrics, creating a depth to the dress that both amazed but not revealed too much of what was beneath, all wreathed in patterns and in part actual flowery vines decorated by lilac and lavender blossoms, her blond flowing hair crowned by flowers.
It was the Queen, Fidelia herself.
For a couple of moments, there was silence, the unlikely duo on stage looked like Oberon and Titania from elven myths, then Velles offered his hand to Fidelia and the dance began.
It started with simple steps, back and forth like a traditional waltz, in silence as not even music was playing. However the silence did not stay long. The wind picked up without warning, though not wild, gentle, like a spring breeze, moving through the blades of grass, giving off a silent whistling that seemed strangely fitting to the dance, though it did not end there. With each each step the dancers took on the stage another layer added to it, furthermore, the grass seemed to grow, starting to encompass the stage and with the rising tide of grass Fidelias and Velles’ steps picked up the pace, making a round at the borders of the stage now with wider, more adventurous swings and movements.
Vines crept up the stage but then disappeared in the darkness, Velles let go of the Queen and in the middle of the stage she danced a solo, this time more traditionally Vaplanan, based on but not similar to the performance her fellow Vaplanans had given earlier, in meanwhile, Velles danced around her in a circle, wide, high and low movements adding onto her performance as if presenting her. Velles ended in a pirouette, headed towards the queen, taking her by the hand, with his momentum he picked her and swung her around… and she floated!
In a fluent movement, like an exotic fish or bird, she flew through the air, the lights following her, to reveal a second, slightly higher stage grown off the vines which had crept up the stage, where Velles already stood to catch her, elegantly leading her glide back to ground, her steps leading right into the next dance, on the new stage crowned by flowery vines. Off the stage, in somewhat of a distance the sound of an expertly played piano picked up, likely one brought to the event by someone else, which now permeated the air along with the flute-like sounds of the grass.
The dance evolved on the new stage, slow steps turned into gentle hops, swings into separate spins, the background constantly shifting, like an evolving scene, this time based on the Cantonese performance, although they were barely moving from the spot making it look like the two were dancing through a forest. The flowers on the vines of their new stage bloomed and with it, Velles stepped into the air, bending over and reaching his hand to Fidelia who seemed to hesitate in a playful manner at first, then followed him after he did another spin and bowed even deeper.
Their transition was only illuminated by the background, colourful but dim greens and yellows, like fireflies and light coming through a dense forest canopy, as they arrived where should be the other side of the stage, they hopped around each other, now another few steps higher than the second stage, with gentle playful movements and wide steps they circled each other like woodland elves or more like forest fairies, as if they were dancing on floating leaves and as the lights turned on it revealed, they indeed did!
A low, wide, tree had grown on this side of the stage and miraculously it’s leaves seemed to hold their weight effortlessly!
Each of their steps was accompanied by a faint glow. This stage looked like a colourful garden, the background filled with various types of blossoming flowers. Another sound picked up like a violin or cello but not quite the same, this time it looked like Velles was dancing at a slower more traditional pace though with his own spins on it, a hop here, a flourish there, almost artsy as this time it was the queen's turn to dance around him, a fast pace, quick steps and movements, tight spins akin to a separated version of the summer performance of the Vaplanan dancers.
Only a few steps further in they reunited, Velles catching Fidelias spin inwards, swinging her around the other side and then bringing her in close again. Once more their current stage dimmed, each of their steps leading into another spin around each other, now hand in hand and each one taking them higher, as they reached the middle of the stage, the lights turned on again, but it wasn’t the stage lights.
Dancing in wide playful hops back and forth and from side to side, they stood before what looked like a large orb made of roots, lights glowing within giving the display a mystical sheen.
Dancing in front of the orb, neither side seemed to lead and yet both did, at a pace both adventurous yet deliberate. Wide sweeping steps that yet stayed low to a canopy of leaves they moved upon, giving the impression of a long journey, a journey undertaken together as they did not let go of each other this time. Alternating between who took the forefront now and then by altering their position and spacing to each other.
As they reached the centre one last time, there was a brief moment of pause, almost without motion, though the wind still blowing it looked almost like they stood on a high cliff, overseeing a vast landscape, they parted, Velles spun into a bow then offered his hand once more.
Fidelia took his hand and then, together, the dove down the ‘cliff’, though instead of falling, gently floated down…
As they landed, they fluidly went into a bow to the audience, one last time the whole stage lit up, now overgrown with flowers and greenery, looking as if gathered and grown from all throughout the nearby gardens, at their feet the same glimmer as in the sky at the beginning of the performance, as if standing before a sea of stars.
The strange improvised orchestra of sounds ended, faded out gently and one last time they bowed together Velles impression hidden by his veil, Fidelias a wide beaming smile of genuine joy, then they left the stage elegant and graceful. The performance had been short, perhaps even the shortest of the evening and yet managed to combine a variety of the nights displays whilst making it look effortless.
Sera looked on, transfixed by the performance. Her crew could see it in her eyes - she felt for a moment like she'd made a little mistake. She was briefly picturing the guy she'd left behind to be here, her lover and a fellow MCC racer that burned so badly to tear up the roads in a year without a Street Festival schedule that, like her, he would find any excuse to take their show on the road. Sera was happy to turn her obsession for riding to performance art like here, but her beloved Zeno was off on cases, and wouldn't tell her where he was.
She could imagine, though, and made the replacement in her mind, tracing the same steps as Her Majesty and the slippery judge that'd stepped into the limelight. Feet light as air, taking to the air on their glittering, gossamer wings. They'd just have to make it there, back into each other's arms.
It took two or three of her teammates from the 3K Motor Club getting right in front of her face to snap her out of her reverie. "You cool?" one of them asked.
Sera shook her head like she'd just taken a blow to the cranium and needed to catch herself. "...huh?" She looked over at her teammate, Val Lightheart, a striking, slinky thing by Okekolu standards who trailed a curtain of straight green hair behind her wherever she went and searched the galaxy with blue eyes that sparkled like crystal. The puzzled look Sera was reading on Val's face told her the whole story. "...oh. Oh! I'm cool. Sorry, I'm cool."
When Velles Heylen had approached Fidelia during the break earlier in the night she had been a little apprehensive. She was a decent dancer, having been tutored in courtly dances since she was a young girl. But this... dancing in front of the galaxy on the same stage as the greatest dancers the galaxy had to offer, without as much of a routine... It was a crazy idea, to put it frank. But the judge had been so convinced that she could dance to his level, his eyes showed no hesitation. So, how could she have said no? At the time she had no idea of how their dance would really work.
He had pulled her aside backstage during the spiel after Eysra's performance to talk her through how this spectacle would work. Her aides and guards were immediately against it, but Fidelia had already committed to the idea, she was not going to back out in fear. All she had to do, Velles had said, was empty her mind and trust him. Part one came easily, Fidelia's composure and control over herself was stellar, as any royal's should be. Trust? That was another monster entirely. She had just met this man, and while he had such a calming and kind aura, that did not mean she should trust strangers with her life. But... She did trust Velles Heylen to put on a good show, what with his reputation and stellar commentary throughout. That would just have to be enough.
Crowds had never scared Fidelia. She was a Queen, born and raised in the spotlight. This was where she thrived. But, on this stage following such brilliant acts... She could not help but glance at Velles Heylen in apprehension. But once the music started and her body began to move all of her fears slipped away. It was such a unique experience, feeling the music flow through her soul, her body moving on its own without as much as a thought from her. It was strangely liberating! To the onlooker she was dancing perfectly, as if she had been secretly practicing this routine for years. But, in reality, she was as in control as an addict chasing their next fix. She found herself letting go more and more as the dance progressed, allowing Velles to puppeteer her into much more complex positions, ones she knew she would never be able to recreate alone.
Before Fidelia knew it, the show was over. While relieved to regain control of herself, she could not help but miss the freedom the magic had briefly granted her. The crowd went wild, clearly enthralled by the impromptu display. They ended it with a bow, and retreated backstage to make room for the hosts to announce who had earned the title of champion.
"Thank you for such a unique experience, I do not think it is something I will easily forget. I would be honoured to host you and yours in the future, Sir."
"What a show! I was not expecting our Queen to be such a brilliant dancer Iarla! I had always heard she was partial to dressmaking, not dance."
"Can a Queen not have more than one passion? She would not be the first, nor I doubt the last."
"Valid point, valid point. Iarla, did you know my passion is for coffee art?"
"I thought it was theatre?"
"Well yes, obviously, but I can branch out!"
"Yes yes, well, back on topic Lorenzo..."
"Yes! Beloved audience, the results are in! Thanks to our judges and all of you lovely folks filling this beautiful stadium we have now found our winner! Are you ready to meet your champions?"
The crowd roared, anticipation filling not just the stadium but the entire planet. Dramatic music flared, building the tension more and more, before people could not take it anymore. The crowd screamed the names of their favourite acts, an unintelligible cacophony.
"Our sincerest congratulations, The Divine Lotus troupe! You have been crowned our winner!" Biodegradable confetti shot into the air, fireworks screamed into the sky filling the atmosphere with colour and joy. The troupe was beckoned on stage to the delight of the crowd, people cheering their names. The lights behind the stage displayed the top 3 performers. In second place came Eysra. The Sodalytes, Bellini, Martini, Cosmo, and Mary came third. Everyone had done so well, there was no performance that had not been a favourite of someone out there. It was unfortunate that only one winner could be chosen.
Irregardless, the jubilation was infectious. The Vaplanan's joy was the cornerstone of the parties and celebrations that continued throughout the night and into the rest of the Aymer festival beyond. The festival would eventually end, as all good things must, but there was always next year.
A few hours after the competition drew to a close there was a stir. Queen Fidelia had received an encrypted transmission. She had been expecting an angry message from Orillia after their expulsion from her planet, a decision that while made in the rush of anger she intended to stand by until the bitter end. However, the sender was not Orillia. It was Silent Weapons Committee. Her blood had run cold when she read their communication. The festival was under investigation, and if her Government did not comply they would be seen as complicit in crimes beyond Queen Fidelia's comprehension. The results of the festival were immediately changed given the gravity of the accusations, The Sodalytes disqualified and the fourth place contestant, Akari Taosu was now third. The Zetyans were now fourth, surprising everyone who had stopped watching after the pain of the runt's 'performance'. She wished to summon the accused performers to her palace, to plead them to tell her the horrid truth, but they had already left Vaplana.
Rumours spread wildly of the true intentions behind the festival, and there was no amount of covering up that could hide that stain, however untrue the whispers were. Even so, Queen Fidelia had hope that the spirit of the Aymer festival would still prevail. Vaplana had briefly brought people from all walks of life together in celebration, and while there had been blips, the prevailing mood was one of joy. Given the current galactic climate, that achievement in itself was something to celebrate.
It was early evening in Veulas, the sky a deepening blue with reds streaking across the sky. The weather was perfect, as per usual, with not a cloud in the sky. The gathered crowd in the Hercos theatre was humming with anticipation, with every second that ticked by the closer they got to witness the spectacle that was to come. Visitors had traveled from all across the galaxy to witness this widely publicised event and excitement filled the theatre and even the wider city that surrounded it. Those not lucky enough to have a ticket to watch the contest firsthand could watch on screens set up across Vaplana, surrounded by the festival stalls celebrating the Aymer culture festival. Alternatively, for those not fortunate enough to be on Vaplana to celebrate, the Ancnet was host to several streaming sites so nobody would miss the spectacle. Finally, it was time.
“Ladies and Gentlemen, honoured guests, and viewers from across the galaxy! Welcome to the Aymer festival’s most anticipated event, the Grand dance-off! We have a spectacular lineup for you today, with participants here from across the galaxy to wow you with their talent.” Iarla Devane, a well-known Vaplanan influencer walked out onto the stage arm in arm with her co-host Lorenzo Abito, Vpalana’s most flamboyant musicals star. Iarla wore a stunning electric blue form-hugging gown that rippled like waves whenever she moved. Lorenzo, in character, wore a loud bright pink spangled suit.
“That we do, Iarla darling. We have a truly diverse cast to present to you today, folks! From the masters of culture Eysra, to the loveable Zetyans, we have dances that will truly appeal to all of you out there.” With the mention of Zetyan, a small runt wanders onto the stage, the two hosts oblivious. The crowd chuckles in response, clearly a well-timed joke to establish a cheery and light mood.
Iarla continued, “The purpose of Vaplana’s Aymer festival has always been to celebrate how we Vaplanan’s express ourselves, this year through the form of dance,” Another runt stumbles onto the stage to join it’s brother, the both of them staring blankly at the backs of the two hosts. “And I’m sure I can speak for all Vaplanans when I say that I am excited to share the joy of expression with you tonight!”
“Well you don’t need to speak for me, darling, but I do say I agree!” Lorenzo chuckles before finally noticing yet more Zetyan runts wandering onto the stage. A small group of them were now forming behind the pair, and Lorenzo paused for a second in confusion before continuing on, assuming it was a practical joke the producers were playing on them. The show must go on, after all…
“This year the Aymer festival is more important than ever, with the galaxy facing unprecedented strife and conflict celebrating togetherness and peace is essential for…” Lorenzo tailed off, watching in horror as yet more Zetlings climb onto the stage right in front of the co-hosts, encircling the pair.
“Oh, uh, it seems our little Zetling friends agree with your sentiment, Lorenzo…” Iarla smiled outwardly, but a quick glance backstage to see the staff there panicking sent butterflies coursing through her stomach. Suddenly, the refined background symphony that was playing to accompany the opening spiel was cut short and a cacophony of sound burst from the speakers, whirring the now overwhelmingly large group of Zetyan runts into action…
At first, it was funny. One of those dumb kids shows up after they mention the race most famous for them, a good background joke. Funny, right? Good for keeping the humor light, great for the kids.
A second one arriving shortly after, well, maybe the producers were a bit insistent. The subtleties are often lost on those who sit on golden thrones, and the event planners were probably no exception. A few more chuckles, some goofs they were! They'd probably be gone by the time the speech finished.
Fourth, fifth, seventh, eighth? Maybe it was more aimed at the hosts, or someone had an odd sense of humor. Security would deal with them, surely.
Actually, where was security? And why were there more showing up? And why were they emerging from just below the stage? And-
Oh dear.
As the two hosts watched in abject horror, ten turned to twenty turned to one, two hundred runts filling the space around them as they stared back with blank, soulless gazes. Each was a snowflake, unique in their own strange way, and yet as the horde of children conglomerated around the two hosts they all seemed to blend together like a shit-brown slurry. The exponential growth had thankfully stopped around two-hundred fifty, though for those watching it was cold comfort.
More concerning, however, was that they were all wearing earbuds.
Suddenly, the lights began flickering, before they transitioned into stage mode as the symphony cut off. Four dozen spotlights, reserved for more flashy displays, now blew a bright, harsh white as the theater suddenly had the gates of heaven open right in front of the horrified crowd, before suddenly the speakers cut in, and the screen encompassing the rear of the theater transitioned to...
...what the hell was that Zetyan wearing? Was that a neon-lit zoot suit? Wha-
Suddenly, an impossibly loud and overly bass-boosted song came on, and the Zetyan displayed on the screen suddenly started spouting nonsense, the spotlights around them changing colors and flickering like mad as the entire theater turned from a gathering place into an impromptu mosh pit. The runts seemed to change position with every flicker, going from pose to pose every time the lights shone on them almost like robots, still maintaining an unblinking stare on every face as the madman on the telly spat out some... actually rather impressively paced bars.
"YEA YEA $PITZ $HITZ TAKIN DIS ONE AWAY"
At the end of his scatting session, suddenly the runts went into a stone-straight position. The hosts stood in the middle of the horde, wildly confused and terrified at the hijacking before them.
"I PAID 2000 SIGEC FOR THIS GIG YEW LOT BETTER ENJOY THIS STINKIN SHIT"
The Zetyan's voice boomed through a low-quality microphone, grating to the ears in a special kind of way.
"WIKKED"
The beat was about to drop, and still they stood still. The hosts could feel hands tugging on their legs.
3, 2, 1...
"BIDIDIDIDIDIDIDIDIDIDIDIDIDIDIDIDIDIDIDIDIDIDIDIDIDIDIDIDIDIDIDIDIDIDIDIDIDIDIDIDIDIDI-"
The concert transitioned into seizure central, as the mosh pit turned into a mess of color and noise and bass. The runts began their pose-changing routines once again, but now engaging in much larger scale choreography and incorporating the hosts into their routine like a perfect fit. A giant star, a helix, a... something unmentionable, even a middle finger, they took on increasingly complex and seemingly inane poses within a span of seconds as the Zetyan kept spitting bars.
The performance only raised more questions as it went on-how were they moving so fast? Why were they using the hosts as central focuses? Why were they including the hosts in the first place?
Was that one naked?
The... experience went on for an excruciating 2 minutes and 23 seconds of overly charged bass, seizure inducing rave lights and the giant screaming projection of a Zetyan before the music and routine finally began to slow down, from every two seconds to every six seconds. The giant projection continued to spit bars as the 'performance' neared the merciful end.
"YEA YEA DIS WAS THE FUKKIN $PITZ $HITZ SESSION"
Finally, the song stopped, and the lights returned to normal. The filler serenade from the speakers made a donut around the now extremely dazed and confused hosts as they made exaggerated bows.
"YEA YEA NOW GET ON WIF DIS FUKKIN SHOW"
The runts didn't move.
"...oi
OI. OI YOU FOOKIN TWATS GET OFF THE STAGE. GET"
The runts finally left the stage, spitting in the face of the concept of security as they calmly shuffled off into wherever they came from. The twin hosts were left sitting where the donut was once centered, now looking decidedly less organized than when they came in.
"OI OI URPLE SHIRT GIT"
Lorenzo's attention was taken from his being to a now much more directed source, as the voice now came from above the theater.
"YE LOOK LIKE YA SHAG GIRLY MEN"
A figure scuttled away into the ceiling of the arena, but not before shouting out one last word while laughing like a madman.
"FAGGIT"
Akari Taosu, the Jade entrant, watched with wide-eyed surprise. The Zetyans were a perfect example of chaos and order intertwining to make something that was equal parts enchanting and appalling. Certainly they wouldn't've been her choice to start the proceedings, but she wasn't an event organiser, just a dancer. Perhaps the Vaplanans knew something she didn't.
Contenting herself with that reasoning, she took a few moments to enjoy the uniqueness of the display - no-one had been harmed and it was something she could tell stories about one day. She turned away from the screen and back to her mirror, preparing herself whilst they waited for the next act to begin...
There was the clicking and bustling of tools intermittently coming from the backstage patch the Okekolu delegation had taken up. Chief amongst them was a dark-skinned fairy framed, some would say dominated, by a huge, airy cloud of pink hair that made her look more like a winged cotton ball from behind. When she turned around she could be seen drinking in the festival with big, pleading eyes, with a kind of alertness that only making a living rounding corners and dodging certain doom at hundreds of miles per hour could teach. This was Sera Soleil, one of the 3K Club's top racers, and a recording artist known across Ancerious as the Okekolu Accord's reigning top pop star, as well as the sworn rival of more than a few musicians in the Little Light who also raced in the Club scene.
She was taking in the Zetyan...well sure, it was definitely a performance...and letting her brain chew it, testing it for its flavor and texture. She was the only one, as her crew of Monotrack technicians and backup dancers, all comparable beauties by Okekolu standards and illegally cute to a lot of the rest of Ancerious, all simply looked around and at their current jobs, confused. Apparently, they weren't looking at the stage and had all assumed their equipment broke.
A group of four figures - tiny figures, from four to five feet tall - had finished headbanging to the blaring Zetyan music. They didn’t exactly appear to be any particular species: merely four upright things which could have been humanoids, but which could have also very well been four-legged flowerpots with reflective helmets on.
Each was cloaked in a black shroud that seemed to flow like quick water over their bodies; with hoods covering the tops of their helms and strange oil-rainbows shimmering on their surfaces. When they gestured to each other, the fabric didn’t fall over their apparent limbs so much as it made solid junctures from the ground to their bodies. When they talked, it was through totally reflective, mirror-finish orb helmets - and when they laughed, their voices bubbled and warbled like cheery soda-fizz mixed with the chatter of teenagers.
“Goddamn! Those guys had some kind’a somethin’ goin’ on, huh? That attitude was rockin’!”
“Reminds me of… hm. I’d say speedcore? Speedcore hardbass…”
“…Ain’t my taste. It’s good, but -“ (sip.) “ - it could be better.”
The Hooded Figure shrugged, swirling their drink around with its strange, metal ‘straw’ that looked less like steel and more like restrained gallium. “Seemed like fuckin’ varmints to me, but if people like it…”
“Eh. I think we should stick to Plan C.”
“As in, funky-fresh or…?”
“Nah, nah! She’s - she’s talkin’ about, uh, about the moon one! Get some jazzy vibes into this house!”
“Not a bad idea”, the figure with the drink conceded, taking another swig. “We runnin’ crowd engagement?”
”Duh.” The bouncier of the four ‘boop’ed her hardass companion on the helm, chuckling. “Only, like, one bangin’ way to cheat at soft power!”
“Plus,” the previously-silent fourth figure amended to the snappy attention of her companions, “that way, we can run the full act.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah! This is so friggin’ exciting!!!”
“Huh. I wonder when the, uh, next one’s coming on..”
Io’Kad watched the performance from her backstage position, allowing the energy of the performance to fuel her preparation. She was not used to being an audience member, and the barrage of visual stimulation was more than enough to get her blood pumping.
She knew very little about the Zetyans, but she had to admit, they put on a good show.
As the performance gradually came to an end, Io found herself thankful for the little creatures and their chaotic presentation. It would not be easy to stand out with contestants such as these, but Io’Kad relished the challenge.
Lorenzo and Iarla sat disheveled in the centre of the stage for a moment, watching the zetyan horde retreat back from wherever they appeared until Lorenzo let out an uncontrolled burst of laughter that shocked the theatre back to life.
“Is it really that obvious, Iarla? I mean, I do like to attract the right kind of attention, but am I too much?” He hummed and hawed over his outfit while getting to his feet and offering a hand to the still dazed Iarla.
“You are never too much Lorenzo, without all that you’d be a different man altogether.” She took Lorenzo’s outstretched hand gratefully and too stood to face the audience. “So, folks, is everyone else as confused as we are?” She was back to smiling widely for the crowd.
“We do apologise for that surprise act, of course, nobody expects a horde of dancing children to appear from nowhere… But I for one am grateful they did! We have been pleasantly surprised by an extra act, everyone! So, shall we see if any of our lovely judges have anything to say?”
“Before we jump to the judges, Lorenzo, let’s inform the crowd how this section of the show will work. If a judge wishes to comment on an act they will light up their star, so we know they have something brilliant to share! Our very own Vaplanan Prima and head judge, Amilia Barilis will always have something to say. So, everyone, shall we see how our surprise act fares in front of the experts?”
Four multi-coloured lights flashed to life above the judge's panel.
“First we go to Sedinamit Asidemaio, master of the Furrelian’s Senitarit traditional Style of dance.”
Looking in pure confusion, Furrelian Judge Sedinamit Asidemaio was just in awe from the Zetyan act. It seemed she had accidentally pressed her light in the aftermath of the performance, or during its chaos. Either way, just not being sure what was going on with the two-hundreds Zets, she, in no way positively said "I am just in shock, this is too much chaos for an act."
“Well, that’s certainly not wrong, but some certainly see chaos as it’s own art form, yes?” Lorenzo smiled, not wanting the poor Zetyan group to feel too sad about the negative feedback. “Next we have Velles Haylen, the infamous magical dancing all-rounder from Eysra.”
“Well, for a start I can’t exactly class this ‘performance’ as dance. It was mediocre in that regard at best, let alone the vulgarity. However, I do find myself amused at this display of chaotic vigour. It was certainly creative and flashy which is appealing.”
“I could not agree more, we have all been presented with the flashiest display I believe our humble stage can offer.” Iarla chuckled, sneakily pawing at her less-than-perfect hair while attention was elsewhere. “Next is Brachus, a star in musical theatre from the Infinite Praetorian Empire.”
“Thank you.” Brachus looked intrigued, as if he was trying to figure out some deeper meaning behind these lost Zetyan children invading the thearte and putting on such a show. “We do not quite understand the meaning behind this piece... We were hoping to see something more refined. This sentiment is shared with the Empire. We give 6/10.”
“I hope the performers do not get too anxious at the prospect of an entire empire’s worth of people critically judging their performances! I personally find it exciting..! Anyway, finally we go to our darling Prima ballerina, the lovely Amilia Barilis!”
“I would like to start by stating what an honour it is to sit beside my fellow legends of dance. All seven of you are very welcome here to my humble home, and I hope you enjoy the spectacle of the Aymer festival us Vaplanans cherish so dearly. Now, to the act. I have never seen something so chaotic and raw classified as a dance before, and yet I can’t help but find myself drawn into the performance. The speed and precision pulled off by those so young is impressive, and while I do agree with Velles that it was rather vulgar, I personally know many who are probably overjoyed at the thought of such vulgarity being broadcast live to the entire galaxy. I’d judge this overall as average, but the Zetlings are undoubtedly holding a place in my heart.”
“Thank you, judges! Now, moving swiftly onto who should have been our opening act! Everyone welcome to the stage Sera Soleil, representing the Okekolu Accord. Some of you may have seen her not on the dance floor, but on the race track!” Iarla introduced the next star of the stage.
“We here on Vaplana love to see stars with plenty of talent to give, and Sera matches that perfectly! If I could be a top racer, pop star and dancer all in one I’d certainly be one happy man. But enough of me rambling, let’s get back to our scheduled programming.” The two co-stars swiftly turned and left the stage, leaving the theatre temporarily bathed in darkness as the next act prepared to wow the crowd…
For a moment, everything remained plunged in darkness. Tension built as the silence settled, then was suddenly cut by the shriek of Monotrack engines. The high-pitched yowls sounded from both sides of the stage and were joined by their running lights flashing on. Riders hurtled out onstage, circling as the lights slowly came on, and more details revealed themselves as the stage was bathed in more and more light. The Monotrack-class bikes were sleek, torpedo-like streamliners with aero elements that kept their engines from overpowering them at speed and making them wheelstand, long tails, elegant lines. They looked like luxury.
The riders weren't in the full racing crouch behind the long fairings, instead, they were sticking up over the windscreens a bit, letting banners fly. The Okekolu Accord's flags, the 3K Club's team banners, and the emblems of their main supplier, Flora Powerjet, flew from each one as their bikes caught the light and they continued to ride around. The message was clear: the Street Festival season that had been planned before the war began had been cancelled, so the racers were all stuck at local, or if they were lucky, system-wide competition. Since they couldn't compete there, they were competing here. These weren't just Sera's backup dancers, they were her fellow team riders, the ones that had clawed their way to the top of one of, if not the Festival scene's hardest discipline, and resplendent in stylized renditions of their formfitting riding suits, requiring just removing some of the panels and opening some of the cooling cuts to show some skin and make them into flashy stage gear. Around and around they rode as a kaleidoscopic display of bright colors, and then Sera revealed herself by breaking from the orbiting packs and skidding to a stop at center stage as everyone else did the same. In one fluid motion she and her team all dismounted, wings buzzing as they lifted into the air, and her teammates started waving their banners around like they were big rhythmic gymnastics ribbons.
Sera started the performance proper, spreading her soul limbs wide and letting glittering points of light fall on the crowd like prismatic snow.
"Are we ready to party tonight?!" She didn't wait for a crowd reaction, rolling right into the performance as the thumping of percussion bass and a trancey accompaniment started building a melody layered atop the drums.
She started a song considered one of the anthems of the Street Festival circuit, and a leyline runner's song above everything else: Inversion, a heart-pumping prog trance track with a pop flair thanks to layering her vocals all over it. But as she started finishing the first verse, something happened. One of her backup dancers zeroed in on her, aimed with her monotrack, rode towards her, and with a flourish, passed her bike to Sera, who mounted it and swapped songs on the fly. It wasn't her song, it was a brief cover of someone else's, this one still a pop song, but completely dropping the heavier techno beat for a moment while she gave someone else a shout-out by doing one of their tracks. Then she leapt off the bike, passing it to another of her fellow riders, and seamlessly as a perfect gear shift, dropped right back into Inversion.
She juggled beats and songs by dancing and juggling bikes, effortlessly mounting and dismounting in midair, and changing her song every time. To anyone who knew Little Light culture, she was doing the Okekolu display of acknowledgement by reference, homage, even style parody. She was standing for them all, her high-pitched voice easily carrying the range and power to drive her routine forward.
She looped in and out from the trance anthem to brief interludes, taking the audience on a tour of music in the Little Light: a verse of Kraterion hard rock standby Hell Patrol Don't Sleep by the band Smog Inspection, bars from Duilleag rapper Boso Ultimate's high-speed classic Ready Now, fellow Okekolu artist 2OP's famously risque dance banger Monoglove. It always looped back to Inversion, finishing on her getting passed her bright pink Monotrack back, ending the song standing on its seat and performing the final repetitions of its refrain as the stage went full rave. They then bid the audience good night by firing up their machines all at once, obscuring themselves with a smoky burnout, and when the smoke cleared, they were all gone. The lights went out, and they left behind their stage lighting, flashing on repeat before it too faded.
The performance over, Sera led her team back onstage when everything onstage was brought back to normal, parking in a line to thank the audience, waving, blowing kisses and generally just being psyched they got to do their routine. Then they rolled offstage, waiting with bated breath for the verdict on their act.
As the act concluded a blue haired woman stood off stage by the places reserved for the performers, resting her elbow on her hand she tapped her lips with her index finger, apparently in thought.
"What do you think Sarey?", another woman emerged from the dark this one with fiery red hair.
"Oh, I mean, they were quite impressive, for what's supposed to be a racing team they could probably make career in Eysra, if they wanted."
The red haired one looked to the stage.
"Oh, you think so? I mean, yeah they were quite fancy but that's little lighters for you I'd say. That aside, I can't wait to get up there myself."
The blue haired one crossed arms in front of her and tilted her head.
"Well, Tiara, I suppose at least we'll see all the competition beforehand if we're last."
The other one laughed.
"Oh, you know yourself we're just here to have fun today!"
"Racing for a dance festival?"
"I think it is quite interesting honestly, certainly beats the assault on my senses that the Zetyans put out"
"I don't even think that was the planned Zetyan show"
The Union group was sat in the wing watching the shows as they went by. Compared to the other groups they had surprisingly little in the way of a cast. A human dancer, Akale, a Cylaurian, Veshan, a Jorgal, Topan, an Elsi, Wesjam, a Violar, Izzrert and, while they were not here right now, a special surprise. It was one dancer for each of the major Union races, and their act was to be much more... Refined than those shown so far.
The Allure Azure as they were called were top class premium dance and performers, having come to prominence during the Uprising era their performances had captivated the Union and its allies in a series of large tours. Saudra before its fall, Mirach, Athena, Karvoskaya, Rhelm Kalarmn, all sorts had hosted their performances, focused around the tone of unity, progress and moving toward into the future.
"I believe... We will... Do quite well" Izzert chimed in.
"I do too, either way, it is good to be performing given the situation going on the galaxy" Veshan patted his friend on the shoulder.
----
"THIS IS AN OUTRAGE!" The Orillian roared at the security and organisation staff "HOW CAN THE UNION BE PUT BEFORE US? THIS IS COLONIAL BIAS! FAVOURITISM!"
The Orillian State Performing Society or OSPS had stayed silent while watching the other acts, their handlers and organisers did most of the work, directing the make up and costumes carefully and with scary precision. But the head organiser, Rashixx Giorn was having absolutely none of the ongoing placement.
"WE SHOULD BE GOING FIRST, AS FITTING A NATIVE NATION! THE ZETYANS AND LITTLE LIGHT AND MANY OTHERS ARE GIVEN THIS BLESSING, NOW SWAP US AND UNION IMMEDIATELY!"
It is said that the standards of beauty change with time, and a multitude of art historians and brand analysts spend their careers cataloguing the fashions and aesthetics of each time. For some time many started to suspect that there was a deeper underlying fact to the history of fashion and beauty: that the standard is just continuously changing, every second, and there is no precise cleavage to when an aesthetic is in or out. Historians studied snapshots of a time's popular fashion and deduced the evolution and taxonomy of styles; but the standard of beauty of any one day was a fleeting thing, only visible in hindsight.
For many years, this discourse never really left the debate halls of university philosophy departments, argued for by decidedly unfashionable, hyper-focused academics looking to publish papers. But what had once been just a monotonous and overly abstract debate carried out by boorish intellectuals became embodied by Exalted Calithea of Iqzina. Once she became famous, the debate about the moment-by-moment "geist of beauty" became the talk of the elites of #ZEITGEIST and Iqzina, a much more fitting home. And she did it without uttering a word, just by embodying the idea itself.
Calithea of Iqzina was a continuously shape-shifting being sculpted and re-sculpted in the image of the ever-changing standard of perfection. The shape of her nose, the trim and cut of her dress, the glimmer in her eyes and jewelry all perpetually changed to keep her in the bleeding edge of the galaxy's avant-garde. If something was considered beautiful by enough people in the galaxy, Calithea's powerful engines of statistic modelling and data processing took notice and compiled everything into the perfect and most appealing sum of all elements. Not only was each of her minute-long looks a masterwork of visual combinatronics and fashion design but the computers -located in faraway worlds- also made sure that the transitions between Calithea's appearances were elegant and flowed into each other. Elements that had fallen out of fashion some hours ago were brought back on Calithea's dress, reinterpreted and given new life while new visual motifs detected on all seven corners of the galaxy were integrated on her, blooming like flowers before receding back into subtler forms or disappearing from her body altogether.
"Dynamic, is what I have to say." the Exalted said, her makeup adapting on the fly to accentuate her milimetrically-calculated expression, pondering the Okekolu's performance.
"Dynamic? Don't call anything dynamic unless there are dead bodies on stage and your body can't decide whether to ejaculate or vomit. It's not dynamic, it's EDM barely drowning out the screeching of tiny engines. Bring me the Zetyans again, my artistic sense craves for more of those maestros! Inject their grotesque brutalité into my veins again, their force de vivre!"
Calithea and her co-judge couldn't have been possibly been more different if the artistic culture of the galaxy had been left to evolve for another hundred years. René Golconde, hailing from the anarchistic wreckage of what had once been the Republic of Saintraint and had now trascended into something beautiful: Saintraint Surréaliste, a realm where waking life itself was abstract art. An impossibly prolific modern painter and visual artist proudly bearing his 68 years of age while Calithea's apparent age oscillated some years back and forth around her mid 20's depending on what was found to be more fashionable at the instant.
It had taken a while for Golconde to finally make it to the judges' desk, in between several interruptions to his mental link to Aluminaria and getting stopped nearly 13 times at the entrance trying to sneak in guns. He hadn't been exactly subtle about his intentions to kill Calithea as a form of artistic expression, and every single one of his plans had been easily foiled by the fact he'd made long poems about them weeks before. The exhausted bouncers had finally found a way to calm him down by giving him a sketchbook, which kept the painter occupied while police outside discreetly towed away Calithea's shuttle to defuse the bomb within.
"Dynamic..." Golconde mocked while Calithea rolled her eyes. "To someone who literally can't decide on a look everything must look dynamic! Are you going to take the pink fairy's hair?"
The Saintrainter doodled on his sketchbook, scribbling a chaotic mesh of disparate elements and hallucinations that were projected
The Orillians shouting backstage was beginning to cause a scene. The terrified victim of the tirade, an apprentice barely older than 16, was looking up at Rashixx Giorn from the seat at his desk. The soft glow of the computers reflected off the fear in his eyes, he was a deer in the headlights. Any security that had been present backstage were now gone, they had all scrambled to deal with the surprise Zetyan visit and to ensure that René Golconde’s late entry into the stadium was both weapon-free and unnoticed by the audience. He was alone.
“I’m sorry, ma'am, the turn order was randomly generated. We are already behind schedule since that Zetyan performance was not planned. Please stop yelling… You are disturbing the other performers…” The lad stammered, turning his computer screen towards the angry Orillian to prove that the turn order was, in fact, randomly generated and was not a political statement at all. This clearly angered the woman more, and her tirade continued.
All of the commotion had caught the attention of a couple who had previously been sat quietly together in the performer’s waiting area. They were the Vaplanan entry to the contest, Violet and Felix Ulmus. Seeing the poor support apprentice’s plight they walked over to intervene.
“Please stop yelling at him, ma’am, he is just a child,” Violet spoke softly, hoping to diffuse the situation before it got any worse. “If your position bothers you that much we would be willing to swap with you.” She gripped Felix’s hand for support.
“I’d personally love to be closer to the end anyway. The last acts always get higher scores, it's a psychological thing. Your spot is prime real estate, so if you're that upset about being close to the end I’m sure any of us would jump at the chance to swap. Your choice.” He shrugged, ignoring his wife’s nudge and sour looks to stop provoking Rashixx. Felix was the opposite of Violet’s calming presence, he was smug and confident, almost daring Rashixx Giorn to argue more.
Meanwhile, the show continued on from beyond the bubble of backstage drama. The judges were all seen applauding politely, some more interested than others. Lorenzo and Iarla had barely walked back onto the stage before Calithea and Golconde had begun bickering. Once Golconde had finished they took their chance to jump in and try to bring proceedings back on track.
“Art and expression is such a personal issue, which we are so glad is represented in our illustrious judge’s panel.”
“Would any other judges like to make comments on that wonderful performance?”
Velles Heylen’s star lit up. “While usage of vehicles is usually a malus for me, seeing them being used so creatively alleviates my first impression. The performance seemed more reliant on singing than dance, however, the mesh of cultures displayed today was enjoyable. I liked this performance.”
Amelia also lit her star up to comment. “I do agree with Velles on some aspects. While reliance on vehicles can be considered un-pure dance in some regards, I have come to the conclusion that such creative use must have taken a lot of dedication and skill. As a ballerina I appreciate the strength and determination it would take to master such a niche skill, and I am glad to see such pride in your work and of your culture. Thank you for such an enlightening and enjoyable experience.”
“Thank you judges!” Lorenzo quickly wrapped up the commentary, well aware they were already behind schedule and that Golconde could easily begin another tirade at any point. “Let us move swiftly onto our next wonderful performance!”
“Hailing from the United Echotian Empire, Io’Kad has a fiery performance planned for you all today! Those in the front row, prepare to feel the heat! Just be careful not to get too close, or else you may get burned!”
Rashixx waved a hand at the young boy as he showed her the screen.
"I simply don't believe you I don't think you unde-" She was interrupted by the Vaplanan performers and turned to face them, eyeing them like a cat Rashixx seemed to puff herself up, looking them both up and down like she was surveying them and sizing them up for a fight. With a look of distain and a 'hmph' she turned away from the boy.
"In our culture being at the front is considered a great honour. I cant believe they let some Zetlings get away with what they did, to steal such a momentous moment. It is to be first, the essence of the prime from which all others should follow. I wouldn't expect you to understand" but she smirked.
"But if your willing to swap your slot with ours, I would be willing to take that. We have a story, a mission, a grand vision to show the galaxy. The sooner the people see our performance the better" She waved a hand.
"Ill let you make the arrangements, you have the connections here" With that and a dismissive gesture she walked off.
Io’Kad took to the stage without delay, ascending the stairs and giving a wave to the audience, her brilliant blue warhelm folding away from her face for a moment, allowing her beaming smile to be seen. She was keenly athletic, though it was clear she lacked the bulk of House Blood soldiers. Io specialised in the agile and graceful, and her lithe form was reminiscent of peak physical perfection, at least by Echotian standards. She wore a fur cloak that draped around her shoulders, and sleek plate armour that was clearly more for style than function.
As she reached centre stage, her music began to increase in volume, and she revealed in her lower hands two quarterstaff-looking objects. Her warhelm closed around her face, and she let the cloak about her shoulders fall.
There was a flash of blue flame from the ends of both staves, as the true nature of her performance was made clear. Her energy was palpable, and even as the tempo kicked off, she could not help herself from delivering a trill-like bugle before beginning.
The lightning fast movements of the staves spun wild patterns into the air around Io’Kad, with the blue licks of flame streaking across the stage and dancing with the Echo as if she had been joined by a party of elemental creatures. Her hand movements blurred as she twirled her staves into faster and faster rotations.
Her whole body moved with the rhythm of the beat, swaying and spinning with the flames in a passionate partnership of skill and fire. Small jets began to burn along her legs, burning a similar blue colour and highlighting her movements as she kicked into a more complex routine, with the staves now being traded back and forth between her upper and lower limbs.
The music dipped suddenly, allowing Io to slowly tease the audience with wide turns of her staves, contorting her body to display her physique. The staves slowly rotated around her muscled arms, flowing from hands to shoulders and back to her hands once more. The moment of slow peace revealed the delicate strength of the dancer, allowing the audience to appreciate just how much skill it took to master such an artform.
As the set began to culminate, Io’Kad began to spin the staves behind her back, allowing for a moment where she appeared to possess a pair of fiery wings. She spread her upper arms as if she were about to take a dive into the audience, before suddenly leaping upwards and into a wide backflip. Fire suddenly roared all around her as the form of a great beastial mouth rose from the flames, swallowing the dancer in the eerie light.
As the mouth clamped shut, its form exploded outwards, revealing Io’Kad with her staves raised high. The holographic blue flame faded into soft embers that floated about the Echo, reminiscent of fireflies on a warm summer evening.
Her performance completed, she gave a respectful bow to the judges, and then to the audience before exiting the stage.
As the performance concluded this time it was Velles Heylen who was first to answer, he had been following the performance with an unexpected interest and if one were to see behind his veil, they could have observed a thin smile on his delicate lips.
"Whilst I am not one usually for traditions and rituals, which this performance was clearly inspired by, I have to say there was something in this performance which elevated it beyond mere technique and training. It was passion, a fire burning not only physically on the stage but within the heart of the dancer, it meshed the traditional elements with a new fire, melding the dancer and the dance into one, which is something I can only appreciate."
With this Velles Heylen finished his impressions and the star went dim, along with his eyes to which the usual mysterious coldness returned.
Backstage, the Vaplanan couple watched Rashixx’s retreating back.
“Are all Orillian’s so haughty?” Violet whispered so only her husband could hear.
“Apparently so, or according to what I’ve heard. No wonder the galaxy’s at war…”
“Even at events like this though… I was really hoping people could relax and forget about all of that tonight.”
“You’re beginning to sound more and more like our sponsor, Violet. We are only dancers, not politicians. Let’s just focus on doing our jobs and spreading some cheer, yeah?” Felix squeezed her hand in support before turning to the relieved-looking apprentice sat beside them.
“Think you can swap us and the Orillian’s to keep the peace, kid?”
“It’s already done, sir. Thank you for rescuing me from her. Good luck with your dance, all of Vaplana is rooting for you.”
Meanwhile, the hosts were clapping enthusiastically as they sauntered back onto the stage.
“That was certainly one fiery performance, Iarla. I could feel the passion from backstage!”
“Let’s hope our dear judges agree!” They motioned for the judges to make their comments, Velles Heylen jumping at the chance to go first.
The next judge to speak was Haskaaria Sheehana, Tetheranyan ballet star and instructor. She had been in quiet contemplation up until this point, but had finally found her opportunity to speak. Her gaze lay on the stage as they exited, her lips pursed in general upsetedness before she spoke clearly and defined to herself. “Unhinged and without proper rhythm, while I can respect the obvious technique the dancer has for traditionalist music, the ritualistic dances are not to my taste. However, I should note that they are skilled, nevertheless, and out on a passionate and obviously spectacular performance” Haskaaria said no more as she took a deep breath, sipping the drink beside her and writing a few notes before her ever watchful and condescending gaze returned to the stage.
She was followed by Brachus. He looked rather unwell, or as unwell as one from the Praetorian Empire could look under harsh studio lighting. He stuttered for a moment, then finally found his voice.
“We do not quite understand the meaning behind this piece... We were hoping to see something more refined. This sentiment is shared with the Empire. We give 6/10.” It was exactly the same as he had said for the unexpected Zetyan show, causing some raised eyebrows from the other judges and an awkward glance shared between the hosts. Noticing the awkward silence, Amelia stepped in and finished off the comments.
“I found this performance very interesting. I am not too familiar with this style of dance myself, however, I still managed to find the performance captivating. Your passion for rhythm is inspiring, and your dedication to your craft is clear.”
“Thank you, judges! Shall we move onto our next performance, Lorenzo?”
“Yes, I am excited for this one! Next up is the wonderful Akari Taosu from the Jade Empire!”
The stage once again dimmed to welcome its next performer.
The blowup backstage wasn't ignored by some of the other entrants. Sera's crew had been in earshot as they rolled their shut-down monotracks back behind the curtains, and were making a good effort of holding in their reactions as they passed. But the moment they were free, they all started making noises like balloons slowly deflating as they let it all loose and started laughing. It gave way to more tastes of the Okekolu love of parody, with Sera leading the others in imitating stereotypical diva demands. Everyone took turns, but Sera took over before long, firing her mouth off on lengthy rants about avocado juice, blue Skittles and other impossible or otherwise goofy, word salad demands. She had to be grabbed and brought back on task by her crew to pay attention to the next act in line.
There was silence on the stage for a moment, with no lights whatsoever. The quiet and darkness seemed to stretch, and just at the moment people began to shift in their seats, a single strum of a bass shamisen sounded. Each note was accompanied by a glowing light, a brief flicker of crystalline magic in the form of a kanji, each a different brilliant colour. Those who happened to understand Ingenious kanji, or else had a translator software readily available, would find that they seemed to be simply naming different geological features; sea, sky, wind, mountain, river and so on.
As the last kanji faded the shamisen was joined by other instruments, both traditional and more contemporary, to form a calming and almost hypnotic melody. Two orbs of light appeared center stage, along with the faintly glowing outline of a yokari. Akari Taosu's natural luminescence, from her skin and the onibi orbs atop her horns, were the only source of light. She was dressed in a shimmering aquamarine yukata, loose and airy, that seemed to ripple as if suspended in water, along with her hair.
She was floating, barefoot, seemingly suspended in midair. With gentle movements, she began to sway, her whole body drifting in the air as if propelled by invisible currents. Gradually, a warm light began to glow from above, and she slowly rose to meet it, arching her back as she levelled out, lying on her back near the top of the stage. Her clothing wrapped itself neatly around her and her hair tied itself into a neat bun as she seemingly drifted to sleep. The glow from above slowly faded, disappearing offstage to the right, whilst from the other side of the stage small, glowing lights began to dance at ground level. They came in glittering greens, rich yellows, brilliant blues and cool whites, and took the abstract forms of mountains, trees, fields and rivers. They slowly slid below and past Akari, as if she were floating over a vast landscape in her sleep.
_
Eventually the glow faded altogether and, with an exaggerated shiver, she woke, stretching. Her stretch grew and she turned it into a graceful flip towards the left of stage as she turned head over heels. Suddenly she lanced down to the ground, accompanied by a myriad of falling sapphire sparks that burst when they hit the ground. The music's tempo picked up as an intricate guitar riff surging in intensity as drumbeats and percussion blended with the magical rainfall, and Akari sprang into action, a forward flip turning into a full sprint.
Although she ran in place, she seemed to be moving in a chaotic, rapid tumble. She flitted lightly from ethereal stepping stone to another as they whipped past underfoot, whilst behind her the magical trees and hills flew past, gathering speed. Sometimes sprinting, sometimes leaping, sometimes tumbling and cartwheeling, she flowed past a giant bear made of orange lines as it snapped a ruby salmon from the air. She dove beneath a mountain, the only light her onibi orbs, before bursting back into the light. Finally the scenery behind her ended and she leapt, arms outstretched in a fluid dive, seeming to come to a stop as she floated back into the air, her yukata and hair loose once more as the music and lights faded and she began to gently sway.
As the lights faded, she sank to the ground in the darkness, her assistants rushing to her to cover her onibi and bundle her offstage. She was physically exhausted, having conjured the entire act herself using idshii magic. A priestess of the Precept of Grace of the Huoming Temple, art was her form of worship, but such a display was extravagant and tiring
The Hooded Figures had long since left the audience’s floor. They’d stayed there to watch the Zets and the 3K Club, but they’d had to slide backstage as Akari’s performance began. Their chrome bubble-helmets cooly reflected the faces of the audience as they’d pushed through, showing expressions of confusion and surprise and disgruntlement, but they spoke not a word as they went—vanishing into the edges of the area.
Now, sat behind the stage in the back-spaces of the Aymer Festival, the four-to-five-foot tall things which could have been flowerpots and could have been seemed to turn toward one another.
Considering the oily iridescence of their black orbs and their utter, smooth symmetry, it was part of hard to tell.
“…Was that… a stage play?” One murmured in burbling tones, its voice distorted by the helmet.
“A really cool stage play!!” Another raised two limbs as if in celebration, the liquid fabric stretching seamlessly down to the floor with the motion as if it were a cast shadow made slick and solid. “Did you see all those lights and effects?? The-“
They waved the appendages around, waggling the indistinct ends for effect. “-Crazy lights and the scenes, the sounds, the movements; it felt like - like magic!!!!”
“Ain’t no such thing, dumbass.” The one with the drink cooly replied, having found a new muse to enjoy. They slurped in an echoey way through the liquid barrier of their helmet, raised a straw which looked like liquid gallium held in place, and then sucked it into the bubble’s surface like some kind of spiked proboscis.
“Them was all probably just fancy holograms. No way in Sam Hell did they pull real trees out of thin air like that.”
“Oh!! But she was floating, too!” The energetic one butted in, moving as if they’d taken a step forward. “How do you think that happened???”
”…Drones?” The quieter of the four mumbled, stepping a bit away from the group. ”But. But then, uh, we could. We would’ve seen them…”
“I ain’t buying that she did that herself,” the one with the drink scoffed again, interrupting her oaky seawash-tones with a sudden spear of the straw again. “There’s gotta be some sort’a-“
“Hush.”
The three went stock-still, turning to the fourth member; who had been largely silent.
“We will be performing after the judges’ verdict. Check that you have your instruments, and dispose of any…”
There was a silent spell, which bore down upon the less polite of the three like a broiling stormcloud.
“…Refuse. Before we’re called.”
As the others melted onto the ground and let their cloaks plume around them like fat dresses, the one with the drink seemed to slide away. It dripped a limb near a waste disposal, grumbled in a liquid way, and dumped the cup; silently weaving back toward its companions in the darkness.
As the fourth knelt down again, the quiet one raised its soft tones to a sickly-sweet and subtle jab.
”You should have overfilled before we left.”
“Oh; can it, you damn—“
There had been some continuous murmuring coming from the two equally bright yet antithetical judges of Iqzina and Saintraint, on the performance of the Echotian. Bright lights, dynamism, loud music, athletic movements and a touch of high technology mixed with tradition was all that Calithea wanted to see out of a performer. Golconde, on the other hand, decried the lack of symbolism and overly modern ambiance of the act as the moment that art had been ruined forever. It wasn't the first or the twentieth time that the surrealist painter had declared art to be a lost cause and that he was going to dedicate the rest of his life to his old occupation, carpentry. But it was definitely one of the rare such occasions where he was unarmed and thus could not take out his anger on the performer, the audience, his co-judge and himself.
"It's over." Golconde crossed his arms. "We finally live in a post-art world. Ol' Simonis and your dear Celestial Mandate of Brovarone better start transitioning to fast food franchises or something, because that horrible pastiche just killed art."
"Art has been over for old codgers like you for a while now." Calithea let out a haughy laugh. "Same deal as with Little Sera's performance, you're looking at it with those meaty eyes of yours... would you consider it fair if someone judged your paintings after rubbing vaseline on their glasses? Ah, no, you need to learn how to look at and value art. Io'Kad looked nice enough in the visible spectrum, but oh dear her performance on radar and doppler was something else! The way her movements rippled across the room's magnetic field, the look of the wings in ultraviolet..."
"I'll have you know that people have gouged out their eyes before judging my paintings." Golconde said. He was no longer in the mood for sketching now that art had been supposedly murdered on stage, so the incoherent mishmash of kaleidoscopic hallucinations that the random number generators implanted on his brain made him see were of no use anymore. Despondent, he reched inside his coat pocket for a small glass bottle full of antipsychotic pills but Calithea stopped him, placing her hand over his.
"Don't you dare go sane on me, René. We still have more acts to look at." She winked at him and ordered more alcohol to be brought to the stands with a helping of Qanis. "If anything what you need to do is open your third eye even more".
It normally took a couple minutes for a Qanis shot to hit and Calithea was still swirling hers inside her mouth when the sound of the shamishen pierced through the dark room like a spear and René Golconde was thrown off his chair, making a sound akin to a dying animal that was so loud it had to be dampened by the chief sound engineer of the festival so people didn't notice. A cuboidal hologram shrouded the two artistic judges, giving everyone the impression that Calithea and Golconde were calmly sitting and observing when in reality there were 3 security guards trying to stop Golconde from jumping off the balcony and attempting to run on stage. With each luminous kanji that the musical magic generated, René had a near-death experience of complete ecstasy. Art was back. He would never be a carpenter again. Of course as soon as he heard that the Akari Taotsu was next the first thing the surrealist did was turn off his Ingenious autotranslate so the kaji seemed to him more like cryptic synesthetic hyeroglyphs which beffudled and evaded any attempt at comprehension. As soon as he recognized any patterns in the kanji and started getting ideas of what they meant, they were gone.
Was the onerial dance of the Yokari somehow connected to the meaning of the kanji? The surrealist painter wondered, refusing to turn on autotranslate. What did the colors mean? Were the two orbs of the Yokari and her silhouette under the warm glow overhead also describing another kanji? A dynamic one, one whose ideogram was not fixed like the others but changed over time, a kanji that extended not just in space but in time.
"René, for Simonis' sake, she's literally just floating there and swaying."
"I NEED THAT WOMAN TO KILL ME ON STAGE." Golconde managed to wring one of his arms off of the lock that one of the guards had placed him under, smashed his glass and grabbed the biggest shard he could find before being subdued again.
"René... you're making a scene right now..." Calithea said with clenched teeth and an increasingly worried tone, running short on ideas on how to look beautiful and stunning when she was just a couple feet away from a 73 year old man having a complete meltdown. Even under the dozens upon dozens of layers of artificial beauty that Calithea cocooned herself in, the hesitation started cracking through and the Iqzinan influencer saw her follower count slowly start to top out and decrease.
"WHERE IS NOW?!" Sweat-drenched, bleeding from his nose, Golconde opened his eyes as wide as he could and fixated on the Ingenious performance to take it in like an animal gasping for air after nearly drowning. Looking like a fighter pilot trying not to faint from the G's, the surrealist's mind was deconstructed by the Ingenious performance.
He was, in fact, having a massive thrombotic stroke, and by the time Akari flew past the bear and swung under the mountain Golconde had forgotten what bears or mountains were, or where he was or what was anything. Everything was now just shapes and colors devoid of any meaning, including Calithea and the guards pinning him down. Was everything part of the performance? It was. It had always been. Shattered by a huge intracerebral hemorrhage, Golconde's consciousness vanished in one last kaleidoscopic firework of gloriously empty signifiers and pure artistic forms, guided to the other side of the veil by the fading music and saluted off the world of the living by the final gesture of the priestess.
It was over.
"Oh my god!" Calithea curled up on her seat, terrified at the sheer amount of foam coming out of Golconde's nose and mouth. Two of Golconde's friends quickly made their way to the balcony with suitcases full of medical equipment, no matter how much she covered her ears Calithea did not manage to escape the crunching of bones and the sick cracking of tendons. Her trascendental makeup began failing her, and slowly she reverted to her actual real, biological appearance: a vulnerable, scared 19 year old girl far away from her Aluminarian family, thinking about the long chain of events that had led her to that place. At first she thought Golconde's two surrealist friends were going to help him, but the reality was much worse.
From the outside it just looked like the two judges were making polite remarks at each other. It stayed a few minutes like that and almost looped the entire animation. When the hologram finally switched off, Golconde and Calithea were back acting normal, and the painter of Saintraint wordlessly stood up and silenced the entire auditorium with a thunderous clap of both his hands and his spirit. Then a second one, then a third one.
"Bravissime. There is nothing to add."
Calithea stayed paralyzed for a couple seconds, before voices from underneath her table hurried for her to move.
"C'mon, clap or something, you're looking suspect." Said one of Golconde's friends, another surrealist painter going by Pablo Guernica, as he and fellow surrealist Salvador Cadaques were huddled under the table and were puppeteering Golconde's corpse with some Anjou medical abomination to fulfill the late surrealist's contract to remain technically alive during the whole show.
"I... would say it's easily the most folkloric show we've had so far. Very, um, dynamic." Calithea said, hiding the fear deep inside. She did not copy any trait or aesthetic from the Yokari's show, because all that brought to her mind were visions of what had just happened. Her follower count dropped further.
"You died, René." Salvador whispered onto his phone, keeping an eye on the meandering lines that passed off as Golconde's vitals on the screen of his medical device. "You're a lifeless corpse."
'Well, what was the show like?' The painter asked on the other side of the line.
"She showed the kanji for 'mountain' and then showed an image of a mountain. Not exactly high-level stuff if you ask me." Salvador's gaze continued to dart between the rapidly decaying vitals and Guernica, who kept puppeteering the dead body to get him to sit down.
'Well it must have been if it bloody killed me. It must have been a 10.' The surrealist replied. 'René Golconde does not die to 9s'
"Get your ass back in here, René-"
"Is he going to be OK?" Calithea discretely interjected, fighting to regain her composture like her life depended on it. "He's going to be OK, right? Golconde is going to be OK?"
"I'm going to be real with you." Guernica replied in a facsimile of the accent and slang of Calithea's generation. "I missed his cerebellum with the spike so I have no control of his bowels. He will soil himself, there's nothing we can do but be prepared for it."
"Fuck THAT"
Calithea got up and walked away, without anticipation, without a fancy movement of her fingers through her hair, in a very un-Iqzinan way. The Exalted of Iqzina threw herself into the grindstones of the ancnet celebrity rumor mill rather than bear witness to one single additional second of the insanity that was going on under the table. Soon enough her socials were cratering and all over Boomr there were being multiple terabytes per second of gossip being generated. What was Calithea's problem? She's making Iqzina look bad. She's not cut for #ZEITGEIST. Is it because the dancer was a Yokari? Is Calithea of Iqzina racist? Calithea of Iqzina is racist and hates Yokari.
"Bloody thanks for all the support, dear." Salvador spat out indignantly as he saw Calithea abandon them.
"His brain is mushed, I'm starting to lose control of his arms, he's... turning blue!" Upon noticing that last point Guernica was quick to react and pull Salvador towards him. "You're stepping on the oxygenation line, dammit!"
It was then that they noticed that they had done their medical 'intervention' in such a hurry that the oxygen, dyalisis, blood and synaptic lines of the puppeteering device were all over the floor and it was close to impossible not to step on them or get tangled up.
"Get in here, René, you're falling apart."
A war waged in the backdrop. Calithea's chief of socials ordered his full staff into damage control mode, but by the time the war room of Calithea's talent agency turned on people and AIs were already digging up Calithea's old Booms and videos and trying to interpret them through the lens of her supposed anti-Yokari racism. What had started as a chaotic firehose of accusations suddenly started getting more and more organized: talking points were being spread and coordinated, counter-arguments prepared and memes spread. This was getting bigger, rival talent agencies were getting involved and trying to bring Calithea down from her throne of teen popularity through astroturf campaigns using billions of bots. Calithea's professional army of 'social bodyguards' and simps embarked on the herculean task of trying to control the narrative when their enemies had several minutes headstart. From Voynych to the Emerald Republics, vast datacenters were retasked to wage information warfare in defense of the Exalted of Iqzina, mobilizing an unimaginable amount of bots and AIs for the task.
It wasn't long before the raging comment war around Calithea's possible cancellation merged into the much larger CONA-SAGA nationalistic flamewar that had engulfed the net well in advance of the first shots at Aedelshaven. From then on the overly online would be dragged into an inescapable vortex of mass psychosis and conspiracy theories fanned not only by obsessive shut-ins but by actively malicious actors from the Orbeoler to Leistunganos.
For a moment the viewership of the festival began decreasing as millions of lost souls departed for the depths of countless internet rabbit holes. However, the numbers eventually went back up once word spread of Golconde's standing ovation and the surrealists of the galaxy tuned in.
'My next body won't be ready for a bit'
"Call for a break you knave, there's technical issues." Salvador berated. "Get a body, any body."
Guernica began grabbing napkins off the desk by the fistful.
Backstage Akari Taosu and her attendants were met with a small team of medics, offering the exhausted priestess wherever she needed to recover from her performance. The Vaplanans looked upon her with wonder and admiration in their eyes, her performance being something that had struck a chord within them all. The hosts on stage had the same look in their eyes, smiling contentedly at the audience.
“Wasn’t that such a wonderful performance, everyone?” Iarla placed a hand to her heart and took in the thunderous Vaplanan applause.
“Shall we see if our judges panel agrees?”
All attention was drawn to the judges panel.
Once Calithea walked away chaos erupted backstage, social media analysts were panicking and doing all they could to ensure the festival itself would not be dragged into the shit-flinging mess that just erupted. But the other judges were oblivious to that ordeal in particular, only having to deal with the invasion of their space by two deranged strangers puppeteering their colleague’s corpse. Child’s play, really, in comparison to attempting to wrangle the Ancnet. Knowing that the audience had seen none of it they all had unanimously agreed, without even having to utter a word to each other, that they would have to act natural for now. The show must go on! That hadn’t stopped Amilia from mashing a button under the desk that would indicate when the judges would require a break in the line-up. Hopefully, the producers had gotten the hint that a break was sorely needed right now, even though the contest had only really just started, and they would take her request seriously.
Velles Heylen was the first to attempt to speak after Calithea had left the panel, breaking a somewhat awkward silence to hopefully usher back a sense of normality and calm.
“As mentioned before traditionalist sources and slow dance are not quite to my personal taste. However, this performance excelled in storytelling through interpretive dance. I found that aspect particularly appealing. I am familiar with this particular form of worship within Ingen, and while the specific message seems to allude me I find the mystery adds to the entertainment value. Aside from all that, I greatly appreciate the effort from this contestant to conduct the magic herself.”
Once the hard job of speaking first after such upheaval was done the other judges found it easy to follow Velles’s example. The Novakian judge, who until now had been silent for the first round of performances, now spoke for the first time. Where once was quiet contemplation, there was now only conviction in his voice and posture, a satisfied look in his eyes.
"I... am impressed. The entrants display a proper understanding of balance between chaos and serenity, unlike our previous contestants. Graceful choreography, appealing composition, and a story well-told. 9/10." With that, he pressed his star light, and returned to a position of watchmanship.
Brachus seemed to be frozen, like a sculpture someone had moved in. If one were to listen close, a tick-tock chorus of machinery could be heard, as he lightly jerked around. Clink, clack, and before the silence could drag his voice emanated from a voicebox in his 'throat', scratching like a DJ record as it seemed to flip between various phrases. It was unknown whether his condition was due to the chaos around him or whether his aflcition was lingering from the last performance. Nonetheless, he still spoke up.
"Though abstract, the meaning is definable- We see a refined and well-honed performance. It-We see flaws in the exfiltration- soundtrack- minor. This sentiment is shared with the Empire. N-8/10."
Asidemaio's star light had lit up almost as soon as the performance was finished, although she was glad she had some time to compose herself after watching her colleague die and be desecrated like that before it was her turn. As she spoke there was an unspoken applaud in her voice.
"Though I'm not all familiar with stage play formats, even a rookie could see the passion put into this performance. I can only second what the other judges have said in regards, though I see few if any flaws. Impressive work all around."
Finally, it was Amilia’s turn. She had enjoyed the performance very much, having been drawn in by the story about nature. She enjoyed it so much she hadn’t noticed Golconde’s antics until it was all over, and the shock at seeing him suddenly dead beside her was almost overwhelming. But hearing the other judges act as if nothing was wrong for the sake of the show was stabilising, and she too took a deep breath and visualised the performance in her mind so she could return to that moment to give her thoughts.
Overcome with emotion Amilia wiped a lone tear from her eye, the audience assumed it was due to the spectacular performance just witnessed, although it was in reality a mixture of that and the stress of hearing Golconde’s friends whispering under her table and stealing her napkins. “That performance is something that will stay with me for the rest of my life. Beautiful, refined, spectacular. The dedication to your craft and the worship displayed is inspiring. But, even better than all that is the story you tell with your work. We Vaplanans have witnessed a kindred spirit in this theatre today. Thank you.”
With that the judges had finished the performance of their lives, and once attention was off them they scrambled away from Golconde’s desecrated corpse to their break room, refusing to return until the situation had been dealt with. The producers would just have to think on their feet, as working next to a corpse was just too much to ask. The hosts announced their break, and one of the planned breaks had to be moved up to accommodate everything. The audience would be fine, they were being entertained by a group of Vaplanan children performing a dance or two for them.
Backstage the chaos continued. Everyone was glued to their phones watching the drama unfold, some even taking sides on the issue of Calithea’s alleged racism. However, once the discourse started to warp into SAGA/CONA territory a tense silence descended. The Vaplanan’s especially felt a sense of despair, the whole purpose of this event was to draw attention away from the war and to promote something better. The tension was broken when the sound of clicking heels and approaching footsteps broke the silence. A lady decked out in the finest silk gown approached the chief producer, her PDA in hand. She had several attendants and guards swarming her, making it hard for the contestants to identify her. The Vaplanan’s in attendance, however, knew within moments who this lady really was. Only one person would be able to waltz backstage unimpeded with such a large retinue… they all stood frozen on the spot and bowed or curtsied accordingly. It was the sponsor of the entire contest, Queen Fidelia herself.
She shared a few heated words with the producer. Nobody could hear exactly what she muttered to the poor man, but she was clearly not happy. Judging by the PDA in her hands she was upset about the SAGA/CONA commentary now associated with her festival, and must have been begging him to do something, anything, to get social media’s focus onto literally anything else.
Once the extended break was over the atmosphere backstage had cooled off to a simmer, waiting the online drama out had seemed to do the trick and Golconde’s crew had been given more than enough time to figure something out. It was time to bring on the next act, before people tuned out of the broadcast out of boredom. Next up were Bellini, Martini, Cosmo, and Mary, representing the Sodalytes.
The silence was deafening as the four figures stepped on-stage.
Nobody had actually heard of the Sodalytes before. It was entirely possible that they were some undiscovered and minor Unaligned, but then, one had to wonder where exactly they'd come from. It seemed wholly and utterly improbable that an entire undiscovered species had just made its first appearance at an interstellar talent show of all things, but then again, stranger and less likely things had happened before. All the same, the uncertainty created a kind of aching tension suspended in the air and drilling into the chests of those gathered. Nobody was quite sure what to expect.
Each of the four slid gently and slowly onto the stage's platform like a liquid ghost. They had been fairly distinct among the crowd—but nobody had really paid them much mind until they came up onto the stage. After all, there was remarkably little to discern.
Each was dressed in a strange kind of liquid cloak. Under the colorful tones of the dusk sky and the lights of the stage, the black stuff shimmered in iridescent tones of flowing oil. Each cloak seemed animate: huddling around the figures as they glid such that they didn't make a single errant motion. It was like watching chess pieces guided by an invisible hand, brought to rest in a four-pointed row. They made no noises and moved not an inch: only heightening the invisible noise of the crowd's dread. Each had no visible limbs, nor a visible body, nor even a visible head—for that was covered by a sphere of perfect, reflective stuff. Each of the flawless mirrors was drenched in the images of the sky, the stage, and the crowds. The sights bent around their eerie surfaces, leaving the true colors of their chrome rims and gleams visible at the edges of their circles.
It was only barely clear which one started talking, but the voice was just barely unlike anything a solid throat could produce. It warbled and bubbled in soft tones, which the helmet amplified and carried across the entire stage by vibrating as if it were possessed.
"Gathered peoples of the Ancerious galaxy," she (for it must have been a 'she' with that timbre) began, "we are honored to stand before you today." Each of the figures drew forth one limb from each of their two sides and touched it to somewhere near their chest, but the cloaks didn't drape or open. They simply loomed under the silhouettes like solid shadows, touching the ground at perfect, flowing verticals. The salute was impossible to discern through the fabric, but it almost looked like an 'X.'
"We have not arrived to compete," the speaking figure in the middle continued, drawing its arms down toward another in a strange, looming wall. "We are not here to send a message, or to spout culture and superiority. We, the members of Sugar Rush, have come for one reason only." Each of the figures gripped the sides of their helmets in bizarre and triangular shapes almost like solid architecture, and pressed the things inward. "We... have come... …to celebrate!”
They ripped the helmets open, unfurling them into tall, mirrored collars and eye-wear. Their cloaks flew open as well; shearing away from their arms and billowing behind them. On their interiors were swirling lights in a star-like miasma of chemical glitter, and now, those wearing them were visible. Each of the 'Sodalytes' was a figure somewhere between four and five feet tall, and constructed in a humanoid fashion. They had lithe necks, and narrow shoulders, and thin waists; and their hips flared out into thick, well-formed legs. Each of them had spots on their rounded cheeks and faces between noses and snouts—and each now struck a pose in the center of the stage.
Each of them was colored in a spectrum of orange-yellow to red. The leftmost held her arms swept behind her head in a cross, grinning in a wide and cartoonish way. Her glasses were shaped like two huge circles speared through by a wide toothpick. The chromes of her suit had flashed into a dark, indigo color: highlighting her collar and face in a brilliant way under the curls of her orange, liquid hair. The one at the other end was a deep, bloody maroon: glaring through a wide 'X' of bright, turquoise gel-shades. Her arms were folded in front of her chest, leaving most of the drama to the side-swept wave of knee-length hair framing her figure. In the middle were a peach-colored Sodalyte and a pink one, respectively wearing shades shaped like four-pointed stars and hearts. One was crouched on the ground with a leg stuck out, black shades and collar framing her ponytail and eye-covering curl. The last was knelt down and pointing out to the crowd, bearing a sweet smile surrounded by her 'hood' of waist-length hair.
Each was dressed in some kind of suit of the same complementary color, with a collar matching the shape of their glasses. The hem of each suit was cut diagonally from the armpit to the waist, and the waists of their black skirts were similarly held at an angle. Covering their legs were complementary tights made of some kind of gel, and their hands and feet were cloaked by black gloves and shoes.
The pink one opened her mouth, the spots on her cheeks flushing into a bright red. Apparently, she was the speaker from before - and her collar was busy amplifying her voice for the crowd to hear.
"Meet the Sugar Rush pop idols Cosmo," said the first,
"Bellini!" cheered the left,
"Mary," drawled the right,
and "Martini" muttered the peach-colored one in the middle. Each stood up in unison, thrusting their hands out toward the crowd and flinging sprays of solid bubbles in their wake. They all grabbed their instruments at once as they came down from high arcs in the air; catching a gooey pipe instrument, a liquid keytar, some kind of fluid theremin, and a semisolid string instrument.
Comso winked as the four took up positions. "We proudly present..." And then each snapped into a playing position, all calling out at once.
"FLY ME TO THE MOON!"
>> PLAYING: "Fly Me to the Moon"
As the four began playing—Bellini whistling away on her pipe, Martini rocking her keytar, Cosmo striking with her theremin like a rapier crossed with a slide whistle, and Mary shredding her violin-esque string instrument—a mist arose from the bubbles tossed into the crowd. While the stage's lights hastily flicked off and angled to follow the four idols, a chemical light-show of colors and bursts glowed and swept and popped to match their tune. The four skipped around one another in a complex dance, performing slides and even some flips as they played. When one's role fell out of place, the other would lift her into the air in a spin - and it formed a flowing, complex choreography that at once excited and drew the eye around it with stunning coordination.
They weren't the only ones dancing, however. Those crowd-members with enough room and mobility to dance found themselves surprised by their bodies betraying them; getting up and touching hands with total strangers. It was like a dream - and many of the audience members seemed more baffled by what they were doing than they found themselves disliking it. In fact, as they formed spirals and lines of flowing arms and spinning groups like a bunch of undercover backup dancers, they felt a kind of serenity passing over their minds.
Had they used a Quiet Weapon to turn the audience into part of the act?
As the four progressed, they soon seemed to grow bored of merely being on-stage. They made more poses and flung smaller bubbles near the front of the crowd, landing close to the edge of the stage. They danced closer and closer to the brink, Cosmo singing her heart out against the backdrop of the other three's voices. As all four hit an 'I Love You', they suddenly sprang out into the crowd itself. For a moment, it looked like they were going to fall and be trampled by their own dancing audience members. Then, however, the second Quiet Weapon activated. A nebula of dark clouds and sparkling lights enveloped those beneath them, forming a lake of stars. The four merely posed and gestured atop the crowd, riding their unnaturally-coordinated waves and surges like high-speed surfers.
This continued for the last half of the act, although they did take the opportunity to fling themselves impossibly high into the air with noises like cracking pressure. While they vanished under the stars upon landings, they soon resurfaced to join the dance once more. Now, the act had taken on a kind of exciting dynamism. They did aerial tricks and even pushed off of one another mid-arc while still singing, leaving one wondering what sort of madness they'd pull off next.
As the act came to a close, however, they prepared for a final stunt. The four Sodalytes surfed toward the middle of the crowd, spinning rapidly in a circle. The members of Sugar Rush seemed to brace, crouching down, and then fell beneath the mists as if they'd been devoured by the gaseous night. With a surge in the music and a final 'I Love You,' however, the four burst up from the darkness together. Their arc was followed by the last hurrah of the second Quiet Weapon, which had erupted in a crackling reaction that resembled a rocket's arc trailing from their feet. As the four struck their last notes and fell to the ground in the fountain of light, the crowd found themselves calmly ordered back into their seats and sat down or stood in place once more.
The four were left standing just before the stage as the mist cleared, arranged in the same row as they'd started in. Bellini, Martini, Cosmo and Mary all raised their hands and made half-heart gestures, letting the festival's energy settle, and then bowed in unison.
They eagerly awaited the audience's final reaction, still bowed before the stage and illuminated by four shafts of brilliant light.
Velles Heylen had been watching, silently. He had been watching out of the corners of his eyes, when Golconde drew his last breath, again, when his companions rigged his body to keep up the performance, when Calithea decided to leave her seat at the display at hand. He sighed when the cameras weren't looking and shook his head. "By the stars, I suppose expecting you not cause ruckus even once would've have been asking too much." Despite his outwardly cold demeanour, he seemed to be rather displeased, though resumed his former position and kept up the charade, now was not the time and Golconde was already dead anyways. To be honest, he should have expected as much, knowing the surrealists, though Calitheas behaviour was no better as the supposed representative of Iqzina, as much as he disliked the place.
The crowd cheered loudly for Sugar Rush, having been drawn inexplicably to very much enjoy their short stint as backup dancers. Amilia, too, was on her feet cheering loudly. Rather out of character for her usual professional demeanour. Even the hosts skipped onto the stage arm in arm, having clearly had a brilliant time dancing together backstage.
“What a show, folks! Did you know that Lorenzo is a brilliant dancer? He practically swept me off my feet!” Iarla giggled, hanging off Lorenzo’s arm in a mammer more commonly seen in drunks.
“What can I say, I am full of surprises!” Lorenzo was also grinning widely while simultaneously straining to keep Iarla on her feet. In heels that tall it was a miracle she was still standing, honestly. “Let’s hope the judges enjoyed the show as much as we all did!”
All attention now was upon the judges stage.
Caught up in the throes of color and noise, the Novakian judge was ill aware of his body's attempts at traitorous actions, his mind clouded under a layer of silk. Of course, noone would have noticed; even if he couldn't keep composure, the emergency holograph and AI voiceover systems already being used by the dying surrealist and petulant Iqzinian would happily smooth over any flaws he might have shown while speaking-though for arguably less valid reasons. "...it is good. Very good, my, my only issue is the... the buildup. Far too long, showy. 9, 9/10. Well done."
Next up, Brachus. He repeated his statue routine, even through the throes of the performance and seemingly unfettered by whatever tricks the Sodalytes performed, skin of steel and mind of copper acting as a potent insulant. Yet he, too, seemed to be under the throes, as his voice betrayed himself with glitches and cracks layered over illegible feedback. "I-we-we-performance. Well honed-practiced-d-d too showy. Much more than pref-f-f-f-satisfactory. Sentimempire. Si-Se-Si-Se-10.egrgkkr-star." An AI autotranslator filled in his meaning as best it could, for the viewers at home; alas, the in-house attendants had to make do with guesswork, and the stage personnel would have to guess if his voicebox was giving out.
The next judge had a stony stare for the contestants, in stark contrast to the joyous or conflicted others.
As Velles Hellen had observed the performance of this new species, his mood, increased again, albeit only momentarily, until his magical wards against mind alteration triggered. His fist clenched, though even now he reminded himself, he was on Vaplana and representing Eysra, he had a reputation to uphold and as such would keep himself moderated.
"Quite a colourful, performance, quite dynamic, new, fresh, I appreciate it and so do I appreciate displaying and using the alien biology of the dancers bodies. However..." He paused and thin blue mist raised through his fingers, only to fade into thin air. "What I do not appreciate nor condone, is the use of mind altering abilities and substances, in an official tournament on the audience, without their consent no less. There are certainly times and places where such a performance is acceptable though I do not think this is either of them. As such, whilst entertaining, I am afraid there will be no points for this performance from me." The man fell silent again, leaving the word to the other judges.
Amilia was frozen in shock at Velles’s comments. She had been smiling happily and swaying in her spot until that moment. Velles had snapped her out of whatever spell she had been under, and she quickly sat back down in embarrassment.
“I was going to say that I found this performance enchanting. Your acrobatic ability is very impressive, and your work with the crowd was revolutionary. In fact, I couldn’t help but feel compelled to dance along with you. However, considering my esteemed colleague’s observations I cannot condone these alleged methods. This requires a deeper investigation, I believe, before I can comment any further.” Amilia shook her head in disappointment before letting the show continue on. A shocked silence filled the stadium as all absorbed what had been revealed. The hosts, too, quickly separated themselves and quickly moved on without further comment.
“Well, uh, welcome the next contestant from the Union of Worlds…” Iarla stammered before quickly leaving the stage in a haze, Lorenzo following behind her scratching his chin.
“Using memetic weapons for a performance?”
“Yea its pretty crazy, I can’t imagine using those on anyone honestly” The Union performers commented just before the wrap.
But the announcement came next. They were on.
“This is it. Lets give it our all”
The stage was dark.
Then there was light. A single dancer, male, in a simple and undefined costume. He danced slowly, carefully, calling for someone in the dark.
A second light came. This time a Cylaurian women, her costume too was dull and bland. She danced close to the human, their faces showing both happiness and distrust. They danced close but never touched, even as orange lights danced to light and their costumes blazed with fire. The Bridgehead war, and the act that led to the Unions creation. The Cylaurian dancer blazed softly around the human, whos dance took on a split and pained expression.
Finally, he brought his arms up and out, and a pair of wings sprouted from his back, his costume springing to life into a vivid and sharply cut Union outfit. The Cylaurian spun in, taking his left hand as her costume did the same. A third light came, an Elsi wearing the same. The three held their hands high as they danced together, throwing each other around and expanding slowly out on stage. A Jorgal joined the group who they danced around, then a Violar who danced around the group before joining the fray. Others joined them, Torne, Indbis and Godorok.
They continued to dance, some of them even being lifted into the air as their costumes changed, becoming more vivid and advanced, finally a Skia manifested in the middle of the performance, its black and coiled form dancing in and out of the group. They acted as one, performing each move in synchronicity before there was a singular drum beat.
Black and fiery shapes coalesced around the dancers, their dance becoming more desperate as their uniforms blackened and the darkness threatened to consume them. The Draken war was raging as the dancers were forced by the holographic shapes into a tighter and tighter ring on which to dance, suffocated and trapped it seemed like their own dance would be snuffed out.
The with a mighty flash of blinding golden light the darkness was banished, the dancers each ascending on wings of light as they leapt into the air. They twisted, turned and once more danced in synch with one another.
Finally they landed back onto the stage, the Violar and the Jorgal at the bottom, followed by the Elsi and Godorok then Torne and Human then at the top Cylaurian and Indbis with the Skia floating above them. As a reinforced self made pyramid. One last message as they held their fists high.
“For the Union!” They shouted in unison.
Lorenzo and Iarla emerged from the darkness, looking much more put together than when they had last left. The poor make-up and hair personnel backstage had yet again worked a speedy miracle.
“Such a wonderful performance, everyone! Don’t you agree?” Lorenzo and Iarla smiled and clapped for the performers retreating backstage. The audience, however, were not as united. Half were cheering loudly, the other half booing and jeering the patriotic display in a non-political space. It was mostly split down those whom supported SAGA or CONA, however, the Vaplanans in the audience were also split. As neutral parties, some were offended that political statements had invaded their festival. Others did not care in the slightest about the message behind the performance, they were just here to have a good time and witness the dances the galaxy had to offer.
Iarla chuckled nervously, not entirely enjoying being booed on the galactic stage. She dreaded to think what the reaction on the Ancnet would be. “All the best performances drastically split opinion, wouldn’t you say Lorenzo?”
“Well, whatever your opinion on this piece you have to agree the dancing was dynamic…”
“I believe that is for the judges to determine, Lorenzo. Shall we see what they all have to say?” Several stars lit up in response.
The first to light up their star was Velles, as per usual, but before he could speak his turn he was interrupted. The Novakian had neglected to light up his star in protest, and he did not seem to care that Velles had shot him a look before politely letting him continue his interruption.
His expression had remained at a poker face throughout the performance, and even as it ended it felt like a statue had taken his place. When he spoke he was stone cold, harsh, and for the Novakian watchers at home they finally caught a viewing of the judge they were no doubt waiting for.
"....much too patriotic. Simply a retelling of history, though creatively done. Symbolically, sufficient. 5/10." He leaned back in his chair, arms crossed. One could almost hear the outrage from the more fringe of Unionite viewers, or perhaps the screeching of 'BASED' from any Orillians in the area.
Now back to his turn, Velles pondered for a moment, having taken in the performance hailing from the Union. It was admittedly a welcome distraction from all the derangement that occurred during the last couple rounds. Though there were aspects of it he still felt uncertain about, was it politically influenced or merely pride in their nation? He spoke up when the Novakian had finished without hesitation, so as to not be interrupted again.
"As expected a solid and grounded performance by the Union, it reminds me much of the earlier performance from Ingen in that it is almost a theatre piece, though in telling the Unions history it may have gone a bit too far into the theatre and too little into dance, something which I will have yet to ponder on. Overall it was admirable to see all the different races represented, even the rarely seen Skia, and melded together in the performance." He fell silent again leaving the word to the remaining judges.
Once again, the clockwork inside of Brachus began to move, though the undefinable quiet weapon that addled his system before was in the works no longer. Yet disappointingly, he merely repeated. All the way down to the letter, his response was carbon copy of the one he gave to the Jade performance-already, one could hear the raucous social media comments and outrage that gripped the popular AncNet at the slightest hint of disrespect. "Though abstract, the meaning is definable- We see a refined and well-honed performance. It-We see flaws in the exfiltration- soundtrack- minor. This sentiment is shared with the Empire. 8/10."
Finally, it was Amelia’s turn to round off the judges' commentary. She tried to tread carefully with what she had to say. She was under strict orders to not display undue favoritism to either side of the war, lest she send a political message Vaplana did not intend to send. She sighed, events on such a scale were always so stressful to manage, and during such a tense period too! She mentally muttered a silent prayer, put on her usual warm smile and spoke up.
“What a symbolic piece! It is lovely as always to see different species with such different anatomies and personal styles working together in unison to create art. I have always been an advocate for using the arts, especially dance, to teach history. Thank you all for your performance, and for the lesson in unity and friendship.”
“Thank you, judges, for the insightful commentary. Next up we have the Zetyans!” Lorenzo smiled outwardly, but was looking around nervously to make sure the mention of the word would not summon them again like last time.
“Now, many of you will be thinking, they have already performed! Well, we must admit, that performance earlier by the little Zetling children was very much a surprise.” Iarla added, also keeping a watchful eye out. It seemed being danced around in such a chaotic way had affected the pair more than they would like to admit. Though, surely, they would find the courage to laugh about it one day.
“A very welcome surprise!”
“So, please, put your hands together for the planned Zetyan performance!”
Meanwhile, backstage, The Queen was still milling around. She had drifted her way over to a familiar face, or more precisely two. Felix and Violet were quietly reassuring their Queen, a rather unconventional moment considering they had only met Queen Fidelia a couple of times before.
“I can’t believe they would do such a political performance! Now everyone online is arguing, and the audience is booing! Booing! This festival was such an awful idea…” Fidelia was glued to her PDA, watching all of the angry comments fill her social media and that of the festival.
“It is just a blip, Your Majesty. The people will calm down eventually.” Violet rubbed the Queen’s back, while Felix tried to gently pry the PDA from her grasp.
“Until then, maybe you should just enjoy the moment and watch the performances, Your Majesty. You sponsored this event, so you should get the chance to enjoy it.”
“I just wanted to promote peace… Is that really so much to ask?”
“No, not at all, but maybe keeping such close tabs on feedback as the event is live is not the best approach…”
“I appreciate your advice Mr. and Mrs. Ulmus. I should let you prepare for your performance, I am so very looking forward to seeing you both in action again. I know you won’t disappoint.” With that, the Queen wandered away back to her retinue. Felix noticed, however, once she returned she handed her PDA to someone. It seemed she would finally be able to enjoy the show she had worked so hard to organise.
The Zetyan performance was an enigma, as were the performers. While scant glimpses could be caught of a presumably female zetyan in a dress, a few runts carrying supplies, some practical effects being ferried along by full-growns, the bodacious reputation of their people was nowhere to be seen, and everything had been kept under wraps. So far as anyone could tell, they had barely even traversed through the main atrium backstage, let alone step foot in the styling and staging rooms-though, in fairness, it wasn't as if they had a whole lot to 'style' anyways.
Now, as it was their time, the first to see what they had planned was not the crowds and judges they had come to please, but the backstage attendees. From seemingly nowhere, an entire orchestral troupe of runts in suits marched in formation behind the stage, all in uniform and with strange implants on their heads. A director was among them, stick in hand and looking as stereotypical as one could get, while various attendees both zettish and non-zettish brought along boom mics, hooking them up to the stage as the lights began to dim.
The performance started simple, a dancer in a red suit came on stage under the high-res projection of a nondescript city onstage. His movements were simple, without flourish, and he wore a rather melancholy complexion. It continued for a bit, until another dancer came on stage-a zetyan in a red dress, whose movements exuded flourish, and grace. Her presence brought life to her counterpart, who at first danced in confusion, then in wonder. When she leapt through the air, she practically soared-thanks to the help of a jerry-rigged agrav device under the dress-and the male dancer could not help but follow along, giving heartened attempts to copy her leaps and bounds, flourishes and falling short, yet with effort nonetheless.
Their movements grew closer, more fluid. Where once the female simply soared above, or paid him no mind as he vied for her, now she danced closer, nearer to his being. Where once he simply copied, now he added his own flourishes, bursts of himself that shone through just as much as hers as now he soared to the heights she did, often as she did. Eventually, they came so close as to be almost touching.
Then a third entered the stage.
A zetyan in a black suit now appeared, his movements cleanly interrupting the others as he spun through once, twice. The red suit broke off from the duet, now engaging in dance with the competitor as the girl tried to dance with the zet in red before dancing on her own around them in a wide circle, almost out of focus as a spotlight now shone on the duel. Their movements now 'clashed', as the two suit seemed almost to bounce off each other, two differing styles interrupting in a way that was strangely coherent, fluid. The orchestra began to pick up as their movements intensified in speed, motion, by the apex they were practically whirlwinds against each other. There was a break in the orchestra, as they spun around each other in a circle, as if in combat-
The red suit suddenly stopped, and danced over to the lady, who now lay on the floor.
While the focus had been locked on the clash of the two suits, a third had come along and 'offed' the lady(after making sure she fell gracefully), dancing with her for a short while before leaving just as quickly. Where the red suit went, the black suit followed, and soon they made movements around her in mournful, flowy gestures. It gradually egressed to the simple movements seen at the start, as the two remained on stage for a while. Then, a peculiar thing began to occur.
Their suits began to change color, triggers in the eyes causing a chroma shift in their hues. Where once were colors that could not be any more different, now they turned, darkened and lightened at once into a shade of crimson; red and black mixed together. Their movements began to come closer together, as the waltz returned to the melody it was before-albeit slower. Soon, they were dancing together once more, sharing a style different from the ones they had shown before.
They had a sort of conviction as they danced; movements not as flowy or graceful as the lady's, yet with a force all of their own. Both added flourishes here and there, yet it was homogenous as they continued on, and as they danced the third from before now slowly began to enter the frame, as he was catching up to them-or them catching up to him.
Without warning, the two suddenly descended on the third, clashing movements as the orchestra reached a final crescendo. Suddenly, with a blow, the third fell in a decidedly ungraceful manner, and simple movements returned for a moment. Then the two returned to their previous dance, even as their suits now both turned back to what they were. They did not separate in dance, despite the now glaring differences-if anything, they were more in-tune with each other than ever.
The waltz concluded, and the two went off stage. A brisk walk back, the other two picking themselves up, and a bow soon followed, and then they were gone. The spotlight turned off, the projection was gone.
...
That the Zetyans of all people would give a performance like this-it was almost disappointing.
“Well, wasn’t that the most pleasant surprise of the night so far!” Iarla waltzed onto the stage clapping, clearly extremely relieved there was not a repeat of the first performance.
“I personally always had faith that the Zetyans would be incredible, theyre always so full of surprises.” Lorenzo trailed behind her, gesturing with his arms dramatically. That was, of course, an understatement considering how the runts had besieged the venue not even an hour earlier.
“Will our beloved judges agree?”
Velles Heylen, for the first time during the event seemed actually surprised, if only mildly. His eyebrows lifted at the performance and its stark distinction from the first and the usual display of Zetyan behaviour. A curiosity for sure.
"I must say, this was in fact quite fascinating to see, in particular from the Zetyans who, may the artists forgive me, are usually not known for their fine arts." He paused for a moment gathering his thoughts. "It was a performance, telling a story, without words but without being vague whilst still keeping the aspect of dance, the purpose of this event in the foreground, it had a had a certain force to it but was missing the... glamour, explosive passion for my own tastes..." His arms swayed outwards slightly, a thin mist of stars emanating from his hands before he put them back together. "...however, that did not detract from the performance and we appreciate the use of a live orchestra, something one rarely sees these days, overall it was an excellent display, showing that even those nations which may not be seen as such can house great artists."
Next was Brachus, still slightly glitching although he seemed to be adapting to his impediment with time.
“T-t-this performance was m-m-much too simple for my taste. The symbolism present was- was- was welcome. No extra merit for the soundtrack. This sentiment is shared with the empire. 7/10”
Finally, Amilia took her turn. She was grinning widely, having been pleasantly surprised by the Zetyan showing.
“I find myself overjoyed at the presentation of a simpler style of dance. There is great merit to be attributed to not relying on gimmicks or fancy tricks to tell your story. The way you used the music, costumes, lighting, all aspects of the performance to guide us through the emotion displayed was beautiful. This was a beautiful showing, a much-welcome deviation from the chaos that was surely expected from this act. Thank you.”
The hosts saw on the autocue who was next, and they couldn’t help but share an apprehensive glance before continuing the show. They were sure they were further down the list, but something must have changed since the show began…
“We hope you all join us in extending a warm welcome to the next performers.” Iarla stated, taking Lorenzo’s arm for support. Her smile was wide, but those backstage knew it was a nervous one.
“They are very eager to share with us their performance, I’ve heard. I wonder what marvel they have prepared for us.” Lorenzo made a great effort to act as if he was sharing scandalous gossip with Iarla, even winking at the camera as part of his act.
“If they are that keen, we shouldn’t keep everyone waiting, Lorenzo!”
“Then we shall welcome Orillia to the stage…”
The Orillian performers came onto the stage with minimal lighting.
A single light illuminated a male and female, both wearing ancient ceremonial dresses that their race had worn thousands of years ago. They stepped forward, slowly walking as the music calmly mirrored their progression.
Soon the lights changed, and more Orillians appeared, they built, they grew, their prospered. The Orillian people reached for the stars as flitting bolts of light raced around the venue, the dancers were giddy with joy, deals were made, and their people flew higher and higher.
But soon the darkness came. Fire swept across the stage, destroying holographic beauty constructed by those below. Monstrous things crept in the shadows of the stage picking off dancers one by one and howling winds ripped through almost carrying the remaining dancers away. But they held their ground, planting their feet they produced a standard, the flag of the free state which flapped and held in the impossible winds.
Working together closely, the Orillians rebuilt, slowly as the music changed once more to one of triumph. They entrenched themselves, no longer would the winds affect them as they rose once more, rising to the stars but this time with renewed strength. More dancers came on, stepping onto burned and destroyed worlds as holograms of recognisable nations looked down on the dancers below like jealous gods.
The Orillians finally leapt into the air as a star was lowered onto the stage, together they surrounded it, recreating the construction of Istralan with their own bodies wrapped around the light source. From Istralan huge fleets came, acting as a bulwark against those observing from above.
With one motion an Orillia dressed like Yrillix planted their feet, holding their arms outstretched as several non Orillian dancers came onto the stage, each from one of the native peoples. Together they formed the symbol of CONA out of light and held it up high. Blinded the colonials disappeared and the dark lighting that had typified this segment of the dance receded.
The dance had no giant crescendo ending it merely stopped with the natives and Orillians dancing with joy across a holographic galaxy projected onto smoke which whipped around their feet. The dancers came to a hault and finally bowed before holding up their hands and intertwining them, fingers outstretched to make the symbol of CONA.
“Freedom for the natives of the galaxy!” The lead dancer shouted.
Initially, Orillia’s performance was going down very well with the crowd. Like many other performances of the night, the piece was saturated with symbolism and storytelling that the Vaplanans eagerly drank up with great enthusiasm. However, once the dancer dressed as Yrillix appeared the atmosphere began to shift. First, the Vaplanans who made up the bulk of the crowd grew uneasy, then as the performance came to a close the unease quickly turned into rage. The Vaplanans knew exactly what kind of message the Orillian’s wished to broadcast here; a message that was against the one rule of this contest. It was unfair! Other acts had to tone their messages down or limit themselves to follow these rules, who were Orillia to decide that they alone were above the rules?
The result of all those mixed emotions was an eerie silence filling the theatre. Nobody dared make a sound, lest they were the spark that would ignite the flames scattered into the crowd by the Orillians. The atmosphere was suffocating, and poor Lorenzo and Iarla were forced out onto the stage (after a rather noticeable absence) to try and salvage the situation without causing more trouble.
Iarla was the first to break the silence.
“We would like to remind our audience both at home and afar the purpose of this great event. Vaplana has a rich and lengthy tradition of keeping and promoting peace, and to have our traditions disrespected on this very stage is a great offence.”
Lorenzo had lost all of his preppy bounce, putting a stern and serious face on for the first time.
“As the previous performers broke the one rule of this competition we regretfully have to announce that they have been disqualified. We would take this opportunity to state that Vaplana holds no ill will to the talented Orillian performers, however Vaplana does not associate with such views.”
“However, the Orillian performers still deserve to hear impartial feedback on their show. So, with all of that in mind, we pass over to our judges panel for their final thoughts.”
There was an uncertain and somewhat awkward silence from the judges tables after the performance which nobody seemed to be really comfortable with. Though amongst them one stood out. Velles Heylen, who up to this point had maintained his calm demeanour, seemed to be quite displeased about the Orillians... display. There seemed to be a cold air about him and there indeed seemed to be an actual faint veil of condensed mist around him. There was an icy edge to his tone when he started talking and unlike before he seemed to be addressing the performers directly rather than talking broadly to the audience.
"You have known very well, that this event was hosted with the intent of moderation and peace in mind and yet, despite having the opportunity to display all of the rich culture beneath the harsh surface of your society, you instead deliberately chose this kind of politically oriented atrocity?!"
For the first time, he stood up from his seat and then shook his head.
"We will not stand for this, we condemn this display and what it stands for. At least the Union had been subtle about its political posturing if it was any at all, but you? This performance was a clear provocation and you knew that. You have defiled a stage meant for the display of arts and peace for war propaganda! I am greatly disappointed, in both Orillia as a state and you as performers. The former using a festival for peace as a canvas for their populist propaganda, the latter for, as fellow pursuers of the arts, letting yourself be turned into such a piece of propaganda so readily! You said you stand for the natives and yet you spat on Vaplanas culture and what it tried to stand for. I, Velles Heylen van Eysra, will see to it that your performer group is banned from staging wherever my influence reaches, until a formal and sincere apology is made to the host of this event, Vaplana, who allowed you to perform here in a display of goodwill and trust, despite being well aware of the risk that came with it!"
The man sat down interlocking his fingers and going silent again after his outburst, it was likely he was even more angered than he let on, considering he even went out of his way to mention the Union's performance in his tirade, adding insult to injury.
It seemed that Velles Hellen was not the only judge who felt enraged on behalf of their hosts, for the negative reviews did not stop there. Novakia was next in line to speak.
As the performance went from start to finish, the Novakian's complexion shifted over time from one of intrigue to that of pure and utter fatherly disappointment. Eyes narrowed, body stiff, when the performance concluded he simply leaned back, arms crossed.
"...no vote. 0/10."
That he refused to even give feedback was a damning sign enough-atleast with the Union's, he bothered to levy criticism and a measly 5.
The blood pressure in the audience was likely rising, if not because of the Orillians then because of the people in proximity to the Orillians.
Brachus remained still for a disconcerting amount of time, staring ahead through a white lens and clockwork eye. When he broke his silence, it was with a jolt, as the construct came to a ready stance and rattled off a veritable NDA of a verdict. "Subjectperformanceisinviolationofthe080AMEstandardfestivalrulings2.5,6,7,9,15regardingpolicitalstatements,slander,andthreatsofiviolenceagainstreallifenations,organizationsand/orpeoplesandisherebydisqualifiedfromofficialrulingsaspercontractclause. Allperformerscoordinatorsanddirectorsinvolvedareherebyrequestedtorendevouswiththenearestsecuritydetachmentbackstageandtheoffendingorganization,persons,groupsor-barringapplicability-nationswillbefined100SIGECasperfairplayandtermsofparticipationclausesanddocuments. FailuretopaywillresultinlegalactionandcourtservicebyVaplananauthorities."
"...1/10."
Finally, it was Amelia’s turn to speak. She knew she needed to be careful with her words, as a representative of the scorned host nation her words would mean so much more than her colleagues. But, she was so enraged at the entitlement and gall on display that she simply could not hold it in. She clenched her hands into tight fists, placed them before her on the table and stood to her full height.
“As you broke the rules and are subsequently disqualified, it is pointless to comment on the skills required to give such a performance. Instead, I comment on the attitude of the performers and their team. To so flagrantly trample my culture, our culture, and promote such horror on our very own soil is a disgrace. I am a native to this fine galaxy, like billions of others watching tonight. But, Orillia, you do not speak for me, so do not presume that you have the right to announce such. I hope you learn from this severe and ongoing lack of judgement so you do not so horrendously disrespect other stages you somehow manage to grace. You have much to learn about respect, kindness, and dignity. I hope I never have the displeasure of witnessing such a performance ever again.”
“Well, with that over with, let us move swiftly onto our next performance.” Lorenzo clapped his hands and perked up, albeit a bit less enthusiastically than before.
“We are blessed to host the Red Bulwark next! I have to admit, everyone, we are all in the dark about this next one!”
“There is a rather large betting pool backstage about what this performance will entail, and I personally cannot wait to finally know what is in store!”
The pair left the stage for the next act, but the fallout of the previous performance did not halt there backstage…
Queen Fidelia was very glad she had given up custody of her PDA. She could only imagine the commentary online now, but she was not focusing solely on that anymore. A grave injustice had just been served to her nation, and she would not let it go unpunished. She was filled with righteous fury as she marched past her escort directly towards the Orillian troupe.
“You were invited here under the banner of peace, Madame Giorn, and you decide to defile my hospitality and undermine me in such a public manner? This offence will not go unpunished.” Fidelia was normally a calm and peaceful presence, but now… Her entire aura was just overflowing with rage, and it’s effect was infectious. The Vaplanan backstage staff stared daggers at the Orillian group, wiling their Queen on silently.
“You are no longer welcome here. Gather your effects, and leave immediately. Security will escort you to your vessel, and you will not hesitate for any reason until you are out of Vaplanan space. Additionally, if I have received no formal and public apology from your Government for this egregious offence within 8 hours, your nation’s diplomats and representatives will follow suit. I would say Good Day, Madame, but you are undeserving. Get them out of my sight.” Fidelia turned on her heel, not giving the group an opportunity to offend her further with objections or reply. A swarm of event and palace security took her place as she turned and walked away, slowly escorting all the Orillians from the theatre and leaving only a heavy silence in their place.
Dictatorputski [Red Bulwark] — 19/12/2022 04:16
A group marched past them seemingly not paying a modicum of attention to the ruckus caused by the performance. Like a small disciplined army in fancy suits they walked in formation towards the stage, bringing with them a large metal crate as the venue's lights began to dim...
Soon enough there was pitch black across the whole structure. A half minute of silence dragged on, anticipation rising until, as if some giant author watched over the stage, text wrote itself into the centre.
𝓐 𝓼𝓽𝓸𝓻𝔂 𝓪𝓰𝓮𝓭 𝓫𝔂 𝓶𝓲𝓵𝓵𝓮𝓷𝓲𝓪
𝔂𝓮𝓽 𝓷𝓮𝓿𝓮𝓻 𝓸𝓷𝓬𝓮 𝔀𝓻𝓲𝓽𝓽𝓮𝓷...
It faded away into the dark, and a few moments later, a bell began to toll.
Spotlights turned on in sequence, revealing that the stage had been altered into a new format with two grey and red tiered cylindrical sections on both sides. on each tier stood a circle of dancers standing patiently. Each one wore a black suit adorned with smooth gold trim and a deep red shirt underneath topped with bowties. Their most striking features however were the reflective black facemasks each wore, covering their whole head, and more so the 'tails' they all possessed, seeming more like a pair of prehensile tentacles, all of them still in a curled position behind them.
Most of them held large staffs in front of themselves with others going empty-handed. As the music began however, the lights were still switching on, but the groups of dancers already revealed began to slam the ends of their staff into the stage in time. And then as it bursted again, they all pointed towards centre stage where an odd hologram presented itself-a stylised outline of Earth. The planet seemed to assemble itself layer by layer as the music and the dancers jolted on beat.
Just as suddenly however, the lights dimmed again, hiding everything on stage except for the holograms and 2 singular performers at the front of the stage, facing eachother. Their suits seemed of different designs, one being more black and white, yet more utilitarian, and the other with a focus on red, but far more extravagant, with a large collar and golden highlights yet each possessing the key features of the other dancers, including staffs.
For the first 'act' they seemed to dance far apart to each side, spotlights tracking their movement as they performed in different styles reflecting their portrayed backgrounds, the whimsical tune reflecting them being at peace, living out their own lives. Then, as the tone takes a sudden shift, the focus is brought off of the pair and towards the hologram, where some sort of darkness or corruption begins to engulf it, slower and slower, almost covering the whole planet until it's suddenly blown away by an explosion of light and sound.
Dancers are lit up and thrust their staffs into the air, each projecting holograms resembling a pillar of fire that creates a fountain-like effect. This continues on, performers moving in large arcing motions and trailing fire in time with points of light appearing on the globe and the beat of the drums. Eventually the main performers are brought back into the light, seemingly being tossed and flung around by the others behind them, their own staffs trailing white and red. even as they seemingly crash in the middle of the stage and twirl about each other, they begin to get dragged apart until they begin pulling each other across the stage in time with the eruptions from the music.
This performance lasts a long while. Each new mood set by the piece seemingly detailing a new part of this story. It seemingly goes on to represent something being built, and a huge fiery serpent being formed from the dancers staffs even as the earth decays. This serpent coils and pulls a spark from the planet that splits into more. The main dancers seem to be affected by all of this, being dragged apart and reaching out for eachother, falling into some sort of slumber as the sparks seem to trail around the whole building, even upward into the sky, orbited by the holographic snake as they go.
The whole display seems to burst into a circular pattern as it dives into centre stage, dancers all pointing their staffs toward the ground, before pulling them up, forming a new world as the earth had silently been consumed by fire and burnt away beforehand. It seemed from this world that complex array of holographic displays would bring themselves forth in time with how the performers seemingly pulled and pushed in their movements, swinging and tossing their staffs in an intricate rhythm, utilising the tentacles on their backs as an extra means to do so. If it wasn't obvious that what they'd brought was their own custom holo-projector, it would soon be apparent as the light grows together into a huge mountain-like pattern of wireframe, pulling itself out of the stadium, making the performance visible for miles as the grandiose music accentuates its growth.
It does stop soon enough, the focus bringing itself down to the main pair, but the holo-structure remains, as it seemingly would until the end of the performance. The two look to be separated once more, waking at different times. As they do they seem to be searching as they dance, pleading to imaginary figures and eventually the both of them move to the tiers, the countless other dancers not stopping in their own routines as the main two have to weave and flip between them, eventually ending up on the very top of each side, seeming further apart than ever.
Slowly however, the other dancers part and group behind them, allowing them to slowly step down each tier, guiding them with with elegant swings of flame from the dark until finally they're together once more. The music continues however, seemingly celebrating their unity before making them the centre of a series of more holographic displays. The serpent makes a brief return, swirling around them in time with the other performers before its body disintegrates into countless pearls of various colours, spread everywhere around stadium, twinkling and static. What's odd about these is that some of them seem to be solid, members of the audience able to grab them and see that they're miniature planets, each adorned with different colours and maps.
The song finally comes to its end as the main pair begin to use their staffs to push the planets into an organised arc of 7 over the central one, and then look to both grab one for themselves, lifting it up into the air, with every one of the performers pointing their own staffs outward from the centre to form the wings of a giant eagle, the last planet forming its eye.
They said nothing, instead they'd all sweep out their poses into a formal standing pose and bow deeply as the field of planets, the eagle, and the mountain overhead persisted, yet slowly faded away into the dark along with the lights.
To her absolute credit, Madame Giorn did not back down as the Queen of Vaplana trudged towards her with clear fury, her voice raised and shouting. While many of the Orillian actors took a step back or looked worried Giorn looked as stubborn and unmoving as a rock being battered by the ocean’s fury.
“You allowed the Union to tell their national history, politics and all. And yet we are treated different, only when our true history is told do other nations decry us and challenge us for facing up to the lies told by the colonials.”
She crossed her arms even as Fidelia raged at her. As security began to escort them out Giorn began shouting back.
“We will leave this place at once. No formal apology will come your majesty, Vaplana has clearly chosen her side in this war, and there is no point of continuing relations with a nation who so fervently defends bias ideals.”
The Orillian removal from the event came with outrage from those of the population being escorted out along with some other of the more CONA aligned people who had come to attend. The Orillian delegation was first taken to the embassy, the ambassador clearly watching events as they unfolded and receiving witness statements from Giorn and the troupe.
Communiques were sent between Celebransk and Vaplanan embassy branches, but in the end the decision was the same.
They would not be publically humiliated like this and in such a bias manner. The embassy staff were recalled and began packing immediately, burning important documents as they did so. A single statement was offered to the royal chambers of Vaplana and its government.
The Orillian Free State does not deal with bias and ignorance. Those who ignore history, are doomed to repeat it. We will cut diplomatic ties following clear diplomatic predisposition towards the colonials and an inability to set a defined fair standard in international events and relations. Unless we receive a formal apology publicly over this incident within 4 hours there will be repocussions
The Vaplanan government had, albeit briefly, descended into chaos. Messages were frantically sent to and fro between departments,all desperately trying to find an accurate report of exactly what had happened at the Prince Hercos Theatre. When the truth trickled in the verdict of the civil servants was very mixed. Everyone was outraged, but the targets of the politicians’ ire varied wildly. The majority were furious at the disrespect shown towards Vaplanan culture and hospitality, but there were those that felt unease at the Queen’s split-second decision that would impact them all so greatly. Nobody had the heart to openly say it, but the whole affair was incredibly undemocratic. Given the choice, they would have likely felt the same rage their Queen had so clearly felt but wasn’t it for the people to decide something so monumental?
The militarist camp, however, was delighted. Orillia seemed to be manoeuvring very aggressively, almost by design. It would be foolish to remain so pacifist now in the face of such a threat. Queen Fidelia had so swiftly backed herself into a corner, and everybody knew it.
Back at the stadium tempers were being dampened by the next performance, but there was nonetheless a weight in the air suffocating all present that would not shift. Even the once cheery Lorenzo looked somewhat sombre stood centre stage. The banter between the hosts was gone, and they seemed to be rushing through the show to try and end things as soon as possible.
The judges seemed just as muted. As usual, Velles Hellen was first to break the silence.
Velles Heylen had been boiling on the inside since the last performance although he had long calmed on the outside. The Red Bulwarks performance was nothing... outstanding or particularly exciting but it was still a welcome distraction to the number of disasters which had already happened on this evening. He didn't expect to get so worked up over a Judge role like this, yet here was. Despite his internal whirlwind, he spoke up when it was his turn as normal.
"An interesting performance from the Bulwark, solid execution, another piece which is likely influenced by its nation's history, albeit I am admittedly not familiar with it. Nothing excitingly out of the ordinary in terms of the performance, an interesting choice in stage costume but neither anything bad by any means."
As his part closed he receeded into his thoughts and started pondering how he could perhaps fix what had been broken this evening... Perhaps even something which could entertain him? A mysterious smile entered the man's face after his short speech, though none that would be seen behind his veil.
The next judge had been poker-faced throughout the performance, eyeing the prolonged routine with an interrogator's gaze as it continued. As the raucus died down, and the two hosts gave their remarks, the light eventually shone on him, a sign for his turn to speak.
"...a retelling of history, again." He almost drolly noted- were it not for the Zetyans, it would have been the third in a row. "Creatively done, a fair balance between chaos and order. The lack of politic is appreciated. Symbolically, sufficient. 6.5/10."
It seemed the shock of the previous performance had temporarily fixed Brachus's odd speech ailment, though his voice was still a strange thing to hear-various clips spliced together with the faint clicks and clacks of industrial parts within. A thin wafer contained in brass slowly snaked its way down the leg mechanisms, frayed intonation recorder slips stealthily disposed of at the rate one would fax an office binder.
"The performance is-sufficient. Prolonged in presentation-not ideal-creative, flashy. Goldilocks. This sentiment is shared by the Empire. 7.5/10."
Finally, it was Amelia’s turn. For a split second when the lights descended upon her her head was hung in shame. But, the show must always go on irregardless. She looked up and continued to play her part, trying not to think about what people had thought about her outburst.
“This performance was refreshing, a lovely retelling of history that does not stray into the realm of propaganda and warmongering.” There she went, running her mouth again. Such behaviour was unbefitting of a woman of her position, but at this point, she couldn’t help but desperately try and justify her actions to the galaxy.
“The formality, while stiff and unyielding, seems to play into the desired effect. Your usage of props was dynamic and skilful. I thank you for your grand display.”
With that, the next act was quickly spirited onto the stage with much less ceremony and pomp than the first acts. The atmosphere in the theatre had been permanently wounded after Orillia’s attack, and it was unclear what it would take to recover the joy and celebration usually associated with the Aymer festival.
Try as the managers might to find said entrants, the Divine Lotus Blossom’s contestants just couldn’t be found! For a moment it seemed like nothing was going to happen, or the troupe was going to run late, until suddenly a host of humanoid figures appeared on the stage, sliding into existence as if walking out from behind invisible pillars, until a dozen individual performers were standing together. Each one was a riot of coloration, from gentle pastel shades to bold and vibrant hues both on their clothes, skin, and even the clearly artificial limbs and other inhuman features they proudly displayed. Indeed, it was quite clear these individuals were not biological at all. Some had human-shaped metallic exteriors with elegantly sculpted and classically beautiful visages, others seemed to prefer a softer look, with synthetic skin of a similar aesthetic standard, some purely reminiscent of human flesh save for its artificial tones while others were lined with seams as if the various segments of skin were applied one by one, each individual some combination of this spectrum of style, slightly different from their peers, to say nothing of the assemblage of multilayered robes which complemented their personal palette, ranging from massive flowing raiments to slim and practical if elaborately decorated affairs. And then, also from out of nowhere, the music picked up, a mixture of string, drum, and woodwind instruments sounding out an energetic beat, soon accompanied by the unorthodox addition of howling guitar riffs and synthetic tunes which combined with the more traditional instruments into an eclectic mix of styles.
As one, they smiled with their artificial faces, bowed, and cupped their fists before turning to one another and initiating a blur of movement as the dance began, the performers twirling and jumping about, even leaping atop and off each other in an elaborate display of gymnastic ability, turning the arena into a three-dimensional display of high-flying moves. Certainly it would be impressive, but there was always the fact that these dancers were clearly artificial humans. Could one really call this performance impressive when it may well be rote and simple for these enhanced transhuman beings? After the Serstine performance it was almost vanilla for the entry of a culture so clearly technologically advanced.
However!
The longer one paid attention, if they were observant, the more additional details seemed to unfold. The dancers weren’t just leaping over each other, they were actually making contact rather frequently, sliding off one another and briefly touching palms, arms, even legs only to dance away moments later and re-engage, or do the same with someone else. Furthermore, at certain times, a dancer would bow out and gracefully exit the stage with an elaborate twirl into some fold in space. The more one looked into the dazzling performance, the more complex and subtly nuanced it appeared to be, like a fractal that only revealed more detail the deeper you stared.
It would likely be any watchers with combat experience who realized what was happening first, followed by the generally perceptive. The way these performers moved, touched each other, darted forward and away- they were actually fighting! Their movements were clearly aimed at one another, not just as a means to dance but as a means to tap their chest or head, which always preceded a dancer leaving the stage. This entire dance must be in fact a kind of competition between the performers, with the dancers clearly engaged in some highly formalized martial art that demanded they keep pace with the dance itself even as they tried to tag each other out. Underneath their smiling faces each one was participating in a free for all duel, presumably to the last as more and more dancers exited the stage and the remaining ones only became more active, leaping from one end of the stage to the other and tens of feet into the air as they continued the performance.
Such a revelation recontextualized the entire display. The implications alone were surreal, that this act was not choreographed or rehearsed, but completely ad hoc, each individual dancer required to keep track of every other dancer on the arena and move not just to counter, dodge, and parry their attacks, but also to keep pace with the music and provide an enjoyable collaborative performance for the watching audience. Indeed, it may well be that many watchers could spend the entire segment completely unaware of the deeper facets of the Divine Lotus Blossom Empire’s submission. But would the judges? Regardless, the sheer amount of calculations that must be running through the minds of the performers may be an impressive feat in itself for those who could appreciate it.
Eventually, only two dancers remained, an elaborately-robed figure with seamed pink skin and cybernetics decorated in iridescent armor plating over black artificial musculature, and another resembling a porcelain ball-jointed doll with a glossy black exterior and gold filigree decorating her body covered in twirling jade-green ribbons. To the average onlooker it appeared like the pair were simply engaged in a very fast-paced and dynamic waltz, but to those who’ve caught on to the subtext it was plainly obvious these two final dancers were practically trying to kill each other, or at least they were taking this whole thing very seriously. Each of the dancers had been performing with utmost sincerity through this multilayered display, and it showed in the intensity of their movements. Their bodies flowed almost like liquid, intertwining around each other in a flurry of movements, of dances, of blows, only to dart away again in a different position and clash once more at a new angle. In the end the two collided in a final blur of movement, with the doll-like cultivator placing her hand on the chest of the other for just a brief second, only perceptible to slow-motion cameras or those with enhanced senses, and the two paused in a perfectly paired climactic pose before turning to the audience as the music faded away. They smiled and cupped their fists, just as the other performers seemed to appear out of nowhere to do the same, each of them bowing while the music faded into silence.
Meanwhile, a pair of cultivators floating somewhere in orbit watched the display through holographic projectors.
“Oh, my goodness. I didn’t think she could actually do it.” One said. Both were suited up in plain, segmented dark gray armor which left their visages hidden, covered by flowing robes which shifted and shimmered, emitting a subtle cloaking effect. The one speaking, a woman, looked to be reclining on a cloud which in truth concealed strands of nanofiber functioning as a nigh-invisible cushion. The other one, a male by the tone of his reply, simply stood in space a few meters above her as though he were on top of solid ground, hands folded behind his back.
“Hm? Senior?”
“The winner. I recognize her from the Hurandan Pylon expedition. Leader of the Radiant Wind sect. Her disciples helped secure it so she could obtain knowledge there. It led to her surpassing her tribulation and ascending to the third level, as you can see. Hah! To overcome her Tribulation so quickly, it was quite an upset. Ever since we have ended our isolation, new talents have been appearing everywhere.”
“So she entered this competition to increase her standing further?”
“So it seems. The Emperor arranged this display to discover unrecognized talents through this martial tournament as much as he allowed it for the sake of exhibiting our culture, as you may have guessed already.” She laughed. “In a sense, this is the truest display of our nature. Had he not dangled the promise of a reward in front of our entrants, no one here would have bothered to show up. We are a people of contest, but only if the prize is sufficient.” The woman paused. “In seriousness though, that Chang Lian is formidable, her progress in the psionic path must have grown significantly, to have managed such a victory. We should keep an eye on her, and any others who visit the Pylon from now on.”
“I see.” He looked down at the planet, thinking. “The Psionic path is rising rapidly in popularity. This event is proof that the Solar Powers are currently lagging in psionic defenses against attacks from entities within our level, or even below it. Being a mere initial grade, she would not have won against her superiors otherwise. This is a glaring vulnerability. No doubt it will inspire all manner of evildoers to mischief.”
“I imagine the empire will have quite the troubling period ahead, this has proven it.” She turned to look up at him. “Well, that aside, are you going to stay to watch the rest of the submissions? It would be terribly boring, floating alone out here.”
“I may as well. What I have seen here has been… enlightening. I am truly a frog at the bottom of the well, the varied cultures of this galaxy are as diverse as the stars of heaven.”
“Indeed, junior. It’s not very often we are assigned so pleasant a task. Enjoy yourself.”
“Yes, senior.”
The pair went back to observing the scene as the next group entered the stage.
Io’kad was enraptured by the performance, leaning forward in her seat as she watched the dancers weave through one another. Unlike many others surely watching, her eyes caught sight of the greater scheme early on, and now she had become captivated in her competitive mindset. Not for herself of course, to be here was an honour unto itself, but for the simple pleasure of betting on a victor.
When the performance decided the last two dancers, Io’kad found herself cheering with the crowd, applauding the final duo. Her lower hands heald tight around the arms of her seat, and her attention solely on the outcome of the performance.
As the dance came to its abrupt conclusion, Io’kad quickly rose to give her ovation. Within her helm, Io’kad made a note to reach out to the performers after the festival. There was no doubt in her mind, they would find no end to offers to tour the Empire.
The crowd erupted in delight at the display. Whether they understood the deeper meaning or not, everyone seemed to enjoy the show just as much as the person next to them. This moment made all of the efforts of putting the event together worth it. There had been drama, yes, but there had also been performances that embraced the pure delight of expression. And that was surely the purpose of the competition. Not politics, but coming together to applaud people who had dedicated their entire lives to the art of expression.
“I feel sorry for whoever has to top that performance!” Lorenzo grinned, his energy finally back to what it had been at the start of the show.
“What a show! Now, this is what the Aymer festival is all about, am I right everyone?”
“Well, the judges are the only ones who can officially tell us that! Judges, do you love that as much as we did?”
It seemed they did.
Velles had been watching what could rightfully be proclaimed as a spectacle, watching every move with his enhanced senses, following every play and counter play with interest. He was aware it has been a display of combat prowess, but one well concealed unlike many of the other... tendencies on this evening, as such there was no need to bring it up at the moment. He rose from his seat when it was his turn and took the word.
"An impressive display of both physical prowess and coordination, likely one of the highlights of this evening that may even be able to rival to some of those in shown in Eysra. The only gripe I had is that seemed somewhat... sterile, although the display itself was apparently not studied beforehand, it felt like there was a competition of ambition instead of passion and movements that were too fast to follow for the average galactic citizen though it was nonetheless a phenomenal display of the arts."
For the Novakian judge, it took until there were not but 10 or less on the stage, but once he realized the gambit, seemed almost morbidly perplexed by the display. His gaze seemed as if he was failing to understand something, or perhaps struggling to parse the meaning. However, he made no comment, only speaking when the spotlight inevitably flashed on him again.
"A very... interesting performance. I approve of the... element of improvisation. Performers are well-trained. However, I will respectfully abstain from judging until a later point. I am a judge of the arts, not a combat instructor. I believe my colleagues understand."
There was a confused murmur rippling through the crowd, especially the Vaplanans. Combat..? What combat? That was dance, in its purest form… But, was it? It was rather brutal, and aggressive, but that had been chalked down to cultural differences. No, it was definitely dance!
Brachus, meanwhile, did not seem to catch on. Or, if he did, he made no distinction-simply watching the performance through a cyclopic eye and an unflinching pose until it finished.
"The performance is-sufficient. Prolonged in presentation-not ideal-no story. Performers are-very trained-goldilocks. This sentiment is shared by the Empire. 7/10." Though it made no further comment, the Novakian could have sworn the ornate head angled itself to give him side-eye.
Finally, Amelia’s turn. She was grinning uncontrollably, a glint in her eye. “This is exactly the kind of performance I was hoping to see tonight. Unrestrained, yet precise. Wild, yet carefully controlled. Full of energy, full of skill, full of passion and dedication and love for your craft. That performance is a shining beacon, an example for us all to strive for. Beautiful, dignified, truly a masterpiece. I saw no combat here, just dancers throwing themselves unashamed into their art. The stars of the show. Thank you for gracing our stage, for performances of this calibre are exactly why Aymer created this festival all those thousands of years ago. To share such brilliance with all of Vaplana, and now, all of the Galaxy.”
“So, certainly an act to follow.”
“Surely there are only two people who could even attempt such a feat…”
“Well, they do have the home advantage, Iarla. It is time for us Vaplanans to throw our performance into the mix, and we do hope that you all enjoy it!”
“Welcoming to the stage, Vaplana’s star-crossed dancing stars, Violet and Felix Ulmus!”
The pair walked to centre stage hand in hand. Violet wore a long dress which dusted her ankles, the colour of which was impossible to tell. It seemed to reflect the colours in the lights, it shimmered so. The skirt was made up of many layers of overlapping fabric making it float gracefully around her as she bowed to the audience. Felix wore a loose-fitting Vaplanan dancing suit, the jacket and trousers in the same iridescent material that reflected the colour of the light. Once they bowed, they entered hold and waited for a moment for the music to begin.
The gentle notes from the piano signalled the start of the performance, and the stage burst to life. The backdrop was a brilliant icy blue and the lights a brilliant pure white. I was winter, and everyone could feel the chill in the stadium. Snow gently fell into the audience to get them in the mood, but it was not that cold really.
The dancers, too, swayed into action. They were holding each other tightly, waltzing across the stage. The winter was cold, lifeless, but also graceful. They spun around each other, mimicking the snowflakes that surrounded them. It was a slow start, but it was a wonder the pair maintained such perfect posture considering they did not stop spinning and twirling, the two seeming to be more an extension of each other than two separate individuals.
As the music quietened for a moment everything seemed to stop. The dancers froze mid-spin, Felix holding Violet steady as she leaned away in a precarious pose. Then, the music changed.
A bouncy beat struck up, and with a flash Violet spun away for a second, tearing a layer away from her skirt to make it knee-length. The lights shifted into pastel tones. Pinks, Yellows, and Lilacs filled the stadium. It was now spring, and with spring came a lindy hop. Flower petals now fell into the audience, a mixture of all types of tree blossoms. You could find petals of all delicate colours.
The dancers switched pace impeccably, going from slow and swaying wrapped in each other’s arms to skipping across the stage. Each kick, flick and step was perfectly in time with the beat and the two perfectly mirrored each other. They orbited each other, and when the distance narrowed to a close in time with the music they came into contact they performed wild and crazy tricks. Felix would fling Violet higher and higher into the air, and she landed perfectly every time. But spring would not last forever, as the march of the seasons was never-ending. Luckily, the pair’s love and trust in each other was just as assured.
The transition to the next part was a lot smoother than the end of winter, the music naturally blending into each other. The next tune was just as upbeat but more jazzy than bouncy. The lights got much brighter, the pastels shifting into brilliant yellows and greens. Petals still fell, but flower petals replaced the delicate blossoms. Roses, carnations, daisies. The colour was spectacular.
The pair came together again, back into the classic ballroom hold. But instead of slowly swaying and spinning as they had for Winter’s waltz, the pair took off across the stage. Their feet were a whirlwind of action, again perfectly mirrored in an intricate whirl of steps, but their top half was controlled, still. Their Quickstep incorporated the peppiness of spring with the classiness of traditional ballroom, a dance perfectly representing the calmed joy of the summer heat.
But summer would eventually fade to Autumn. The music again sopped, the silence and stillness filling a single moment. The dancers took a step away from each other, this would be their last hurrah. They had been saving their best performance for last.
A guitar filled the stadium as everything again shifted. The light was dominated by reds, oranges, and browns. The colours of the falling leaves now filling the stadium.
Autumn is the most dramatic of the seasons, and the couple intended to display that perfectly. The music started slow, the pair circling each other, inching closer. Then, once the beat stepped up, they again sprung to life. This was the Argentine Tango, a steamy expression of the more dramatic side of love. Perfect or the dramatic changes Autumn brought.
The pair were in hold again, but this was no traditional hold. They almost clung possessively to each other, hands grabbing at each other’s clothes. But, the best part of this dance was not the expressions, the passion. It was the intricate footwork. Violet flicked her feet between Felix’s legs at an impossible speed, and with a precision that did not match the ferocity of which she flung herself into the performance. She was constantly kicking in time with the music, at one point even purposefully stepping on Felix’s feet and legs for her to jump from.
The music started to crescendo, the performance was building to a dramatic end. The footwork was getting faster and faster, until, suddenly… Stillness. Felix dropped Violet low to the ground, her head held only inches from the stage, and his forehead touching hers.
The performance of their lives was over.
It was a standing ovation, the Vaplanans screaming out their support for their representatives. For their nation to have produced a stand-out performance that stood alongside those enhanced my magic and inhuman capability filled the patriotic Vaplanans with great pride. It was a testament to the Vaplanan passion for the arts and expressionism instilled in all from birth that they had done so well against all odds. The pair had just propelled their careers from well-known within their industry to Vaplanan stardom, and all it took was a few minutes.
“Wow! Wasn’t that brilliant! Not that I’m totally biased or anything folks!” Lorenzo was practically vibrating with excited energy, the aura of the theatre flowing through him.
“Lorenzo, we are supposed to be impartial…” Iarla nudged her co-host gently, making a joke out of his patriotism.
“I am very impartial! I just know a good performance when I see one.” He huffed playfully.
“Well, the best people to tell us whether it was truly a good performance are our wonderful judges.”
As it was the turn of the judges, Velles once more took the forefront, he stood up elegantly, almost as if floating off his chair and then nodded respectfully to the pair of dancers.
"A common theme interpreted in an interesting way with a mesh of different dances performed passionately and displaying wonderfully the feelings that stand behind one who dedicates their life to the dance, combining into an admirable and a fitting performance for the Vaplanans that was impressive, even without the use of any magic or advanced technology, more so, throughout the entire performance, the dance itself always stood at the centre. I will have to admit, our personal taste prefers something more... explosive, though that would likely be unfitting for the competition and would've only distracted from the display itself. It was quite impressive indeed, as expected from the hosts of the event."
His expression was, as per usual, not to be discerned beneath his veil, though he seemed to be rather pleased when he sat down and left the word to the next judge.
Throughout the Vaplanan performance, the Novakian had maintained a stoic visage, steepled hands set in front of his face as he analyzed the duo like an art critic would a masterpiece. When his turn to talk came, there was a comparatively pregnant pause as he seemed to ponder, then break it with a nod and a smile.
"A appreciable display. Well rounded, opts for symbolism instead of story-I appreciate the care taken towards the balance of elements. The entrants are well-trained, and have movements indicative of high veterancy. I approve-9/10."
It was the second time he had gone that high with the ratings on this night-discounting the unfortunate Sodalyte performance-and to the home turf, no less. Something to light up the queen's day, or to stir up some patriotic spirit, if nothing else.
The white eye on Brachus' head tracked their performance down to the smallest details. To an outside observer, it would seem as if to be his impassive, blank gaze, but under the white sheen and static pose his auge complex moved like wisps, taking in everything they could to deliver their final rating. When the light shone on him, unlike the Novakian there was no pause beforehand, as it spoke with immediacy that could only be achieved from having locked down a verdict before the performance was even over. "The performance is-sufficient. Performers are-honed-very. No story-not ideal-symbolism interpretable. We see flaws with the climax sudden-anticlimatic. Goldilocks. This sentiment is shared with the Empire. 8/10." Once again, the robot trod the paths well known between the numbers 7 and 8.
At a certain point, one had to wonder if they really meant it, were just playing it safe, or perhaps just happened to have a sycophantic streak. In either case, whatever reasons they had, their star lit up all the same.
Amelia had thoroughly enjoyed the Vaplanan performance, but it would be unseemly for her to make an official judgement of it seeming how it came from her own nation. She was many things, impulsive, passionate, and a perfectionist for certain. But she would not let herself be seen as biased. It was her responsibility, not just as head judge but also as a representative of the hosts. She had surely done enough damage to reputations with the Orillia business, it was time for her to claw some credibility back.
“As it would be seen as biased for me to officially give you both a ranking, all I can offer are these comments to impress upon you my great appreciation. This performance, along with most other performances of the night, further solidifies why we hold this festival every year. To share our passion for the arts, and for each other, just as you both have so proficiently displayed. I thank all of the performers and backstage staff who came here tonight with peace in their hearts for putting on such a wonderful show. I also look forward to the final acts. You have been preceded by so many wonderful performances, so I challenge you to give the dance your all and show the galaxy your passion!”
With the penultimate performance fast approaching, many people online had begun placing their bets on who would win. Each performance so far had its merits, and between the top contenders, it was looking like a close contest. Would the final two acts change everything?
The stage darkened once more.
As the next act was announced, the lights slowly dimmed out. All that was left on the big podium was darkness, together with equipment and instruments being moved from the backstage to the front. Cheers, shouts, screams, all sounds coming from the audience the moment the first sounds came from the group, now on-stage.
Isatiride, the group standing in front of an audience of thousands and millions of viewers off-world, was a music group of four Furrelians who had met eachother in the Furrelian educational system. Each of the members, three men and one woman, were around their early-to-mid twenties. The group itself was formed to combine the more popular music genre of electro with various traditional Furrelian genres. Traditional music instruments were a large part of its preformances, and through the years they became incredibly popular in the Union, hell, even abroad they had sold out entire venues for their concerts. It was not the first choice of the Furrelian Union's Broadcasting Service to send Isatiride. They had preferred it if more traditional groups would've been sent to the Aymer festival, but, through a vote and even endorsement by the leaders in the government, Isatiride had become the Union's musical face to the wider galaxy.
Starting slowly, a technological humming made place for a traditional whistling sound and drums. The large standing drum, played by 'Osi' Geradema, apparently had salt on it, because every time he slammed the giant drum with traditional paterns, large fountains of salt spewed upwards, creating a dramatic effect with the dim background lighting. With the flute and the giant drum, a basic tune had been put in place, reinforced by the electronic sounds. Once again slowly, the lead singer appeared. A small hum joined in with the tune, as Kelisinda 'Kelisi' Marisaio slowly became more visible to the audience with the brighter lighting. The music was continiously building up for a drop. Electronics, drums, flutes, humming all became louder and faster until it finally dropped.
Suddenly, the lights all flashed a bright white. The beat had dropped, and with all the power and emotion which she had, Kelisi sang out her lungs. With the singing, the lightshow expanded. On the back screen, traditional paterns were all joined in with flashing lights, lasers and all matter of colours shooting into the audience. The large boxes for music put out so much bass and sound that it pushed back some on the front row. Even with hearing protection, the sound came in with an inmense volume. All while the audience was blown away by the sound or jumping around, Kelisi had removed the microphone from the stand and had ran to the front, singing about the coming spring in a language almost no one in the room understood. At the front, she was giving a whole other kind of preformance compared to the endless jumping around others had done. Traditional dancing in 'traditional' clothes - same paterns, but more casual than the real traditional outfits - had become a staple of the band through its many concerts, and when she wasn't singing with all her live power, Kelisi was dancing with all that she had. The humming still continued, as did the electronics, whistling and drums.
After the singing came the dance, then came the singing, then came the dancing again. A preformance that was both traditional and modern, representing the Furrelian culture in a bright light. After even more of the extremity of the electronics, the music finally slowed down again, before the whistle re-appeared.
Kelisi moved back to the rest of the group, seemingly out of breath. She slowly and dramatically 'collapsed', falling down to the ground as the beat and lightshow almost came to a standstill. With her body fully on the ground, the beat returned with its buildup. She once again started humming the by-now familiar 'oooh-oooh', and just as how she had collapsed, she now slowly got up for her final verse. An ear-piercing scream, filled with all the emotion which the singer had, started the final part of the song.
The lights and lasers returned, the fast pace returned, Kelisi returned, the flute gave it all, the salt spewed up meters in the sky, and as she sang her final lyrics, Kelisi was all the way at the front of the massive podium, between various smoke canons. The flutist, 'Asi', ran forwards aswell, piercing through the smoke to give it his all with Kelisi. As soon as the final words had left her mouth, the song had ended, the lightshow ending to illuminate the entire stadium.
"Thank you Vaplana!" was the final thing Kelisi shouted, before the two members on the front dissapeared behind the smoke screen again. Their greatest show was over.
“Oh, I do love a good party!” Lorenzo clapped earnestly as he stepped into the spotlight.
“If by party you mean ringing ears then you are certainly right, dear. I do rather think that was our loudest performance yet!” Iarla almost shouted into her mic, her hearing clearly a little ‘off’ after the volume of Isatiride’s act.
“Oh, you all know me. The louder the better, I say!”
“Will the judges agree with you though, Lorenzo?”
As the attention moved over to the judges the first notable thing, as per the theme it seems, was Velles Heylen, the man sat in his place, fingers interlocked and... frowning. He did not seem angry as he did with Orillia, more... mildly confused. Eventually, he nodded and took the word.
"An... interesting display. I can see why one would pick this group from the Furellian Union for a song performance, a modern theme which is likely popular with youth local to the area they originate from. However it eludes us why one would send a group of singers to a dancing contest. A lateral entry for surprise value? I do not think this is the contest for this sort of escapade, unless it was solely to gain the attention of a broader audience. As mentioned before, an interesting display, though nothing outstanding or special in terms of the topic of the Festival." He went silent and handed the word to the next judge.
The next judge spent a good chunk of the act on the edge of wincing, the seeming lack of concern for hearing damage by the performers giving him a front row seat to the bassiest show of his life. Even when it ended, cochlear augs saving him the displeasure of tinnitus, he maintained a grimace for about a minute afterwards. It had washed away from his face by the time the spotlight shone on him, though in it's place was a mildly disapproving look contrasted with his star lighting up. "Flashy. Very... loud. Bordering on kitsch. Passion, however, is very appreciable. 5.5/10." It seemed the judges did not appreciate Isatiride’s boldness like Lorenzo had.
While the robotic judge was unphased by the noise, compared to their compatriots, it still maintained the stoic impassiveness it showcased before. Brachus's verdict, when the time came, once again had elements of copy and paste that he seemed so fond of-the first half of his verdict spoken in straight verbiage from the Cultivator's performance. "The performance is-sufficient. Prolonged in presentation-not ideal-no story. Performers are-honed-motivated. We see flaws with the-noise. Highly emotive. This sentiment is shared with the Empire. 7/10." Once again, they strode a middle ground. Perhaps Brachus was just a glass half full sort of robot.
Finally, it was Amelia’s turn. She had been frantically rubbing her ears when attention was place elsewhere; a futile attempt to silence the ringing. It was, however, obvious when her turn came that she did not realise how loudly she was speaking into her microphone, like Iarla. The two were clearly not used to the volume which was commonly deployed in Vaplana’s underground electro clubs. Lorenzo, on the other hand… Well, they were practically his home.
“Well, I must say I was not expecting a performance like that! You have great confidence and spirit, and I am sure in your field of expertise you are stunning performers. I found what little dance I saw enjoyable, a lovely blend of modern and traditional theming. But, I do wish I had seen more focus upon it given the nature of our contest tonight. Either way, a commendable effort.” Rather neutral, all things considered. Amelia did not wish to mention her impending hearing loss, the other judges had been rather harsh about that already…
“Now, gathered friends across the galaxy, we introduce to you our final act for this glorious contest!”
The stage went dark for a final time…
As the stage went dark one last time, strangely enough, it seemed to stay dark, there was no announcement, no speaker, even the moderators had fallen silent. Though they knew who was going to be on the stage, at least by name, they had been explicitly asked not to be announced. The final performance of the evening, a piece done by two renowned members of house ‘Stella Nocte’ from Eysra. A silence filled with anticipation had filled the area, so complete it was not even interrupted by any occasional murmurs.
A moment passed. Another.
Then, moments before the anticipation turned to concern, the lights went on, dimly illuminating the stage, two young women, clad in oriental free flowing clothing posed on the stage, one arm up in the air the other to either side of them, side by side, one in fiery reds and yellows, the other in oceanic blues and purples, wild long hair flowing down their backs, crowned by a tiara. They did not speak, but even a brief look of them into the audience as they raised their gaze from the ground to the sky, conveyed a barely contained fire, an anticipation that dwarfed even that of the audience itself, which many would remember for a long time.
Without a word, music started playing, there were violins, slow, melancholic, the sound filled the area without any palpable source or origin, like an ethereal hum, and with the music, the performance began.
Their hands interlocked and began with a slow whirl away from the front of the stage, movements, slow and elegant, close together to the point of intimacy, every step measured, interspersed with wide flowing spins, harmonious, holding each other at one hand, before coming together again, away and towards the audience, in a circle across the stage, looking at each other with a mesmerising passion, never apart for more than a few seconds. It was like a mix of a variety of dances, a waltz, ballet, tango, all combined into a singular fluent display, tact driven steps, carries, spins. All accompanied by the lights, gentle almost alien glows from above, like a curtain of northern lights, only interrupted by the stars somehow shining through the curtain of light.
It were captivating moments, so much so some dared not breath or blink, afraid to miss something. Though moments were not made to last, time had to advance, as such was entropy.
Suddenly, the music picked up, the violins grew faster, more lively and so did their dance, with an energetic toss the swung away from each other, movements going from intimate and controlled to playful and free.
Out of wide, circular and deliberate steps, became wide sways, jovial, joyful, free, the two women frequently parted ways now, spinning away from each other in pirouettes as the respectively other bowed playfully, coming back together into a spin or carry.
Then upon one meeting, fire sparked, they laughed with joy as tiny flames flickered in tandem with their voices, erupting between them mid-air like wisps as they spun away from each other synchronised, one step, another, suddenly, they treaded in the air.
Ever higher, ever more nimble, step by step taken with glee, almost jumping from invisible platforms one spot to another as if each of them was dancing a performance on their own. The light receded, instead of a wide glow, focusing on both individual dancers, their costumes flowing with the rapid movements making them look like exotic mythical birds or spirits dancing across the starlit canvas of the night sky, the surroundings now only lit by tiny embers and the light of their costumes as the spotlight vanished gently, several metres in the air, they reached their Zenith, meeting once more hand in hand and then…
Darkness.
For but a brief moment, the embers disappeared, the lights shut down, even the music seemed to have disappeared, standing in the audience, for but a brief moment, it was as if having been blinded and deafened, the audience muted by the spectacle.
An explosion of two colliding fireballs erupted on the stage.
Coming from the very edges, colourful orbs of flame, one blue one red, merging at the centre into a purple blaze that erupted outwards, revealing the two dancers, now opposed, one arm, stretched to the sky, the other towards the respectively other on the other side of the stage, as if offering a challenge!
Sure enough, they leaped forwards, half jumping, half gliding through the air like fae, meeting in the middle, one grasping the hand of the other as if an elaborate counter, throwing them overhead in a fluid motion, the other spraying flame from their hand forming a wheel of red fire as they spun to the side of the stage the other other had just stood at moments ago, they caught themselves, body contorting flexibly, gliding just at the border as if riding through a wave in a curve without touching the ground, the motion returning to the centre. Another time she was caught, or so it seemed, far more momentum in play this time, the blue dancer was lifted of the ground in a spin, creating another, this time blue, wheel of flames as she flew off to the side the red one had stood in originally, catching herself with a fluid spin that went low to the ground.
There was no pause, immediately they dove towards each other again, grasping each other by one hand, spinning outwards in the middle of the stage. With a sway of their arms a wall of multicoloured flames erupting outwards, letting go they parted ways again into pirouettes, each looking like a whirl of flames, shortly after, turning around only to encounter each other once more and again a wave of fire, a stream of multicoloured flame, thrown outwards each time they met, every time faster, more frequent, raising the cadence as if trying to compete with each other! Though there seemed to be no hostility between the two. A wide, almost maniacal smile on each face, each time they met, the movements almost as if trying to take the audience with them onto the stage, onto a journey, an experience, swathes of flames that should terrify one logically were going overhead or stopping just short of the end of the stage becoming like a warm touch, like a refreshing breeze, striking a feeling of freedom and excitement into the heart of the onlookers.
Simultaneously, those capable of seeing the flow of mana were sensing a flare of colours, the entire stage in constant flow of erupting and siphoned magic, what was happening here was a grandiose spectacle, in more than one sense.
Another meeting, another spin, first horizontal on the ground, with quick precise steps, swinging each other around, then as they almost stood intimate again, one swung up into the air, ascending, the other pulled after, flying upwards, descending and being caught by another hand, spinning apart mid air, at the zenith gliding in another fluid motion back to the centre, almost colliding.
Almost.
Sheathed in flames, they met in the middle, the flames intermingling and erupting outwards, suddenly…
The dancers were gone.
There was a still, lingering and fickle light left on the stage, as if a remnant, as if the world had taken a breath, as if uncertain whether the flames consumed them…
Ghostly, hazy movements within, the music calmed though still fast, urgent at a measured pace, the lights flickered. One would think one saw spectres in the light dancing, like ghosts under the fickle lights, like tropical alien fish, dancing in a sea of northern lights…
Then music reached a new height, picking up pace once more, new excitement in the melody, the audience could feel what was to come, they were approaching the peak.
The light erupted, the two dancers at the centre, back to back, each an intricately ornate blade raised horizontally above their head, the other arm in line with it, simultaneously, they spun away from each other, the blades meeting in the process, releasing a shower of sparks and a sound as if a stringed instrument had struck its first tone. Their blades spun with their movement fluently, like an extension of their body, first high, then to their waist and finally going low, they stopped halfway towards the corner of the stage, only for one to leap at the other. In a vertical spin, another wheel of flames, erupting high into the sky, though this one originating from the blade, as the wall of flame descended the blue dancer stood already prepared, parrying the strike fluently, parting the wall of flames in the process, sending another burst of flames to the sky.
The blade descended from blue to red, red spinning around blue in a tight dodge, using the momentum, they brought the blade down on blue again, who turned around, meeting it with their own, the swords caught each other, the metal of the blades once more singing like instruments, the tone varying with each movement, each advantage the other dancer tried to get by angling the blade differently, thrusting or pulling it away, before they parted ways again in another shower of sparks.
Once more they advanced on each other with elaborate steps, this time red stepping past blue, catching her by the wrist with her hand not her blade, the two spinning in the centre for a moment before parting again.
Another advance, another song of the blade, intermingling with the present music, meeting again and again, each time the blades flaring up, the fire lashing out, though diverted without damage, sparks flying out, new fire erupting more and more and more, dancing around each other gracefully, again and again, forming a storm of coloured flame, each time they met grew more intense, strike after after strike, followed by elaborate glides, dodges or spins as they parted and met again, first on the ground then in the air…!
As the blades flared incandescent, each dancer like a spirit of flame, a manifestation, they met one last time, blade rushing towards blade in blazing glory, meeting in the centre and recoiling!
The blades were flung out, sent away in the air like spinning saws, like disks of light, each dancer retreating to their side in a fluent glide to catch the others weapon, red to blue, blue to red, both dancers lit up in a purple blaze!
The spin did not end, the momentum continued, for but a brief moment, time seemed to stand still, the music reached its final zenith, the blades flaring up like tiny stars as each dancer brought their blade around with a wide ecstatic smile, the burning incandescence manifesting into two intense purple orbs of fire like miniature novae, launched at the centre stage at speed, as if they were going to incinerate the entire plaza!
Wide eyed with bated breath the audience stared, unable to move or think, unable to avert the eyes, both humbled and captivated by the majesty before them.
A final swing.
Blades raised upwards towards the sky like sculptures made from gods of war, the music reaching finality, the audience staring on as the balls of fire diverted their path, sent towards the sky, the stage fell dark, flying further, reaching above the skyline and finally…
Colliding.
The music fell silent as if having had a heart attack, all that was heard was the roaring of the fire in the sky as the clashing firestorms erupted into an unparalleled rainbow coloured firework, illuminating the entire city in a kaleidoscopic grandeur.
There was silence. Slowly, the first remnants of the firework descended, fickle embers, faintly illuminating the stage in gentle rainbow colours, showing the two dancers, side by side, bowing deeply to the audience, eyes to the ground, one arm in front of their chest, the other stretched outwards and towards the sky as if presenting one last time their glorious blaze.
One last time the ethereal violins finished in a couple of faint and humble melancholic strokes before fading out…
Then, the dancers were gone, the performance was over, though even now, as the mana receded, the magic of the performance stayed in the area, tiny embers descending even now, bearing testimony that what the audience had just witnessed had in fact been real …
“What a way to end the show!”
“Iarla, I’m sad…” Lorenzo was trailing behind Iarla as they entered the stage for one of the last times. He was sloucing over dramatically, pouting at the camera.
“How could you be sad after such a spectacular evening of dance, Lorenzo? I, personally, could not be happier.”
“That is exactly why I am sad! We have sampled all of the best dance the galaxy has to offer, how could we possibly see anything that will beat this?”
“Well, if thats not a tad dramatic… But have a little hope, Lorenzo! The night is not quite over yet. We have seen wonderful performances from our competitors, but I heard a little bird whispering backstage that there is one more show to come.”
“Well, if thats the case, let’s move this show along! Judges, what do you think of that last wonderful act?”
'Once more, one final time, the attention moved over to the judges, though this time something unexpected occurred or rather, did not occur.
Velles Heylen, who had taken centre stage amongst the judges for most of the event, was missing.
However, there was a note left with the moderators...'
A confused murmur filtered through the crowd. Velles Heylen had been a staple of the show, and his opinions were very highly valued by the audience. To see him gone was not only a shock, but also greatly upsetting. The next judge was ushered to speak up quickly to prevent the upset from settling in.
The Novakian judge spent this moment to collect his thoughts, hands clasped afore him as he silently pondered. Then, coinciding with his star lighting up, he gave a slight smile and a nod.
"Well-performed. Opts for artistry in lieu of story. Performers are well-trained, the usage of magical arts is finely honed and admirably deployed. 9/10."
The third in a night, and for the last performance as well. Perhaps the ice had melted from the critic's heart, just a little. The crowd’s dissapointment quickly melted away, cheering the Novakian’s melting heart.
The machine judge was much more immediate in it's judgement, in comparison to their compatriot on the left. The star lit up as soon as it was able to do so, and Brachus soon began speaking in prompt order.
"The performance is-sufficient. No story-not ideal. Performers are-very trained-goldilocks. Magical arts-appreciable-fine tuned. This sentiment is shared with the Empire. 8/10."
The last judgement for the momentous night, and it was once again a comfortable 8. Some would call Brachus a sycophant, others simply indecisive. But it was chosen for a reason, anyhow-or, barring that, the appointees couldn't voice their complaints until the show's end.
Finally, for the last comment from the panel, it was Amelia’s turn. She rose to her feet in applause.
“I would like to start by thanking all of our contestants today for coming together for us tonight. The love of dance is truly intergalactic, a uniting force for us all. I have seen wonders I thought never possible tonight, and I will never forget the pleasure of being able to sit in this historic theatre in person. I extend this thanks to all of the people working tirelessly backstage to make this contest happen, without your effort tonight would not have been possible. I finally thank everyone who turned up to cheer on our contestants tonight, it has been a pleasure to serve you all on this fine evening. Now, to my comments on that wonderful performance.
The blend of the physical effort and magical precision was a feat to behold. To be able to display such physical and mental discipline was inspiring to watch. You are truly talented performers in every aspect. That is not even touching upon how you cultivated such strong emotions from not just myself I am sure. Stellar performers and a perfect rouotine. Thank you for ending the show in such style.”
“Thats it then, the judges everybody!” Lorenzo clapped.
“Now, our experts backstage are going to begin counting the votes cast by our audience here in the Hecross Theatre as well as the judge’s tally to determine our champion.”
“But while they work hard doing that, we will not be left waiting! We have word that there is one more dance for us to witness tonight.”
“I hear this next one is improvised, is that true Iarla?”
“Very likely, for the idea was only presented to the producers during this very show! I think we are in for a wonderful treat, ladies and gentlemen!”
“Welcome to the stage our mystery surprise act!”
There was a silent murmur in the crowd, speculations as to who the surprise act could be, given the fact the most prominent of the Vaplanans had already had their turn and no special guests had been announced for the day, at least not officially.
Who stepped onto the stage eventually, as the announcers had made space, was as surprising to the audience as it was to the staff itself. Furthermore, it was even uncertain which of the two figures now standing on the stage was more of a surprise.
The first one, still clad in the same light blue flowing garments as before, bowed formally, almost overbearingly pompous in the movement, whilst maintaining form and decency, a wave like glittering stars came with the gesture, accentuating his every move, the sky glimmering as if someone had weaved additional stars into it.
It was none other than Velles Heylen van Eysra, the Judge which had been missing since the last performance and figure of almost mythical notoriety in Eysra itself.
The second individual, however, was no less of a surprise, a female figure, bowing courtly, her delicate features clad in a lavender dress, layers upon layers of thin fabrics, creating a depth to the dress that both amazed but not revealed too much of what was beneath, all wreathed in patterns and in part actual flowery vines decorated by lilac and lavender blossoms, her blond flowing hair crowned by flowers.
It was the Queen, Fidelia herself.
For a couple of moments, there was silence, the unlikely duo on stage looked like Oberon and Titania from elven myths, then Velles offered his hand to Fidelia and the dance began.
It started with simple steps, back and forth like a traditional waltz, in silence as not even music was playing. However the silence did not stay long. The wind picked up without warning, though not wild, gentle, like a spring breeze, moving through the blades of grass, giving off a silent whistling that seemed strangely fitting to the dance, though it did not end there. With each each step the dancers took on the stage another layer added to it, furthermore, the grass seemed to grow, starting to encompass the stage and with the rising tide of grass Fidelias and Velles’ steps picked up the pace, making a round at the borders of the stage now with wider, more adventurous swings and movements.
Vines crept up the stage but then disappeared in the darkness, Velles let go of the Queen and in the middle of the stage she danced a solo, this time more traditionally Vaplanan, based on but not similar to the performance her fellow Vaplanans had given earlier, in meanwhile, Velles danced around her in a circle, wide, high and low movements adding onto her performance as if presenting her. Velles ended in a pirouette, headed towards the queen, taking her by the hand, with his momentum he picked her and swung her around… and she floated!
In a fluent movement, like an exotic fish or bird, she flew through the air, the lights following her, to reveal a second, slightly higher stage grown off the vines which had crept up the stage, where Velles already stood to catch her, elegantly leading her glide back to ground, her steps leading right into the next dance, on the new stage crowned by flowery vines. Off the stage, in somewhat of a distance the sound of an expertly played piano picked up, likely one brought to the event by someone else, which now permeated the air along with the flute-like sounds of the grass.
The dance evolved on the new stage, slow steps turned into gentle hops, swings into separate spins, the background constantly shifting, like an evolving scene, this time based on the Cantonese performance, although they were barely moving from the spot making it look like the two were dancing through a forest. The flowers on the vines of their new stage bloomed and with it, Velles stepped into the air, bending over and reaching his hand to Fidelia who seemed to hesitate in a playful manner at first, then followed him after he did another spin and bowed even deeper.
Their transition was only illuminated by the background, colourful but dim greens and yellows, like fireflies and light coming through a dense forest canopy, as they arrived where should be the other side of the stage, they hopped around each other, now another few steps higher than the second stage, with gentle playful movements and wide steps they circled each other like woodland elves or more like forest fairies, as if they were dancing on floating leaves and as the lights turned on it revealed, they indeed did!
A low, wide, tree had grown on this side of the stage and miraculously it’s leaves seemed to hold their weight effortlessly!
Each of their steps was accompanied by a faint glow. This stage looked like a colourful garden, the background filled with various types of blossoming flowers. Another sound picked up like a violin or cello but not quite the same, this time it looked like Velles was dancing at a slower more traditional pace though with his own spins on it, a hop here, a flourish there, almost artsy as this time it was the queen's turn to dance around him, a fast pace, quick steps and movements, tight spins akin to a separated version of the summer performance of the Vaplanan dancers.
Only a few steps further in they reunited, Velles catching Fidelias spin inwards, swinging her around the other side and then bringing her in close again. Once more their current stage dimmed, each of their steps leading into another spin around each other, now hand in hand and each one taking them higher, as they reached the middle of the stage, the lights turned on again, but it wasn’t the stage lights.
Dancing in wide playful hops back and forth and from side to side, they stood before what looked like a large orb made of roots, lights glowing within giving the display a mystical sheen.
Dancing in front of the orb, neither side seemed to lead and yet both did, at a pace both adventurous yet deliberate. Wide sweeping steps that yet stayed low to a canopy of leaves they moved upon, giving the impression of a long journey, a journey undertaken together as they did not let go of each other this time. Alternating between who took the forefront now and then by altering their position and spacing to each other.
As they reached the centre one last time, there was a brief moment of pause, almost without motion, though the wind still blowing it looked almost like they stood on a high cliff, overseeing a vast landscape, they parted, Velles spun into a bow then offered his hand once more.
Fidelia took his hand and then, together, the dove down the ‘cliff’, though instead of falling, gently floated down…
As they landed, they fluidly went into a bow to the audience, one last time the whole stage lit up, now overgrown with flowers and greenery, looking as if gathered and grown from all throughout the nearby gardens, at their feet the same glimmer as in the sky at the beginning of the performance, as if standing before a sea of stars.
The strange improvised orchestra of sounds ended, faded out gently and one last time they bowed together Velles impression hidden by his veil, Fidelias a wide beaming smile of genuine joy, then they left the stage elegant and graceful. The performance had been short, perhaps even the shortest of the evening and yet managed to combine a variety of the nights displays whilst making it look effortless.
Sera looked on, transfixed by the performance. Her crew could see it in her eyes - she felt for a moment like she'd made a little mistake. She was briefly picturing the guy she'd left behind to be here, her lover and a fellow MCC racer that burned so badly to tear up the roads in a year without a Street Festival schedule that, like her, he would find any excuse to take their show on the road. Sera was happy to turn her obsession for riding to performance art like here, but her beloved Zeno was off on cases, and wouldn't tell her where he was.
She could imagine, though, and made the replacement in her mind, tracing the same steps as Her Majesty and the slippery judge that'd stepped into the limelight. Feet light as air, taking to the air on their glittering, gossamer wings. They'd just have to make it there, back into each other's arms.
It took two or three of her teammates from the 3K Motor Club getting right in front of her face to snap her out of her reverie. "You cool?" one of them asked.
Sera shook her head like she'd just taken a blow to the cranium and needed to catch herself. "...huh?" She looked over at her teammate, Val Lightheart, a striking, slinky thing by Okekolu standards who trailed a curtain of straight green hair behind her wherever she went and searched the galaxy with blue eyes that sparkled like crystal. The puzzled look Sera was reading on Val's face told her the whole story. "...oh. Oh! I'm cool. Sorry, I'm cool."
When Velles Heylen had approached Fidelia during the break earlier in the night she had been a little apprehensive. She was a decent dancer, having been tutored in courtly dances since she was a young girl. But this... dancing in front of the galaxy on the same stage as the greatest dancers the galaxy had to offer, without as much of a routine... It was a crazy idea, to put it frank. But the judge had been so convinced that she could dance to his level, his eyes showed no hesitation. So, how could she have said no? At the time she had no idea of how their dance would really work.
He had pulled her aside backstage during the spiel after Eysra's performance to talk her through how this spectacle would work. Her aides and guards were immediately against it, but Fidelia had already committed to the idea, she was not going to back out in fear. All she had to do, Velles had said, was empty her mind and trust him. Part one came easily, Fidelia's composure and control over herself was stellar, as any royal's should be. Trust? That was another monster entirely. She had just met this man, and while he had such a calming and kind aura, that did not mean she should trust strangers with her life. But... She did trust Velles Heylen to put on a good show, what with his reputation and stellar commentary throughout. That would just have to be enough.
Crowds had never scared Fidelia. She was a Queen, born and raised in the spotlight. This was where she thrived. But, on this stage following such brilliant acts... She could not help but glance at Velles Heylen in apprehension. But once the music started and her body began to move all of her fears slipped away. It was such a unique experience, feeling the music flow through her soul, her body moving on its own without as much as a thought from her. It was strangely liberating! To the onlooker she was dancing perfectly, as if she had been secretly practicing this routine for years. But, in reality, she was as in control as an addict chasing their next fix. She found herself letting go more and more as the dance progressed, allowing Velles to puppeteer her into much more complex positions, ones she knew she would never be able to recreate alone.
Before Fidelia knew it, the show was over. While relieved to regain control of herself, she could not help but miss the freedom the magic had briefly granted her. The crowd went wild, clearly enthralled by the impromptu display. They ended it with a bow, and retreated backstage to make room for the hosts to announce who had earned the title of champion.
"Thank you for such a unique experience, I do not think it is something I will easily forget. I would be honoured to host you and yours in the future, Sir."
"What a show! I was not expecting our Queen to be such a brilliant dancer Iarla! I had always heard she was partial to dressmaking, not dance."
"Can a Queen not have more than one passion? She would not be the first, nor I doubt the last."
"Valid point, valid point. Iarla, did you know my passion is for coffee art?"
"I thought it was theatre?"
"Well yes, obviously, but I can branch out!"
"Yes yes, well, back on topic Lorenzo..."
"Yes! Beloved audience, the results are in! Thanks to our judges and all of you lovely folks filling this beautiful stadium we have now found our winner! Are you ready to meet your champions?"
The crowd roared, anticipation filling not just the stadium but the entire planet. Dramatic music flared, building the tension more and more, before people could not take it anymore. The crowd screamed the names of their favourite acts, an unintelligible cacophony.
"Our sincerest congratulations, The Divine Lotus troupe! You have been crowned our winner!" Biodegradable confetti shot into the air, fireworks screamed into the sky filling the atmosphere with colour and joy. The troupe was beckoned on stage to the delight of the crowd, people cheering their names. The lights behind the stage displayed the top 3 performers. In second place came Eysra. The Sodalytes, Bellini, Martini, Cosmo, and Mary came third. Everyone had done so well, there was no performance that had not been a favourite of someone out there. It was unfortunate that only one winner could be chosen.
Irregardless, the jubilation was infectious. The Vaplanan's joy was the cornerstone of the parties and celebrations that continued throughout the night and into the rest of the Aymer festival beyond. The festival would eventually end, as all good things must, but there was always next year.
A few hours after the competition drew to a close there was a stir. Queen Fidelia had received an encrypted transmission. She had been expecting an angry message from Orillia after their expulsion from her planet, a decision that while made in the rush of anger she intended to stand by until the bitter end. However, the sender was not Orillia. It was Silent Weapons Committee. Her blood had run cold when she read their communication. The festival was under investigation, and if her Government did not comply they would be seen as complicit in crimes beyond Queen Fidelia's comprehension. The results of the festival were immediately changed given the gravity of the accusations, The Sodalytes disqualified and the fourth place contestant, Akari Taosu was now third. The Zetyans were now fourth, surprising everyone who had stopped watching after the pain of the runt's 'performance'. She wished to summon the accused performers to her palace, to plead them to tell her the horrid truth, but they had already left Vaplana.
Rumours spread wildly of the true intentions behind the festival, and there was no amount of covering up that could hide that stain, however untrue the whispers were. Even so, Queen Fidelia had hope that the spirit of the Aymer festival would still prevail. Vaplana had briefly brought people from all walks of life together in celebration, and while there had been blips, the prevailing mood was one of joy. Given the current galactic climate, that achievement in itself was something to celebrate.