The Renfroe Performing Arts Center, night time.

Yeah. Renfroe. El gets it, as if having every other girl ask her with that same tremble masked in teasing, "Any relation?". El's always shut them up pretty quick. That's her talent, but she's a sharp girl. She can read between the lines. The naming of the theater is just another one of those nice perks offered for the generosity of elder trustee Reginald Renfroe, and his contributions must have been generous indeed. The Center is absolutely massive. Past the vaulted lobby and extravagant concession booths (snuck in leaving a side door unlocked, natch) is the theater itself: countless banks of high-backed seats ringing the stage. It all seems odd. Few major universities have theaters this magnificent, much less little known private schools who never host outside audiences. The whole school could fit into half the theater, easy. And if you really step back and examine it, it reall does rather resemble a coliseum more than a theater, doesn't it? Odd. And it gets odder.

So El skulks through the bank of seats, her intimate knowledge of the theater's layout offering more to her than her eyesight in the near-pitch blackness. She is merely a droplet of ink on a shadow, clad in all black: extra slip-resistant boots, night jeans that just hug her like a catsuit, a tight ribbed turtleneck, knit cap pulled over her hair. It's hot as hell, but she's not taking the risk of being spotted. An olive messenger bag is slung over her shoulder as she sidesteps through the seats, combing the theater itself for any signs of movement. Clear. She darts to the stage, low to the carpet. Spray paint cans make an industrial clatter in the bouncing bag. She hefts herself over the edge of the stage.

She was never a theater girl. I mean, El is plenty theatrical but not exactly the kind of girl looking to make an ass of herself in front of a captive audience. But the guidance counselor had pulled her aside a couple of weeks ago. I understand you have no extracurricular activities he'd told her. I'm sure a girl as smart as yourself can understand the importance of finding social outlets he'd said. I'd hate to have you waste your time here by just trying to coast by and missing out on so many opportunities. I don't think you'd want to do that either El, would you? His eyes had roamed her like she was a particularly tender filet. She understood the implications immediately. So she started doing work after school with the theater. Something about it attracted her to it, and she found a certain humor in an all-girl's production of Twelfth Night. Boys who are girls who are girls who like girls who are boys who like girls who are boys who are girls. Not working on the stage, mind you, but behind it. Building sets, props - and she has a knack for it. It would be a good place to stalk a girl, the catacombs which serve as the backstage and the wings of the stage. They're a funhouse labyrinth of wood, weaving through three creaking levels in the belly of the theater, for set-up and transport of set pieces and, oh, who knows, housing a masked burn victim? All in all, it seems a bit overkill for a small private girl's school.

But that's where she's heading now. El's got a knack for stealing things too, and she figured she may as well combine her two after school activities. She peeks through the stage curtain, cautiously combing the backstage. There's a trailer around back of the theater, locked up tight and housing a massive collection of costumes and accessories. She's got a big project in mind, and it requires a certain theatrical finesse, a mystique that only mean masks and odd costumes can bring. Certainly hard to get to at night, but there's one way in - the maze that serves as byway between the costume trailer and the stage itself.

- A felling of expectancy lingered in the air as an unseen presence entered the theater. A shapeless stacker, following its pray.-

Fin had learned things during its first encounter. It had learned of the ecstasy found in the touch of soft skin, and the rendering of unwanted pleasure. Fin had also discovered some limitations within itself. With this new knowledge it would try something new. The Immaterial decided it would find a girl, and follow her. Learning what it could so that it would be better prepared for time that they would play.

It hadn’t been searching long when it discovered Elise, having an argument with one of her teachers. For the second time, it was the felling of curiosity that made Fin’s decision. As it experienced her anarchic feelings of deep confidence and rapid insecurities, it knew must follow her, it would have her. And for a short time, Fin was like a second shadow, observing the things that aroused her emotions, and observing the unique & pleasing shape of her body. There was more then one time that Fin had to stop itself from playing with students diminutive chest, or that . . . beautifully round bottom. But each time it abstained, knowing that the right time & place would be presented. All Fin had to do was what.

Then came the “guidance counselor,” which Fin had mixed feelings about. First it wanted to thrash the disguised monster for trying to steal its pray (and later it did). But if the interloper hadn’t shown up, then Fin wouldn’t have learned about the theater.

Or perhaps it would have learned about it eventually, but not while it had this blue-eyed raven to play with. As soon as the shapeless one saw the magnificent building, Fin began to wonder why it had never heard this structure calling out to it sooner. When it entered the complex, it felt safer, more secure, like it did in the abandoned drama shed. But this was odd because the old shed was in a completely different part of the campuses.

Fin found new strength within the theater. The refurbished walls spoke of hidden age, and had seen the emotional peaks of many an audience member. The stage practically flowed with the accumulated build up of fear, joy, and sadness that had been directed at it over the years. While Fin was in the theater, it found it could do more. It could scratch itself further, not just a couple rooms, but almost the entire building. Within this place, it found it could be bound to more items, and it developed an instinctive knowledge of what & how items were used in the theater. This was the perfect place to exploit all that Elise, the young beauty, had to make available.

So as Elise worked in the theater, planing her night time escapade, so did the Fin. Unobserved, it practiced using the theatrical tools of the trade. It explored the many rooms (new and old) that the theater had to offer, it mentally mapped out the many underground passages that lay underneath the building’s belly, and it waited for when they would be alone in the theater together. When they could let the show begin . . .

- As Elise made her way swiftly down the long rows of stairs, she is unaware that the exits leading outside were being blocked. Chains & locks begin to silently wrap themselves around door handles. Boxes & shelving moved, on their own, to block the remaining passageways to freedom, concealing them from view. All to keep anyone else form coming in, or anyone from going out.

As she gets up on the stage, moving past the curtains to towards the back of the theater, items begin to twitch just out of her eyesight. As she walks past ropes & props, they move as if to look up at her, only to return to their original position before she has time to turn around.-

A shiver runs up her spine. There's something about this place. Even in the light, it's menacing, but with all the lights out, it feels like.... Well, she has to second-guess why she came here. Prickles of fear run up her spine as she squeezes the bag closed. Here, in the dark, the backstage feels like the private dungeon of the Marquis De Sade, chains and hooks swing menacingly from the rafters. There is a life to the clutter of backstage, overstuffed with an abundance of props and pieces as the play ramps up production. She pads silently through flat, brightly colored, two-dimensional forest, a complete facade, but there's still that feeling of eyes, that something is stalking the woods as if it were real. But she knows this place by instinct, knows many of the old trap doors and hidden passageways that make up the facility: theaters built atop theaters. Still, she has no doubt that her knowledge is just a drop in the bucket, that there are nooks and crannies to the theater she has not even begun to consider. Hiding places.

But she brushes that thought away. She has a job to do. Sinking to her haunches, she settles behind a rather large facade of an Italian villa. Fingers comb the edges of wood panel until they find the crack she's looking for. She hefts the door in the floor open, a dark drop into the creaking wooden passageways below. Legs swing over the edge of the precipice, bag clung to her chest, hesitant as she prepares herself to drop below.

All the bygone emotions that radiated from this theater couldn’t match the apprehension and spirit that seemed to glow from Elise as she steeled herself to jump down. The shapeless one basked in the energy produced by the sultry rouge. Fin admired the gumption she needed to come here at night, and jump into the unknown dark. As it watched her go down the hole, preparing to follow, the nothing promised itself that it would try not break that spirit . . .
permanently . . .

It was time to see how much she knew about the underground passageways.

- At the bottom of the trap door, Elise lands in a pile of old moth-eaten cloth. A small cloud of dust rises as she stands up and starts her preplanned path to the costume trailer.

But something isn’t right, as she moves through the underground corridors & passageways, it appears that things have been moved around. Doors that had no locks before have suddenly become impenetrable. Where once a corridor or doorway resided, now stands large units of shelving. Many of the signs & underground landmarks had disappeared, only to show up again in the wrong place.

What made things worse was that this bizarre renovation seemed to still be going on. Backtracking only made the situation more confusing as hallways Elise just came from seemed to no longer exist, and new ones kept sprouting up from nowhere. Leading her deeper into the underground corridors and further into unexplored territory.

And still there was that sense of being watched, that sense of being stocked.-

She clicks her hand lantern on, flashing it into the passageway before making her drop. Rotting floorboards creak under her slight weight. Light sweeps over the corridors, getting her bearings. She coughs as mildewy dust rises into her lungs, starting her trek through the corridors, and it only takes her a couple moments to realize that something is not right. She sweeps quickly back to the exit only to find that it.... well... doesn't seem to be there anymore. "Fuck... she growls. Five minutes into the place and already hopelessly lost. Her door's wound shut with thick, rusting chains so she turns the other route. Panicked, she descends lower. The place seems different at night, but there's more to it than that. This place is epic huge, much larger than it should be, a twisting labyrinth of wooden corridors that eventually gives way to cold stone, dark and damp like the sub-basement of a Roman coliseum, ancient. Feet move quickly on the floor, trying to keep her bearings but finding it hopeless, as passageways she'd just turned down simply cease to exist.

Oh, it's obvious alright, and El is pissed. There's no way she's going in there. No way at all... The floor rumbles beneath her, threatening to knock her on her ass, but as the lights start to flicker out, her heart starts to rise up in her chest, stark fear desperate to seize control of her brain. Her flashlight shudders, flickering dead and she's left with just the fading light of the collapsing corridor, with the inevitable threat of being buried here beneath the rubble, helpless in complete darkness, only the chittering and greasy rubs of rats, worms, and cockroaches to keep her company. Bile rises in her throat, breath coming in desperate asthmatic fits, and the anxiety seizes hold of her mind. In the fading twilight of the catacombs, she seizes on the door handle, jerking it open and flinging herself blindly into the awaiting dressing room.

Fin took time to bask in the power of Elise’s fury. For the first time, the Nothing was glad that it had no substance to damage. Fin’s admiration abated about the same time Elise’s panic made her bolt for the door.

- From the other side of the door, Elise could still hear the deafening roar that threatened to drive her insane. The rumbling got louder for few agenizing seconds, and than...

...thump



...A very unimpressive sound to finalize such a deadly pitfall. Rather then sounding like an cave-in, the dubious thump had sounded more like a heavy object being pushed in front of the door. -

That had been slightly amusing, if only for Fin, but the situation still caused it to cringe (figuratively).

The shapeless had known about the girl’s claustrophobia, but it hadn’t considered what her reaction would be to Fin’s heavy “handed” theatrics. Not wanting to damage its leading lady, Fin had used an old trunk with heavy books, and a couple good sized metal pieces to create most of the sound. Leaving the hallway’s acoustics do the rest.

Fin hoped that the telltale “thump” would give Elise’s shrewd nature a chance to take hold, and allow her anger to dampen some of the overpowering fear. Hopefully she wouldn’t to upset, and possibly missing some of the “fun.”

- The lights came on as quickly as the noise stopped. The electric lamps revealed an old, small, and rather pathetic looking dressing room. The walls & ceiling looked ancient. Peeled wallpaper, chipped paint, and old fire damage surrounded most of the room. The worst of the damage had been covered in old posters, and moth-eaten curtains, but it was an unimpressive site just the same.

Still, there had been some recent changes. It looked like a new carpet had been put in, along with a small air filter that hummed quietly in the ceiling. An antique Chaise lounge rested comfortably along the back wall, while small vanity/table sat up against the left. An assortment of theatrical bric-a-brac was scattered throughout the room, along with a full rack of costumes stored to the right. There was even a mini-frig in the corner next to the door. Everything an unwilling actress might need to put on (or be given) a depraved performance.

If the scene wasn’t creepy enough, all the small objects in the room seemed to come alive. It was like a bad Dizney knock off. All the various brushes, bottles, and props began to sit up and take notice of the new arrival. A long feather boa, which had been draped on the lounge, gave a dramatic little stretch as it lazily raised it’s “head” to look up at her. A black cane stood up under its own power, while a lone silk stocking looked up at Elise from under the table. The tattered garment seemed to quiver at the girl’s presence, as if scared of what the small chested titan might do when angered. There was even a fake three prong candlestick waving jovially at her from the vanity case. All that was missing was a chubby clock to play straight man.

The last insult upon reality was made when Elise’s knit cap flew of her head, and landed on an awaiting coat rack, while a sinking crack came from the door’s deadbolt.-

Fuck. She's been tricked. and so easily too. She grabs futilely for her hat as it goes flying off her head, long hair whipping in that brief breeze. It's dawning on her quickly how small this room is, so packed with things that could hurt her. She lashes out, swinging to knock over the vanity table and all the little dancing bastards on it. Her first rational response is to check the door, then to bash it. She hits it with a weak shoulder, ends up knocked on the floor.

"Look you little fucker! I get it! You were a theater fag. But I'm really not in the mood for reenacting Beauty and the Beast for you, alright? So just get your ass out here so I can kick it and we can all go home." The tiny, cramped box of a room, all closed up, is progressively and rapidly growing hotter. She's pushed back to her feet now, fingers tucked into the snug back pockets of her jeans, backpack slung angrily at the dancing boa on the couch. She paces like a caged lioness.

She's heard about places like this from girls in the drama program. A sleeper jump, the paltry, far-away dressing room for the lowest tier of actors. Apparently Elise is D-List now. It's cramped, claustrophobic, and far away from any prying eyes. It doesn't take her long to test out all the opportunities for escape: the door, any vents for escape. Shit, this place is like a prison cell and she walked right into it like a dumb little rabbit. Sweat prickles her body under the dark, heavy clothes. She fruitlessly swats at the feather boa, dancing around her like a gay flying snake, and finally moves to kneel in front of the fridge, digging through. Her throat is desert dry, muscles sore, a pounding headache raging between her ears.

Someone had this whole thing planned. The last thing she needs is a monster stalker. She twists the cap off one of the waters, gulping down the entirety of the bottle in one chug, lips smacked. She stuffs the liquor and the rest of the drinks into her bag. Eyes catch on the boa, narrowed, watching it dance over the table. "Hey! The fuck do you think you're doing over there....?"

She can guess where this is going, and she pounces quick, bringing her feet down to trap two of the coils, reaching forward to snatch the other one up. Okay, maybe not the smartest move, but she's operating on instinct now, and the cramped room already has her on edge. "Nuh-uh. Not gonna happen, you crazy fucking stalker... May as well give up and open the door for me."