it doesn't go silent, though. the voices of the people of the eighth drop down to a low hum in the background, whispered cacophony that's overlaid by the desolation. the hands start to melt into shadows and nothingness, grasping at the edges of broken cities, and then four's shadow takes over the stage.
it's eerie, for a moment. the bells are dissonant - the chords aren't quite right, the hum of the miserable crying and screaming of the eighth galaxy going silent as the music starts to play. there's the sound of shuffling feet and the bells, the neverending bells, the soft hum of singing voices, tolling and then
a brighter burst of bells - a major key note. a flash of light that illuminates the stage. one - it shows a figure. it shows lu bixing's back, as he shrugs off the last of the hands that claw onto him, bursting free from the bloom of four's shadow and melding together - blackness, again. another bell burst, major key, brightening, another light shows him five steps to the right, catching lu bixing moving out of the way of a shadowy hand that grasps for him, this one sharp like it's grown claws, his expression burnt into determination, cast into stark relief by the there and gone light. blackness. another flash of light. major key bells. blood on the floor of the stage, lu bixing, moving, out of the way of something, the shadows wrapping around his hand.
(he can't see. he has no control. it feels like back then - like the way his body betrayed him, over and over and over, the stage he had to make it through.)
a bright hit of the bells and a voice that says, How many times are you going to fall?, a flash of light that illuminates four, briefly. the music swells. a voice that says, The Eighth Galaxy doesn't need the Union., a bright flash of light, a hit of the bells. lu bixing jerking to the side, four visible in the next flash, again, blackness, darkness, a stage of nothing -
no subject
The stage goes pitch black.
it doesn't go silent, though. the voices of the people of the eighth drop down to a low hum in the background, whispered cacophony that's overlaid by the desolation. the hands start to melt into shadows and nothingness, grasping at the edges of broken cities, and then four's shadow takes over the stage.
it's eerie, for a moment. the bells are dissonant - the chords aren't quite right, the hum of the miserable crying and screaming of the eighth galaxy going silent as the music starts to play. there's the sound of shuffling feet and the bells, the neverending bells, the soft hum of singing voices, tolling and then
a brighter burst of bells - a major key note. a flash of light that illuminates the stage. one - it shows a figure. it shows lu bixing's back, as he shrugs off the last of the hands that claw onto him, bursting free from the bloom of four's shadow and melding together - blackness, again. another bell burst, major key, brightening, another light shows him five steps to the right, catching lu bixing moving out of the way of a shadowy hand that grasps for him, this one sharp like it's grown claws, his expression burnt into determination, cast into stark relief by the there and gone light. blackness. another flash of light. major key bells. blood on the floor of the stage, lu bixing, moving, out of the way of something, the shadows wrapping around his hand.
(he can't see. he has no control. it feels like back then - like the way his body betrayed him, over and over and over, the stage he had to make it through.)
a bright hit of the bells and a voice that says, How many times are you going to fall?, a flash of light that illuminates four, briefly. the music swells. a voice that says, The Eighth Galaxy doesn't need the Union., a bright flash of light, a hit of the bells. lu bixing jerking to the side, four visible in the next flash, again, blackness, darkness, a stage of nothing -
A dissonant chord, this time.
A flash of light.
The beat just a little off.] Four!