The First Meeting

The stage was dark, eerie. It was never a place Cecil Bates would ever consider himself to be normally, but these were by no means normal circumstances. The crowds had all left, the applause a distant memory, an echo across the magnificent hall. It seemed too natural to keep as quiet as possible, to try and slide among the curtains like a ghost while cursing every creaky step, every too loud of breath siphoned through his mask.

To tell the truth, he couldn't give a sane answer as to why he was lurking in the theatre after hours, taking in the mystery and allure - an allure he never even considered until a few days ago - that seemed to call to his very being. It wasn't like he didn't enjoy plays and whatever else people did in places such as this, but he had never sought it out before, and certainly had never attended a play. Well, attended a play seven times night after night.

"Did you enjoy yourself so much that you not only came every night this week, but had to sneak in like a rat to touch the scenery as well?" a voice said behind him, and Cecil tensed up. He turned slowly, taking a few steps back to insure a good distance between them should anything... dangerous happen. And there he was, the reason Cecil kept coming back night after night.

He had no idea where the idea to see the newest - and most gossiped about - play came from, but with nothing better to do, he found himself cramped in one of the most uncomfortable seats he had the misfortune to be in, watching something he could find no appeal in. He had nearly fallen asleep, in fact, until something in the corner of his eye caught his attention. It was a man - or something similiar - leaning against the short wall of one of the boxes, intently watching the play and in fact, mouthing all of the lead male's lines. No one else in the box - which was full of fat, white-faced woman faning themselves - took any notice of him, and he certainly stood out. Even as the crowds left he stood there, looking cross and disappointed. And before Cecil knew it, he was there the next night, and the next night, all in the hopes of catching a glimpse of him.

"A-aren't you the one that left the back door open?" he asked quietly - he had learned to ask loudly enough to account for his mask, however. His eyes darted towards the nearest exit. As fascinating as this person was, he was much more imposing close up and Cecil was in no shape to be fighting anyone, especially someone as... inhuman as the creature in front of him. The inhuman creature that gave a derisive snort.

"So you're not quite as dim-witted as you appear with your ridiculous contraption," he said with an absent wave of his hand, gesturing to Cecil's mask. Self-consciously he raised his hand to feel the only thing that kept him alive. But he offered no explanation and carefully, cautiously turned back to the stage. Momentarily, he wondered what it would be like, being an actor, bowing like they did every night to thunderous applause.

"... What about you?" Cecil asked after a moment, glancing over his shoulder. "I've seen you here every night that I've been here. Not only that, but you have all the words memorized. They're calling it cursed, you know. Apparently, the lead died just a few days before it opened. It's so popular because everyone believes he killed himself and--"

"Killed myself?" the man suddenly snarled, in a flash much too close for Cecil's liking and grabbing his shoulders. They both seemed startled at that, but with a quick shake of his head he continued on. "That is absolutely rubbish, do you hear me? What reason would I, Carmori Cadwell, have to kill myself? I always believed the papers to be pathetically misinformed, but this tops all of my expectations! This was supposed to be my role, my chance in the spotlight, and it was taken from me! Stolen from me! Neither you nor anyone else could even begin to fathom how I feel!"

"I-I believe you!" Cecil cried out suddenly, snatching Carmori's wrists so they would stop shaking him. Again, Carmori seemed alarmed, but he managed to hide his surprise in an instant. He must have been a good actor... when he was alive. Cecil had suspected Carmori was... less than human, and he had always believed in ghosts - not that he'd openly admit it - but putting two and two together was never as easy as it seemed to be. "I... I believe you, I do. I'm... I'm sorry, it must be awful for you."

The silence that followed seemed alive, like the agonizing moments waiting for thunder after a lightning strike. Carmori was looking anywhere but his eyes - he seemed particularly interested in the curtain right next to them - and had taken Cecil's hands in his own. Cecil normally would have jerked away, too shy and unnatural with people to be comfortable with such intimacy, but it seemed so... natural and easy with the ghost.

"... You should come tomorrow night," he finally said, again, still avoiding looking Cecil in the eyes. "I think I would like that, ah..."

"Cecil," he said, the crinkle of his eyes the only way to tell he was smiling. "Cecil Bates."