Players:
Summary: On Mason's final performance of his tour, he learns that his mutation is starting to advance, and his time as a normal looking teen may be limited.
Date: Saturday, February 18, 2012. 10:30pm.
Log Title: The Big Lights
Rating: PG-13
New York City - Convention Center
Lights blaze upon the stage, thousands of fans have gathered to see the last performance of Mason Steele's latest tour, "I Won't Run". The front of the stage is packed with fangirls, and all around the edges of the room laser lights bob and weave with greens and reds and blues to add to the effect.
Sparks fly from the edge of the stage. The silvery jacket flashes in reflection, and Mason Steele throws his hands out to his fans. Last night of the tour. The truth is that he loves the stage. He loves performing. The sweat streams down his face from the halogen bulbs blazing down on him from above.
He walks along the edge of the stage with the screaming girls at his feet, and bends down to let his hand run along theirs as he passes by. It truly is amazing that the microphone connected to his ear can pick up his voice so well while drowning out the piercing shrieks of fangirls.
This isn't the time to think about things like that.
Long strides bring Mason to his keyboard, and he grabs the white rag to dab the sweat from his face before dropping it to the stage floor and striking the chords again.
Take another step
Don't give up on me just yet
We could take a chance
We could find a child's romance
At least we'd love until we can't
I won't run when it looks like love
I won't hide beneath the fear of how the past has come undone
Cuz I can't spend another night alone, regretting what I've done
I won't run
The final chords strike, flashes from the cameras in the crowd flickering furiously. With a casual saunter, Mason leaves the keyboard, moving to the center of the stage. "Thank you so much, I'm always really excited to see all of your smiling faces out there. It reminds me why I do this," he announces to the crowd. "I want to thank you all for having me tonight here in New York, I'm proud to be living here now. So let me thank you all for a great time tonight, and drive safe on the way home!" The lights go down, and he jogs off the stage.
As he reaches the edge of the stage, he receives another towel to dry the sweat on his face from Joe, one of the stage hands. He presses it against his face, and then pulls it away. It is only at this time that he notices that it's dark. Probably just stage makeup. He grabs a sport bottle from a side table, and sprays water into his mouth. The roar of the crowd can still be heard. Time for an encore. A satisfied grin crosses his face.
The feel of the stage beneath his feet thrills the teen idol again as he steps back out, the lights coming back up. "Okay, I have one more here, I haven't played this one for anybody yet, so you can't hate it too bad, all right? This is a song…hold on. This is a song for anybody who has ever thought that they've lost everything. I know this isn't the kind of song you'll usually hear out of me, but who knows, maybe if you all like it, I will do some more of it.
He stands behind the keyboard, and begins the steady and mellow melody. Wait, what song was he going to play? Not this one. Should he play it? The song has already been started. It isn't his usual track. It's just one time, it couldn't be all that bad to play it once for the public…
Can we put back all the pieces of the life that's left behind
We will soon be back together just before the stars align
When the curtain falls for one last time and closes out the show
Marchin' left right left, another step, keep smiling as we go
Oh oh Mooooovin' on. Mooovin' on
I'm sick of good intentions how they always seem to fail
But then nothing ever seems to work when you spin the saddest tale
When the curtain falls for one last time and closes out the show
We'll be marchin' left right left, another step, just breathing as we go
You can be the one that'll make this start
You can be the one that won't break my heart
You can be the one that'll win the fight
You can be the one that'll make things right
You just gotta let it go. You just gotta let it go
Moooovin' on
The audience is silent for a long second. The last notes are released. This was a mistake. There is no way they get it. He reaches up and switches off the keyboard, looking out past the lights. There is a ripple in the crowd, and the clapping begins, and then swells. There's whistling and screaming.
They really liked it.
The door to the dressing room opens, and Mason steps inside. Peeling off the glittery jacket, he tosses it over the side ot the chair alongside the sweat towel and steps to the mirror with a smile. They really liked it. The smile freezes, and then slowly drops as Mason's reflection stares back at him. dark beads of liquid run down his chest. Muddy water - no, sweat. His sweat is brown.
The warmth from his success is sapped from him as if opening the front door on a cold winter day, and he feels the color leave his face. Things are changing. He turns back to the chair, grabbing the towel. brown smears from the dirt on his face blotch it. Quickly, Mason dabs and wipes the rest of the sweat from his chest and back until there is no more mud to be seen. The towel falls from his hand as if it were poison, and Mason takes several steps back against the wall. He glances to the bathroom, and quickly strips out of his pants. With a single thought, he rushes the bathroom door as if pulled by a magnet, and throws the water on.
Without a thought to the temperature, the blue-eyed teen star crashes into the shower, dowsing himself with the water. It's cold, and would normally make him cringe, if not for his panic. He stares down at the drain as the water swirls. The darker tint of dirt mixes with the water, and he just watches, waiting for it to stop. It doesn't. A wet hand snatches the washcloth from the rack of towels. Mason snags the soap and lathers it up before he begins scrubbing at his skin. The cloth takes on the dark tint of the dirt, and Mason just keeps scrubbing. The constant scrubbing starts to turn his skin red, but it still relieves more and more dirt. "No. No no no no."
With a growl of frustration, the washcloth is flung with a slap against the wall of the shower, and Mason lets out a roar at the ineffective cleanser before throwing a punch against the tile wall, which cracks beneath his fist. His elevated breathing starts to slow as he attempts to process his situation. "It's gonna be okay. It's gonna be okay. He runs his hands through his hair. "No, it's not gonna be okay. God, why?" He tilts his head up toward a deity he's never paid a great deal of attention to. "Why!?"
The water grows warmer as the heat begins to adjust, and the steam rises up around Mason, with his head tilted back to the ceiling. He leans back against the shower wall, and slowly slides to the tile floor, eyes lowering to watch the muddy water encircle the drain through dripping eyelashes.
The dirt keeps draining.
"You just gotta let it go, you just gotta let it go…"
Does he?
