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”Антон,” Anton repeats offering his hand. ”I’m Anton. This is my wife Maria.” He laughs at the comment about hell, lifting his drink as a toast. ”This is quite the event. Quite a spectacle. Did you see that man in the mirrors? I’ve never seen anything like it. Much like your mask, Irina. How long did that take to make and what inspired it?”
Arm in arm, Anton and his wife wander the party, greeting people they recognize and marveling at people they don’t recognize (which is most people). Though he wonders if introducing himself as Anton Roskuszka defeats the purpose of the masks. ”I don’t see Irina anywhere,” he tells his wife. ”I should have asked her what she would be.” They wander the room more, sampling more food, and laughing at how good it is. ”How much would a copy of a photo cost?” Anton asks the photographer. He indicates him and his wife with a quick wave of his fingers. The reflection of the cloaked figure in the mirrors stuns Anton. As a stage illusionist and engineer, he is extremely familiar with using lighting and mirrors to cast images across a stage. He studies the mirrors in the room curious about this illusion.
He asks his wife, ”How do you think this effect is made?” After a little time, he sees a man not in a costume and approaches him. ”Excuse me. My name is Anton, Anton Roskuszka. You look like someone who is...well informed, knowledgable. Do you know how that mirror illusion is made?”
Anton takes in the wealth of the estate with an appreciation for the craftsmanship and care to create and maintain it. From the marble floors and the thick carpets, to the wood paneling and electric lamps. For a moment he remembers his grandparents talking about the family’s mansion that was lost in the First Partition. He wonders what it looks like now as well as how it appeared at the height of his family’s power. He shakes his head slightly, amused that’s he’s actually thinking of Poland. When was the last time that occurred? ”Imagine living here...” his wife says as they are lead to their room. ”It’s hard to do,” he replies. ”Though it’s beautiful and so much space.” Anton and his wife change into their costumes in their room. He uses his stage skills to put on white grease paint on his face and draws two diamonds on his cheeks. ”It will be good to dance,” he says smiling at Maria. Suddenly he knocks the side of his head. ”Oh, I should have asked about the meal! How hungry are you?”
I hope you feel better! Don't worry about any delays.
Anton hands the cash to the salesclerk and pockets the receipt and claim slip. Thank you, miss,” he says. ”I will pick up the two costumes before closing on October 6th. My wife will be happy with harlequin mimes." Anton returns to his atelier in time to load the truck with tonight’s show’s equipment.
The nightmares keep interfering with Anton’s work during the day. At first he thinks of making an illusion based on the nightmare’s imagery. As he sketches some ideas, feelings of despair and desperation reawaken in him. Magic should be mysterious and wondrous, he thinks putting down his pencil. It should inspire awe not dread or despair. Indeed I committed suicide in the nightmare to escape that creature. But what...what if the illusion reversed the horror? What am I even thinking. Anton for a moment almost crumples up the paper. Instead he folds the paper twice and puts it in the file folder for preliminary ideas. Once Stanley appears to check the equipment and have their pre-show discussion, Anton on occasion seems distracted. When Stanley asks if he is feeling well, Anton replies ”I feel a little tired. My sleep was not that good last night. Pay it no mind.”
Anton looks at his face in the mirror, trying to dismiss the nightmare while judging the damage to his nose. That dream, where in the world did that come from? When was the last time I had a nightmare like that? He remembers the passage across the Atlantic Ocean, then imagines the creature from his nightmare compared to that ship and not the boat he leapt from in his nightmare. And he jumped in the nightmare. That perhaps was the worst part of the nightmare. The feeling that suicide was better than the creature. He sighs. If I could take some of the imagery though and use it in an illusion, it would almost make the nightmare worth it. A creature under water. Maybe an escape from a tank? Or is that too much like Houdini? After preparing toast he sees if his wife replied to his note. On the way to the atelier, he stops at a payphone at a pharmacy and telephones some of the costume people he knows asking if they have anything he could borrow for a masked ball.
Rest well and get better, GM :-)
Like usual his wife and children are asleep when he arrives home. Even in the dark, he can navigate the room well. While in the bathroom, by the light of the solitary bulb in the ceiling, he writes on the invitation’s envelope: Maria,
After putting the envelope on the kitchen table, Anton folds his clothes and places them in a laundry basket. Finally, he quietly gets into bed next to Maria and attempts to fall asleep.
His fingertips glide over his nose. It still hurts with just a little pressure. ”I walked into a door.” He groans. ”I was thinking about the letter you gave me. An invitation, I mean. I was distracted and boom -- catastrophe.” He chuckles slightly. ”You don’t break a leg, but maybe I break a nose. Does it look that bad? Any swelling under the eyes?” He lets both of them look at his face before turning his attention to the mirror in the dressing room. “Maybe even use powder so my wife doesn’t worry. Congratulations on the performance tonight. The best ‘Polonium Woman’ illusion yet.” Anton pats Stanley on the back as he passes and leans towards the mirror. ”What will I do if I lose any more of the meager looks I have?” As he looks at his face, he tries to image it covered by a mask. What costume should I wear? I guess it depends if Maria wants to go with me. Oh perhaps I can borrow a costume from a recently closed play. Save some money that way. He smiles at himself in the mirror.
Anton cries holding his face, the invitation dropping to the ground. He wipes his nose and exams his fingers to see if there is any blood. Realizing the invitation is no longer in his hand, he bends down to pick it up. Placing it back into the envelope, he shakes his head trying to focus on the upcoming performance. Are the stage hands chuckling at him, he wonders. I hope Stanley didn’t see me run into the door. He’d be making jokes about that for months to come. The pain is starting to ease, but his nose still aches. Good thing my face isn’t too important. He peeks through a small hole in the curtain from the stage’s wing, looking at the audience. An average size crowd, bigger than last week with the cold weather. Nodding in satisfaction he turns his attention to the stage hands, making sure they have the props in the correct order. ”Break a leg, my friends,” he says to Sylvia and Stanley. As the take their places on stage, waiting for the curtain to rise, Anton feels the envelope in his pocket. Maria will be happy for a night out, especially a masquerade. Unless she is feeling too pregnant, he thinks. How kind of him to remember me, especially since we haven’t spoken in four months. I wonder if he has a new play in the production.
”This is so imaginative!” Anton says as he checks the paritures. ”Never would I have thought of this.” He circles the instrument, occasionally kneeling to check the machinery. As Irina cracks the instrument’s mirrors he wonders if cracking a mirror and then fixing it with a wave of a hand would be a good magic illusion. He laughs, ”It is good. Where will you be performing with this?”
Anton arrives at the atelier just before noon. Some of his colleagues call their space a studio or a factory. He prefers the French word atelier. It reminds him where he’s from. The magician and his assistant, Stanley Crabill and Sylvia Frazetta, will arrive an hour later. With the ambient noise of the city louder next to an open window, he gets the acids and other chemicals ready for making flash paper. He turns on an electric fan to blow the fumes out the window then ties his leather apron around his waist. When working with nitric and sulfuric acid, he doesn’t think about anything else beside the task at hand. Most of the paper he soaks is about the size of a business card, but he does attempt to prepare part of the front page for the New York Tribune. Right over the headline. Stanley likes making jokes, maybe he could occasionally do one about current events. This will be a test to see how well it would work. By the time the performers arrive, Anton has cleaned up the table. The paper is drying under the rotating fan’s wind. They review the order of the tricks they will be performing and inspect all the gear together to make sure it is properly working. While Sylvia sews the sleeves and skirt back onto her costume, Anton and Stanley brainstorm new illusion ideas. They have the concept of an x-ray box. Maybe swords being shown going through Sylvia? Or Stanley swallowing an egg whole? At four p.m. Anton helps load the truck with their equipment then Stanley and Sylvia drive over to the theater and At five-thirty he is back home for dinner with his family. Seven he walks over to the theater and helps Stanley prepare for his nightly fifty minute show at eight o’clock.
Anton Roskuszka’s profile is made. I took 8 points from Spot Hidden and put them into Locksmith, so they are more balanced. Not at all sure if it will matter ;-) The points still add up to 210. I checked :-)
Ah, checking over my notes, I realize I had calculated 210 Occupational Skill points originally, but when it was time to distribute them, I thought it was 250 points. I’m sorry about the error. Thank you for noticing it.
According to my calculator that is 210 skill points. 26+17+10+17+26+51+25+18+20
Here are Anton’s Occupational Skills. If something doesn't make sense, please let me know. Art/Craft (Mentalist Performance) 38/19/7 5+33,
Personal Interest Skills:
Two more notes about him: He’s Roman Catholic. Also, he believes in ghosts and spirits, but thinks mediums are frauds; he was one after all. |
