Chapter Text
“Both pieces of your heart, you have regained,” Balan beamed, arms and legs rolling in a practiced flourish. “Life is a mix, both pleasure and pain. To trod the line between both is a task most delicate. With patience and trust, you’ll find your fit.”
The last of this group of human visitors, a young boy around the age of thirteen; Bashful Sailor, hugged the maestro before turning to run back through the door he’d come.
That was the worst part of it, wasn’t it? Each visit coming to an end and the realization of the part of himself that went with him. Though there were other groups waiting on their stages, sometimes it felt as though any useful interaction with them took ages. To get through to hearts demands masterful timing, attunement, and care. Wonderworld itself had done well to aid him, giving insights and connecting him to each stage with a degree of omnipotence. Then there was Lance.
His words. Those words so often echoed in quiet, sad warning after their infrequent standoffs.
Just once, you wish to have it your way? If only one of them could stay.
“No! Not in the slightest!” He shook his head, banishing the thought. “For them to leave, I should be most delighted!”
After several minutes of staring at the closed heavy wooden doors, they faded away from him. As Wonderworld pulled him yet again towards the theater’s entrance. He was alone again, with the warm contrast of burning lounge bulbs and cool serpentine silent flooring. He snapped a table and chair with tea to him in perfect timing to sit.
Technology, public opinion changes, architecture, clothes, words, and faces change. But Balan and his world stayed the same. Wonderworld’s power kept him current; the knowledge simply being there. The news and updates for the world outside the theater were observed and expressed through each new human that came through its doors. Their memories became his shared memories from the moment their door opened. He would revisit them occasionally as he lent back and closed his eyes between steamed sips.
Best not to dawdle too long. For our newest guest, the show must go on.
The time between each visitor seemed to shorten as of late.
Balan put on his usual smile, foot tapping with new energy.
Understated and unsteady footsteps cautiously moved through the threshold and against the reflective pools of polished tile. Each accompanied by a soft squeak of small tires and the rattle of hanging IV bags and accessories. He’d been in the hospital only a moment before the strange and ornate door to Balan Theater appeared in place of the small janitor’s closet door he had originally run to. His first step had been more of a flop or fall as his chest, lungs, and bones ached. It no longer hurt and so he had walked on anxiety and adrenaline easing him into his absurd situation and surroundings.
Stalwart Dynamo.
Each visitor's stage name always came first as the threads of their real world memories followed during his spirited introductions. With his own twist and turns, Balan began the hypnotic routine that ushered each person into their own stage within the expanse of Wonderworld.
Memories of the past twenty-two years. Dynamo had devoted his short life to theater and dance. Excelling in school and performances. Finally within reach of that elusive and loft dream of his own bright lights and sweating beneath the stage he felt an ache.
From then on, everything stopped.
His own routine cutshort, as he gave pause.
Rather than sweeping the young lad away, the winds and rain that had been conjured from his lobby’s stage wisped out. Ruffling the ends of his borrowed and pressed hospital gown and bright yellow socks. Only the stillness of each IV drip punctuated the space between them. All of the fire and energy from both himself and his guest was well and truly extinguished.
Reality had a nasty habit of crashing to Earth.
“Here, for these there’s no need.” Instead of wisking him away, he stopped. Carefully removing the needle and tubes. Dynamo barely seemed to register each movement, clearly used to being touched and fussed over. “Welcome to Wonderworld, where each stage will heed. Whatever you ask in turn, you’ll receive.”
He absently rubbed the irritated skin in the crook of his elbow. “Thanks.”
“No need to thank me young one, your own stage is set. Each who comes, a piece of their heart they must get. Rush not towards your prize, take time, take heed and most of all, be wise!”
With his soft gloved hand against Dynamo’s back, Balan led the young entertainer through his own set of stage doors. Not bothering to look back as the other did as they were directed.
No Tim as a gift? A step you have missed! No whimsical, wonderful waterfall to direct them to their stage? To assist in their first act; nothing bold or brash? Just a small greeting and farewell to punctuate your initial meeting?
“Those warm balls of fluff will find him easily enough!” Balan protested to the empty stage and humm of stalled stage lamps and dust.
“You were distracted is all! What with so many new guests hearing the theater’s call.” His reflection on the surface of the water-like marble floor assured him.
“Yes! Yes of course!” He nodded in agreement, sitting on the edge of his stage. “An error I shall remedy once his stage allows me.”
“Our performance was not bad, you see. Sometimes, you need variety!” His own smile beamed back at him.
Balan agreed, nodding with creeping enthusiasm. “I shouldn’t fret. He may benefit from some time to not be fussed over, I bet.”
“Yes! Though you may need time to rest; a little reprieve.”
“A break I’ll take.” He reasoned to himself, disappearing from the stage with a snap of his finely gloved fingers.
The shower of colored lights dimmed until they were no more. Both stage, audience, and foyer were silent and dark. Dark blurred backs and legs removed themselves from the chairs around the edge of each stage wing. Their rainbow hued markings briefly glinting in the dark before vanishing from view.