Chapter Text
Order
Design
Tension
Balance
The tortured artist. Such a fascinating idea.
Someone so trapped by their work.
Someone so tortured by the need to be perfect in something they once loved.
Where does their passion end and where does their fear of failure begin?
Why are we so obsessed with the idea of a tormented creator?
Someone who works so much for so little?
Is art an inherently destructive path?
Are people dooming themselves to loneliness and uncertainty by going down a path that makes them happy?
What is the price of fame?
What is the price of success?
Is it enough?
How does one pay the toll?
Can one keep going?
Will their hard work ever pay off?
Or will they just dance till they drop?
The syndicate had just finished their last performance. Their last performance of their “Pogtopia” tour. The syndicate was an elite group of dancers who traveled the world.
Techno was a pale, young man who went by “The Blade” on stage. He was known for his unparalleled strength. He once lifted three people at once for a performance. Techno the same, long, pink wig for every show. Most people didn’t even know his natural hair color was brown.
Niki, “Nihachu” to the world. A 20 year old, light skinned, young lady who knew the dancing world like the back of her hand. She was quick and unparalleled with a ribbon, and she was known for dyeing her hair before every tour. For her outer world tour; her hair was pink and black. For her L’manberg tour; her hair was platinum white. The most recent Pogtopia tour; black with two bleached strands in the front.
Ranboo, the youngest at 17 and the tallest at 6’6”, had a beautiful half and half— black and white hair color. White on his right and black on his left. Every single outfit he wore mirrored his monochrome display.
Techno was removing his notorious pink wig to reveal his natural, brown, silky hair. Niki, the shortest, was dyeing her hair an unnatural color again, while Ranboo stretched.
“Niki! You can’t bleach and dye your hair whenever we tour someplace!”
The water rushed over Niki’s previously black hair. The dancer poured more and more to drown out the sound of her brother.
“Sorry, Techno! You’re going to have to speak up! I can’t hear you!”
Techno laughed.
“Fine! Do the tour after the next one bald. I don’t care.”
Just by them, another tall performer was stretching. He had been going over the next performance in his head, seemingly ignoring his show siblings bickering.
Niki flung her hair into a towel, wrapping it to keep the pink dye from spreading.
“You know, Techno. Dyeing it is more efficient than gluing a wig to your head every time you perform.”
“Hey! Don’t knock the wigs. They’ve never fallen off, no matter how many times you tried during the blindfold performance.”
“Actually,” Ranboo said, inserting himself into the conversation he had no business being in, “I was the one who tried to pull your wig off today.”
Techno groaned while scrubbing the access glue off his head.
“Thanks, Ranboo. Really appreciate it. You could’ve single handedly ended our act, but glad it was worth it for the possibility of proving me wrong.”
Ranboo didn’t take his eyes off his stretching.
“It would be good traction! People wouldn’t shut up about it for a while.”
Niki chuckled.
“Well, we were just testing to see if you were flying it enough,” she laughed.
“If I glued it more it’d be chunky!”
Ranboo and Niki laughed in harmony. It took techno a while, but he joined in.
They laughed joyously.
They laughed until the door opened.
It was Philza. The manager of the trio.
Everyone turned to him. He was a man who always demanded their full attention.
The silence could be heard for miles, and it caused Ranboo to cringe in embarrassment. Techno was noticeably more tense than normal. Niki bit her tongue.
“So,” Phil started coldly, “That went well.”
Ranboo let out a sigh of relief.
Phil continued.
“You didn’t let me finish,” The manager spat, “It went well, it didn’t go great.”
Ranboo rolled his eyes and let out a deep sigh.
Philza snapped back.
“I know, Endermite, it must be so hard for you to hear everything you did wrong, but you’ve done a lot today, so I guess you should get used to it because you fucked up a lot today.”
Niki placed her hand on Ranboo’s shoulder.
Their manager snapped.
“There you go again! I have any criticism for you and then suddenly, I’m the bad guy!”
Niki and Ranboo, used to the blabberings of the old man, waited patiently for the man to finish.
Once he had, Ranboo was met with the harsh reality of every single imperfection.
His hair not being split perfectly.
His foot not hitting the floor at the exact time.
His fooling around on stage.
It slowly crept into his mind like a parasite. It was there like a parasite that would leech off his joy.
As if he hadn’t thoroughly destroyed the self worth of the boy who worked for him, Phil pulled out another piece of paper.
“I think he’s had enough—!” Niki began.
“No, these are your notes, Nihachu.”
Niki grimaced as she was lectured like a little girl who had her hands caught in the cookie jar.
“And Blade—!” Phil began.
“Save it,” Techno retorted, “Send me a copy when I have the time to read it.”
Phil sighed.
“Fine.”
After Phil handed the page of notes to his employee, he pulled out another page that seemed greater than the rest.
The page was embroidered with gold and was made with sincere care.
“What’s that?” Ranboo asked.
Phil showed the letter off the same way he presented his employees to a crowd.
“This is an invitation.”
“To what?” Niki asked, nonchalantly.
“The Manberg Great Hall.”
The feeling that the room gave off was significantly shifted. The uttering of that place invoked awe, a beautiful awe. The syndicate, their syndicate, was allowed to perform at a place that had such a deep and rich history attached to it.
Ranboo was the first to respond.
“No… we got invited to perform at The Manberg Great Hall!”
Phil nodded.
“The current owner, Jschlatt, is unfortunately in his… later years. He doesn’t expect to be able to run the place for much longer. And since he has no next of kin, he’s holding a big competition to see who gets to own the place. He’s contacted a few groups across the city, seeing if anyone would be able to keep the place running in his absence.”
Phil handed the invitation to his troop.
Ranboo couldn’t believe it. He was to be headed to the Manberg Great Hall.
The Great Hall was a wonder. It had been in the Schlatt family for generations. It held some of the most influential dancers of their time. It would be an honor for him to step foot in that wonderful place, but to own it would be an honor of the highest kind.
If they had accepted his requests for a venue, that would’ve already sent him to the moon. But Schlatt himself requested an audience with the syndicate.