Date: 2008-05-22 03:07 am (UTC)
ACT ONE, SCENE ONE.

A solitary figure on skates, long hair flowing in the wind (see: high-power wind machine) is silhouetted on the ice as the orchestra of percussion and high strings plays a harsh, stilted, twelve-tone overture. There is no frivolity. The overture ends as soon as all twelve tones have been stated.

An elaborate display of pyrotechnics signifies the beginning of the action, flames shooting every which way. The chorus skaters cower in the corners of this oddly pentagonal ice rink. The man in the middle of the ice stand tall and proud. Without emotion.

Smyth, as the man is known, removes his helmet, hurls it across the ice.

SMYTH: (translated from russian)

Here I am, it is I!
Defender of the sacred sport,
all things that are good
and true.
We shall prevail,
this team of unsuspected heroes.
Yes, we shall prevaiiiiiil.
How do you like THEM apples?


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