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...I will instruct him myself.

I see... Understood.

Do you find the dagger heavy?

...Yes.

But its weight does not come from the metal, nor from the ornaments. It comes from your heart. Do you understand?

The boy's hair covers his eyes. He nods in silence.

Whiteflower does not realize that you've learned so quickly. You're waiting for her to provide answers she cannot give you.

Listen to me, child...

The Troupe Leader holds Lucian's little hands in his own. His smile is warm and gentle, but his iron grip permits no refusal.

Lucian can feel his stiff fingers begin to relax.

Forget the techniques that Whiteflower's been trying to teach you. You have no need to imitate any form, or any method of stabbing.

There is no dagger without blood on it, no crossbow that is not fired. Just hold them.

They are not props. They will tell you what to desire.

Let them guide you. Do not doubt them, even if they point you towards someone you never expected—a friend, a lover, even yourself...

Perhaps even me, standing before you now.

You... you?

Have no hesitation. Stab.

Give it a try.

(Shakes head)

Try it.

(Shakes head)

Try it.

Then you, and I...

What roles are we playing?

If we're forgetting the techniques, then forget the characters and the script as well. They're simply the medium of theater, not theater itself.

Lucian grips the knife. The Troupe Leader lets go of his hand and kneels in front of him, so that their gazes are almost level.

But we're too close to each other...

Are you afraid you'll hurt me?

It's alright, child.

Forget even that feeling.

You will immerse yourself in theater, and touch upon its beauty.

Gazing at the Troupe Leader, Lucian finds himself overcome with doubt. Is this really the first time he has seen the man?

He does not understand what he is saying. He begins to doubt whether the Feline before him even exists at all.

Lucian can feel his own heart throbbing.

The heartbeat never lies. The heartbeat knows the answer.

How should he ask it?

The Troupe Leader smiles, encouraging him wordlessly.

The answer is obvious.

Without hesitation, Lucian thrusts—

Did you feel it?

Lucian's hands are trembling. He feels them grow weak, almost letting go of the dagger.

The Troupe Leader has not moved an inch, not even a flicker of expression.

Lucian is certain his knife found its mark in the man's body. He heard a sound... felt the pain that should not have belonged to him, a strong, willful pain.

He had been silent since he came to the Troupe. Now, though, the pain makes him want to sing.

This is your first lesson. All stories leave behind only certain emotions, or...

The Troupe Leader pauses. Lucian casts a questioning glance, and meets those golden eyes.

A bond so tight that it cannot be broken.

You're a natural actor. You should study with me.

Think about it, then come and find me... I will never be an obstacle to you, Lucian.

Lucian looks down at his hands.

The blood on his gloves has been washed away, but he remembers the feeling of taking Dalton's knife out of his hands.

Fascination, revelry.

The complex emotions he felt when he was taught to use a dagger for the first time.

Forget complicated assassination techniques. Ignite the ego with intense emotion, until all that is left is two souls tearing at one another.

Let life converge upon the knife of truth and falsehood, and bestow upon the target the perfect ending—

Death.

Come in.

Lucian.

Madam Stone.

You look pale... are you alright?

For our friends joining us for the first time, if you're here for exquisite Yanese calligraphy or rare Sargonian treasures, I suggest you save yourself some time and leave now.

This here is a Script Auction, unique to Wrankwood, where unfinished ideas, drafts, and their associated copyrights are up for sale.

As such, unlike traditional auctions where anything put up must have its authenticity verified, we offer no guarantees as to the value of the items—

Whether it has marketing potential or artistic value, whether it will become Wrankwood's next timeless classic or a forgotten flop...

That is for you, and you alone, to decide.

To protect the intellectual property of the items on auction, you are asked to put away your terminals and turn off any recording equipment. And without further ado, allow me to introduce the first item—

<i>The Death of Lady Dupont</i>, a story of love and hatred taking place in Columbia, involving two blue-blood families in changing times. Bidding starts at one hundred thousand gold certificates.

One hundred thousand. We have a bid for one hundred thousand from the gentleman in the back... One hundred and fifty thousand from the pretty young lady on my left! Anyone else?

One hundred and fifty thousand going once...

One hundred and fifty thousand going twice...

Six hundred thousand.

(Whispers) Miss Stone! Are you here to ruin my auction? Placing such a high bid for the first item will only make the rest of it seem like an afterthought!

I have no interest in slowly inching up the price. I simply bid what it's worth to me.

I understand that it's your style to gamble lavishly on scripts, but think of your finances... Didn't quite a few of your recent films flop? Are you sure it's wise to spend so much?

I can afford your fee. Smack that hammer of yours, old friend.

You have a rather talented young man here, and I'm eager to have a conversation with him.

Whiskey, please, no ice.

Would you like one too, my friend?

My doctor has advised me to refrain from drink.

That accent... are you from Sargon?

Interesting. That stern, sullen complexion of yours could not be more Victorian.

(Sargonian) I have tread the sands of Sargon.

(King's Victorian) But I was indeed born in Victoria.

You switch between languages at ease, and your accents are flawless. But from what I can see in your habits, those aren't the only two countries you're familiar with.

I've been to Bolívar, Siracusa, Leithanien, Rim Billiton... and now, Wrankwood.

—The entertainment capital of Terra. Pleasant weather and lots of sunshine—the perfect place to shoot movies. So what brings you here?

Research? Pleasure? Or perhaps you're like everyone else who came to seek fame and glory, most of whom end up at the extras market, fighting over bit roles to make ends meet?

I'm looking for someone.

I've tracked his shadows across many lands, over the span of many years.

Oh? Who? I know all the film crews, whether they work downtown or on the nomadic plates. Maybe I could be of help.

That won't be necessary.

I see, fair enough... What a shame though...

If there's nothing else—

My name is Greta Stone. I'm a producer here at Wrankwood... a rather well-known one in the industry, if I might add.

I took you for the son of some noble, or a film school student who came to try your luck, and was hoping to invite you to join my film crew.

Everyone who comes to the Wrankwood Script Auction tends to have a passion for artistry, and I must admit you have a rather unique aura about you.

I was once an actor for a small theater troupe in Victoria.

I knew I was right. You were born for the silver screen!

But I suppose that's all moot if you have other business to attend to. I guess I'll be going home empty-handed.

Can I see the script?