+++

Mystic - The Studio

As Mystic made his way down the side passage of the theatre, the smells and sights hit him like a truck: the slightly musty smell of the plush carpet underfoot, the linen of the chairs next to him, and the faint smell of the wrought iron armrests. Next to his head, the gentle hum of the lightbulbs in their sconces. His feet padded along, soon bringing him to a winding staircase that led upwards to the stage.

"Bet I could get a nice view from up there!" Mystic thought to himself, beginning to climb the stairs. 'Clonk, clonk, clonk' each step resonated in the big empty hall. "It must have been so cool climbing this when the theatre was operating." Mystic thought, arriving at the wood decking. The stage didn't seem abandoned at all. The boards were lacquered and shining in the stage lights. The curtain still swayed the draughts of the room. "Everything is as pristine as the first day it opened," Mystic pondered, strolling towards center stage.

When he arrived, he looked out over the seats in front of him, picturing the hundreds of faces that would have filled them in days gone by. "Good evening, everyone," Mystic said with a bow, listening to his voice reverberates around the room. "My name is Mystic, and I will be your entertainment for the evening." As his grand showman speech ended, he began doing a silly, exaggerated dance. A jaunty tune played in his head as he did so. Swinging his arms side to side and kicking his legs about his body, he looked about as silly as he could, although he was left smiling. He ended on his signature move, a little spin down to his knees, holding an imaginary hat out as his nose turned up towards the ceiling.

"Thank you, thank you; you are far too kind," Mystic said with a bow, enjoying the clapping his mind had added to the event. Encore? No, you are welcome back to the show at 8, however!" As he spoke, the clapping in his mind diminished. Most of it still sounded like one person was practically giving him a standing ovation. From behind?

"Bravo, bravo, you are surely the finest dancer this theatre has seen in years!" an older voice came from behind. "I just adore your form and those kicks. Did you go to Julliard? " The voice had a chipper tone and infectious energy that didn't seem overtly threatening.

Whirling on his toes, Mystic faced the source of the voice, finding a male silver fox; he was dressed in a fine cable knit sweater and slacks. A set of rimless glasses sat precariously balanced on this small snout. Moreover, his lithe figure betrayed a level of fitness. Clearly, this was a fur who knew how to look after himself. "You didn't answer my question, young man. Were you or were you not classically trained?" as the fox spoke, the glasses tottered on his snout, coming close but never entirely falling.

"Hi, n-no, I wasn't trained at all. That was just me being silly. It's something I've done since I was a kid," Mythic explained, concluding that the fox must be some sort of dancer; maybe they used the theatre of this place for performances? "Who are you, mister? If you don't mind me asking," Mythic chose his words carefully; if this was someone who had a legal right to be here, he didn't want to set himself up for the trespass charge.

"I am Julian Fernbrooke, Director of Dance for the Toddle Institute," Julian says with a bow. As his torso rises back, Mystic can see the training; he moves so smoothly it is almost unnatural. "Might I say, my new friend, you must be quite the natural. Your movements drip with poise; I think you missed your calling on stage. A problem we could rectify..." Julian trailed off as he looked on at the otter. "Would you dance for us? For the recital we are holding one this afternoon, and your talents would be greatly appreciated! The fox smiled wryly, his small fangs gleaming in the stage lights.

"I, I don't think I'm all that good. I mean, I never trained, but if you think so," Mystic said, blushing in embarrassment. I'll give it a try. "He returned the fox's smile, trying to embody his same confidence, an unwinnable task.

"Oh, my word, yes! Thank you! Our star performer called out, and this solo piece must be seen. Before we begin, what might our name star name be?" The fox asked as he pulled out a small measuring tape and circled Mystic, capturing several measurements.

"My name is Mystic," the otter said, watching the fox intently as he moved from in front of him to behind. He could feel the measuring tape pressed across his shoulders and down his spine. "It's nice to meet you, Mr. Fernbrooke. Can I ask what you're taking measurements for?"

"Oh, just your costume, my dear Mystic! It wouldn't do to put on a show here, on this grand stage, without seeing you dressed appropriately. Hold still while I prepare you for your first lesson!" With sudden speed, Julian wraps Mystic's legs in the measuring tape, delivering a sharp tug. He off-balances the otter, leading him to fall to the ground with a loud thump. "Now, these boots just won't do, so lumpy and garish, I have just the thing!" The fox says as he pulls Mystic's boots free, tossing them aside. "Look how they have compressed your feet; this is wrong; you must respect your tools!" The fox says before slipping something new and soft over his feet instead.

"What the hell are you doing!? Get off of me!?" Mystic shouts in confusion. With his legs pinned, Mystic is left with no choice; he hurls punches and jabs down his body at the fox, each time Julian dodged it with a graceful lean or twist of his body.

"Now, almost done," the fox chirped, fussing with small locks. "There, now you are ready!" Julain lept free of Mystic as one last great punch was thrown, causing Mystic to roll over onto his hands and knees. "Oh, that is just too adorable." Julian stands back, admiring his work. On the otter's feet were two pastel pink booties resembling ballet shoes.

"Oh no, I'm not getting involved with this," Mystic said, getting to his feet, snagging his boots from the floor and storming toward the edge of the stage. With each step, a hushed whisper emanated from his new cloth footwear. Mystic glanced down at the boots weighing heavily in his hand; he couldn't wait to get them back on. As he reached the top of the metal steps, Mystic moved to rush them, extending his arms out to meet the rails and picking up the pace. He'd have leapt down them if he hadn't hit the wall.

His face planted into the invisible wall with a mighty thud. There, just before the edge of the stage, a shimmering wall of light, only perceptible up close. His whole body was caught up in its resistant force as the dancing particles of light began to glow brighter. "What the f-" Mytsic was cut off as his body shot backward as if two magnets of the same polarity had just flung themselves apart. He rolled along the floor, winding up right back where he started, laying at the feet of Julian, who stared down at him with a mixture of smug satisfaction and disappointment.

"Now, Mr. Mystic, it will not be for you to agree to perform for us and then leave simply because you don't like a piece of your costume!" Julain glowered at the otter, that smug expression never wavering. "Up on your feet; we need to rehearse to be ready in time for the show."

The world swam around Mystic as he crawled up to his hands and knees. He felt off like his insides had all just been squeezed together as hard as they could. As the room stopped its phantom rotation, he could focus on those feelings; it felt like he had to go. That may be his out. I really need to go. "Julian, sure, we definitely should rehearse," Mystics said with a shakey voice, "but I gotta go, buddy, so can you just let me off stage for a second?"

Julian smiled that same wry mixture of self-satisfaction as if he knew a joke was about to land. "Oh dear, no, if you feel that way, we must get on with rehearsals! Francois!" the silver fox called, clapping his hands twice quickly, "bring in the reward." He and Mystic turned their heads towards the rear-left of the stage, where a ghoulish spectre dressed in gray overalls and a crew cap was pushing what looked like a giant cubicle to center stage. The wheels were squeaking loudly as the ghoul slowly worked his way across.

"You want it right here, boss?" the ghoul asked, wiping fictitious sweat from his brow. He patted the side of the large wooden box as if they would not have noticed it.

"Yes, Francois, good work; now back to set prep, please," Julian said, waving a dismissive hand. Francois seemed to nod, whirl on one foot and walk away with no word of complaint. "He's a good fellow that one; the smell is unfortunate, however. Now, let me explain your role for tonight, my ottery friend. This piece is called 'Désespéré d'obtenir des Secours'. You embody Miro, a college student who needs to use the washroom very much but finds himself locked out. Those bottoms you now wear serve triple duty, lovely dance shoes, binding you to the stage and causing you to slowly lose the ability to... contain yourself." Julian said, dragging out those final words. "Now, let's dance!" Julian pulls out a folding chair with a flourish. He watches from off-stage, just outside the invisible wall, as Mystic realizes his situation.

Mystic stares, his pupils sharpening to points as he realizes his trap. "N-no, you're lying; that's not real!" Mystic cries. As the pressure builds inside, he sprints to the box, tugging at the handle with all his might, but it doesn't move an inch.

"Now, Mystic, the solution is simple; I will open the box when you learn the dance. Now, bend your knees. Yes, yes, crouch a little bit. There you go!" Julian commanded enthusiastically, watching Mystic lower himself with a grimace. "Good! Now, put your hands at your sides; that's amazing!" Julian practically cheers, watching the otter assume the embarrassing position. "Now, turn your feet left, then right, now in, now out, now repeat with the order offset by 1," he commands tersely, the energy and warmth gone from his voice. This was a new side of the fox.

Mystic thought about the steps. What did the offset mean? Which direction? What? He went through the motions in his crouched stance, turning his feet left, right, in, and out. Then... in?

"WRONG, WRONG, WRONG" Julian shouted, his face morphing into a glowering, snarling mutation of his original charismatic smile. "You clearly aren't feeling the role! Miro was a college student, yes, but he was in ballet. You must EMBODY HIM. Yes, a wardrobe change is in order." Julian looked on, snapping his fingers. Suddenly, the booties glowed, as did the hoody and pants Mystic had been wearing. At first, he felt them grow tight, concerned that it was because he was increasing somehow; rather, the clothing was shrinking. It slowly became form-fitting, nearly adhering to his skin until the glowing calmed and the feeling of tightening clothing ceased. His outfit has become a pastel pink leotard.

"Give me back my clothes, damnit! I don't want to wear this thing!" Mystic shouted, his face twisting in discomfort as his bladder once again threatened to unleash itself on his fancy new leotard. "P-please, I'll do anything. Just stop this!"

"Yes," Julian hissed, his menacing smile continuing. You will do anything, and I want you to perform your part correctly! Now, AGAIN!" The fox's voice echoed throughout the theatre.

The cycle repeated; once more, Julian provided a series of steps with a complex, almost coded instruction. Once more, Mystic failed and found his hands now trapped in a set of fluffy mitts. Again, this time, a fluffy tutu is added to the leotard. Again, Mystic earns some stockings for his trouble. Each time Mystic makes it a little further into the routine, his arms straight, then crossing, then holding his crotch and rear, then switching the side each hand is on. His feet move in complex patterns around the floor. This practice has taught Mystic something; he only feels okay when doing the dance. When he stops, the pressure inside of him is nigh-unbearable.

Finally, the time comes. "That's it! That's all the practice you get; I hope you are satisfied with your progress because the real show begins when they take their seats."

Mystic's head rears in shock; he can feel his face glowing with embarrassment as he slowly turns to see the doors at the back of the theatre fly open. Hundreds of ghosts dressed in fine Victorian garb floated into the theatre, flooding down the narrow walkways as they found their seats. The stage lights cut, and Mystic was robed in darkness, potty dancing to keep his bladder in check. There must have been 200 literal souls, their eyes glowing that firey blue light.

"Welcome, ladies and gentlemen, to tonight's presentation of 'Désespéré d'obtenir des Secours.' please finish taking your seats, and we will begin momentarily," Julian spoke, a spotlight framing him for the audience. As it dimmed and darkness enveloped the staff again, the fox made his way over to Mystic. "You are doing well, my young protege; now, you shall perform this masterpiece for all to see. Go forth and show them the magic of the theatre." He clapped Mystic on the shoulder as the otter wiggled in place.

Suddenly, the lights were on, and the music started. A symphony slowly gave way to silly kid music with a hefty use of Xylophone. "Oh no, I need to potty, but the potty is locked. What shall I do?" Mystic voiced his lines well, if not a little forced. He began his dance, wiggling his bottom, shuffling his feet, and swinging his arms around. He felt the gaze of the ghosts upon him as they gasped and laughed. Some even cooed.

"Awwww baby boo needs the loo," one ghost said, leading to raucous snickers. "If he goes much longer, they'll need a mop-up there," another onlooker glowered. "Little tot should be in diapers with that little control," a burly ghost said with a smile.

He was there, almost there. While practicing, Julian interrupted at one point. Telling Mystic that the box would open at the song's crescendo, he was to dive inside and push the button on the toilet there. That would finish the curse, and he could then leap out, freestyle his outro, and be done. The moment was coming, the music building as it swelled back in with the symphony. Now!

Mystic lept forward, pulling on the handle as the door swung open. Mystic could feel freedom—it was right there. There was a genuine toilet inside! He lept into the box, slamming the door behind him. He fought off the leotard—after all, what was wrong with the costume change? Finally, his bottom touched the cool seat as he prepared to pee. That was it—his moment of release.

Except, things were never going to end that well for Mystic. As he sat down, he unintentionally pressed a button under the seat. All of a sudden, what he thought was a toilet sprang to life, firing a thick pink diaper, covered in frills that made the tutu look tame, onto his bottom. From above, a large bonnet slammed down onto his head and his mouth was invaded by a gag-worthy pacifier. As his eyes watered from the flurry of colour and the oral intruder, he heard a click, and suddenly, there was light everywhere. All around him, the walls fell outward, landing on the stage with heavy bangs. He was now sitting on stage in the most infantile accessories. How could things get worse?

Mystics' bladder chose this moment to succumb to the influence of his curse. As he wet, the large diaper swelled around him, the audience on their feet laughing, teasing, and cheering. The otter hid his face in shame.

"Mystic, I am tired of these shenanigans. Can't you just follow my instructions!? We will practice until you get this right for the next show." Julian half shouted across the stage, his face contorted with anger as he showed his fangs. With a snap of his fingers, the urge to go returned to Mystic; this would be a long night.