"Welcome, trainees, to Let Me Entertain You 4000," a voice announced over the loudspeakers and the room fell silent as teenagers took their seats. "Please welcome your mentors with a round of applause."
Stacey tried to perk up and slapped both hands to her cheeks to try to wake herself up, but felt she was still missing details.
Applause sounded and the door opened for a wiry man with glasses and long hair tied up in a ponytail to walk in with the graceful gait of a dancer. He nodded and gave a slight bow to all the teenagers. Then he took the seat furthest from the door.
"From the highlands of Western Icerock, the prince of modern dance… Phineas Reed."
Stacey had seen professionals like him before and thought them amazing. Due to their training, even their walking looked like a choreographed dance all on its own.
"From his small beginnings… individual artist… Hubert Harris… Hugh-Bro!"
Hugh walked in with confident steps, bowing and nodding to the cheer, waving to everyone before taking a seat beside Phineas. He flicked back a lock of silver hair.
Oh. He was that professional man who had talked to her and the boys in front of the building earlier.
"From the… to… actor and stuntman, Orlan Yellowood!"
A man with a headband giving off a slight Rambo vibe stalked in and performed a fancy bow. He swept his gaze across the jumping and cheering teenagers with what seemed to be a critical eye, while Stacey surreptitiously tried to cover her ears at the noise while hiding behind the taller boy sitting in the seat below her.
Ugh. She didn't even know these people. Did she have to pay attention?
Unfortunately, her crouching didn't hide her much. Sharp gazes spotted her from the mentor's seats for not acting like the teenagers around her. With a weak smile, she slowly put her hands down and clapped them half-heartedly instead.
She felt like the ceiling was moving oddly and so missed what the last announcement said. Something to do with an all rounder and a supporting best friend.
"... Melesse Tracer… and Telea Tariff!"
A pair of women walked in.
Who was who, Stacey didn't really know or care at this stage.
The boys on either side of Stacey seemed to be poking her for some reason.
The woman with long hair gave a humble bow, while the other woman sauntered without stopping, only giving a sideways glance and casual wave at the whistling and stamping crowd. Stacey felt that glance fall on her and she drew back, wishing the seats weren't arranged so that the mentors would have a clear view of everyone's faces. She didn't know what that glance meant but she did know that it meant that she had been noticed.
Why were all the mentor's glances so sharp? Sharp as they were, the fog pressing her down didn't seem ruffled by it.
Stacey didn't want any attention. She really didn't. She just wanted to eat. That was all. Maybe if they asked her later why she had joined the show, she would say just that. It would be interesting to see what sort of reaction they would have.
Those eyes made her try to wake herself up again and sit up a little straighter.
"And finally, the actress, songwriter and dancer who has delighted audiences of all ages since her debut when she was three, the brilliant and irreplaceable Beryl Ellingmar!"
A stately older lady strolled in, wearing a dress suit and with her hair done up in a bun.
Ugh. No. Her attention was slipping again. Seriously, how long were these introductions going to take? Don't tell her there were still more mentors. Please let this be all.
"Good afternoon, everyone," she took the central seat that had been left for her and gave a slight bow. "It's nice to see such young and enthusiastic faces. Why don't you all have a seat?"
Seat? Had Stacey even stood up? Oh. She had. Someone or someones were holding her steady by her elbows on both sides. Who were they again? She met them earlier. These boys. Umm… What were their names?
They guided Stacey back down onto her seat, patting her arms, but she couldn't understand their silent communication. They leaned a little closer, but she couldn't hear anything they might be saying, if they were speaking at all.
The woman mentioned something about age, her history. She gestured at a box with a question mark on it sitting at the back of the stage on the table.
Stacey had stopped listening at this point, her attention no longer able to stay where it was meant to be, drifting off somewhere even she didn't know. She felt like she was no longer sitting but in a weird state of perpetual fall, no longer able to tell whether she was sitting straight or not.