stilted
[ stil-tid ]
adjective
- stiffly dignified or formal, as speech or literary style; pompous.
- Architecture. (of an arch) resting on imposts treated in part as downward continuations of the arch.
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The two teens shuffled and twitched. Neither of them fit quite right in their stuffy, stiff clothing. They pinched in some places, pulled in others, and were oddly loose in yet more. All-in-all, a very poor wearing experience. And what made it worse was that all the adults seemed just fine in the idiotic getups. Or at least, they were better at pretending they were.
“So, why are we here again?” Jack asked.
“Seriously? We’re already here and you’re asking that?” Diane replied. “That’s the sort of thing you ask before we get here.”
“I did ask. A bunch of times. My mom and dad just gave me these vague non-answers and shoved this...thing at me while telling me I had to wear it.”
A worried look came to Diane’s face. “Really? Mine did the same thing. You...you don’t think this is some weird cult thing, do you?”
“I hope not. At least not the death cult kind. Or the ‘give all your stuff to some guy’ kind of cult.” He paused for a moment before saying anything else. “I think I can handle the kind with huge org--”
Diane elbowed him in the side, cutting him off. “Don’t even think about it. Anyways, what I want to know is why we have to wear this kind of outfit. I mean, it’s straight out of a ren faire or one of those period dramas.”
“Not even. At least those looked kinda fun. These are just awful.”
“At least you don’t have to wear a corset. I feel like I’m being squeezed through a tube.”
At that moment, the lights were turned off. All the adults looked excited. A spotlight shown on a stage. A man, dressed in even more elaborate outfit, and even a small mask, walked out on stage. All talk stopped as the man came into the light.
“Greetings, my friends. Lords and Ladies, young and old, new and returning. I am pleased to welcome you all to our fine event. Here, you shall experience wonder and finery like you have not experienced in your lives.”
The man continued to speak in a formal, highbrow tone. His words were, in some places, almost as stiff as their clothes. Jack and Diane looked at each other. The man kept talking about things like “discovering yourself” and “finding a new life to live.”
The two teens leaned in and whispered. “Cult?” Jack asked.
“A really weird one.” Diane agreed. “We gotta get out of here.”
“Oh yeah, for sure. Shouldn't be too hard. It’s dark and everyone’s focused on the stage.”
As the speech went on, several more people, dressed as old, classical servants, came out from various doors. Each one carried a wooden bowl. As they went around, the adults reached in and pulled out a slip of paper. Some seemed happy with what was written on them, others were annoyed or even frustrated. But none argued.
When the staff came over to the two teens, the thin man looked at them, then reached for two cloth pouches at his waste.
“These are for young ones of your age.” He said, holding one out for each of them. “Please pick one and have a wonderful time.
Jack, not knowing what else to do, picked one. He pulled out a slip of paper and read it. “Squire? What the hell?”
Diane followed suit. “Lady in waiting? What’s a lady in waiting?”
“A high-class servant to a member of royalty, such as the queen or princess” The staff member said. “Those will be your roles for the night. Enjoy.”
As the staff member left, the two of them looked from their papers to each other. Jack’s eyes widened with realization. Diane was practically shaking.
“We were wrong. It’s not a cult.” He said.
“Yeah. It’s so much worse.” She agreed. “It’s...it’s an improv theater group.”
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I wouldn't mind doing one of these once. I'd be really bad at it, but at least it'd be entertaining for a night or two. Probably not any longer than that though.
