Sublimecapades

{ This idea is an extension of an annotation made to [vigilante]'s "Dry ice fun park" [link] }

.

"Quiet now, the show's about to start."

Overhead fluorescent lights dim and you squirm to the edge of your seat as an opaque thermal blanket whisks soundlessly outwards from the center of the massive ice rink on the coliseum floor.
Vortexes of swirling fog erupt and trail the departing mat as though trying to worm their way back under its protection.

The descending darkness would be almost compete now but for the odd points of dim light cast by wavering individual flames of lighters held aloft.
Black lighting ignites along the inside lip of the rink causing the fog to suddenly glow with an inner ghostly luminescence, the tendrils of living nebulous cloud writhe and dance only to be sliced into a myriad of kaleidoscopic patterns as the laser show begins seconds later.

"Hand me the popcorn and… no don't wipe your hands on your dress please sweetie, I..."
Shhhhh.

From all sides of the rink now, dressed in outrageously garish and more than somewhat revealing, sequin encrusted outfits, the skaters emerge from hidden entry points.
One by one they push off and glide on a single skate which is all but lost to the mid-calf high fog. Arms outstretched with one leg held suspended behind themselves, they seem to fly through an intricate pattern until the last skater joins the interlacing swarm.

"Why is that one mans' skate so big Daddy?"
"Well, the blades of the skates on the ice are made from plastic and they don’t make any sound at all, but the pamphlet says that the longer and wider metal blades make lower notes while the smaller ones m..."
Ssshhhhh!
"Hey! you shush me one more time buddy and I'll come back there see to it that's the only sound you'll be..."
"Please honey you're making a scene, just ignore him."

Muttering incoherently and with a final baleful glare, your attention reluctantly reverts to the spectacle at hand.
At a cue unknown to the audience, several of those with the smallest elevated skates bring them down to the ice in unison and, as the bladed instruments contact the surface of the frozen carbon dioxide, the opening notes to Flight Of The Bumblebee begin to echo eerily upwards.
Each skate its own sound, each sound a slightly muffled, lingering cross between violin and a flute or perhaps an oboe, yet with a resonance that neither wind nor string instruments could ever hope to be tortured into producing.

While not exactly your cup of tea, the rest of the show is more entertaining than most of the other 'capades you've been dragged to and, lucky for the shush-miester a few rows back, hypnotically soothing.