MARCH SADNESS - A Symphony of Sorrow

[pumpkinhollow]

SYMPHONY OF SORROW

If the Audience Would Please Take Their Seats

You find yourself at the theatre.

You may be asking how you got here, why you are here, when did you arrive. But none of that matters, does it? Nothing matters. Whether you are shocked at yourself for thinking so or whether you have known that nothing matters for years on end does not matter either. Whatever meaning there was to be had in any of this escapes you now. Who you were and what you wanted, what you valued and stood for, it all seems now like such a hazy dream. Out of reach.

There is a ticket in your hand. It tells you where to go. You follow it dutifully. Ticket stubs are exchanged for playbills. A schedule of performances. Whatever. You numbly proceed to where you belong. Performers and stage crew to their places, orchestra to the pit, workers to their positions. All with the knowledge that there can be only pain.

A four-armed conductor in moth-eaten robes raises his baton, and there is music.

You deserve this.

You deserve this.

You deserve this.

Observer’s Overture

First Movement in E Minor

adagio, con dolore
PP

Lights down on the chorus, who sits in the stands. They are playing the role of the audience. Ad lib spoken word between chorus members seated near one another. Soft music begins to swell eerily.

Lights up on the stage. A performance begins, apparently in media res, where the chorus is meant to observe.

vacillante, improvvisato
cresc. P

The performers on stage play out their acts, appearing fearful. The chorus ad libs quiet uncertainty from the stands. Some of them will look down at their playbill and find their own name on the schedule of acts to come. There is a brief description on the page of the act that is scheduled for them. It is clear by the state of the ones already on stage that this isn’t something they have a choice in.

Chorus members attempt to rise from their seats, but cannot. Not yet. Foreshadowing to a later movement. For now, they must endure the overture.

Opera Infernale

Second Movement in Various Keys
( A medley of vignettes, performed in various styles)

chorale concerto a tutti, con affetto

F

Various chorus members rise between songs and make their way to the green room, where they are costumed. They have some time to talk with other incoming acts. They will find themselves and their loved ones being prepared for their acts.

segue

Those who performed before stop in the green room again. They look drained. A fate which awaits the incoming acts.

segue

On the stage, each act is a musical recreation of trauma. A worst fear, a most painful moment, an act of cruelty, a time of hardship. The styles will vary accordingly. If the other players in a given tale are present, they will receive their role without question. If a cast member has no fellow performers from their own world present, an understudy will be chosen to play any other roles from those that they are close to. Everyone is off book. Vocal quality is adjusted to match the conductor’s standards. Staff ensures there are no interruptions. The show must go on.

CODA: Für Nimona
A Coda in A Minor

There is a stranger in the green room, unmoving. Pale glowing eyes peer out from an ungulate-shaped void perched atop a high end suit. Antlers leer overhead. He is waiting for someone. Staff take no notice of him.

Ensemble's Lament

Third Movement in G Minor

bocca chiusa
PPP

There are other places to be besides the stage. Other roles to play.

pesante

Behind the stage, the stage crew toil under Baritone, the stage manager and the Viscount of Suffering. There is a pipe organ built into the man’s chest, and the bell of a horn where his heart ought to be. It shows. He is as cruel as he is miserable. He runs a tight ship.

declamando, letando

There are others in the pit, if they have the musical skill for it. And while this part of the performance is managed by a kinder sort, the Contessa of False Comforts is not so named for no reason.

The opera is long. There are no intermissions. The orchestra plays until their lungs ache and their fingers bleed, while Sonata assures them that it will all be over soon. Surely she cannot be lying. Surely there must be an end…

freddo, pietoso

Just outside the auditorium, there is work for the chorus serving food and drinks, taking ticket stubs for the endless stream of audience members, cleaning messes, or all other manner of soulless work. Perhaps these ensemble members simply did not interest the Conductor. Or it could be that they were made more miserable elsewhere.

Reprise - Observer’s Overture

Fourth Movement in E Major

impetuoso
FF It would seem that once a chorus member’s concerto is complete, they are free to move about the premises. At least until they are scheduled in a supporting role for another soloist. This means a chance to explore--- or escape.

presto repente, bellicoso
cresc.

Those attempting to escape will be met with resistance, however. Guarding the doors are shades, creations of the Conductor who can wear the faces of those held dear by those that look upon them. Escape, more likely, will come from within.

Members of the chorus who attempt to do battle with the Conductor, however, will find themselves up against something far more dangerous. Figures of glass, in all different shapes. Some abstract and solid, some hollow and human-like, and everywhere in between. Perhaps some chorus members will find one to be familiar.

The Hero will need an ensemble of her own to make it through and strike at the Conductor. Perhaps a resistance can be formed in a hidden location near the green room.

Homeward Aria

Fifth and Final Movement in C Major

tiempo di fanfara, vittorioso
F

When a dagger of Aster is driven into the heart of Prince Efrain of Sorrow’s Song, at last, the illusion fades. The members of the chorus relinquish their roles and find themselves on the summit of Crane’s Ridge.

It will be an arduous journey home, but it can be done with the solace that there is one less Demon Prince to trouble Pumpkin Hollow. Music in a joyful major key swells, then decrescendos.

enfatico, mancando poco a poco

| CONTENT WARNINGS: altered states of consciousness, entrapment, grief, depression, mood control, loss of bodily autonomy |

Comments

Green Room

[hate_gettin_older]

Edgar is here before his unwilled performance: struggling into a costume version of the clothes he wore all his adult life, immobile in the makeup chair as attendants carefully paint stage grime and blood and bruises onto his face and hands, waiting with unaccustomed stillness until he's drawn to the wings.

And he's here again after, sweating and shaking, refusing to meet anyone's eyes.

after

[yournewsidekick]

A familiar hand fastens around his wrist without preamble, yanks him across the green room, and into --

-- is that a closet?

Whatever, it's some kind of door everybody else seems to be ignoring, and Nimona elbows it open with just as little fanfare, shoves Edgar inside, and slams the door behind them.

"We're gonna kill him," she announces.

[hate_gettin_older]

"... What?"

He stares at her in uncomprehending alarm, like her words aren't making sense in that order but he doesn't at all like what they might unscramble to.

[yournewsidekick]

"We're gonna kill him!" Louder, but not quite to a shout; some part of Nimona remembers that she's gotta at least make some effort at stealth. "Efrain! He's had it coming for months and tonight?"

She snaps open the fingers of her right hand. Claws extend like switchblades, but they look -- different. Like there's a clear boundary between where they start and the rest of Nimona ends, even though they shifted with her as easily as ever.

"He's gonna get it. Check it out."

[hate_gettin_older]

Oh, Efrain. Then she didn't mean --

He shoves that out of his head, staring at the claw weapon with a low whistle. "That'll do for him, then?"

[yournewsidekick]

(Nah, don't worry, Ed, Curtis'll just get a punch in the nose if he shows up here again.)

"Yeah." She flashes a murderous -- and completely humorless -- grin, flexing the claws so they catch the light. Then she pauses. "...You gonna get weird about it if I say Aster gave 'em to me?"

[hate_gettin_older]

Edgar frowns judiciously at the claws for a moment, then shakes his head. "Probably not. Least not till after the music bastard goes down. Tonight?"

[yournewsidekick]

"Good." Satisfied. "And yeah, tonight -- "

Her expression morphs into a scowl.

"After whatever crappy solo act I get roped into. But once that's over, I'm going right for Efrain. You in?"

[hate_gettin_older]

Grimly: "Like to see anyone try and keep me out. What's the plan?"

[yournewsidekick]

Good ol' Ed. It'll never stop being awesome, knowing he's got her back no matter what.

"Keep anybody back who looks like they're gonna stop me," she says. Nimona's not really the planning type, but this one'll be pretty easy. "Sounds like as soon as I do my scene, whatever's steering us around will snap. Maybe they'll think me going for Efrain's part of the act, too, but..." A shrug. "That's not gonna last long."

[hate_gettin_older]

"Right. We got any other weapons besides those, or do we improvise?"

His mind runs ahead of her answer. There's glass back here, to break for an edge; furniture, some of it's got some heft, could be broken down for clubs; maybe some of the stage props could be made useful with a bit of work --

[yournewsidekick]

"Ed." She gives him a fond, if slightly long-suffering look. "Do I ever do anything but improvise?"

[hate_gettin_older]

That, miraculously, gets a grin out of him -- tight and fierce but a grin nonetheless. "Well someone's got to, you maniac. Right then, I'm on it."

After

[maximumcake]

It was distressing enough that he couldn't stop Edgar from falling on stage, but now that they are free Max is desperate to wrap his arms around his love and hold him close.

"Edgar," he sobs, "I'm here. I'm here. I've got you."



Erik doesn't even pause; the moment they have control of their bodies back, he flees the room to leave the rest of them to gather themselves in peace. It's better this way.

[hate_gettin_older]

Edgar leans hard against Max, the fingers of one hand locking into his shirt. He's shaking, as much from rage as from all the other tangled emotions clawing together in his guts; he can't get any one reaction clear of all the others to express it.

He doesn't even notice Erik leaving.

[maximumcake]

Max tucks Edgar in against his chest, putting his chin on the other's head as if he's trying to get Edgar to wear him like a backwards hoodie. Mostly, Max is trying to make sure he doesn't erupt into flames.

"Breathe with me," he tells Edgar as he takes an exaggerated breath that expands his chest against his lover's. "Just focus on me right now."

[hate_gettin_older]

It may be reassuring that he shows no sign of bursting into flames, or it may be alarming: as though some spark in him has been smothered.

Edgar shuts his eyes against Max's chest and breathes, as he's told.

[maximumcake]

Max barely has time to catalog all the fears and anxieties coursing through him, but it does not escape his notice how... cold... Edgar seems in his arm. Too still, too dangerously calm.

Sweet words rise to the back of Max's gullet, but he can't bring himself to speak them. What use does Edgar have for platitudes? Or for fantasies of better days ahead when his life ended so... unceremoniously. What use does Max have for them either, when he was forced to play the hand that plunged that bloody dagger into his love's back?

"We're going to make them pay," he hisses into Edgar's ear, words hot with uncharacteristic bloodlust. He can burn bright enough for both of them right here and now. A rage has been building in his belly since he got here, and it threatens to boil over. "It's going to be different this time."

[hate_gettin_older]

"Yeah." It comes out hoarse, like the cold's gotten into his throat and frozen it -- but it does come out, like it's starting to thaw. "Yeah. Fuckin right we will."

He fumbles for Max's hand, squeezes it. The shaking in his fingers is subsiding.

[maximumcake]

Max squeezes back, steady and strong. Edgar is resilient, he's had to be, he will survive this, but he doesn't have to do it alone. Max won't let him do it alone. They're a team. They're partners in love and crime, and he will not leave Edgar to fight his battles alone.

"We're not going to stop until we send them all back to hell where they belong. I don't care who they think they are. We're better than them."

[hate_gettin_older]

"Think they own us," he mutters, and shudders all over, once, like he's shaking off cold water.

And draws back just enough to look up at Max.

"You all right?"

[maximumcake]

"Yeah, and they're wrong." Max says with fire spitting from each syllable.

He sighs, almost like he doesn't want to answer the question. "I'm... coping. I'm not sure if that's the same thing but right now it means I'm more pissed than scared." So, that has to be close enough.

[hate_gettin_older]

It does him good, to hear that sentiment coming from Max of all people, with that much vehemence.

"Good," he says, and he isn't sure it is good but it's good for right now. "Least till it's over. Till we get them."

[maximumcake]

It does Max good, too, to be able to put forth such a sentiment and mean it. Gone are the days of his passivity. When the people he loves are getting hurt, that's unforgivable.

"Yeah," Max agrees. "I'll... probably cry about it later when it's all done. You know me..." But for now, he holds strong. For now, the anger keeps him on his feet.

This might be what going to war feels like.

[hate_gettin_older]

Edgar nods. Crying about it later actually sounds appealing, of all things.

"Something's in the works," he mutters, very quietly. "For after the finale. Stay by me, yeah?"