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MARCH SADNESS - A Symphony of Sorrow

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 |

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Leon can't decide if it's more or less surreal, living out someone else's memory in the form of a fucking opera as opposed to living out his own. Either way, it felt like being jerked around on puppet strings, his own voice foreign to him as it was wrenched from his throat. He spends a good while after the performance ends slumped forward in the makeup chair in the green room, clenching and unclenching his fists and savoring the fact that he can do that of his own accord again.

That small comfort can only sustain him for so long, though. There's other, bigger things to be worried about. Like Sephiroth, also collapsed in the corner and probably having an even worse time of it than him right now.

"Hey," he says, voice hoarse from the performance. "You... uh, you holding up okay?"

He thinks maybe he should be afraid of him, now, after seeing all that. But in a way, it's all so removed from anything he's experienced - sure, he's known plenty of men and women with god complexes and seen a few of them warp into monstrous forces of destruction, but this? All the talk of ancient beings and the lifestream and actual honest to goodness godhood? It's hard for him to fully absorb in a way that's just kind of making his mind shut down rather than process it right now. And honestly, he's okay with that, if it means he can still talk to the person in front of him like a peer. Seems like he probably needs that more right now.

Sephiroth slowly loosens the wings from around himself and looks up. "I am ... sane. Which is more than I can say for myself in the past. I'm ... sorry you had to be put through that."

Sorry that everyone had to be subjected to watching it....

"Something to be grateful for, at least," says Leon, who imagines that's not a lot of comfort. It's the best he can really offer on short notice, though. Frowning, he shrugs off stray bits of costume armor and tries to smooth his hair down from where it's all but standing on end, both for his own comfort and because he figures Sephiroth probably doesn't appreciate the reminder of... any of that.

"Anyway. Not your fault. I'm pretty sure I know exactly who's responsible for putting us through this misery circus. I'm not gonna waste my time being mad at anyone but him, at least for right now."

He swivels the chair to face Sephiroth and props his chin up on his hand, elbow resting on his knee.

"And for what it's worth - I'm sorry this happened, too. I'm not going to pretend like I understood all of what I just saw, but. None of us had any right to see that, not like this."

Sephiroth grunts and nods. It is at least comforting, he supposes, that he could go through the motions of all of that, telling his mad plans, and not lose his mind again. But he is free of Jenova now, and perhaps that's why he is able to stay sane. Maybe. He doesn't want to give her too much credit when he blames himself most of all.

He wishes he could see the real Cloud again, and yet he's sure Cloud will never want to see him again. He's sure they will never meet, and certainly never under good circumstances.

"Yes. And if he can't be stopped, he'll probably put us through something else horrible before long." Sephiroth's voice darkens at this.

He softens a bit again, looking weary. "I wonder how much trust anyone will still have in each other when all of this is over," he remarks.

"Hm. Yeah, that's probably the idea, isn't it? Show us all each other at our worst to try to break us apart."

Leon guesses he should count himself lucky that his own performance didn't cast him in too awful a light. If anything he feels like the complicated reality of the situation was sort of flattened by it, making him out like some kind of hero putting regretfully putting down a rabid dog and not... well, whatever. It's fine. He's not going to get caught up in his own head about it now.

"If nothing else, we've gotta get the people in the orchestra pit out of there soon. How long have they been playing? At least we got some downtime." He huffs, shaking his head. "You got any ideas?"

"I wouldn't be surprised."

He does perk up a bit at this. Something to do, a way to help, perhaps, if they can think how....

"I doubt anything we try will release them, unless perhaps we offer to take over for them."

He's pretty sure they can't be sneaked out of there. Unless ...

"Or, if there were enough of us, some of us could create a distraction while the others tried to get the musicians away."

Would that even work against demons? He's willing to try.

"Yeah, that could work. 'Course, chances are they're under the same kind of spell we were while we were on stage, keeping them at it. We'd have to break that somehow to get them out."

He frowns, drumming his fingers against the crook of his arm.

"And if we get that far, what happens then? Show's over without the orchestra, but then we're still locked in here with Efrain and his goons. Not that I'm saying we should give up before step one, but there's a lot to think about first."

"Yes. Ultimately, Efrain must be defeated for anything to really work. We need to round up others to help go against him. There must be others here who are both capable and willing."

Probably everyone would be willing. But who could actually do it? Perhaps if anyone still had boons? He remembered someone did at Merrymeet. That could prove invaluable.

"Yeah. If nothing else there's something like safety in numbers at a time like this, and it doesn't seem like the backstage crew is paying that much attention to keeping us separated now."

Which makes Leon feel more than a little suspicious, but if he starts assuming Efrain's two steps ahead of him on everything he won't get anywhere. Not that he wants to underestimate the demons either, but it's a balance to walk.

"I'm not sure who out of all of us could fight a demon and win. Not me, probably. Without a gun or anything I'm kind of just some guy." Some guy who did survive and put down wall of viscera that was trying to eat a subway car with him in it, but that barely counts. He had a rocket launcher at the time. "I know we've got more than a handful of people who can use magic though, which puts most of them above me. Distractions and dealing with crowds, though, I can do."

He glances away for a moment, thinking carefully, before looking sidelong at Sephiroth.

"What about you? Where do you think you'd do best here?" He hesitates in asking this largely because he imagines Sephiroth doesn't really want to think about his raw destructive capabilities right now, but it does bear asking. To his credit, he does seem apologetic about it.

Sephiroth wonders at that as well. Perhaps it's just to force them to look at each other all the more after the misery of their performances, but perhaps there's more to it.

"I believe I would do best in a fight, but without knowing more about these specific demons, I can't know for sure how I might fare against them."

He felled Ifrit with one blow, but these demons might be more powerful than Ifrit.

"Do you know much about them?"

"I've done some reading, and I've run into Efrain once before, but I didn't know it was him at the time."

If he had, he might've tried taking a shot at him. Which probably would've been inadvisable, what with the whole 'just some guy (with a gun)' thing, but even so.

"How much do you already know? Just so I don't spend too long repeating anything."

"Does he have a human disguise?" Sephiroth wonders.

He isn't sure what he would have done. It might depend on at what point they met.

He sighs. "I know very little beyond that the demons are warring over the leadership position," he says. "And that this current one loves to sow sorrow and misery."

Edited 2025-04-22 04:02 (UTC)

"Honestly? He looked about the same," Leon admits, looking sheepish. "People with weirder stuff going on than having four arms are all over the place here, though. I didn't want to judge."

He shrugs, apologetically, before shaking his head.

"Anyway. You're right about that. You might've been around for Dahlia Leeds's birthday party? The one that, uh, went really poorly? One of the demon princes - Mendel, the Prince of Fools - was mostly responsible for that whole mess, but was killed shortly before the place caught fire. I was... kind of out of sorts at the time, so I'm not as much use in remembering how they took him down as I'd like to be, but it is possible to kill them, at least."

Or more specifically, possible for this motley crew specifically to kill them. That's kind of critical. Even if Leon doesn't have all the details, that has to count for something.

"Seems like both the remaining princes decided to start making moves after that. You saw the casino Aster put together, and now his big brother Efrain's decided to make another appearance. Seems like a risky move to me, but maybe something's forcing their hands. Maybe the current king's getting impatient with them? Or maybe they're getting impatient with him."

Sephiroth smirks a bit at that.

"I wasn't at the party, but I heard a great deal about it," he says.

"Strange to think of demons being able to be killed, at least if they stay dead. You're sure they can't come back?"

"Well, the word on the street is that the current king, Eligos, won the crown by killing his brother after he was chosen as the actual heir some hundreds of years ago," says Leon, tapping his fingers against his jaw thoughtfully. "And considering he hasn't come roaring back for revenge just yet, I'd say that's some good evidence. Of course, that's demon-on-demon violence, but if they can do it why can't we? There might be some trick to it beyond raw firepower, but if we figure that out..."

He trails off, waving a hand.

"And even if not, if we can put Efrain out of commission long enough to get everybody out of here, I'd take that too, honestly. Might be consequences down the road, but it's gotta be better than just sitting back and taking whatever he throws at us."

Sephiroth nods thoughtfully. Perhaps his unique powers will be a help in this situation. He hopes.

"I agree," he says. "We've been forced to be the players in his mad performance starting long before tonight. There has to be a way to fight back."

"Yeah. It's gonna take some coordination and more than just the two of us, but all together we can definitely do something about this."

Leon goes quiet for a moment, thinking hard and wishing he was more of a planner, or at least that he had a better grasp of the bigger picture. No use stewing in his own shortcomings, though. If he can't do it, there's almost definitely someone else who can.

"Seems to me like the next step is finding out who else is backstage with us. You feeling up to sneaking out of here and seeing who we can get to join the cause?"

Sephiroth nods. "I can't imagine anyone would refuse to try to get out of here." Unless they're too afraid or too depressed, but he hopes they won't be. "Let's go."

He stands, a couple of loose feathers floating to the floor.

It's hard for Leon not to stare a little at the feathers and also the whole wing situation in general. Like with Efrain's arms, there's a lot of people with weirder (at least by his standards) things going on wandering around, and being patrol partners with Cerrit for a while did remove some of the mystique of really big wings for him, but even so. It's still pretty cool. He does his best not to get too distracted though, nodding and reaching for the door to peer outside carefully.

"No one's coming," he says, voice low. "Let's go. We can split up to cover more ground and meet up back here."

Sephiroth had hated his original black wing so much for how it had come about, but in his insanity he had not only embraced it, but had decided to create six more. He's still trying to get used to the idea that he can use them for good. He had been doing quite well with that idea until his deepest fears and guilt and grief had started to be exploited again. But keeping the wings out is his way of doing what he can to rebel against Efrain's attempts to drag him all the way down again.

"Alright," he agrees. "Good luck."

Hopefully they will gather enough people to really help out. He can't really think they won't.

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MARCH SADNESS - A Symphony of Sorrow

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