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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 |

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Backstage, after it all, after again and again walking the boards as the villain - and what agitates her most is them seeing her fall, the moment of devastating weakness. She's pale, after forcibly scrubbing away whatever makeup and magic they'd inflicted for the fight, clutching a robe tight around her - her costume had been torn, shredded, everything to make it get away.

She doesn't want to talk. Doesn't want to be touched. Doesn't want to get more properly dressed because then she has no more excuses to stay back here. And if she goes out, there's a strong likelihood someone is going to die.

But one of the mirrors has been shattered, and by the scent in the air, it was her. Or just the fact that it's the only one Fever is sitting by, slowly turning over a small case in her hand.

Someone will bleed for this. Someone will scream for this.

Hopefully that someone isn't him.

"Miss Fever?" Shen Qingqiu clears his throat politely. He's still wearing most of the costume he was given for his role as Gerard Keay's mother; the jeans and sweater go better with the stained apron he's required to wear as a concessions worker than his usual robes would.

Plus the apron has bigger pockets. "I heard about what happened...I thought you could use these?" He pulls out a double handful of snacks stolen from the concession stand, as well as a packet of cigarettes. All for her.

Drawn out of her contemplation by her name, she blinks as she turns to him, at first wholly confused. Then, the reality of the situation hits, and while she doesn't manage a smile, he's not being scowled at. Setting her medicine case down, she reaches for the snacks first.

"I'm not one to question when someone's touched by the spirit of generosity, but..." A nod of her head at the cigarettes. "How did you know?"

Lucky guess, probably. She's not even partly through what she got after Gebura's disappearance, but once in a very rare while, it's about ritual and the comfort of flame, the acrid taste that seems to sharpen her focus and ease off some of the ever present headache.

"Lucky guess," he inadvertently confirms her theory. "They pipe in the audio part of the operas for us down at the concession stand...so we don't 'miss out,' I suppose. Yours sounded especially rough, so I grabbed whatever was close at hand and snuck out to bring you a pick-me-up."

He smiles at her sheepishly. "I hope there's at least one or two things in there that you really like."

It's kinder than she expected from an acquaintance - either the opera's worn her nerves to a thread that it's so surprising, or it's just been a while since someone made an offer like that. Despite herself, despite everything, she feels the edges of a tiny smile on her face.

Gesturing out at the dressing room, she indicates he should sit.

"Don't go hurrying back to them. At least back here, there's a degree where they'll leave you alone if you seem miserable enough. Besides, I can't eat all of this myself."

"Oh, I'm miserable alright," he sighs, sitting down next to her with a tired flop. "That damn popcorn machine keeps burning me, and my scalp aches from these stupid braids -- but I don't dare take them out, they're all that's keeping my hair contained inside the hairnet." He takes it off and stuffs into one of his apron pockets, rubbing at his scalp around the too-tight scalp locks one of the demons in the makeup department inflicted on him an unknown number of hours ago. They're fraying pretty badly, flyaways all over the place, but still more or less holding their shape. He doesn't know what he's going to do with they finally fall apart.

"It probably sounds petty to complain about all that, doesn't it?" he sighs. "At least I'm not being forced to act out all my worst memories in front of the entire town." Even if, honestly, he'd probably prefer that. At least then he could take pride in the artwork he was contributing to.

"It's worth complaining about. Every one of his outrageous actions is worth kicking up a fuss over. More than the recollections are how they seek to strip us of any dignity at all, and that's an equal crime to the intrusion."

What she takes is something colorful - it looks like some kind of cookies in a bag, and though they don't exactly taste good, they're sweet enough to be forgiven. It'll keep her energy up for when she can start casting.

"I'd like to kill him once for every person here and then a few more times for good measure, but sadly we only get the once, if Mendel's any indication."

"At least that means we'll never have to put up with him again, once he's dead," he points out. "And if Mendel's death is any indication, his court will also be significantly weakened and less likely to cause trouble." He sighs, picking out a little box of sweet mochi from the pile. Popping it open with his thumb nail, he mutters thoughtfully, "Then it's only the father and Aster to worry about, and I don't know which I find more concerning."

"The latter, in my opinion. Aster's ambitious. And willing to make demonstration of his power - Eligos at least tends to his own affairs. If it were just him, I'd even wonder if we could negotiate, and I'm saying that as someone who wants every barrier to breathing free air destroyed."

It's satisfying to punctuate words with a little crunch. Like bones breaking.

"You know he tried to persuade me to help him unseat his father? He's gathering as many allies as he can. And then after all that, there's still the other power at the table." A deep sigh. "Just like before. Solve one problem, two more sprout."

post performance.

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