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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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Shen Qingqiu has had no luck since waking up in this opera house. After being forced to take a single turn across the stage he found himself exiled to the concessions stand, with scarcely enough time to wash off the makeup or change out of his costume. He doesn't know why, it was a difficult role but he thought he did okay?

(That's why he's been exiled. That is exactly the reason why. Being able to brainwash himself into feeling okay with his performance is like room temperature tea to Efrain and his court, it's just nasty.)

There is no dignity to be had in his current situation, his hair beginning to fizz and fall out of its braids from the humidity behind the counter while his arms and apron have been collecting grease splatters from the popcorn machine like it's new couture. His feet actually hurt; he didn't know that was actually possible in an immortal body.

The one bright side is that the demons are too busy to stop him from slipping people free snacks and smokes if they come up to the counter. It's not like he's getting paid for this, so why should he follow the rules?

The moment she'd been released from that hell, she had essentially fled from the green room and everyone else. She's waiting for Aster to make his move, and she's not doing it as a human, but most of all she's looking for her more powerful allies, the ones who did not just see her trauma laid bare on a stage.

Shen's scent draws her to him and she knows he needs to hear what she has to say before Nimona gets started.

Shen.

"Hm? Shijie? -- No, piss off. I wasn't talking to you," he snaps at the demon at the head of the line, who'd been making a big production out of choosing candy. He shoves a packet of black licorice into the demon's hands -- not as cruel as it seems, they've been the best-seller so far -- and hops over the counter, calling, "I'm taking my fifteen!" to the last demon who's attempted to manage him.

"You don't get any breaks!" she tries to call after him, only to be distracted as the next demon in line starts fussing about his snacks. Her problem now. Shen Qingqiu darts down a hallway, casting a quick spell to conceal his presence before he tries to contact Valdis again.

Shijie? I'm here. What do you need?

She lifts her nose, trying to figure out exactly where he has ended up when his voice breaks through her fury. Her ears prick up, scarlet eyes wandering, seeking the familiar light of her friend's soul through the soul plane.

There.

She bolts again, shaking off the glass creatures on her tail. She knows it's only a matter of time before Efrain and Nimona are at each other's throats. Valdis skids around a corner, almost colliding with the hidden Shen Qinqiu, but turning to hit the wall instead.

Oof.

She backs out of the rather large hole that is now in said wall and shakes her head to clear it.

Nimona is going to try to kill Efrain.

The little shapechanger? Good for her! Shen Qingqiu replies, putting a hand on Valdis's shoulder to prove he's there and gently raking some of the dust and splinters from the wall out of her fur. How can I help?

Limited to the concession stand and kept under increasingly strict watch, he's only caught a few glimpses of the glass creatures that trail after Efrain, much less the Conductor himself. He hasn't yet learned what they're capable of, how easily they withstand directly blows and how swiftly they can move.

~~They also bite like motherfuckers but really that's only to be expected from such sharp, pointy teeth.~~

It's weird being able to feel his hands in her fur but not see him with her eyes. An ear flicks.

Well, yes, but the issue is that Aster is helping her. Just like with Mendel. It will take him one step closer to seizing power from his father.

She listens to the hall behind her, hearing the scittering of glass feet coming after her. Perhaps she shouldn't have been so dramatic about her exit from the stage.

Lev holds up his hand before Qingqiu can offer him any of the food, and says, "uh, I can't like, find any other staff who seem to be free at the moment, and there's some kind of issue in like, the men's room? Would you be able to like ... I dunno, come take a look?"

He's desperately making eye contact, and trying to keep his expression just the right side of artificially innocent that bystanders wouldn't necessarily suspect anything, but Qingqiu will pick up that it's a ruse to get him away.

"Er, please?"

"Oh, of course!" Shen Qingqiu says immediately, setting his jaw to hide the impish grin that wants to spread across his face. "Show me the problem, sir." He quickly hops over the counter -- the demons, wanting them to suffer, did not actually bother to include a gate -- and 'allows' Lev to lead him away from the counter. Yep, nothing to see here, just a totally normal customer service interaction.

As soon as they're out of sight of the demons, Lev abruptly stops, turns around and throws his arms around Qingqiu. He kisses his temple, and says, "art thou quite all right? Sir's been so worried, and like, I've been so worried—"

He's babbling, a little. He looks pale and kind of shaky, too, even though he's smiling at Qingqiu. He's happy to see his boyfriend, he really is. He's just also rather unhinged just this moment.

Oh believe you me, Shen Qingqiu's calm is merely the mask of control over a bundle of jangling nerves. If he let himself freak out as much as he kind of wants to, he'd be completely useless to everyone and himself. But he does hold Lev tightly during that kiss, breath shuddering for a moment before letting him go again.

"I'm fine, don't worry anymore," he says quickly, catching up Lev's hands and giving them a grounding squeeze. "The demons seem intent on boring me to death. What of you and A-xiong? Are you keeping yourselves safe?"

It's pretty clear by now that these demons are powerless to really injure him. But if they do anything to his loved ones...'Bloodbath' won't even begin to describe it.

Lev chews on his lower lip, pondering what to tell Qingqiu and exactly how of what there is to tell he can safely leave out without lying. Eventually, he decides that it's probably not risking much to tell him the truth. Most of it, at least. Lev does hate worrying people. It feels like most of what he's done in his life is make other people worry about him.

"We're safe, like," he says, hesitantly. "The demons ... they, nu. They learned since last time. I suspect they find the two of us ... feh. Boring?"

"Boring?" Shen Qingqiu sputters a little, perversely annoyed. It's a good thing that the demons aren't bothering Anzu and Lev very much, he hardly wants them to be dragged onto the stage and tortured like everyone else! But at the same time...isn't this a little too insulting??

Shen Qingqiu drags Lev back into his arms, patting the back of their head as if to say, 'There there, this master will never find you boring.'

"It's fine, so long as you're both safe," he says with a rather inconsistent level of sincerity...

Lev notices Qingqiu's peculiar tone, though he has to spend a minute considering it before he can begin to guess as to what exactly the tone signifies about Qingqiu's thoughts on the matter. At the end of that considering silence, he shakes his head, slowly.

"Last year, they tried this same shtik, nu?" he says, quietly — mindful that they could be overheard. "I think they appreciated not neither of our responses. I think ... like. I think the demons, they like not people what have ties to things outside themselves?"

He sounds unsure — and indeed, he's hoping Qingqiu will offer his opinion on the matter; it does not occur to Lev just yet that he ought to also explain exactly what had happened the previous March.

"...They don't?" Shen Qingqiu blinks a little, unsure what Lev could possibly being eluding too. He wasn't even here the March before last; he arrived that April. What kinds of rumors has he heard about the things that happened before then?

"...Do you mean, when Mendel invaded Miss Dahlia's party to expose her and turn all her friends against her?" he finally asks. He's read about some pretty shitty uncles, but that really took the cake...and cast horrible spells on it.

Lev shake his head — no, it wasn't Mendel's party-crashing — but he still purses his lips in silent disapproval at Mendel's actions. And then decides he wishes not to keep his disapproval silent.

"No, like, not the loshon horo," he says. "I meant like, last year, they tried to get us all to tell them our sob stories, nu? In song. But ..." he ducks his head, and blushes. "I think they might've like, been disappointed that Sir and I gave them nothing they could understand without knowing. Sir sang Rivers of Babylon. I chanted Kaddish, though like ..." he bites his lip and fidgets with a lock of hair. "There was no minyan, so like. Maybe I shouldn't have."

"Oh...I don't think here I was here yet." Shen Qingqiu frowns slightly, considering Lev's words. "So your connection to a higher power protected you? That makes sense...and surely protecting yourself from rapacious demons is more than adequate justification for waiving some of the normal rules? It would fall under...forgive me, I'm not sure I remember the right term. Pikachu nefesh?"

Lev snorts with laughter and shakes his head.

"Pikuakh nefesh," he says. "But like. Nu. I think it may not apply ... but even if it did, that's not why I feel weird? It's more like ... it's like the demons were looking for weak spots and ..." he pauses, fidgeting with his hair. "I worry how much of mine own weakness I revealed to them, taking the bait. Wanting to like, be clever."

"I just like, can't help but wonder what it is they're seeking? What compelled them to try again, the same time as last time. And like, I bet some here know what's going on, but I know not who."

Shen Qingqiu hums thoughtfully, gently taking Lev's hand and massaging his wrist and knuckles. "I was under the impression that demons are predatory emotivores -- that is, they torment humans in order to feed on the emotions they produce. And our host seems to specialize in feelings of despair, melancholy, shame, guilt...A mourner's prayer may technically fall under his purview, but it's not just about the loss of a precious life, is it? It's also about praising your creator." Just because Lev's god isn't Shen Qingqiu's, doesn't mean he hasn't troubled himself to learn anything about his lover's beliefs. If it's important to Anzu and Lev, it's important to him, too.

"I'm not convinced you've shown them any weakness at all. It may be that displaying such a deep well of religious devotion has made you almost completely unpalatable by their standards."

Lev thinks about it for a moment; he plays with Qingqiu's hair, and stares into middle distance; his expression is quite serene.

Finally, he frowns and says, "nu, like. Mourning is mourning. It is proper to mourn. But ... as it is proper to question, so it is proper to submit. But the Kaddish is more than either. It ... it binds us back to the community and to the One whom it praises. I suppose thou'rt right ... but it's like. There's more, nu?"

He shakes his head.

"The shin-dalesim here ... nu, like," he says, and then shudders. "No. They're not no shin-dalesim. Sir's ancestor is a shin-dales, a man of smokeless fire. He did bad things, and he did good, and he learned Toirah, and he gave the world his descendant and my bridegroom. The way the ones here have treated their own ..." he shudders again. "Understand'st thou? The way they treated Dahlia ..."

Words fail him. He bites his lip and falls silent.

"Anzu is part demon?" Shen Qingqiu asks, surprised, but neither shocked nor alarmed. Not every world has 'demons' like the ones that plague Pumpkin Hollow; in some worlds, they're just another type of people, just as likely to be wicked or not as humanity itself. This is simply another interesting fact about his beloved.

But he does nod, when Lev alludes to the behavior of Dahlia's wicked relatives. "They have no sense of family loyalty," he mutters darkly. "They treat Miss Dahlia more like a plaything or slave than a child of their bloodline. In some cultures, children are expected to give their parents absolute loyalty; my Cang Qiong Mountain Sect held such beliefs. But even then, parents owe their children loyalty in return, not to mention protection from evildoers. Tormenting us is one thing, but the way they treat her..."

He shakes his head in furious disapproval. "It's truly...a wicked sight to behold."

"Khos v'shuloym," Lev says, genuinely shocked. "Nu! Not so loudly."

He lowers his voice, and says, speaking quickly, "he is descended from one made of smokeless fire. A mazik. Nu. Djinn."

He makes as if to look around, as if by habit, but stops himself, and bites his lip, looking sheepish.

"Sir's ancestor was righteous and scholarly, with many good deeds to his name, and near as much wisdom," he says, primly. "But, nu. He was like, also ... not b'ney Adam. And that is like ... that is very different, from like, being a nefil, nu?"

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MARCH SADNESS - A Symphony of Sorrow

Customer Service Hell

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