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

After the performance

[maximumcake]

Max is on his feet and racing out of the theater almost before the curtains close. Drelasa! What did they do to her? From the stage it looked agonizing.

He doesn't knock, but barrels through the door in uncharacteristic disregard for her privacy. He's too worried to slow down. What he finds does nothing to soothe his worst fears.

"Drelasa, it's Max. I'm here. Are you hurt?"

[misbegottendreamer]

She doesn't answer. She's sitting there, stock-still, unmasked, "staring" at the opposite wall. At least she's not shaking anymore, but she's not doing anything- well, okay, she's breathing, but that's kind of a low bar.

It isn't like her to not answer. Even in grief, she's usually so expressive. But now, the bell is silent.

[maximumcake]

For one heart-stopping moment Max is terrified that he's already come across her corpse, but... no. No, he can see her breathing but nothing else. That realization pushes his heart up into his throat.

"Oh my god..." he sinks to his knees beside her and gently reaches for her hand to hold. His eyes scan her looking for clues for what to do next. The blood trickling from her equivalent of ears sends a cold wave of dread through him. Oh... no. Please, no.

[misbegottendreamer]

As soon as his hand touches hers, she clutches it with an iron grasp. He is a lifeline to the world around her, and she is not letting go.

She will not beg. She will not plead. She is afraid, but she has chosen this over the shame Efrain wished to subject her to. If she must be vulnerable, it will be through an act of trust to whoever this is, rather than through imploring the first ear that will listen to take pity on her.

[maximumcake]

Her grip is desperately tight and that nearly confirms his worst fear, but he has another way to be sure. He doesn't usually do this without warning first but this time it's an emergency.

It's me, Max. I'm here to help you. His voice will reach into her mind to address her telepathically. She can respond that way and he will hear it, too.

[misbegottendreamer]

Max. I thought so. You have a baker's hands.

She seems unsurprised, or at least unperturbed, by the mental intrusion. Everything carries a metallic tang of fear and uncertainty, but that's the undertone for a much more prevalent air of confidence.

It is her flesh. It is her flesh!

The fact that you are contacting me this way tells me you've realized I am currently without my hearing.

[maximumcake]

You didn't react at all when I called to you. That's not like you.

His gut twists into knots. He can't leave her like this. He won't. Screw those demons! His grip tightens on her.

I know someone that can heal you. I'm going to call Erik. He'll help.

[misbegottendreamer]

Alright. I trust that you know what you’re doing.

The thought of accepting help from the vampire still makes her a little uneasy, but not so uneasy as being adrift in silent, lonely darkness.

Going to tag this reply with Erik's journal- might want to track this thread (or i can message you)

[maximumcake]

His blood can heal any wound it touches. I wouldn't suggest it if I wasn't sure.

He doesn't think she doubts him, but he wants to prepare her for the treatment because, well, as far as Max can tell it's going to require Erik to put his blood in her ears.

He stretches out his mind, calling to his former Master, Erik! Drelasa needs healing. Come to the dressing room. Hurry!

There's no reply, unless you count the sudden wind that scatters playbills across the room as Erik arrives at full speed only to come to a dead stop in front of them both.

Max answers the question in his eyes before he's able to speak it, "She's been deafened! Please, can you do something?"

[lordoftheozarks]

"I can't say for sure until I know what's been injured, Max, but I will try. I'll need to examine her."

Erik stoops beside Drelasa, lightly touching the side of her head first in warning, before he leans closer to inspect the damage.

While he does that, Max speaks to her in her mind to tell her what's happening. Erik is here. He's looking at your wound to see if he can help. I won't let him hurt you.

[misbegottendreamer]

You’ve assured me before that his blood does not carry the risk of infection. I will treat your words with honor, my friend, even as I am still apprehensive. He may do as he needs to.

Behind the most lateral of Drelasa’s flutes, following along the jawline, are openings not dissimilar from the holes in her flutes. These seem to be her ears, and sure enough, an examination might reveal the presence of destroyed eardrums.

[lordoftheozarks]

Max cups his other hand over hers and squeezes warmly. He won't let go the whole time as Erik works.

"It seems her eardrums are ruptured," Erik pronounces after peering through several of those openings on her head. "This is good. I believe I can reach them without needing to cause her more pain. Can you please instruct her to tilt her head. I'll dribble some of my blood into each orifice and let gravity do the work."

Max dutifully relays that to her, Erik thinks he can help. He wants you to tilt your head so he can let the blood run in. It won't hurt.

[misbegottendreamer]

Alright.

She does as instructed, her flutes falling aside with gravity like the boughs of a weeping willow. Max can see her mouth, oddly human beneath her utterly alien features, lips drawn tight in resolve.

[lordoftheozarks]

Erik wastes no time. As soon as she moves he plunges his own sharp thumbnail into the pad of his index finger and squeezes a few drops into the first of her ear holes. Because of his own healing, he has to repeat that step with every one, but he has the first side done in under a minute.

"If you can hear me now, please tilt your head in the other direction," he requests calmly. She isn't human, but he still expects his blood to do the job in mere seconds.

[misbegottendreamer]

And slowly, cumbersomely so as to not flip her flutes sharply, she does as instructed.

going back to max journal now!

[lordoftheozarks]

Max lets out a relieved gasp when she starts to move, and he has to remind himself not to squeeze her too tight in excitement.

Erik smiles to himself but otherwise says nothing, keeping his presence professional as he repeats the process on the other side of her head. As soon as he finishes that, he stands and moves a few paces away.

[maximumcake]

"Erik, thank you," Max says quietly, not stopping him from stepping away. They'll talk later.

For now, his attention is back to only Drelasa. "How does it feel now?" he asks her gently. "Does anything still hurt?"

[misbegottendreamer]

She puts her head level again, then lets out a deep sigh that passes through each of her flutes, a rich, calming chord.

"Thank you," she says in a hushed voice.

Then she looks towards the direction of Max’s voice.

“I am well. My head is pounding, but that should go away with time.”

[maximumcake]

"I'm afraid headaches are one of the few conditions I cannot touch," Erik says wryly, though with a distinct tone of satisfaction at a job well done.

"I'm so glad," Max says in the way that evokes an image of him slumping with relief. "Oh. Um. Should I do, like, formal introductions?"

[misbegottendreamer]

"Please. I think such a thing is long overdue."

[maximumcake]

"Right." Max straightens up again so he can do this properly. "Erik, this is Drelasa Veloth, my good friend and your recent pen pal. And, Drelasa, this is Lord Erik Osborne, my former vampire master and current friend."

Erik's eyebrows lift several times in quick succession with each new utterance, but he carefully keeps any of that surprise out of his voice. He has to assume, if he's being introduced this way, that Max has already told Drelasa the whole context behind their relationship.

"It is a pleasure to meet you now face to face," Erik says smoothly. "Even if the circumstances were not ideal. I'm sorry for not realizing you might struggle to read my letter, madam. Had I known, I would have used my sending stone instead."

[misbegottendreamer]

“The pleasure is mutual, Lord Osborne, and I thank you again for coming to my aid. And it was no trouble. I have long learned to trust my neighbors to assist me in reading my mail, so I did not think it necessary to put you out of your way.”

[lordoftheozarks]

"You are most welcome. And, I have no doubt that Max is an exemplary neighbor to you, as he is to all. I would still find it no trouble to converse in ways that are less taxing to you. I, ahem, happen to like the sound of my own voice too much at times, or so I've been told."

"I never said that," Max chimes in. (Though, he has absolutely thought it before.)

"Of course not you, Max. But all this to say you would not be putting me out as much as you fear, Madam. I understand if you need some time and space now, but I would be very willing to meet you again to talk in a more comfortable setting. If you'd be open to that?"

[misbegottendreamer]

"Certainly. Oh... I shouldn't assume, do you have any dietary restrictions?"

[lordoftheozarks]

He huffs a soft laugh because that's become a more complicated question of late. "I do, strictly speaking, only gain sustenance from blood. It was, when I first arrived here, the case that I could not taste any other flavor on my dead tongue but for blood. However, that aspect has changed recently. I can taste flavors for the very first time, but I am still unable to digest. Anything more than a small sampling would be wasted on me, I'm afraid."

"Yeah," Max chimes in, "but you like tea now, don't you?"

"Oh," Erik sounds a little surprised, "I do now, yes. Liquid is more agreeable to my stomach."