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

[staybizzy]

He raises a brow. "...Y'mean the glass sculptures that're guardin' Efrain right now?"

[stoneoftherose]

"Are they? I don't know he could do that." Pyotr visibly considers this for a moment. "Perhaps I should be more circumspect about what I'm doing with people's feelings once they're out, in that case."

[staybizzy]

"Ya think?" Capochin rolls his eyes. "Sheesh. That explains where all the bastards are comin' from at least. Any idea how to stop 'em?"

[stoneoftherose]

"Well, they're made of glass. Have someone who's really strong hit them in the thin parts with a hammer, or have someone who knows fire magic burn them until they melt. Erik or Fever should be more than capable of taking them down."

He doesn't seem too bothered by the idea of someone destroying his creations...but then, he was pretty casual about its care and preservation before Efrain taught him how to pull his own feelings out too.

[staybizzy]

Capochin clicks his tongue, scowling. "You're drivin' me nuts, y'know dat?"

[stoneoftherose]

"...how so?" he asks, a small degree of confusion surfacing through the numbness. "I haven't even done anything to you."

[staybizzy]

"Because!" Capochin throws his arms up. "Ya don't care about your art at all. You were gonna let me fold up that drawing y'made of me and now you're just gonna let people smash up your statues. Why are you so fine with yer art gettin' wrecked? And don't even say it's the no emotions thing, 'cause you was fine when you gave me that paper."

Catching himself on a tyrade, Capochin lets out a brief huff.

"I used to paint. Like a lot. And draw, too. But because of how my life went, I had to give up art for woik. You take somethin' for granted that I'd give anything to have. Bothers me."

[stoneoftherose]

Pyotr stares blankly for a long moment.

"I'm...sorry?" he finally tries. "I guess it's just not as important to me as it would be to you? When I was --" He cuts himself off. Is this really something he wants Capochin to know about?

...Well, why not. "I used to be an architect," he begins again. "My brother and I were infamous for our creations -- and when our detractors could not lay hands on us, they destroyed our children instead. I saw my halls burned, my bridges torn down, my tower toppled by cannon fire...my heart was broken again, and again, and again. Until..."

Another heavy, thoughtful pose. "This may sound overly dramatic to you," he finally says slowly. "But I only phrase things this way because I can think of no better way to say it. Even before I learned how to remove my own emotions, there was a part of me that was just empty inside. The place where I kept my drive to create, my dreams of changing the world...it's been hollowed out by grief. Nothing remains. So, the works I make now..." He shrugs. "They don't mean anything. They're just a way to pass the time."

[staybizzy]

Capochin listens, taking a slow breath in, and letting it out in even less of a hurry. A drive to action, hollowed out... Yes, he knows that feeling. He can empathize. His wasn't hollowed, but instead rotted in his chest and became something awful. But he still understands.

"Well, just 'cause they don't mean nothin' to you doesn't mean they don't mean anything. Some people still care about what you do. So." He pats Pyotr's arm. "If you don't wanna keep 'em safe for you, do it for me. Some miserable old fart who don't get to paint no more."

[stoneoftherose]

"...Oh." He stares at Capochin, still bemused. "Well, all right. It's probably too late for my little statues, but...I suppose I can take better care of the rest, if it matters that much to you?" God knows why though.

He scratches the back of his neck. "Do you want to start painting again? It's not too late."

[staybizzy]

"I, uh--- Maybe. I'm kinda shit at it. Always was, probably worse now. But... I've been wantin' to find myself again, I think." Capochin looks up to Pyotr with a sheepish smile. "You should, too."

[stoneoftherose]

"Find myself? I don't think there's much left to find. But if you want to paint, I can help you. It might be interesting." And he does seem interested, if you're looking for it. He's never taken on a student before, and he doubts Capochin would appreciate the label. But building up someone's confidence in their work instead of trying to tear it down would be new...and interesting.

[staybizzy]

"Let's talk about it when we get home," Capochin insists, suddenly uneasy. The idea of painting again after all this time doesn't quite sit right just yet. "For now, we got a shitty opera to break out of. Any idea what we oughta do next?"

[stoneoftherose]

"None at all," he answers easily. "I'm afraid I'm not much of a strategist. You'd want my brother for that."

Pyotr is essentially useless, and stays well away from the battle with Efrain. But a few days later, once everyone's had a chance to settle in and nobody's tried to kill him for his sins, he sends Capochin a little note.

Are you still interested in painting? Come see me any time if you'd like some tips.

His address and (very loose) schedule is included.