ph_logs | 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

That is enough to bring back some light to her eyes, a blood-brightness that's been simmering in the back and simply waiting to come alive again. Yes. Yes.

"Think he has some flunkies that could do with total obliteration?"

That's a cause worth getting dressed again for. While she wouldn't mind sinking her teeth into Efrain personally, someone's going to have to help keep any of the others from assisting him, like with Mendel. And the good news with being stopped from casting earlier means that there's plenty to work with now.

"Maybe a couple dozen," she says cheerily. Oh, yeah, that's a glint she's more than happy to see in Fever's eye. "Dude's got a lot of weird living glass things around him. No idea if they'll bleed, but I bet a whole lotta the other demons here will. Plus there's that duo that screwed up Merrymeet around here somewhere."

Hopping back to her feet, she goes to where she's been keeping her things, working on clothes with a speed that says she's used to needing to move at short notice.

"I think I left Merrymeet before those ones really got under way, but - wait, living glass?" The sound that comes out of her mouth while she's doing up buttons is somewhere between a sigh and a groan. "Pyotr. At least I know he can't get reinforcements for those in a hurry."

"Pyotr?" Nimona hops off the vanity; in the same flowing movement, she stretches and reforms so human feet hit the floor. "The mopey artist guy? He made those things?"

She doesn't know whether to be skeptical or kinda impressed.

"He did. I doubt he intended for them to become a demon prince's army of bodyguards, but I'll yell at him later for it when he regrows his ability to feel shame, since he decided to go and magically yank out his bad emotions to make art with."

Already, she's feeling more like herself, the more she gets dressed with purpose in mind. And of course, checking to make sure any of her three daggers can be easily drawn when needed. Not that she intends to do much close quarters fighting.

"That's what those are made of?!"

Okay, for once, that's a kind of creepy Nimona's not down with. She shudders all over. "Eugh. I know guys like that get really into putting their whole soul into their art -- " that's accompanied by some sarcastic finger wiggles, " -- or whatever, but that's going way too far. What even are you if you don't feel stuff?"

Easy for someone like Nimona to say, maybe -- she's never met an emotion she didn't feel at one hundred percent. But still. YIKES.

"I don't know. But I'll figure out some way to convince him to cut back, at least. Doubt I can convince him to stop, but smashing all the pre-existing ones ought to help."

She sighs, shaking her head as she finishes doing up her sleeves. Fever's never going to be delighted to hear that a friend made a terrible choice like negotiating with demon princes, but she's had to relax a little bit ever since Dahlia's heritage came to light. Better to solely hate the ones who directly wronged them, then, instead of casting the entire species into the crossfire. And the princes would see them still trapped, still their source of wretched entertainment - she puts no faith in Aster's declaration of breaking ties with the chaos god.

"Maybe killing Efrain will take that power from him. He's the one who made the bargain - if he dies, it could end. Broken contract and all. Just another reason to wipe him off the face of this plane."

"Sweet," she declares. Like someone else might fidget or pace when they're full of energy, she shakes herself all over again and comes out of it as a wolf, circling around Fever as she finishes getting ready. Nimona's claws clack against the floor: golden, clearly metal, but melded with her somehow, the weapon itself transforming just like Nimona herself.

"Man it's gonna feel good to rip Efrain's heart out. Is there any way that guy doesn't suck? Don't tell me. I don't wanna feel bad if he fed a starving orphan once or something."

"If he did, we'll find that orphan and feed them a better meal than he did."

She's entirely sincere about this, since it'll be after Efrain's death, and they can ruin whatever reputation he had even further. But the sound of Nimona's claws on the floor have caught her attention as well.

"Nice additions. Where'd you get something like that? I didn't see anything comparable even in the props."

She breaks into a lupine grin.

"You like 'em?" Lifting her front paw, she flexes her digits so the claws extend another couple inches, their points glinting dangerously. "They're, uh."

Nimona falters a little. Ugh, why does nobody tell you the part about having friends where you feel things like 'guilt' and 'trepidation' when you do something that might disappoint them. It's so stupid.

"Wellllll. Aster gave them to me." Quicker, "He said there wasn't a catch, he just wants Efrain dead too."

There's a little twist across Fever's face - she doesn't like Aster in the slightest, and isn't shy about saying it, but she breathes and finishes the last of her buttons.

"Of course he does, but he doesn't want to get his own hands dirty for it. Just watch yourself - if you start thinking things like he's not that bad, tear them off and destroy them so he can't try to control you through the gift. Otherwise, who cares about the source? It doesn't mean they'll hurt Efrain any less."

Nimona heaves a theatrical, put-upon sigh that's about three-quarters for effect and one-quarter genuine. Peak teenage yes, MOM. "Yeah, yeah, I know, he's the bad guy and not in a cool way, he literally eats babies for breakfast, I'm not gonna do anything stupid. And I said the same thing! He was like 'ohhh, you just think I don't wanna mess up the suit,' but come on. If that outfit got a single wrinkle in it he'd cry and eat a gallon of baby-flavored ice cream about it."

Rich-ass deer loser.

"You know he forced me to sit down and not make a fuss at Valdis's birthday? He had the audacity to show up, and I was going to prove I was serious if he so much as laid a single finger on any guest, but ugh."

She shakes her head, a scowl as dark as thunderclouds on her face.

"Just looked at me and told me to behave and I couldn't move until he was gone. What, was he scared he would lose?"

Despite the bravado of the words, Nimona might sense the core of true uncertainty behind them. Fever's rage at being stifled of her magic in the Village was one thing, and being restrained from defending her friends, from chasing this insidious presence away, unable to lift a single finger - it had been frightening. Locked in her own body again.

Involuntarily, Nimona's lips peel back from her teeth in a snarl. "Okay," she says, fake-bright, "soooo we're definitely gonna rip his arms off next. Cool. Love it when I got something fun on my calendar."

She pauses -- and in a slightly awkward display of affection, doubly so because she's wolf-shaped and not dog- or cat-shaped, she butts her head against Fever's leg.

Lower, "And we'll make him squirm first. See how he likes being stuck before we make him bleed his own blood."

MARCH SADNESS - A Symphony of Sorrow

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