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

[ss_buttcrack]

He moves closer to her, not away. Touch has always been grounding for him. He seeks out the comfort of her shoulder on which to lay his head.

"It never gets easier," he says with miserable resolve. Cass will know what he means better than most. To her, he doesn't need to explain the way these violations bring memories roaring back. "This helps," his fingers tighten in hers as he says the last part silently in his head: I don't want to be alone.

[not_the_last]

Cassandra presses his hand tightly, shifts closer to be a better support.

"I can tell you everything you already know," she says quietly, "but I know that won't make it easier."

[ss_buttcrack]

"No..." he agrees tiredly, "But... sometimes I need the reminder. Ma used to say it might not help but it sure can't hurt."

[not_the_last]

"All right." Unconsciously, she straightens a little. "It was a terrible thing you went through. But it wasn't your doing. Aeryn is still alive. And Harvey's gone."

[ss_buttcrack]

"Aeryn is alive," he repeats slowly, then, with venom, "And Harvey is dead."

But... that wasn't the whole story. Was it?

"After this...Zhaan... gave her own life energy... to bring Aeryn back. If it wasn't for her..." If it wasn't for Zhaan's actions, Aeryn would still be gone. He always ends up needing someone else to clean up his mistakes. And they cost Zhaan everything in the end.

[not_the_last]

"And that wasn't your doing either." She squeezes his hand. "You know that."

[ss_buttcrack]

"I know," he says, desperately willing himself to believe it with his whole heart. "She loved Aeryn. She... she loved us all. She was our teacher. She was the voice of reason in my head."

Another hard sob pulls at the muscles in his back but he doesn't release it. If he does he might not ever muster the strength to say the part that haunts him most. "Innocent. That's what she called me, when we said goodbye. She called me 'Innocent Crichton.' I haven't felt innocent in so long. But, for her, I keep trying to believe it--to see what she saw in me."

[not_the_last]

Oh. She almost says it aloud, but bites it back for fear it would hurt worse. Oh, she did love you.

Instead she keeps her grip on his hand, and with her other hand draws him closer against her shoulder, and tries to think of something better to say.

"I think," slowly, "I never knew her, but I think she must have known. That it was a word you'd find difficult to apply to yourself. And she must have wanted you to try, and keep trying."

[ss_buttcrack]

He nods against her, taking in a rattling breath. "She was wise like that. She knew."

She really was the most enlightened of them. But it never came from a place of contempt. Not with her. Zhaan already knew what it was to lose her mind and sink to rock bottom, and she pulled herself back up out of it with her own force of will.

"How much have I ...ever told you about her?"

Crichton is realizing now that he avoided the topic for a long, long time. It's a little pocket of grief he's kept stored away, too afraid to open the lid and let it breathe. It felt too much like saying goodbye to his mother a second time. Maybe he's finally ready. Zhaan deserves to be remembered.

[not_the_last]

"Not very much," she says quietly. "Primarily ... her name, and that she was on the living ship with you. And that she wasn't from Earth, because none of the others were."

[ss_buttcrack]

He really has done Zhaan wrong if that's all he's managed to convey about her. Though, he can almost hear her in his ear telling him how silly he sounds.

"She was Delvian. Her people lived on a planet that was lush and full of plants. Including them. Devians are part plant, but they procreate with humanoids to become sentient. What Zhaan was..." already his eyes are stinging again. "...almost too many things to do it justice. She was a priestess, a Pa'u of high rank. She was a freedom fighter that rebelled against and killed a tyrant who was enslaving her people. She was a healer and a teacher. She was a prisoner, and she was our savior. Oh," he sniffles and chokes on a laugh, "She was also blue from the top of her bald head to the bottom of her big blue ass. She wasn't shy about any of us seeing it."

[not_the_last]

Cassandra rearranges herself on the floor beside him, tucking her feet under her and leaning against the wall. And listens, intently, carefully, asking no questions (part plant?) until he's done.

"She sounds like a great hero," she says quietly. "Like someone anyone would be proud to know."

[ss_buttcrack]

He expects plenty of follow-up questions later. (Wait until Cass hears about the photogasm.) For now, he's just soothed to know he's finally giving Zhaan her due.

"She was. She didn't see herself that way, but she was. They put her in jail for killing that tyrant. They sent her to a slave colony to work in mines. She was stuck underground all that time... she still didn't lose her soul."

[not_the_last]

That stings, in a way she knows he doesn't mean for a second, in a way she works hard not to show.

(It's all right, she tells that part of herself quietly. I know how it feels, but it's all right. This isn't about you.)

"So strong," she murmurs. "I ... I find I wonder how she and Keyleth would have gotten along."

[ss_buttcrack]

In the moment, he means it as an indictment against himself, but when he looks back on this with a clearer mind, he'll cringe with the belated realization.

"Oh," he sags at the thought, "They would have been fast friends. I could see the two of them getting lost in the woods for hours just talking, meditating, and sharing philosophies. I wish we could have seen that."

[not_the_last]

"It would have been splendid," she agrees, softly. "Perhaps ... one day you could tell Keyleth about Zhaan. It wouldn't be the same, but it would be something."

[ss_buttcrack]

"I should. I will. Yeah, I'll do that." It tightens his chest with anxiety to think of how he'll even begin to describe Zhaan enough to do her justice, but if anyone could carry on the memory well, it would be Keyleth. Zhaan would be honored, he thinks. Maybe he'll try to name a flower species after her, too.

"Thank you," he says after a long moment. "For helping me find the courage to remember her."

[not_the_last]

She squeezes his hand. "It's your courage. All I did was listen."

wrap here?

[ss_buttcrack]

Very slowly, a smile creeps into his eyes, like the light returning after the long dark night.

"You know... that's just the kind of thing she would have said. I am so lucky to have this many wise women in my life."

wrap!

[not_the_last]

It's good to see, that smile. Cassandra meets it with one of her own.