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]

"I hope I get to be there to see it," he hisses. If for no other reason than to be sure that it's done.

Her quip about getting out of prison lifts a ragged cough of a laugh out of him. He knows she's not kidding, and neither was he. "I keep my promises. You can do sleepovers with Runt in the guest room."

With her help, her comforting presence, the pain is starting to settle like silt in the bottom of a wine bottle. It's always there, a solid layer that clings to the inside of his soul. He's learned how to live with it, and how to push it back down when the bottle gets shaken. Deep breaths, in and out to the count of ten, feel the ground beneath him, smell the air, taste the sweat on his lips...these are real, and so is Fever's care for him.

"I... have a feeling no one is going to want to ...talk about it once we get home." He hopes. He prays. That anyone who saw him up on that stage will know better than pick at it.

[abhorrently]

"Yeah. We'll be too busy celebrating the bastard's death to talk about it." A tiny exhale. "They weren't part of it, so you don't owe them any answers if they try."

Not like her, not like how she'll have to wrench herself back open for Ellen, but...the woman was part of it, she can't ignore that.

"Call me if they do. I'll sic Chills on them - he's got a nasty little bite, when he's got a mind for it. But...there's a lot of things to do when we get home that have nothing to do with this." Her hand stays on his back, since the touch is helping. "It's spring again, Crichton. It's been a whole year."

[ss_buttcrack]

He lets out a small breath of his own. "I used to think I did owe them. But... no. Harvey's dead. He's not a threat to anyone so I... I don't have to treat myself like a walking hazard anymore." He's too lost in his own misery right now to realize how much of that might sting for Fever too. If he did, he'd apologize.

Her redirection works like a charm. A hushed little laugh wheezes out of him while he pictures her mighty dragon child chomping off someone's nosy finger. And spring, oh... spring. Florida never had a spring like here. Nothing has ever compared to the beauty of all those flowering trees in bloom, with green leaves and moist bark...

The knot in his chest starts to loosen. His voice is still rough from crying but he sounds more at peace now. "Spring comes again. The wheel turns. A whole year and we're still here. Together."

[abhorrently]

At least one of them is cleared of feeling like their hands aren't safe. The control is still novel to Fever, but she's never stopped thinking that she's as dangerous as a barrel of gunpowder surrounded by sparks.

But spring. Spring. The season where everything tender and new starts to grow, where the earth smells fresh and things are planted so that they might be taken care of until harvest time.

"We can't exactly call ourselves newcomers anymore. Not after this long - maybe I'll stop waking up in the morning half wondering if it's all some long dream. Maybe it'll start to actually feel like it'll last." The smile on her face doesn't reach her eyes, but she tries. "Everything's waking back up again. You're going to be called upon to find lost animals when they inevitably break through fences, and all the trees are going to be new shades of green."

[ss_buttcrack]

"Guess not," he says with a touch of wonder. "I catch myself calling this place home more and more."

He still sometimes wakes up drenched in cold sweat, afraid that it's all going to be destroyed by Scorpius, somehow, or maybe that Genie son of a bitch or the asshole they helped summon. He keeps being so afraid that the world will burn around him, again, and it will be his fault, again. But it hasn't yet. Not for a whole year.

Slowly, he lets the tension out through a long exhale. He even manages a wan smile, "If that goat, Nutcracker, gets his head stuck in a fence, I'm leaving him there."

[abhorrently]

"Nutcracker? Where did you find a goat named that?"

It's enough to make her laugh despite everything, a little chuckle at the idea of Crichton getting to bestow such a title on a beast.

[ss_buttcrack]

"Named him myself," he wheezes wetly. Even with the pain of all that took place on-stage, Crichton still can't help but chuckle weakly at the whole thing. Nut shots are just that funny to him. What can he say?

"Was trying to help Jimmy get his animals home and the evil bastard nailed me right in the family jewels."

[abhorrently]

She shouldn't laugh, but trying to smother the laugh about it is only making it worse. He might be her friend, but nut shots are funny. The scene is playing in her head, and:

"Imagine if you hadn't managed to get him home. A rogue nutcracking goat plaguing the town."

Truly a great terror. Worse than the demons, perhaps.

[ss_buttcrack]

"I can see the headlines now," he says with a barely suppressed snicker. "Nutcracker Billy On A Rampage! Cross your fingers (and your legs) until they get that goat behind bars."

At this point he's given up any attempts to keep from laughing. It feels good. Why should he resist. Maybe laughing, when he should still be in tears, is the best way to stick it to The Man.

[abhorrently]

"Front page of the Gazette. All capitals. And some brave soul's photograph of him."

And now she's given up pretending as well. In the depths of sorrow's domain, they can still find a way to laugh, and that's got to be worth something.

"You should have smuggled him in here and aimed him at the guy in charge-"

Just a bleating magic missile headed straight for the testicles.

[ss_buttcrack]

"very brave." Considering a tri-pod might have to be involved.

Her laughter is a soothing balm. Let them both fly in the face of these demons. He hopes it stings the prince of sorrows to hear it.

"Wish I had. He'd make short work of those glass monstrosities without even slowing down."

[abhorrently]

A deep breath, as a concept comes to her, and she makes herself be as solemn as one can be. It might almost seem as though she's about to give grave news, before the corner of her mouth can be spotted twitching.

"If his bleat does not strike fear into what passes for their hearts, then let the crunch of glass beneath his hooves herald the coming of Nutcracker, the Demon Slayer."

what do you think of wrapping here?

[ss_buttcrack]

He can spot the twitching, since he's looking for it, and he just knows this is gonna be good. It is. It really is.

"All fear the Nutcracker!" That's about as long as he can keep a serious look on his face before he absolutely loses it in giggles.

"Thanks, Fever," he finally manages to say. "I feel better. You're a good friend."