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]

"No you're not," he answers plainly. He knows, oh he knows, how it feels to say those words and wish with all his might that they were true. His eyes, however, do not deceive him. She's not okay and she shouldn't be after what just happened.

"You're not, but I've got you." His arms encircle her, and his warms hands cup around her trembling ones, gently squeezing. "I'm not going anywhere unless you tell me to."

[not_the_last]

"Don't go."

She leans into his shoulder, shutting her eyes.

Trying, despite herself, to remember how much he already knows of the story she's just been made to play out.

[ss_buttcrack]

"I won't leave you." His hands start to rub up and down her arms, reminiscent of how he'd done the same to warm her in the snow in what feels like several lifetimes ago.

"Doesn't matter what happened or what you tell me, I'm not leaving." He doesn't mean just this room, he means her, fundamentally. Nothing he saw on that stage changes anything about that for him. "You can tell me in your own time, I'll be right here."

[not_the_last]

She wants to weep into his shoulder, as she remembers doing in a splintered version of her past. She won't let herself, not quite. Not here.

"I will. You should know." A hard swallow. "What you saved me from, when you were there."

[ss_buttcrack]

"I won't say I haven't wondered." How could he not? Of course he noticed how pale she goes any time the subject comes closer to the surface. He loves her too much to put that pain into her expression on purpose. But, if he knew... maybe he could... say something that might actually help. Or maybe she just wouldn't have to carry this burden all alone.

"Do you... want to sit down, get comfortable?"

[not_the_last]

"Not --" Her arms are taut, tense, under his hands. "Not here. Not in his place. Even if he already knows it all." That last is bitter.

[ss_buttcrack]

"No," he says quickly, "No, no, you're right. Not here." He holds her tighter. "He doesn't deserve to hear it."

[not_the_last]

"How?" Barely audible, as her fingers tighten in his shirt. "How do they know so much, how --"

It isn't really a question; it's a keening of pain, a protest against the unfairness of the conflict.

[ss_buttcrack]

It hurts to hear her voice so small; the ache presses against the inside of his ribs until he can hardly breathe. It's not fair. It's not right! Why do the evil entities always get to know everything? Why do the rest of them have to keep playing with a shitty hand? Can't the goddesses do anything more about this? No, as usual, they have to do it themselves.

"I catch myself thinking the same." Solidarity is all he can offer her right now, but his arms stay warmly wrapped around her. "Won't matter when they're dead."

[not_the_last]

She nods, her head moving against his shoulder. Then, palpably, she takes a deep shuddering breath and steels herself to straighten up.

"Do you think there'll be a chance tonight?" Her voice is still only just above a whisper, but it seems to have aged ten years in as many seconds. "He's got to be here. He must be watching all this."

[ss_buttcrack]

"There's a good chance," he whispers into her ear. "I've heard some rumors. Nothing solid, but we should get ready just in case."

[not_the_last]

A touch grimly: "I'm feeling fairly ready. If anything comes up we can do."

start to wrap?

[ss_buttcrack]

A dry laugh escapes him, because, well, that's pretty much what he expected her to say. He hugs her again. "I love how fierce you get when someone deserves it."

ye!

[not_the_last]

She leans into the hug, and shuts her eyes for just one more moment.

And makes sure her voice is steady when she says "I love how you always have my back."