WEEK 7

[stagemanagers]

WEEK 7

[Seven weeks later. Half of your number remains.

Nothing in the opera house seems all that different. The Box Office door has been locked after the death of its occupant, and there's a new copy of the house rules nailed to the front, with the last one circled heavily in black ink. The point has been made; the rest of you had better play your parts.

The crew members still aren't visibly walking the halls, but every so often there's movement in your peripheral vision, or vague half-heard whispers from the shadows. Every so often there's a thud or a snicker from inside the Merchandise Booth, though the stagehand inside will continue handing out prizes to those who earn them.

This may be your last week here. Make the most of it.]

[ Sunday Monday Tuesday Wednesday ]

[ooc: don't forget to submit your memories and check into the roll call!]

Comments

TUESDAY

[stagemanagers]

[Tuesday morning, there is a large box sitting on the dining room table. Whoever opens it will be greeted by the sound of party horns and a shower of colorful confetti. Inside, there's a note written in an elegant hand:]

JOIN US THURSDAY FOR THE SHOW'S GRAND FINALE! IT'S AN EXPERIENCE YOU WON'T WANT TO MISS!

AND WHO KNOWS - MAYBE IT'LL FULFILL YOUR USUAL THURSDAY NIGHT TRADITIONS~

[stagemanagers]

[Naturally, there is no announcement over the intercoms today. There's really no reason for you all to gather in the main lobby around noon, in other words.

But at some point in the afternoon, a large piece of plywood appears in the lobby, leaning up against the doors that ought to lead outside. It looks like one of the pieces from the workshop, but it's been painted in a variety of colors. All in all, a much less vandal-y attempt at decoration...all the same, you may want to protect it if you want to keep it.

...also, around noon sharp, another lobby chair flings itself at the box office door again.]

[dechagny]

[Well why wouldn't Raoul come running when he hears a sound like that? That's a loud fucking bang and the last time he heard it, he got to go on the Management's Wild Ride. Not that he wants to go on it again, but still.

So - wow, yeah, that's some art if he ever saw it.]

What in the world...

[dontfeedplants]

[Seymour walks in soon afterwards to discover the source of that banging. He stands besides Raoul as he stares at the art. Wow, most of these almost seem like they could have been made by their fallen friends.]

...Do you think they're still with us?

[Or maybe the Management is just messing with them??]

[dechagny]

...I don't know.

[He really does look confused, Seymour. Notice how carefully he looks over each piece, taking a moment to think of who might have added it to the whole picture.]

I've never been one to put my faith in things I cannot see, but...I have seen some unusual things in this place. Of the...mysterious, spirit variety.

[dontfeedplants]

... Strange things have been happening here lately, haven't they?

[The movies, the flower, and now this. If it wasn't ghosts, it sure is really weird.

He notices Raoul examining the mural and starts to look over it himself.]

If... if it is them, I wish there was some way to thank them for this.

[Except for that jerk who threw DVDs at him.]

[dechagny]

Well, if they know enough to change things around us, perhaps...they stand among us yet, and can see and hear our thanks. That is how spirits are supposed to work, yes?

[stagemanagers]

[Have you been keeping an eye on your new painting, everyone?

Because Tuesday night, a cloaked stagehand slips into the lobby, moving with quick sure steps over to the painting. It's pretty big; for a moment they stand in front of it, arms folded, as if trying to decide what to do.]

[pennyless]

[Sup fucker]

Turn around. Slowly.

[Billy's standing behind them, big welding goggles pulled down over his eyes and his hands wrapped around a black cone nozzle that's hooked up to a painted black canister.]

[stagemanagers]

[...they do.

And whatever that thing pointed at them is, they don't seem to appreciate the general sentiment. In one fluid motion, they draw a big fucking sword, easily as long as Billy's torso, and slash. Move that hand or lose it, Billy!]

[pennyless]

[Billy yelps and dodges.

But he also pulls the trigger, resulting in hosing the stagehand down with a spray of white goopy foam garbage.]

Now how about try that again and this time DON'T MOVE!

[stagemanagers]

[........how about no.

They seem to be pretty accustomed to moving with that sword. And they're far less interested in fleeing than Max. They're going to keep right on advancing, aiming this time to cut the connection between the nozzle and the canister.]

[pennyless]

[Billy aims for the face when they keep coming, more of what is clearly fire extinguisher goo spraying out.

And then the hose is cut and he stares at the two pieces in shock for a moment.]

How are you even still breathing with this stuff-

[stagemanagers]

[The stagehand stands for a moment, sword leveled at Billy.

Then they lunge forward - in what is actually a feint. They mostly just want to see what he does.]

[pennyless]

--AAAHH!

[He jerks the canister up in front of his torso defensively, then peeks from behind it when he realizes it was a feint.]

...Can't we just, maybe, talk about this? Have a cup of tea? You know, you don't stab me and leave the painting alone-

[stagemanagers]

[They laugh, a deep sound, and take a few steps forward, feinting with the sword again.

Looks like they're trying to drive him out of the lobby.]

this is long and it's your fault, you monsters

[trettende]

[ Tuesday... the day everyone used to hear the Balladeer's voice over the intercom, then be treated to a song or... a lie, in last week's case. Hans had known "the mole" wouldn't be killing anyone. He'd kept the ruse up for so long it's almost strange to have made it here, in the show, instead of... him. (The Balladeer, for those of you just tuning in.)

In the morning, Hans stops by the Merchandise Booth one last time—he would have hoped for a weapon once upon a time, but the bunch of stuff he gets isn't bad either, given the cold. I mean, he leaves the Tony and the boots and junk (he isn't even going to touch the rope,) but one particular item catches his eye: a brown bomber jacket, tucked almost haphazardly under his own winter coat.

Hans pulls the unfamiliar jacket from the pile. The style isn't exactly familiar to him, and the smell of gunpowder doesn't exactly bring back fond memories, but... look, Hans spent a lot of the last week with the Balladeer, and even more during the month they'd spent here. He'd know that smell anywhere. ]

What the hell is this...?

[ He holds it up, runs his hands over the lining and holds it close for confirmation. It's definitely the Balladeer's jacket. It smells just like him, gunpowder and all. But the Balladeer was gone now, he'd never get to see it, never get to wear it.

For a moment, Hans doesn't know what to do. He stands there, thinking about all the things he could have said to the Balladeer before he died, all the ways he made the weeks here bearable, how he'd changed his life for good just by being there.

But he's gone. The Management killed him. And Hans, for all that he may not have pulled the trigger, for all that he may have refused to sell him out, may as well have been complicit in his death. It's a thought that makes his stomach fall, like a weight in his stomach and an ache in his chest all at the same time.

He starts to cry. Softly. (Good thing no one is looking.) After a while, he finally speaks. Now would be a horrible time to walk up to him, just as he's done crying over a weird jacket in his hands, but maybe you can catch him mumbling to himself. Just don't ask what he was crying about. Please. Hans isn't supposed to cry!! ]

If this is what having feelings is like, it's terrible.

[ Later in the day, Hans can be found looking for something to do. He's wearing the bomber jacket, (which actually fits him, unlike some people) and not his winter coat. Plus now that he's lost all need for pretenses, he's not wearing his gloves. Maybe you'll find him in the Art Studio, trying to make another really crappy bowl. Or maybe you've caught him in the tea room, though he's really interested in having tea, he just wandered in here.

Either way, he's not going to be hitting the bar today, after yesterday didn't really go so well. So maybe if you wanna run into him anywhere else just handwave it and we'll say he was totally walking by and saw you. He's doing pretty okay now. Or he will be, maybe. At least for today.

Hopefully. ]

Did somebody say horrible - Merch Booth

[inforapenny]

[Billy found himself with a handful of coins for the merchandise booth, so he decided to make one last trip there. After all, his last acquisition had been pretty helpful in taking down Max.

What he doesn't expect is to walk in on Hans having a feeling. An uncomfortably familiar feeling, that he's pretty sure is about his double.

Basically this is one of the most awkward things ever, but hey at least Hans isn't still wearing a tasteful splash of B's gray matter on his clothes.]

...Uh. Hey.

[trettende]

[ The new meme is walking in on Hans having feelings, this is definitely confirmed. Maybe if he had less of them (or spent less time repressing them) it would be a little different, yet here we are and here he is: holding up a leather jacket to his chest and still sniffling a bit. He gazes at Billy in surprise at the intrusion, clutching the jacket close to him like Billy might try to steal it.

But no, Hans, the people here aren't your brothers, they don't take everything good out of your life. They're just normal, scared people. Easy targets... except lately Hans has been a normal, scared person too. How awful. ]

What do you— [ He clears his throat, working the "just been crying" rasp out of his voice. Maybe Billy didn't see anything, he can totally play this off. He's Hans Westergaard of the Southern Isles! ] What do you want?

[inforapenny]

[Billy gives Hans as wide a berth as he can when his destination is roughly the same space that Hans is occupying.

At the question, he holds out the small handful of silver coins that he brought with them and rattles them slightly.]

Just came to check and see if maybe any of my- my equipment was still in here.

...I think I kinda, uh. Get how you're feeling right now, though.

[trettende]

Is that so?

[ He doesn't sound nearly interested, but he's kind of trying to get rid of him too. But oh right, Hans is... kind of in the way. He steps away from the booth and uses that chance to wipe his face a bit and regain his composure. ]

Go ahead, I won't stop you.

[ Cough, yeah, totally. He's just gonna. Leave his winter coat here and put on the Balladeer's coat while Billy does... whatever. ]

[pennyless]

[Billy steps up and puts his coins into the slot. He gets a useless weird lion head...thing, which he sets off to the side.

And then the shadowy black arms pass through a folded pile of red fabric, with a pair of large black rubber boots, black safety gloves, and a pair of welding goggles.]

Oh, you have got to be kidding me.

[trettende]

[ I mean, that looks useful. And paying attention to Billy's things is way more productive than dwelling on his own shit. ]

What is that? A costume from home?

[ Hans steps up and around. It's kind of cool, huh? ]

[pennyless]

[Billy hesitates, then sets the boots on the ground and the gloves and goggles on the counter, shaking out the coat.]

It's my- my supervillain costume.

[Since he's already admitted what he used to be.]

This- this was the one that I dyed red, after... after I was accepted into the Evil League of Evil.

[trettende]

[ Hans chuckles. I'm sorry, Billy, he's still an awful person. ]

The "Evil League of Evil"?

[ Look, he believes you, that's just a dumb name. But he sobers up at the implication. He gets it. ]

So this was... after the accident, huh?

[ He won't make fun of that, he's not. 100% evil (anymore.) ]