once more with feeling [act 3]

[stagemanagers]

You awake in an unfamiliar bed.

It’s comfortable enough, sure, but it’s certainly not yours. The room, too, is unfamiliar, especially in such heavy darkness. There seems to have been a great effort put into making it a livable space, with fuzzy rugs laid over linoleum, beds arranged as best to fit (and one bunk bed per dorm, rip whoever has the bottom bunk), and a single desk. You've also got individually labelled trunks; if you look inside yours, you'll find a yearbook with mostly blank pages, as well as a few with some interesting information. But even with all these changes it’s clear this room started it’s life as a classroom, every window hidden behind heavy dark green curtains.

To add to the strangeness of it all, your clothes have been swapped for some kind of uniform. It, though fitting your body perfectly, might feel a bit odd to some of you, as the body you have isn’t quite the same as it was before you mysteriously fell unconscious. The other important thing to note is the people in the other beds around you, all wearing the same color-coded uniform.

The hallway outside the dorms is narrow but well-lit, with fresh white walls and some scattered posters advertising some kind of midweek club meeting. The hallway goes on until, for the more contemporary of you, the pieces start to fall together as to your location: a school. Once you leave your rooms you’re free to wander as you wish but pinned up on a corkboard just outside the cafeteria there’s framed information that you might find helpful. If you explore further into the other rooms, in fact, you'll see there's an identical copy outside all of them.

In the lobby there are linoleum floors and fluorescent lighting, and a pair of glass doors that appear to lead outside. You can see out of both of them that the sun is shining brightly and there’s definitely more to see in the distance but the glass is unbreakable; you can't get out that way right now. A rolling metal sheet blocks off the hallway to the west. For the moment, both doors leading outside are locked.

It looks like you’re stuck. But hey - at least you aren’t alone.

Comments

[mayavericks]

[Sometimes, being the only rational one is tiring. This man seems to at least have his head on straight. And doing something familiar seems a much better distraction than her current tasks.

After fiddling with the piano for some time (and occasionally humming to match whatever note she strikes), she glances over.]

How long have you played?

[tellthestory]

[Oh! Cool! We are interacting here! The Balladeer fairly lights up, for all that he didn't seem like he wanted to initiate conversation two seconds ago.]

My whole life! It's what I do. [...] How about you?

[mayavericks]

[Some of the tension in Maya's shoulders eases. Just a little.]

My whole life. Though -- [She withdraws her hand from the piano.] My talents lie more in theatre than in composition, I am afraid. Still, I would like to think I know enough to manage.

[tellthestory]

Oh, same, of course.

[Of course!]

I'm supposed to be a little more involved in composing for my next show. My songs before were...

[He waggles a hand to convey that, in the metafiction, maybe he wrote them but also Stephen Sondheim definitely did? It's complicated. It's absolutely not as well conveyed by a hand-waggle as he thinks.]

[mayavericks]

[Maya nods as if she totally understands all that the hand-waggle was meant to convey.]

I admire anyone who can devote themselves so wholly to creating a story. We actors would be nothing without the tireless efforts you put in.

[The more she speaks, the more she relaxes. Settled in a music room, discussing scripts, she could almost forget her rude awakening.]

[tellthestory]

Oh - thank you!

[The Balladeer beams. He's deeply touched!]

You know, my last cast never liked my work. I think they were literally trying to murder me, at the end there.

[mayavericks]

[She offers a smile, muted though it is.]

Surely you do not need me to tell you that everyone is a critic, right?

[tellthestory]

[He chuckles and turns back to strum a string on the guitar, then adjust the knob a little.]

Sure. Nature of the beast. I wouldn't have wanted their approval anyway. [Though like, some professionalism might've been nice.] I got a casting call for something else anyway. Haven't started it yet though.

[mayavericks]

Hopefully, then, we are able to sort out this nonsense. I would hate for you to miss an opportunity, after all.

[She wonders what kind of gig it could be. Surely nothing terrible!]

[tellthestory]

Yeah, hopefully. I don't know what they'll do if I can't make it back in time.

[The Leading Player didn't really want to be in this one herself, for whatever reason. Though...hm.]

I don't...know that they'll let the rest of you out, though...

[mayavericks]

[Her brows pinch. Some of the tension returns to her frame.]

... What do you mean by that?

[tellthestory]

You're part of the cast, aren't you?

[She seemed like she knew!]

[mayavericks]

"Cast?" [Her mouth presses into a thin line.] I am part of a "cast," but nothing from here, no. The only performance I am working on is "Starlight," for our festival back home. Something I should be preparing for as we speak, in fact.

[tellthestory]

Oh, I've never heard of that.

[Cool! Sort of...! Because, uh, he's not so sure that changes anything.]

Well...maybe whoever's running the show will know more. I'd expect them to show up any time now.

[mayavericks]

Running the show? [She steps a little closer to the man, drawing herself up to her full height.]

Is this meant to be some sort of performance? [Her eyes widen, just a little.] Is this the Giraffe's doing, then? A part of his revues?

[tellthestory]

...the Giraffe?

[Look he hears the capital letter, but he has no idea how a giraffe might be involved in things]

I...guess it could be? It seems like a giraffe would have a little trouble fitting in here...

[mayavericks]

He's... crafty.

[I mean, he did manage to set up a whole-ass stage beneath her school? Who the fuck knows how any of that worked.

But you know what, there are more important things at hand.]

Never mind that. You know more than you're letting on, don't you? Tell me everything.

[tellthestory]

Did you not know this was a show?

[You were talking like you did...a little disappointing, tbh]

I doubt it's a revue, honestly. My original show was sort of a revue - I think I know the feeling.

[mayavericks]

Of course not. I was merely speaking of my experiences on stage overall.

[Another step closer. She glances around for anything she can use to defend herself, just in case.]

Were we supposed to know?

[tellthestory]

I don't know! You sounded like you did! How did you know what I am?

[We've been talking at cross-purposes the entire time! He, for his part, remains seated with his guitar and doesn't look like he's about to move. What, people are advancing on him aggressively, like that's new?]

[mayavericks]

What you are? I thought you were just a composer.

[What the fuck has she walked in on!]

[tellthestory]

I'm the narrator. Sondheim's my composer. Geez, can you imagine trying to fill those shoes?

[He'd managed to largely not think about it while putting together his intro for the new show, but...yeeeeeesh. He grimaces a little, looking back down at his guitar.]

I mean, I was putting together a song for my new show, but that's...secondary, I guess.

[mayavericks]

Sondheim? Stephen Sondheim? [Listen let's just ignore the fact that Annie was Arrie in the manga and just. Pretend like things are normal.]

[tellthestory]

Yeah!

[you know his composer! well, obviously, he's famous!]

[mayavericks]

Is -- Stephen Sondheim behind all of this, then?

[Listen, if someone with that kind of weight and influence was in charge of her disappearance, well... She could forgive it, if it meant something good coming of her career.]