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

[themuseabandonsyou]

[ Orpheus just looks at him, confused. ]

What story?

[ How much is there to tell? They've known each other for a season, and while it's been the best of Orpheus's life he's not sure anyone else would care enough to regale others with the details. ]

[tellthestory]

Oh, you know...

[Look, he hates dishonesty, but he also hates waltzing up to people and telling them about inevitable tragedies!]

If it hasn't happened yet, I probably shouldn't tell you.

[themuseabandonsyou]

Oh.

[ Orpheus thinks about that for another moment longer before something seems to click into place. ]

Are you an oracle? [ Because that would explain a lot of the, uh, eccentricity. ]

[tellthestory]

Isn't that someone who tells the future? Nah, not really. I just tell stories.

[themuseabandonsyou]

Some of them contact the dead, too, or speak to the gods when they're far away. [ Lots of very important duties like that. ]

How else would you know our story, though? If it hasn't happened to us yet.

[tellthestory]

[How, indeed?]

Well, I think it happened a long while before mine was written.

[themuseabandonsyou]

What?

[ It's an old tale from way back when, but Orpheus has no idea about any of that. ]

But we're both here right now. How could I be from before you?

[tellthestory]

Happens all the time, in the right sort of show. Most of my old castmates weren't even all alive at the same time!

[themuseabandonsyou]

Castmates?

[ Orpheus already misses when he felt like he was onto something with the oracle thing. Now he's just right back to being confused. ]

Like in a play?

[tellthestory]

Yeah. That's where I'm from.

[themuseabandonsyou]

You're... from a play. [ what ] And you know this? Is that why you think this is a story, too?

[tellthestory]

Yeah. I think I'm the only one who knew that, but I'm the narrator - I'm supposed to address the audience. Sometimes I even get to enter through the house...I love doing that.

[<3]

Anyway, it is a story. Most things are.

[themuseabandonsyou]

[ what ]

And you don't... go home, after the play is over, and do things that aren't part of the story?

[ how does that work what ]

[tellthestory]

No. Nowhere else to go, anyway. We just start the next run.

[themuseabandonsyou]

Wow. Immediately? Don't you ever get tired, or hungry?

[tellthestory]

Well, I'm not in every scene, and sometimes I can sneak food or drink from the props. There's a kid with Coke, and Czolgosz has apples. And when they do the whole carnival setup, sometimes there's leftover fried stuff!

[anyway his existence is a nightmare]

[themuseabandonsyou]

Okay. [ says Orpheus, sounding a little strained because he sure doesn't understand any of this and it doesn't sound like asking this man more questions about it is going to help. He's just. Gonna switch tracks entirely. ]

Did you say what your name was? Do you, um. Have one, as the narrator?

[tellthestory]

No, I'm called the Balladeer.

[He can read you his character description if that'll help!]

[themuseabandonsyou]

Well, it's - it's nice to meet you? Do you know anything else about what's happening to us here, or do you not, um. Know this story?

[ He's just gonna accept this as best he can and hope that makes things easier. ]

[tellthestory]

No, I don't really know what's going on right now. Not sure what the point of me being here is in general!

[Since, you know, you can't narrate what you don't know! But it's fine, it's fine. He's not gonna properly start freaking out until later!]

[themuseabandonsyou]

Oh. At least you're not alone in that?

[ In the specifics of it maybe, but in being really, really confused? Nope, just about everyone's got that covered. Orpheus goes quiet for a moment, trying to figure out something else to say to break the silence. ]

What is your play about? [ He asks, genuinely curious and kind of just blurting out the first question to come to mind. ]

[tellthestory]

People who killed or tried to kill the U.S. President. They're, uh...

[he's trying really really hard to stay positive here]

...characters...

[themuseabandonsyou]

Oh.

[ Hm. ]

Well, um. Hopefully this story has less murder in it? [ His voice goes kind of strained as he says this, unsure of what to make of any of what's going on and very stressed out about it. ]

[tellthestory]

I hope so! That's what I was gonna try to do with my new show, and it was a lot like this.

[themuseabandonsyou]

What happens to your old show if you start a new one, though? Does everyone else just... stop? Or does it go on without a narrator?

[ How does any of this work? ]