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]

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? ]

[tellthestory]

No clue! But they should've thought of that before they came at me like that.

[That's what he tells himself, at least!]

[themuseabandonsyou]

[ Wait. ]

Who's they? The characters in the play? They came at you? Like, tried to hurt you? [ This is a lot of questions but bear with him, he's processing a lot of things right now. ] How can they do that when you're the narrator?

[ This is a degree of postmodernism that hasn't gained momentum in his time yet and he's struggling a bit to get his head around it. ]

[tellthestory]

That's a good question, but they sure tried it. I mean, we were never really on great terms, but they always left me alone before that. I figured that was why - they kinda needed me.

[Don't worry about it, I'm sure it won't get worse]

[themuseabandonsyou]

I'm sorry that happened. Or, um. Keeps happening?

[ Does it happen every time the Balladeer's play repeats? That sounds terrible. At least he seems physically okay now? ]

Your play sounds very strange. [ Said with all the innocent bluntness of a small child informing an older relative that they smell funny. ]

[tellthestory]

Oh, yeah. But I probably wouldn't exist if it weren't. Gotta take the bad with the good, I guess!

[themuseabandonsyou]

I guess! [ Again, kind of strained. Normally Orpheus would agree in full with wanting to look on the bright side of things, but this does sound kind of like an existential nightmare, and he's not even the one who's going through it. ]

Um, do you want to look around? I know you said they'd make an announcement soon, but maybe we can find one of the faculty beforehand, or another sign that's more helpful than this one. [ He nods towards the rules again, frowning. ]

[tellthestory]

[Look on the bright side! Not on the bad side!]

Yeah, sure, that sounds good!

[It's something he'd like to do, which makes it lucky that someone else has decided to do it! He feels weird initiating action on his own, you know?]

I think there might be clues around, if we look around hard enough. It's a mystery, right?

[themuseabandonsyou]

[ Orpheus glances around the hallway, thinking about where to go next. Right, he was going to the cafeteria before he got distracted by the sign. He opens the door and heads in, glancing over his shoulder to make sure the Balladeer is following. ]

I don't read many mysteries? So I don't really know how these things go. [ Or if the books are anything like real life, but he figures framing it like that might make the Balladeer feel more comfortable? ] What should we be looking for?

[tellthestory]

[The Balladeer follows dutifully! He's half-looking around, but half just keeping his eyes on Orpheus; he's supposed to tell what other people do, after all.]

Anything unusual? Out of place? Maybe hidden stuff.

[themuseabandonsyou]

[ That might be a slight issue, because Orpheus is not... what anyone would call the most observant person in the world. He can be insightful! But paying attention is not his strong suit. Aware of this, he frowns a little, nodding seriously. He guesses all he can do is his best!

Casting about for anything that looks out of place, he paces up and down the rows of tables. ]

All the furniture in this place is strange. [ he says. ] I can't figure out what these tables are made out of? The legs look like painted metal, but what about the seats, and the tops? They're not wood, or ceramic, or stone, or anything like that.

[ He presses his hand to the surface of the table, frowning. This probably isn't important? But it is bothering him. ]