It's Curtains Mods (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
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itscurtains2021-05-30 12:40 am
stagemanagers) wrote in itscurtains2021-05-30 12:40 am
once more with feeling [act 3]
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.
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.
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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. ]
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[Don't worry about it, I'm sure it won't get worse]
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[ 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. ]
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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. ]
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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?
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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?
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Anything unusual? Out of place? Maybe hidden stuff.
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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. ]
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[The Balladeer isn't one to recognize common schoolroom tropes, but he raps his knuckles on the desk lightly.]
Or something like that?
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[ The word sounds vaguely familiar, like he's heard someone mention it somewhere before, but he can't remember what it is. ]
What's that?
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I dunno, it's what they make stuff out of. I think it's made from oil?
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I don't know if any of this is important. I just haven't seen anything like it before.
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[Although, being more familiar with the concept of plastics, he doesn't really think it's all that important. He moves to sit on the teacher's desk instead.]
I remember times when they didn't have it. Think they must've started making it sometime around the turn of the century.
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[ Orpheus looks up at the Balladeer, brows furrowed slightly. ]
Are you from the future, too? [ In addition to being from what sounds like the strangest play in the world? ]
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[Just given this conversation, but:]
When are you from?
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[ He pauses, something occurring to him suddenly. ]
She didn't include the Olympiad in the year, though? But that's still a really long way away, whether it's 2007.1 or 2007.4.
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[Well, that's complicated. How long's it been since that off-broadway premiere?]
...early 2000s sometime? What's the Olympiad, though?
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[ Are they from so far in the future they're using a completely different calendar? That's even more confusing. ]
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[oh no this is a conversational black hole]
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Yes! I don't know why it doesn't count all the way to ten, but that's how it is.
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[So like, fair enough!]
I'm probably not from your future, then. Just a different place altogether.
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