Week Four

[stagemanagers]

[Last week, Gershwin High School Academy University saw its very first intentional murder! What a milestone! And right after Spongebob's No Murder party, too - that doesn't seem like it bodes very well for anybody's future.

You all wake up this morning with yet another new memory returned to you. You'll also find that the school's external doors have now unlocked. Congratulations! You're free! Unfortunately, you also seem to be entirely in the middle of nowhere. So maybe it's more of a symbolic victory.

Still, you should look around and do some investigation! Maybe you'll find a fun surprise.]

Sunday | Monday | Tuesday | Wednesday | Thursday

(( Be sure to submit your memory regains and your AC for this week! Hester's office hours and the merch booth also remain available! ))

Comments

[tellthestory]

[Unlike...most everyone else, really, the Balladeer's mood seems to have picked up a lot since the start of the week. It's good to have friends to talk to, he guesses. Even if he wasn't all that important in his own show - even if he was sort of disposable at the end of the day - he's here now. People think of him as one of their own, in a way that no one ever really has before. So who cares what could've happened, really? He should just focus on doing the best he can right now.

The motive is concerning, but he doesn't feel it too keenly himself; there's nothing he can think of that could possibly be worth killing over, so not acting doesn't feel much like he's losing anything. As such, it seems like he should be filling in to take care of the others, right?

In the morning, he can be found in the kitchen making pancakes. This is not the first time he's attempted this, but he actually seems to be meeting with a reasonable amount of success this time! Hardly any are burnt!]

You want any?

[In the afternoon, he does attend husbandry club. Most of that time is spent rubbing a donkey nose with each hand and attempting to feed them some of the chicken feed. He also spends a while sitting on the ground trying to hold baby chicks, because gosh that looks awfully cute!]

Lots of animals at these things. Not that I'm complaining, I like animals.

[When that's done, he'll be sitting out in the garden again. The memorial benches seem to have struck him a little oddly, especially with how some people have been leaving tributes there, so he just goes back to sitting under the tree instead. He doesn't have any ideas for stuff to leave at the benches himself. There's only one way he's ever been able to memorialize the dead. So he'll be there, strumming idly on his guitar, until it starts to get dark.]

garden

[comeandfindme]

[ Peregrine comes here more than she'd like to admit. She doesn't like walking through the woods to get to it. She doesn't like the benches. She doesn't like any of it.

And yet, here she is, nevertheless, to sit on Connor's bench and listen to the unearthly quiet that should not surround this little haven in the deep, dark forest.

It's often that she finds other people there. But, she hasn't found him here yet. So. ]

Hey. Whatcha playing?

[tellthestory]

Just a song I heard. You pick stuff up, being around people - or, I do. I think Janis must like this artist.

[Which is a weird pile of things to say, but.]

It's a little nice to branch out from showtunes.

[comeandfindme]

[ She tilts her head a little in confusion. ]

Is this another narrator thing?

[tellthestory]

Yeah, a little. But everyone picks up songs from each other, when you spend this much time together.

[Don't they, Peregrine? He doesn't ask. He has some ideas of how that might've happened for her.]

Maybe it just means we're all getting close.

[comeandfindme]

[ She nods, idly. They can’t really share music they like exactly, but…there’s something about it that makes sense. The songs make sense.

No one deserves to be forgotten… ]

After what…almost four weeks of close quarters that’s no surprise. [ It’s a cynical way of looking at it, but a moment later— ] Do you have any? Like…any that’re yours?

[ It’s a weird thing to talk about for her. Like she’s teetering on the cusp of something she can’t quite grasp. But since coming to terms with the Balladeer’s whole…deal, she’s tried meeting him where he is more. Compromising.

So long as he doesn’t start demeaning himself again. ]

[tellthestory]

Not...exactly. [He tilts his head thoughtfully.] I'm the Balladeer, so most of my songs are ballads about other people. The Ballad of Booth, the Ballad of Guiteau...I sing them, but they aren't mine.

[He doesn't intend any of that to be self-deprecating; really, he doesn't even view it that way. Not everyone has a solo all about themselves, even if you aren't narrating the show.]

Closest I get is parts of my last song. But that was... [He grimaces slightly.] I liked getting to say my piece. I guess I just didn't like the consequences.

[comeandfindme]

Consequences? ...What consequences?

[ She asks, but... ]

Is it— ...that photo you got?

[tellthestory]

...I don't know. Maybe.

[The Balladeer goes quiet, and sets the guitar down in the grass next to him so he can shift position. It's...it still hurts. But after talking to some people, his initial wash of despair at learning his true purpose has started to fade. Whatever he was meant for, he is still here now.]

The script said that, after my last lines, I'm supposed to get driven away and not come back. But I've been...thinking about it. When that happened for me, when the Player came to save me...I was surrounded. I didn't have anywhere to run to.

[If he'd seen an opening, he would have run. The Balladeer doesn't quite know what might have happened afterwards; it seems, to him, that being cut from the rest of the show is tantamount to no longer existing. It isn't grounded enough in reality for the audience to assume that he just...went home, or anything like that. But still - he'd been afraid for his life. He would have run to his own end, rather than stand and let them mete it out.

Were they going to give him an escape? Or was it...something else?]

They all had their guns out...

[But could they have really just shot him onstage like that? Did they have that kind of special effects? He's not sure anymore.]

[comeandfindme]

[ Peregrine stands from Connor's bench. She goes to sit next to the Balladeer and put a hand on his hand. ]

You don't have to...think about it right now. Okay? I'm sorry I asked.

[tellthestory]

No, it's alright.

[He smiles, patting her hand with his free one.]

I was upset when I figured it out, but I guess it's just...a part of my story. They don't all end happy, I knew that. I should probably just...deal with it somehow.

kitchen

[feudalladyshandmaid]

Uhh, sure. I'll give some a try.

[Breakdowns can wait. Cassandra needs breakfast, and! This looks so much better than the last attempt she'd walked in on.]

These look good so far! Did someone teach you to make pancakes?

[tellthestory]

[Yaaay! He grins.]

I watched some folks, and then I practiced! Burned a lot of them, at first. I feel like I've gotten really used to eating charcoal.

[feudalladyshandmaid]

Hey, sometime you have to eat dirt before you get to the good stuff.

[is that some kind of saying....? maybe?]

These ones are looking ready to go. Just make sure it doesn't stick to the pan.

[tellthestory]

Oh, yeah, I figured that one out eventually.

[He uses cooking spray now! The Balladeer slides a pancake out of the pan and onto a plate.]

Okay, there we go!

Garden

[barberic]

[The woods are unnaturally silent. This means any noise carries, even dampened by physical objects in the way, farther than it would if there was birdsong in the way.

Benjamin alerts to the soft sound of guitar music, and follows it carefully to its source.

He's struck by the scene he finds, reverent as if he'd stumbled into a church, and he tries to approach quietly, sitting down on the stone rim of the pool.]

[tellthestory]

[The Balladeer sees Benji nearly right away when he emerges from the trees. He's not wary - actually, he might be too relaxed, given the entire murderschool situation - but everything out here is so still that any movement draws the eye. Since Benji seems disinclined to interrupt, though, he'll just smile and go on playing for the moment.]

Raskolnikov felt sick, but he couldn't say why
When he saw his face reflected in his victim's twinkling eye.
Some things you'll do for money, and some you'll do for fun.
But the things you do for love are going to come back to you one by one.

Love, love is going to lead you by the hand
Into a white and soundless place.
Now we see things as in a mirror dimly.
Then we shall see each other face to face.

[barberic]

[Benjamin gave up on being stealthy a long time ago, when he outgrew his peers. That he gives so few fucks about it now because he's running very low on fucks about anything, is secondary.

Still, he comes closer, taking a seat on the edge of the pond and just listening.]

cw: historical suicide reference

[tellthestory]

And way out in Seattle, young Kurt Cobain
Snuck out to the greenhouse, put a bullet in his brain.
Snakes in the grass beneath our feet, rain in the clouds above.
Some moments last forever, but some flare out with love, love, love.

[The song goes on a few moments longer, just a gentle instrumental. The Balladeer's gaze flicks up again for a second to search Ben's face, then back down to his guitar for the last few chords. The music seems to hang in the air when his fingers go still over the strings; above, the sky is fading from blue to dusty purple. It's a pretty evening.]

Evening, Ben.

[barberic]

[If the subject matter bothers him, it doesn't show.]

Evening, Bal.

[He looks around the garden, the way the fading color of the sky washes over the plants and shines rippling on the still water of the pond, then reaches out and trails the tips of his fingers in the water, creating ripples of fading light.]

The weather's been a relief, at least. It's done some good to be able to go outside, I think.

[Not for him, necessarily, but for everyone else.]

[tellthestory]

Mmmm, yeah. I like it out here. Some theatre companies will do stuff outside, but my show doesn't lend itself to that, I think.

[He smiles wistfully at the ripples in the water, fading circles of rose-gold light. Part of him wants to ask if Ben is okay, but...of course he isn't. What do you say to someone, after the worst has happened? Experienced as he may be in tragedies, he's never exactly been around to see the aftermath.

(Was there a song, from the ensemble...? But he can't remember.)]

It's peaceful. I know some folks were talking about camping out here one night - I hope we do that.

[barberic]

[He makes a small sound that might have once been adjacent to a laugh. From what he's heard of the Balladeer's show, it would cause quite a headache indeed to hold outside.]

...That would be nice. Children should get to be out under the stars, sometimes.

[He talks about nice things like they only happen to other people.]

Would you come out and play? Beside the fire? You can teach them the words to the songs.

[tellthestory]

Of course! Oh, that sounds fun - we could roast marshmallows, and hot dogs and stuff. Real camping things.

[Not at all what Peregrine would want, probably, but he imagines they won't be doing it in the woods. Maybe just woods-adjacent.]

What, don't you wanna learn my songs? I know a few that aren't about dead presidents. [He's teasing, lightly. Of course he knows why Ben might not want to go to something like that this week. But, still...he sobers.] It might be good for you to hang out with everyone.

[barberic]

[He manages a soft snort, at the question.]

I think I've already done enough damage to their good cheer, with everyone who came to check on me when they should have been having fun Sunday evening.

[tellthestory]

Aw, come on, it's not like that. We're just worried about you.

[He tilts his head a little, smiling, an expression that's more sad than anything.]

That'll be the same whether you're inside or out.