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

[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.

[barberic]

No man left behind, right? Or...

[Benjamin regards Bal with a soft, sad expression, then looks out over the rest of the garden pensively.]

No one is alone...

[tellthestory]

Believe me, no one is alone.
Believe me, truly.

[The Balladeer's lips quirk sadly, though Benjamin has turned away. The Balladeer doesn't follow suit; he keeps watching his friend.]