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

[comeandfindme]

...Racism song...?

[ does she. does she want to know. ]

[tellthestory]

It's John Wilkes Booth. He can dress it up real pretty, but that's a good 99% of his motivation.

[what, he was just real into "state's rights"?]

[comeandfindme]

…Well. Yikes. Fuck that guy.

[tellthestory]

"Ooooh, I'm John Wilkes Booth and I'm still ranting about the South rising again in the twenty-first century."

[He says in a pitch-perfect Southern accent, and also somehow a mocking vampire voice.]

[comeandfindme]

Really yikes!

[tellthestory]

[The Balladeer laughs.]

I'm sorry. It's just nice to be with other people who hate that guy. The rest of them were big fans - first guy to bag a president, y'know, he was sort of their pioneer.

[comeandfindme]

How can you like a racist, isn't that, like, rule number one? Ugh. Uncle Donald would have words for them.

[tellthestory]

They're a pack of white people with guns. I mean, Giuseppe's Italian and Leon's Polish, from a time when that sort of mattered, but...

[He shrugs. It's not as though things like that tend to lead to solidarity amongst those groups, you dig? Also my Italian grandfather was over here being racist towards Polish people like literally two hours ago for some fucking reason, so.]

...I don't know. It's just all about the gun club with them.

[comeandfindme]

Well. You're not with them now. [ Examining her deerskin, seeing how the leather's starting to smoke. ] And, if I've got anything to say about it... You don't ever have to see those people again.

[tellthestory]

[The Balladeer smiles.]

I'd like that. Feels a little weird - the show might be broken without me - but I guess that's sort of their problem now?

[Geez, even just saying that makes him feel a little guilty. But...well, they wanted him gone, right? Now he's gone.]

[comeandfindme]

Exactly. If they didn't appreciate you...screw 'em.

[ It's a lot easier to dwell on the Balladeer's problems, rather than hers. ]

[tellthestory]

Mmmm.

[The audience might've appreciated him, he thinks...but they're not the people he has to spend all his time with. Anyway, they can follow if they like. The Balladeer leans forward, poking at the edge of his deer skin a little.]

So how do you know when it's done?

[comeandfindme]

Oh, it usually depends on the color. [ She points out the darker outside of the hide she's smoking. ] If you want a lighter one, you smoke it for less time...but darker tends to be better because it means it's more durable. I was working on that side for...um...I think about forty minutes? That's what I've found that tends to work well.

[tellthestory]

The lighter ones are pretty, though.

[But yeah, he gets it.]

[comeandfindme]

They're pretty but they gotta be waterproof, Bal!

[ ...She's almost something like...happy. Almost. ]

[tellthestory]

[The Balladeer laughs.]

Hey, don't blame me! I'm practically from a desert!

[How many stage plays involve rain?]

[comeandfindme]

Jeez... [ She keeps herself from smiling. She realizes that, now. If you let yourself feel happy, then—

She gives him a humorless little smirk. ]

It's okay, I'll get you used to the good ol' Midwest eventually.

[tellthestory]

I think I might be modeled after a Midwesterner.

[He smiles - look at his whole thing, his all-American folk singer thing.]

Maybe it'd do me some good.

[comeandfindme]

Hmm. That'd make sense. The flannel... Yeah.

[tellthestory]

I've always been costumed kinda like this. Oh, you should've seen me the first time, when we were off-Broadway - I had these overalls, and a hat. Really looked like I walked out of the Dust Bowl.

[comeandfindme]

It's...weird, you know. To think of like...a different version of you. Did you look the same? ...Do you...think of yourself as the same?

[tellthestory]

No, I didn't. [He runs a hand over his jaw contemplatively, then rubs at the back of his head.] I had longer hair...a different face. Different voice. I don't think I was so skinny.

[He remembers feeling like...well, not like he could win a fight with them, really. He's never really felt like that? But like he could hold his own, if no one brought guns into the equation.]

I remember it - obviously. But I think I was a little different then, not just my face. It's not too uncommon for some things to change, between off-Broadway and Broadway...can't put my finger on it, though. [...] I guess it was still me. It just feels like a really long time ago.

[comeandfindme]

[ Peregrine doesn't know how to really conceptualize it. It'd be easy if it was just...he was younger. But that's not how it works with him. That's not...the way he works. She listens, but it's clear she doesn't exactly understand.

Maybe she's a little afraid to understand. ]

It's...your version of growing up?

[tellthestory]

...sure, I guess so. Close enough, anyway.

[He suspects it's actually not that similar. But he's no more capable of coming up with a better comparison than Peregrine. Instead of lingering on that, he glances up and down the hall, and then says in a bit of a jokingly conspiratorial tone:]

Hey, you want to know a secret?

[comeandfindme]

[ Huh? Oh, that's a surprise question. A little flabbergasted, Peregrine nods. ]

Uh. Sure, shoot.