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itscurtains2021-06-27 11:42 am
stagemanagers) wrote in itscurtains2021-06-27 11:42 am
Week Five
[Last week, you had your very first minor body pileup! Granted, the Balladeer's death was entirely unrelated to anything, but at least he died as he lived - getting completely fucked up in some kind of carnival-themed hellscape. Only two days later, another terrible accident took Rina and Varian both from you. It's just been one of those weeks, huh? At least you got to add both of their corpses to your weird growing collection!
Again, you'll wake up this morning with another new snippet of memory. You'll also find that the stairs in the lobby are no longer blocked. You can only access one part of the second floor, but it seems like there's some neat stuff up there!
Outside, a few things seem to have changed. For one, the weather has turned - it'll be overcast this week, with periodic rain and even scattered thunderstorms. For another, the bushes around that rock out by the football field have bloomed. That's nice.
Get to it, friends! I'm sure everything will be fine this week!]
Sunday | Monday | Tuesday | Wednesday | Thursday
(( Be sure to submit your memory regain and your AC for this week! As always, Hester's office hours and the merch booth remain available. ))
Again, you'll wake up this morning with another new snippet of memory. You'll also find that the stairs in the lobby are no longer blocked. You can only access one part of the second floor, but it seems like there's some neat stuff up there!
Outside, a few things seem to have changed. For one, the weather has turned - it'll be overcast this week, with periodic rain and even scattered thunderstorms. For another, the bushes around that rock out by the football field have bloomed. That's nice.
Get to it, friends! I'm sure everything will be fine this week!]
(( Be sure to submit your memory regain and your AC for this week! As always, Hester's office hours and the merch booth remain available. ))
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A moment later, though, he moves to sit on the bench next to him, setting out the supplies, and reaching for his hand, batting Benjamin's own hand away as he tries to make his wounds worse]
Stop that. Weren't you ever told not to pick at your scabs?
[he huffs a bit and reaches for the antiseptic wipes, tearing them open with his teeth before gently starting to clean the area. He'll work in silence a moment, before he asks, calm as anything:]
And who was it, then?
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He's silent as well, aside from a hiss of pain when the antiseptic first makes contact with the wound. Antonio's hands are soft and delicate next to his, his fingers long and nimble and unscarred. Benjamin's feel the size of bin lids in comparison, broad and callused in ways he can remember being confused by when he first woke up in the academy, ways that make all too much sense, now.]
...It was a man. Daniel O'Higgins. I knew him when he was a starving scrap of a thing, took pity on him and paid him fifteen shillings a week to sweep hair off the floor of my shop.
He recognized me, when I came back to London. Tried to blackmail me.
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Then, in response, into the still air of the locker room]
...well. He should've known better than to do a thing like that. [his voice is still that quiet calm]
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In fact it's so unexpected, that he snorts, a hard scoff of air through his nose.]
...Suppose he should've.
[Then, after another moment.]
I nearly killed the Judge, as well.
[The Judge's crimes, being obvious. But with the low menace with which he growls the title, perhaps there's more than before, as well.]
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Nearly? What happened?
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His throat was bare beneath my hand-
[He sucks in a breath and breaks the rushing sound of blood in his ears. The snarl in his voice doesn't change, but the mania snaps before it carries him away.]
A sailor boy found Johanna in the Judge's house. He wanted to rescue her, but he- The idiot barged in to tell me when I had the son of a bitch right there--!
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Of all the damnable luck. [he blows out a breath as he reaches for another antiseptic wipe] I'm sorry, Benjamin.
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Hester gave me a photograph, of Johanna as she looks now. She looks... beautiful. The spitting image of her mother. I thought... I thought that meant that she was well taken care of. That she was loved...
[His next words are filled with disgust.]
And oh, she was, but not in the way that any father wants to hear. Do you want to know why the Judge sought out the services of a barber?
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....why.
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[His voice is low. Dark. He knows Antonio is from a similar enough time to himself, that he doesn't have to explain further.]
With Lucy beyond his reach for ever, and Johanna blossoming into a beautiful young lady under his own care...
1/3
But he knows what men in power are like.]
2/3
3/3
Wait here.
[and then he's moving to stand] I'll return in a moment.
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He doesn't expect Antonio to gently set his hand back in his lap and then get up.]
Oh- of course.
[And so with nothing better to do, he simply sits there and waits.]
apparently this somehow went to my 3/3 above and not to your comment so now, in the right place...
When he does he's returning with what should be a very familiar leather sleeve, rolled to contain some very familiar blades.
Salieri approaches, and moves to sit again]
...I was hoping to give these back to you with more fanfare, but I'm afraid this will have to do.
[and he holds them out to Benjamin]
no problem!
"I remember these- And you!"
His hand reaches out to take the sleeve from Antonio, setting it in his lap and unrolling the sleeve over his knees.
The silver gleams at him, and for a moment there's only a shrill scream in his ears, like a factory whistle, there's blood on his hands, there's curly, greasy hair clenched in his fist and the pressure of a finely sharpened blade slicing through flesh like butter--]
...Thank you.
[He takes one of the razors out and turns it over in his hand, the swooping vines and tiny, intricate details of the chased silver handles catching the harsh light of the locker room. To say the weight of it in his hand was familiar would be doing a disservice to the word 'familiar' - it felt like home, like an oath. Like an old friend. The silver is warm in his hand, as warm as if he'd barely set it down, instead of it being missing for weeks.
He looks at Antonio, then, as if he'd just remembered he was there, and then smiles.]
I believe I owe you a proper shave, my friend.
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Thank you. However, before that...[his brow furrows]...you have told me of something you have done, and what you almost accomplished. Therefore...I feel it only fair to share something of my own memories.
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Of course. By all means, Antonio.
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I have killed a man, also.
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...What was it he'd done?
1/3? CW: disassociation, auditory hallucinations, flashbacks, discussion of almost suicide attempt
[his brow furrows further, hearing that music again, this time more frantic-je vous mes nuits a L'Assasymphonie-]
I hadn't met him, but I'd heard...he was talented, I told the Emperor. Inexperienced, but talented. It was my opinion that got that man the commission from the Emperor and then we got to rehearsal only to find it a mess. He was...he was treating it like a frivolous game. He insulted Rosenberg and mocked him and then myself and I thought, this, this is the man that I put some of my reputation, my relationship with His Highness on the line for? How could anything good come of such a rehearsal?
But then--then--he played for me an aria and it was...[he trails off, expression going distant as the music drifts past his ear-weil ich dir entrissen bin-- and he shudders] ...it was sublime. And I couldn't stop thinking about it, about how beautiful it was, and yet that it belonged to someone who had no disregard for anything anyone ever said of him.
He defied members of the Court at every turn, deliberately insulted them, disregarded any of the restrictions which I myself had worked so hard to stay within so that I could compose, could live--carefully guarding every piece of myself, never speaking out of turn, learning the ways that those in Court would lie to themselves and to others, their indulgences, their grievances; how they would turn on their friends, their family just to get one step ahead.
And yet, he did nothing of the sort. He made himself their enemy, yet still he managed to stand against them and compose music that was...it was like nothing I had ever heard. [c'est le bien qui fait mal and Saleri sucks in a breath] My own music started to sound discordant, false, wrong in the face of whatever this man created. And I hated him for it; for the way his music made me feel, for my own jealousy over his carefree, defiant nature while I was stuck, still playing my role for them, little more than a puppet.
So Rosenberg and I...it was not difficult. A word here and there, some dissent. I...it was wrong. I knew it was wrong; it was not the way to win this so-called contest; this somewhat-rivalry that had started between our music. And I...I tried to stop myself.
[his voice goes faint, distant] Sleepless nights, knowing what I was going to do, hearing the strains of his music, driving me to--to--I could see it, how it was all going to go, between what Rosenberg and I were doing and his own flagrant disregard for the Court and its games I...I knew it would lead to his ruin. So I thought, perhaps, if I could simply...stop myself...[a moment, a breath, and Salieri's eyes close as his hand curls into a fist underneath Benjamin's]
2/3
I'd seen what I had done, how they mocked him in Court and I...I went to offer my assistance. His wife turned me away, but he...[Salieri's expression starts to crumple]...he greeted me as a friend. Welcomed me. [Antonio? Is that you? How are you?] Called me by name. This man whose life I'd ruined--[there's a hitch in his chest, something like a choked sob]--was so kind to me, and he promised me...[he trails off again, gaze still unfocused and distant, expression agonized as he sings, quietly]
On se reverra
Là où rien n'est plus rien...
[he blinks, once, as if coming out of a reverie] We'll meet again...
3/3
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But this is Antonio. His first real friend in this place, his anchor and confidant.
It's not the same kind of murder. It's closer to what was done to Benjamin, than what he had done. But Antonio regrets it, and regretted it then. He cries for this man whose life he destroyed.
Benjamin shifts to wrap his arm around Antonio's shoulders, his other hand still holding fast to his, in the valley where their knees press together on the bench.]
His illness may have been inevitable. You didn't want him to die.
[The black void of Benjamin's sworn vengeance, the nothing he felt when he slit O'Higgins' throat yawns wide before him with a shrill sound like a factory whistle, over and over again. But his dear friend Antonio anchors him to the present, a strong, sturdy line to keep him from falling into the abyss.]
Good men are not ones that never make mistakes, they're ones that don't ignore them. You tried to help. You were an earnest friend to him, at the end. My friend, he saw the true heart of you... The same strong, kind heart that's led us here and kept us from falling apart.
If nothing else, picture him if he could see you now, how smug he would be to know he had the shape of you right.
1/2
That was Salieri's thought, anyway.
And yet, Benjamin gives him nothing of the sort. Not disgust, no censure, no punishment--and Salieri doesn't understand why, how his friend could excuse--]
2/2
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