itscurtains | 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. ))

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[If he's supposed to react in any kind of way to that, he doesn't.]

...What was it he'd done?

Nothing. Everything.

[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]

I couldn't do it. [his eyes open again, half-lidded] My dagger was there, I held it against my skin and yet...I could not. I didn't have the courage. And thus condemned him and myself at once. From there, after that opera came out of his, based on that banned play, the insult to the nobility...it was not difficult from there to make of him an outcast. Commissions stopped, his debts increased. He became ill.

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...

[Salieri sucks in a breath, looking down] That...is what I've recalled these last two weeks.

[Benjamin says nothing, as Antonio speaks. He's never shaved the faces of Kings or Popes, always been content to stay in his station, in his place. For a second, as Antonio tells him about how he sowed the seeds of this other man's destruction in court, he thinks You made an exile of him and something ugly and hot wells up inside of him against his will.

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.

[Salieri starts, going stiff with shock when Benjamin wraps an arm around him. It's not even close to the reaction he was expecting. He was expecting hate, censure, disgust at best--it's what he deserves, isn't it? Considering what was done to Benjamin--what Salieri knows happened to him--it's only fair that he would get to be the judge of this crime, as similar as it is to what was done to Benjamin himself.

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--]

[--and then Benjamin explains.

Good men are not ones that never make mistakes, they're ones that don't ignore them.

Salieri does not feel like a good man. He does not feel like someone that deserves this sort of gentle comfort. Part of him, an old part, guarded and pessimistic with past experiences, wants to recoil from it, to pull away--but another part of him, newer, hopeful, pushes him to lean into it. And after a moment he does, his free hand coming up to clutch at Benjamin's side, curling in the fabric there, holding on as he press his forehead to Benjamin's shoulder. His eyes are stinging and he squeezes them shut.

It's a long moment before he can speak, and when he does, it's a bit watery and shaky, but affecting an annoyed air.]

...intolerably smug. I don't think I could stand it.

[Benjamin chuckles softly, a deep, vibrating thing that Antonio can feel maybe more than hear, pressed against him as he is.

Holding him is the least he can do, with how many times Antonio has done the same over the past weeks.]

...Antonio. Was this man the Mr. Mozart you asked me if I'd heard of?

[Salieri tenses for a moment--but then sighs a little, relaxing again]

Yes. Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart.

[The revelation doesn't seem to faze Benjamin. Nor does it change his judgment, he just acknowledges the admission with a quiet 'mm' as he continues to hold onto his friend.

After a moment of heavy silence, he asks, quietly:]

...What will you do now?

I...

I don't know. [quietly] He's...gone. I was there with him, when he...when he departed.

The only thing I can do now is...try and make amends, posthumously. Do what I can to ensure that his legacy lives on. I know it does, in the future, so I...I must do what I can to ensure that. [perhaps this is why his own music fades into obscurity. But that's...if that's the cost, then he'll pay it. It's already happened, anyway; at least now he knows the cause]

Week Five

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1/3? CW: disassociation, auditory hallucinations, flashbacks, discussion of almost suicide attempt

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