OVERTURE

[stagemanagers]

You wake up, and realize you don’t remember how you got here.

This bed is soft and warm, but it’s certainly not yours. And the room is unfamiliar - unless perhaps you’re an actor, seeing as it looks almost exactly like every dressing room in the world. It's not quite large enough to fit the bed and trunk comfortably alongside the vanity, but it what it lacks in open space, it makes up for in coziness. This could be something you’ve seen in a movie, or dreamed about experiencing one day. But whatever the case, you aren’t supposed to be here.

There’s a silver key resting on your vanity, along with a thin program booklet. The cover - where the name of the show would usually be - is blank, but if you flip through it, you’ll find some startlingly familiar information. Maybe a few familiar faces as well…

The hallway outside is narrow and poorly-lit, lined with star-studded doors. But if you make your way past them and out into the lobby, you’ll find something entirely different: an elegant, refined opera house. Crystal chandeliers glitter overhead, and the red carpet is perfect for putting on a show. A large clock on the northern wall marks the time, though with the windows shuttered and locked it's difficult to tell whether it's morning or night. There’s also some framed information pinned up that you might find helpful. If you explore further into the adjoining wings, in fact, you'll see there's an identical copy in every room.

There’s also two sets of double-doors in the lobby: one leading back the way you came, deeper into the Opera House, and one leading out. For the moment, neither of them will open.

It looks like you’re stuck. But hey - at least you aren’t alone.

Comments

A for Kitchen/Somewhere Else, B for Lobby!

[breakingbread]

[The difference in atmosphere is enough to wake Valjean instantly.

It's been a long time since he truly expected to be woken by the police entering his home, but this is not something he's ever remotely expected. It's not a cell jail - and really, had he been arrested again, they would not have been so gentle as to leave him sleeping. And what are these glowing bulbs around the mirror? There doesn't seem to be any immediate danger in here, so he picks up the little booklet to leaf through it. Best to learn whatever he can.

"Jean Valjean"

Valjean darts a sudden look up at the door, as if expecting the police to barge in right that second. Nothing. Who on earth could have known this? And to call him Breadwinner, even - that's a morbid sort of humor. There's few people he'd expect to recognize him at this point...though it seems that one of them is in fact present.

Except - no. He squints at the picture, then moves to hold it up to the light from the bulbs. The name is clear enough: Inspector Javert. No Christian name provided, though he never knew that to begin with. The description isn't inaccurate, if one ignores all the strange talk of actors. But the picture? That isn't Javert. It may have been a decade, but he still knows the man's face, and that isn't it. Whoever printed this knew plenty about the both of them; why did they make such an obvious error?

Not that it truly matters. This is bad. This is disastrous. But remaining in this room will not improve his chances of escape. Valjean tucks the key and pamphlet away, straightens his shoulders, and exits.

He carries himself warily, but not aggressively, as he explores the building wing-to-wing, testing every possible escape route. He's been known, in his time, for his ability to find them, but no possibilities are presenting themselves here. A lot of these things are unfamiliar to him - he definitely spends some time in the kitchen, picking up a few appliances for inspection and opening and closing the fridge curiously. The amount and quality of the food here is somewhat staggering, but even royalty would not have such machines. They don't exist. What is this?

Compared to the rest of the building, the lobby is intimidatingly open. It may have been years, but this situation is bringing out a thousand old instincts that never really died, and he keeps to the walls as he moves about. Eventually, he pauses in front of the rules, reading them over.]

This is madness...

kitchens are no place for royalty!!

[trettende]

[ While Hans certainly set Javert up to the task, he is still searching for his precious fiancee, Anna, and a room labeled "Kitchen" seemed just as likely as the next. Actually, it seemed highly likely, given her love of chocolate, but very few appliances here seem familiar to him.

At least Valjean seems to be having a similar time of it. Hans clears his throat, hoping to get his attention. ]

Excuse me, sir...? Have you seen a young woman named Anna? [ he has the pamphlet in his coat, but Anna's usually loud enough that people who've seen her know. ]

[breakingbread]

[Valjean lowers the knife-cup (it's a blender) back to the countertop and turns upon being addressed. He doesn't seem at all surprised that someone's there; you don't get to be a fugitive his age by botching your perception rolls.]

I'm afraid I have not, monsieur. Though there are certainly many young women here...far too many, for such a place as this.

[He's rather selfishly glad Cosette is not among them.]

She is the princess, yes? Do you know her?

[trettende]

[ "Monsieur?" Why, perhaps this is a friend of Javert's... ]

Yes, I agree. [ Young ladies have no place in dangerous opera houses! ] I'm not sure what kind of sick joke these people think they're running, printing all those things in that pamphlet...

[ Like, it makes Hans sound like a sad orphan? He's totally not. His family definitely loves him. ]

Yes, she and I had just been engaged before I woke up here. She is a princess, though I would say I am no mirror.

[breakingbread]

Some of these titles are more unusual than others. [NO COMMENT ON THE BREADWINNER THING] I would congratulate you on your engagement, but this is not the time. The building is not so large - I will help you look for her.

B for BREAD

[dechagny]

[It is madness, and it's beginning to drive Raoul mad. The information in the blasted pamphlet tucked away in his suit jacket, he's been pacing back and forth along the wall with the most boarded-up windows, pausing once in a while to confirm that they are indeed well-reinforced.

He decides, on a whim, to read those incredibly cryptic rules again, as this older gentleman is reading them, and a hand rests over the pamphlet stowed away.]

Actors...playing parts...intermissions during a normal man's sleeping hours...blasted pirates, of all things...

[Uh. You, uh...okay there, Raoul ol' buddy?]

[breakingbread]

[yeah that dude's not okay. Valjean listens for a moment, then leans over to add his two cents.]

I have found at least one of the pirates to be polite enough, monsieur, if you treat him the same.

[dechagny]

[That earns a chuckle out of Raoul, a tired one at that, and he nods.] Now that one I have met. It's - it's the principle of the thing, monsieur, and the virtue of the ladies assembled here that I am concerned for.

[Are you another countryman? Oh God please be another countryman.]

[breakingbread]

[Valjean shrugs lightly. He understands, but the pure principle of the thing would probably also stipulate that the ladies be protected from convicts, so.]

We will have to look out for them, then. But for now, at least, we all seem to be equal victims of...this. [Gestures at the rules, because what do you even call this] It is a pleasure to meet another Frenchman, if you can say that here.

[like he's not glad anyone is here ever, but yo dude france]

B

[rockthistown]

[A deep breath before talking to somebody new, and then a small wave...]

You mean how we're all here? I thought we'd come to Harmonia, but none of my friends are here, and Anna-san said we'd all been kidnapped and I'm pretty sure she's right!

[breakingbread]

It does seem that way, mademoiselle. [He's sorry to say such a thing to a child, but there's little point in lying when the truth is so plain.

God, and she is young. Younger than Cosette, and more timid. Valjean's frown deepens.] You are not hurt, are you?

[rockthistown]

No, just my stuff is missing... and I don't know where all my friends are, either. We were supposed to be going together.

[breakingbread]

[That might honestly be for the best - some teenage girls SOMEWHERE are safe and not here.]

Where were you going?

b!

[bestof]

I can't say it makes anymore sense to me, sir.

[Eliza has, at this point, thankfully found a new dress to change into so the problem of self-consciousness is over for her now. She approaches Valjean carefully, hands clasped in front of her for lack of anything else to do with her nervous energy.]

Trapping us here, expecting us to kill each other to escape...why would someone do this?

[breakingbread]

I cannot imagine. If they wanted money, perhaps that could make sense, but what reason could there possibly be for this? For there to be children here?

[Children and young women. Valjean has never been the most educated in foreign affairs, but the name Alexander Hamilton does seem familiar. Odd.

But of course he's not just going to start interrogating her about what he read in the pamphlet. By rights, no one should have been spreading that information around to begin with. He offers her a bow.]

Forgive me, madame - I am Jean Valjean. [hoo boy that's still weird to say]

[bestof]

[The children are the worst part for her. Some of them are so young, it breaks her heart.

She curtsies in return.]

Elizabeth Schuyler- [She pauses, quick to correct herself.] Hamilton. It's a pleasure to meet you, Monsieur Valjean.

A!

[lifegoalsorwifegoals]

[He's not alone in being interested in the kitchen, that's for sure. The differences in technology levels isn't lost on D-ne, so from a simple glance in the doorway, it has her attention. At the same time, there's an older man in there...

So many men here, how discomforting.

Valjean's probably not looking to the door. Either way, D-ne bows and announces herself.] Excuse me. If I could join you...?

[breakingbread]

Of course. [He sets down the thing he's holding and beckons her into the room.] Come in, mademoiselle. None of us should be alone here.

[lifegoalsorwifegoals]

[The old man's oddly kind... Well, D-ne smiles in return and enters, still keeping a fair bit of distance between them.]

Mademoiselle. I don't need something as fancy as that, sir, but thank you.

I'll take A in the kitchen for 200

[littlegirl_littlecurl]

[The style of the kitchen throws her for a loop, not that she knows what half the things in a kitchen are for anyway but... still a refrigerator is a refrigerator. And a nearby adult is always helpful.]

"Hey, Mister! Is there any cola in here?"

[breakingbread]

[Sweet Jesus, this is the youngest one yet]

Cola? I'm afraid I'm not familiar with it, mademoiselle.

[littlegirl_littlecurl]

[She's older than she looks. Probably. Maybe.]

Y'know, the soda? Or Ovaltine. I'll take Ovaltine.

A

[dontfeedplants]

[Seymour himself was naturally drawn to the kitchen as well. A few of the appliances he recognized but all and all this room looked almost like something out of a sci fi movie... almost, at least.

Although he can't help but notice how this guy seemed especially fascinated by the fridge. It's kind of worrying actually.]

Have... you never seen a refrigerator before?

[breakingbread]

Is that what it is called?

[Well that answers that]

What is making it so cold? There's only a small tin of ice inside.

[dontfeedplants]

It's electricity that's causing it. Sorry, I don't know how it works exactly, but plugging it in generates cold.