It's Curtains Mods (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
stagemanagers) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
itscurtains2016-11-26 11:26 am
stagemanagers) wrote in itscurtains2016-11-26 11:26 am
THE FINAL ACT
You've all dispersed into a lot of hidden areas, but you'll come together as a group once more. When you do, you'll find that the theatre doors are open.
For once, things are different inside. There are no podiums in the orchestra pit; instead, the curtain is open and the stage is lit. You'll notice there's a small set of stairs at either end, allowing you easy access up. Ten podiums have been moved onto the bare stage, arranged in a loose semi-circle facing a higher wooden platform. Atop it is a single chair, red-cushioned and gilded like a throne. In the vaguely circular space between the platform and the podiums is absolutely nothing: it's a deep, dark pit. The lighting in here is pretty good, but it still doesn't reach the bottom.
The podiums that once belonged to the dead are gone entirely. The bare lightbulbs that stood in their places, however, are clustered on either side of the stage, like a makeshift audience. They're finally turned off.
As the cast enters and begins to find their places, there's a sound like an invisible orchestra tuning up. Strings and woodwinds run scales in a quiet cacophony that eventually shapes itself into a wordless song. A man in jeans and a plain white T-shirt enters from stage right as they play, singing quietly as if to himself as he ascends the stairs onto the platform and turns out to survey the cast.
Velkommen, bienvenue, welcome...
The Balladeer falls quiet, looking thoughtful for a moment before shaking his head and taking his seat. Once there, he turns his attention to flipping through the papers in his hands. "Well. Let's get started, shall we?"
For once, things are different inside. There are no podiums in the orchestra pit; instead, the curtain is open and the stage is lit. You'll notice there's a small set of stairs at either end, allowing you easy access up. Ten podiums have been moved onto the bare stage, arranged in a loose semi-circle facing a higher wooden platform. Atop it is a single chair, red-cushioned and gilded like a throne. In the vaguely circular space between the platform and the podiums is absolutely nothing: it's a deep, dark pit. The lighting in here is pretty good, but it still doesn't reach the bottom.
The podiums that once belonged to the dead are gone entirely. The bare lightbulbs that stood in their places, however, are clustered on either side of the stage, like a makeshift audience. They're finally turned off.
As the cast enters and begins to find their places, there's a sound like an invisible orchestra tuning up. Strings and woodwinds run scales in a quiet cacophony that eventually shapes itself into a wordless song. A man in jeans and a plain white T-shirt enters from stage right as they play, singing quietly as if to himself as he ascends the stairs onto the platform and turns out to survey the cast.
Velkommen, bienvenue, welcome...
The Balladeer falls quiet, looking thoughtful for a moment before shaking his head and taking his seat. Once there, he turns his attention to flipping through the papers in his hands. "Well. Let's get started, shall we?"
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...If those ghosts weren't already dead I'd kill them myself.
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Uh...that's...not helping, exactly, guys?
[Granted, he doubts this conversation is going to go anywhere good, but making her mad just doesn't seem like it's going to help matters. Seems like it could easily end in fire.
He's still holding Hans's winter coat, having not stopped to put it on. He stares at it for a moment, then holds it out at arms' length.]
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She stares at him for a long few seconds, then at the coat held out to her but doesn't reach out to take it. She is, for at least the moment, a little confused and speechless.]
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the balladeer is frozen in place. this is now a politeness stand-off.]
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Hans whispers from off-stage. ]
You don't... have to wear it if you don't want to. I get it.
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I think... what the Balladeer is trying to say here is... we can work together. And we should. To get the best ending for everyone.
[ A Golden Ending, as it were. Does this help, Bal? ]
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this is legitimate kindness, she was not expecting this this should not be in the script
but finally, after what feels like at least twenty minutes of jumping through other tags, she slowly reaches out and takes hold of the edge of the coat]
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And then he takes a moment to collect himself. The moment feels like standing on a precipice. His voice starts a little tremulous when he begins singing, but he finds his footing quickly enough. This is just like before.
He told them they could still get their dreams. There's prizes all around. This time, he won't let anyone take over his song.]
Think about your shows, Player?
Think about the acts you do
How they never quite work out
You could try something new
With the audience behind you
Working towards something grand
Player...
Think about your shows
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[Her grip tightens on the coat but she doesn't make a move to drop it. She finally looks away from Balladeer to her pit of fire, to the surviving cast members, how her newer crew members are starting to jump ship like rats on the Titanic.]
No, they may not understand
All the words,
All the same
They hear the music...
They hear the screams...
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[fuck you actually? but last time someone sang that at him, he got mad and lashed out and no one was happy. let's not do that.]
Think about your role, Player
Think about the script you're in
Don't you think we'd be ash
Were you written to win?
Do you think the moderators
Were ever on your side?
Player,
Think about your role.
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there should be fire in her eyes and anger in her voice here but there's not. she looks to be deflating, just a little, under the unexpected weight and inevitability of his words combined with the last of her original round crew making their choices and her talk with Jez.]
I've created murder games and miracles
Incentives to touch
Granting life and taking life
Was it too much?
I came so close, my friend
I nearly came near
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Were she literally any other person, he'd reach out to her. But...not her. Not after what happened last time. How can she still call him friend after that...?
Still, he's not leaving.]
You showed me that I could leave my show
At least that was true
But - there's no reason you can't do the same
Go see something new!
...we'll never be what we were,
And I don't want to
Sure, we're narrators
But we're still people too