The Leading Player (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
guardianofsplendor) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
itscurtains2016-11-28 02:42 pm
guardianofsplendor) wrote in itscurtains2016-11-28 02:42 pm
CURTAIN CALL
[Once all is said and done, the Leading Player turns her attention back to everyone else. She claps her hands once and the lights turn off and on in quick succession in an attempt to gain back everyone’s attention.]
Ladies! Gentlemen! Cast, crew, and audience alike! Under the usual genre conventions this would be where I would demand you vote to choose your fate, to stay with my troupe or have one of you sacrifice yourselves to the flames and bring this game to an end. However, you’ve all already made your votes clear and due to executive demand we’re obligated to present you with the ending you’ve earned by stealing my crew and forming a united front. You’re all real cute, with your private Plurks. [Wow, bitter much, LP?]
So enjoy your happy, sappy ending. I’m sure Denny’s will love having you. [She snaps her fingers and the fires in the pit finally extinguish.] Show’s over. Fastrada, get the others. Lewis, take the curtains, get the ghost lights, clean up the house. Berthe, take down the page since someone would rather go be a hermit handing out seeds to children than help me with CSS. And turn off the email notifications, I don’t even want to look at this!
[The remaining stagehands, those who didn’t respond to the cast’s attempts at friendship, look at each other and split off, posture a little downtrodden as they slink into the wings or the house. One of them starts to gather up the ghostlights from the side of the stage; another begins stripping the curtains.
The Player herself hops down from her platform, landing easily. For a moment, she stands looking down into the pit, posture tense. One hand rests on her hip; the other hangs at her side, still holding Hans’s winter coat.]
Charlemagne, get the throne.
[Still up there, the Balladeer sidesteps the stagehand as he comes to take the chair, and cautiously begins to make his way down the stairs. The Player pays him no mind; she takes a breath, straightens, and steps around the pit towards the apron.]
And as for all of you - [It’s not clear who she’s addressing now but it’s not the characters.] - we hope you’ve enjoyed your time with us, as participants or even simply as spectators. Hopefully you’ll join us the next time around. Unfortunately, I don’t think I will be. [She snaps her fingers and seemingly out of nowhere a hat and cane appear. The coat doesn’t fit the aesthetic, but she slings it over her shoulder nonetheless. The stagehands moving the platform away and taking down the lighting rigs part before her as she turns and strides upstage.]
I’m erasing myself from the narrative
Let future murdergame casts wonder
Where the Player went to
When she left the stage
Go turn your new page,
And I’ll watch this burn...
[She pauses before the last curtain, letting the orchestra continue the song without her for a few phrases.]
I forfeit my rights to all this. Whatever you took from my office, just give it to him. [She jerks her head towards the Balladeer.]
Let him have the memory
Of when this was ours…
...the world seemed to burn...
[Without looking back, she parts the curtain, steps through, and is gone. The remaining stagehands filter out a few moments later, leaving a bare stage and a quiet theatre behind them.
But, of course, there's still a little more magic to do, isn't there?]
Ladies! Gentlemen! Cast, crew, and audience alike! Under the usual genre conventions this would be where I would demand you vote to choose your fate, to stay with my troupe or have one of you sacrifice yourselves to the flames and bring this game to an end. However, you’ve all already made your votes clear and due to executive demand we’re obligated to present you with the ending you’ve earned by stealing my crew and forming a united front. You’re all real cute, with your private Plurks. [Wow, bitter much, LP?]
So enjoy your happy, sappy ending. I’m sure Denny’s will love having you. [She snaps her fingers and the fires in the pit finally extinguish.] Show’s over. Fastrada, get the others. Lewis, take the curtains, get the ghost lights, clean up the house. Berthe, take down the page since someone would rather go be a hermit handing out seeds to children than help me with CSS. And turn off the email notifications, I don’t even want to look at this!
[The remaining stagehands, those who didn’t respond to the cast’s attempts at friendship, look at each other and split off, posture a little downtrodden as they slink into the wings or the house. One of them starts to gather up the ghostlights from the side of the stage; another begins stripping the curtains.
The Player herself hops down from her platform, landing easily. For a moment, she stands looking down into the pit, posture tense. One hand rests on her hip; the other hangs at her side, still holding Hans’s winter coat.]
Charlemagne, get the throne.
[Still up there, the Balladeer sidesteps the stagehand as he comes to take the chair, and cautiously begins to make his way down the stairs. The Player pays him no mind; she takes a breath, straightens, and steps around the pit towards the apron.]
And as for all of you - [It’s not clear who she’s addressing now but it’s not the characters.] - we hope you’ve enjoyed your time with us, as participants or even simply as spectators. Hopefully you’ll join us the next time around. Unfortunately, I don’t think I will be. [She snaps her fingers and seemingly out of nowhere a hat and cane appear. The coat doesn’t fit the aesthetic, but she slings it over her shoulder nonetheless. The stagehands moving the platform away and taking down the lighting rigs part before her as she turns and strides upstage.]
I’m erasing myself from the narrative
Let future murdergame casts wonder
Where the Player went to
When she left the stage
Go turn your new page,
And I’ll watch this burn...
[She pauses before the last curtain, letting the orchestra continue the song without her for a few phrases.]
I forfeit my rights to all this. Whatever you took from my office, just give it to him. [She jerks her head towards the Balladeer.]
Let him have the memory
Of when this was ours…
...the world seemed to burn...
[Without looking back, she parts the curtain, steps through, and is gone. The remaining stagehands filter out a few moments later, leaving a bare stage and a quiet theatre behind them.
But, of course, there's still a little more magic to do, isn't there?]
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Well, after the Balladeer died I basically called everyone in on a meeting to tell them I was the Mole. [ Here he go. ] I felt awful, it was obviously my fault the Management pulled this shit on him, so I wanted everyone to just cuss me out at that point.
[ oh snap, he cursed too. ]
Most of them didn't, but Anna-- well, I'm sure she'll tell you, but she basically cornered me and got me to admit that I was in love with the Balladeer the entire time and... I spent almost every night... crying.
[ He sighs. That was a lot and he hates himself for admitting it out loud, but she did kind of die and he voted for her, so she deserves to... make fun of him. Probably. ]
Feel any better now?
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I'm going to ignore everything you just said that has to do with death so I can properly enjoy this moment.
[At least that means she's not gaining enjoyment from him crying over his formerly dead boyfriend?? In a way??]
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Also, you'll probably enjoy this.
[ Because why not, right? Put another nail in his coffin. ]
Anna punched me twice in the last week alone. First when I said I was the mole, [ not quite ] and a second time when I showed her some of my old correspondence with the Leading Player. I was. Not kind, to say the least.
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[Places her chin in a hand. Why is she like this.]
Anybody else, or just her?
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[ Aw, he actually... joked a little at his expense, he's growing up. ]
Um, no it's been mostly her. Though I think Winslow still hates me a lot, he attacked me a few weeks ago but that was before this whole mess.
[ Which is. Awkward. Considering Hans and Seymour are actually really good friends? ]
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[why are they bonding over this in a weird way]
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[ Is this really... how they settle their differences... incredible. ]
Well, he found out I was engaged to Anna and then kind of ruined that engagement by trying to kill her and her sister, so the song he'd been writing me to "win her over" was pretty much entirely built on a lie.
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[ Yeah. ]
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[???]
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[ Yeah, Hans can't believe it either. ]
I didn't think for a second that Seymour killed you, in that trial. He's too nice, he would fessed up on the spot. Plus, I already knew he was a killer then, since he ended up accidentally telling me about how he'd killed someone back home. Still, I decided to keep his secret. I knew it wasn't him, and I couldn't afford to lose the only friend I had.
[ Is this not how you friend? ]
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[She says this like it's obvious.]
Seymour almost cries every time I look at him. I'm pretty sure if he ever tried to do something like that, which he wouldn't, I wouldn't even have to open my mouth before he gave up.
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[ He shrugs. ]
I thought of taking advantage of him, but before I knew it, I guess we were friends.
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[A pause.]
I guess it is if you only have one friend. Holy shit.
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[ He has like... two friends. Okay, now he's actually frowning. ]
...You don't have to sound so smug about it.
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[comforting]
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[ He's not the one who died, after all. Just be glad he kept that shit to himself. ]
It's better than you being fake-nice to me.
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