overture, par deux

[stagemanagers]

You awake in an unfamiliar bed.

It’s comfortable enough, at least, but it’s certainly not yours. The room, too, is unfamiliar. It's not quite large enough to fit the bed and armoire comfortably alongside the vanity, especially with one wall nearly taken up entirely by an enormous gilt mirror, but hey - at least it’s cozy? Although that might be a little hard to appreciate when you have no idea how you got 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 startling information. Maybe a few familiar faces as well…

The hallway outside is narrow but well-lit, lined with (mostly) 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. At least, it looks as though it must have been at one point. Now, it’s clearly seen better days - someone's made an attempt at cleaning, but the crystals glittering on the chandelier above are foggy with dust, and the red upholstery on all the furniture has faded.

A large clock on the northern wall marks the time, which is fantastic, because most of the windows in the building are shuttered. If you pass through the ballroom, you’ll notice the large windows on the upper level are not - but, despite what the clock claims, it looks like it’s night out there. As brightly as the room is lit, you can’t make out much of anything outside.

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.

In the lobby there are two sets of double-doors: a set that leads deeper into the Opera House and another leading out outside. For the moment, both doors leading outside are locked.

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

Comments

[garbageface]

[ Santana wakes in a room that is not hers, and for a moment, she lets herself panic. What the hell? Is this some bad dream? But then she catches sight of her flushed, panting face in the giant mirror and frowns. She's got to pull herself together -- panic is not a good look.

She spends some time fixing herself up -- ponytail tight, face clear, clothes fitting just right -- before exiting room 17 and making her debut into the hallway, strutting down it like the queen bee she is. Her eyes forward, chin up, commanding -- unless she's sparing an absolutely withering look into one of the other dressing rooms.

She'll eventually make her way to the ballroom, where she studies the rules with a fair amount of disdain. ]

Ugh, what kind of nerd frames the rules?

[ That's some real Rachel Berry-style content. ]

[reassuranceandrevolution]

The kind that takes them way too seriously.

[Sigyn approaches from behind, frowning at the frame on the wall]

You know where we are?

[garbageface]

[ Santana turns to look at the new arrival -- it's someone from the program, some stranger. She gives the woman a quick once-over, because 5'11" and poised? That's hot.

But Santana also doesn't like admitting she doesn't know something, so it's a moment before she answers. ]

I'm gonna find out. You got any bright ideas?

[reassuranceandrevolution]

I've ruled out prison. Unless Asgard got real inventive in the past few years.

[She holds out a hand]

I'm Sigyn, by the way.

[garbageface]

Oh, well that's comforting.

[ Not. There are worse things than prison, probably.

Santana snorts, because shaking hands is for polite weirdos, but she takes Sigyn's hand anyway, offering one quick shake. ]

Santana. You really led a revolution? Then just revolt us outta here, I've got places to be.

[reassuranceandrevolution]

[Sigyn's handshake is firm, but she does not extend it beyond what Santana would be comfortable with]

How did you-oh, right. The pamphlet. [She doesn't know how she feels about complete strangers knowing about her before they'd even met.]

Point me at whoever brought us here and I'll gladly do what it takes to get us out. My crew needs me, I can't be stuck here.

[garbageface]

Yep. Guessing you know all about Snixx.

[ Best to take control of the sudden information exposé instead of hiding from it. ]

Yeah, I'd like to know too. [ Santana frowns -- wait -- ] Your crew? What are you, a pirate? [ That's how pirates talk, right? ]

[etincelledefierte]

...maybe it's not a nerd. Maybe it's someone who knows perfectly well we'd rip them down and throw them in the trash otherwise. I assume that the frame is nailed down so we don't do exactly that.

[Claudine doesn't shrug, per se, but she certainly moves her shoulders.]

[garbageface]

Nah, see, someone worried that people will throw away the rules is still super nerdy.

[ Besides, they're probably fake. ]

Whatever. I don't care if it says I can't leave.

[ To prove her point, Santana goes and tries to open the front doors. They're locked. Shit. ]

[etincelledefierte]

Touché.

[Claudine's about to make the point that anyone serious enough - or nerdy enough, it doesn't matter which - to have framed the rules then nailed them to the wall would have locked the door, but she doesn't get the words out in time.]

Something tells me the front door's not going to be an option, same with the doors over there.

[She points to the ornate-looking ones.]

I think we're stuck, as bad as it sounds.

[garbageface]

[ Santana huffs. She had to try, didn't she? ]

You might be stuck. I, for one, am not a goddamn quitter, and I'm gonna find a way out of here. You can join me if you're not gonna be an idiot coward.

[ With that, Santana starts heading down the stairs. Maybe she'll have better luck down there. ]

[etincelledefierte]

Did I say that I was quitting anything?

[She rolls her eyes, but she’ll follow, if only so she knows what will and won’t get them out of here.]

ballroom

[holyspit]

My friend Pearl probably would? But- she wouldn't have included that one thing.

[Definitely not, no matter who might have shattered who and let who take responsibility for it.]

[garbageface]

[ Framing the rules but none of the rules are cool? That's somehow even worse. Santana scoffs. ]

Sounds like you need to get better friends. You gonna panic like a little baby about all this too?

[holyspit]

Hey! My friends are great!

[Wow? Rude? Also that's basically one of his moms?]

And if I panic it's gonna be at a perfectly grown-up level!

[Wait.]

[garbageface]

[ Santana just smirks. God, this kid's making a bigger fool out of himself than she could ever make out of him. What an absolute champ. ]

Mmm, yes, why don't you explain to me exactly what grown-up panicking is.

[holyspit]

[He's a helper like that.]

Ah-

[Whoop.]

Um- trying not to let anyone else see you panicking until you think you're alone, usually? And then kind of screaming and hyperventilating and grabbing the wrong disc while you're looking for chill-out music.

[garbageface]

Mmm. Well, if I hear screaming, then I'll know you're doing some grown-up panicking and you're not getting murdered, and I won't check on you. Good to know.

[ Although honestly, it doesn't sound half-bad. Santana's just being so mean because she feels like screaming, herself. ]

ballroom

[redjoker]

Someone who didn't think of this. [Jonny, already sporting a bloody nose from an earlier armchair mishap, takes the framed rules off the wall and throws it over his shoulder, where it shatters on the floor.]

What kind of prat makes rules about doing murder? Takes all the fun out of it if you ask me.

[garbageface]

Well, aren't you tough.

[ Santana says, her voice properly dripping with sarcasm. Santana offers a slow golf clap, trying to hide the fact that she genuinely approves of the rule-smashing, property-destroying thing this weirdo's got going on. ]

Then don't follow them. You already trashed their oh-so-special frame, so why not beat up [ in air quotes: ] "the House Manager" while you're at it?

[ She'd love to see that. ]

Ballroom

[madgiganticfeelings]

I mean, if the rules get broken more often then normally, I guess... Or I don't know, maybe it's meant to freak us out, considering...

[She gestures wildly at the frame so she doesn't have to speak about the very gruesome actions it's describing and therefore let them freak her out.]

...Or maybe it's just breaking the fourth wall! It looks like we've all been cast in some sort of murder mystery play. They're probably just helping us get into character! So now all we gotta do is vocal warmups!

[Jazz hands! Are you excited? She's excited.]

[garbageface]

[ At least this particular nerd isn't hysterical and freaking out. That's a little better, Santana supposes. But vocal warmups? Seriously? ]

Yeah, but if it were a play, they'd give us roles, genius. [ in air quotes: ] "The Cheerio" isn't a role, that's just me.

[madgiganticfeelings]

Well, maybe your role is just really true to life! Mine is "The Love Interest," and uh, as far as I can tell, Puck hasn't been dropping love potion in anyone's eyes around me. I haven't even had a single date!

[Why do you sound so proud of yourself for that, Christine?]

[garbageface]

Yeah, maybe because you're dressed like you're eight years old? Look, I get that you're short or whatever, but that does not mean you get to wear kiddie barrettes and Girl Scout patches on your jacket.

[ Santana huffs. Why are all the nerds here so hopeless? ]

You wanna be a love interest? Then look the part. This is a whole-ass theater, I bet there's some halfway decent short people clothes here somewhere.

[madgiganticfeelings]

... What's wrong with the way I dress? I think it looks fun. And the patches are colourful!

[She doesn't sound sure about that, really. In fact, she looks very much sheepish.]

It's not very nice to say something like that. I thought love was blind anyways!