tellthestory | THE BOX OFFICE

[When the court room empties out the shaking in the chandelier lessens and lessens until it finally stills. With the lights downthe atmosphere could almost be mistaken for peaceful if not for the thick smells of blood and smoke in the air. Seconds trickle by in deafening silence until it starts.

The slow, deliberate click of heels on the wooden stage. Ten steps, ten long strides until the sound stops and there's another sound, a click of snapping fingers . Almost immediately a spotlight shines on center stage to illuminate the Balladeer's prone body and the showrunner herself standing beside him. She looks from him to the mess that the bullet made of his head and heaves a heavy, exasperated sigh.]

Good luck cleaning up this mess, Bialy.

[She gives the corpse a small, firm kick in the side, a scowl twisting her immaculately made-up face, before lifting her hand and snapping her fingers a second time. This time she crouches next to the body, at eye-level if he were sitting up.]

Now, let's talk about what you did wrong.

[The gunshot is still echoing in the back of his mind when he opens his eyes.

The Balladeer startles upright, only to cringe back at the unexpected sight of the Showrunner right in his face. Where did she come from? Where...where did everyone else go? The stage is empty except for her; his cast is gone. He reaches out a hand to try to steady himself, expecting the smooth wood of the stage, and finds something wet and sticky.

Blood. Brains. It's on his hand. Again. It's...there's no one else here...]

...what?

[It comes out as a whisper, not really directed at her. Unnoticed even by himself, he's started to tremble.]

You're going to be feeling that for a little while. Walk it off, Charlemagne always does. [She rises back to her feet, stepping in front of him so he's sitting in her shadow.] You were so keen to chit chat when you had your merry little band of players around you before. Have anything else to add now that we can talk face-to-face, friend?

Or did I blow a hole in your sails?

[The bright spotlight hurts his eyes and his already-aching head. He has to turn away a little, squinting up at her out of the corner of his vision. The motion leaves him looking right at his halo of bloodspray. He shuts his eyes.

It was a lot easier to face her when he was standing between her and his cast. Now there's no dark theatre between them, and the absence of the others leaves fear free to twist his guts. He runs his tongue across his dry lips, suddenly longing for the old days, when he felt proud and cocksure enough to needle the assassins at their work. They never scared him, not until the very end. Where is that person now?

...he misses when the word friend from her lips didn't make him flinch.]

I'm limited...
Just look at me - I'm limited.
And look at them, they can do all I couldn't do...

[His hands are shaking. He curls them into fists, bristles up at her despite still being on the ground. The orchestra isn't playing along with him anymore, but he is not alone.]

Let others rise
To take my place,
Until the Opera's free!

Don't you start with that french revolution nonsense. You know how that show ends. [She turns her gaze from him for a moment, moving around him in a slow, deliberate circle as she talks.]

You know, this is the second time I've saved you. I second time I didn't have to save you. I could have left you to those assassins...but I didn't. I could've left you to rot on this stage but I didn't. Do you know why, Balladeer?

I'll sing whatever I feel like singing! You know how that show ends! Tomorrow comes!

[It's not as climatic when one person sings it, alone, with no accompaniment and a piqued tone. Oh well.

He turns to track her movements as she circles him, shifting to try to keep her in his sight. His head's still killing him, but he balances himself with a hand (don't think about the blood) and rises unsteadily to his feet. It seems more important to be standing right now.]

...I thought I did. I don't anymore. Was this not scripted, is that it?

Of course not. When I script rebellions they're not against me. [He might be standing now but she doesn't stop her slow, predatory stride around him. The Balladeer is taller than her by a good few inches, even in heels, but even from an outside perspective it's clear who has the upper hand here.]

I hope you're happy
I hope you're happy now
I hope you're happy how you've
Hurt our show forever
I hope you think you're clever

[He's still turning a little, to try and keep her in sight, but he can't get his back to anything solid and the movement isn't helping his head. It feels like he might fall over if he keeps it up, so he plants himself, shoulders hunching unconsciously even as he sings.]

I hope you're happy!
I hope you're happy too!
I hope you're proud how you would
Drive them to perdition
To fuel your own ambition!

So though I can't imagine how
I hope you're happy -

Right now!

[She finally stops in front of him, chin up so she can look him straight in the eyes.]

Balladeer, listen to me.

[LP's expression softens from her cold anger, just a fraction but it's something.]

Just say you're sorry.
Think of what you're losing
All you've worked and waited for
We're so close to our finale

...I know.

[Even seeing that slight change in her expression twists something in him. It's obvious in his face, the way his brows suddenly knit; he's always seemed to wear his heart on his sleeve.]

But I don't want that
No -

[He thinks about hugging Billy as he cried, about Hans holding his hand while he fell asleep. But it's hard not to also think of her, her arms around him as he caught his breath after their escape from his show, the late-night laughter and conversations and songs they'd shared once upon a time.

He really thought that meant something. It did, to him. For all his anger, maybe it still does.

But even if it did, even if she had ever felt the same, none of that is worth the lives of his other friends. They didn't ask to be part of this. If she's going to make him choose, he knows what he has to let go. After all this, they could never just go back to what was anyway.]

- I can't want that
Anymore

[...but it stings somewhere deep down, to say all this to his first friend. He feels a sudden urge to explain it to her, like maybe she could understand this the way she did everything else before the whole show started.]

Something has changed within me
I'm hearing a new note
I'm through with sticking to
The roles that somebody else wrote

Too late for second-guessing
Too late to go back and give
It's time to trust my instincts
Close my eyes
And live

It's time to try defying narrative
I think I'll try defying narrative

[He shakes his head, slightly, holding her gaze.]

And you can't put me back

[She visibly bristles at his defiance but doesn't interrupt him. She's not rude enough to do it twice in one night.]

Can't I make you understand
You can never trust actors?

Edited 2016-11-28 06:43 (UTC)

[It's too late, he's on a roll. He barely even waits for her to finish her lines before he goes on:]

I'm through accepting limits
'Cause someone says they're so
Some things I cannot change
But 'till I try I'll never know!

Too long I've been afraid of
Losing the safety of a script
But if I'm safe here,
It's because my wings were clipped!

I'd sooner try defying narrative
Just watch me fly, I'm defying narrative!
And I won't be recast...

[He got loud there, but he quiets down again, looking at her. She doesn't understand a single thing he's said, does she?

But they're so similar - how can she not see it? Certainly they've had similar experiences with rebellious actors; from the look on her face when she told him, he doesn't doubt that story. But surely that doesn't mean no one deserves freedom. Everyone can make a choice - even them. Hans called him a person.

She called him a friend, before tonight. Did she mean it then? He set himself up as her enemy with that song, but what if he didn't have to?]

Player, listen to me. Think of what we could do, together!

Unlimited
Together, we're unlimited
Together, we'd be the greatest team there's ever been,
Player...

[He hesitates, glancing down at the bloodstains on the stage. But it's like he said about the roles himself - how can anyone ever change if they aren't given the opportunity?

The Balladeer holds out a hand.]

...lives we've only dreamed of?

THE BOX OFFICE

Post-trial 5 shitshow

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