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te-pu-si-ti · 6 months

Text

The Persephone Un-loop

Inspired by:

Sam Booth | Eric Jackson Bradley | Ali Goldsmith | Folu Odimayo | Carl Harrison

The man in the grey suit steps out into the town square, singing. "It's a lonesome old town, when you're not around. I'm lonely as I can be..."

He picks up a bouquet of narcissi from the flower cart. He carefully sets down the flowers one by one on the ground of the Trojan square, then he returns to his office and shuts the door.

Outside, a spotlight is moving slowly across the length of the square, from the office to the flower cart to the department store, finally settling on a well in the corner. You'd hardly notice it, if you didn't know it was there.

The spotlight lingers. The music begins to swell. Just then, a woman bursts out of the water. She looks around, her hair dripping, her eyes large and uncertain, examining her surroundings.

She climbs out and lays her bare feet on the bricks, leaving behind puddles. With inquisitive eyes, she picks up a daffodil, and another, and another, breadcrumbs leading her... somewhere.

She walks by a man dressed in rags who seems to recognise her, but she flinches away from him. She continues following the flowers, and they take her to the office door, underneath the blue light. She knocks.

The man in the suit opens the door and takes her in. "Welcome home, my love," the strange man says.

"Home?" She shakes her head. "I'm sorry, I don't remember..."

"The waters," he says coolly, "It's the waters. Give it time." He wraps her in a blanket and sits her down in a leather armchair.

She looks with consternation at the framed photo on the side table. It's... her. And him. He holds up his hand, showing her the ring on his finger, and pointing to the matching ring on hers.

"What's going on? What is this place?" She stands up, and looks at a painting on the wall, so dark, so terrible, and yet...

She shakes her head. "Where am I?"

"It will come back to you. It will all come back to you."

"The keys to the city," he says, nodding towards the rack of keys on the wall. "Don't rush yourself. You have all the time in the world."

She walks over, examining the keys, and the little wooden puzzle toy on the table. A labyrinth with a tiny metal ball inside. Seven keys, each hanging from their own hook, each on a keyring. A horse, a bull, a flower...

He's grabbing his coat. "Where are you going? Can't you stay?"

"I have to go," he says. "You have to find your own way." The only person she has in this strange city, and he's already leaving her alone.

He shuts the door, and she's alone with her thoughts and the sensory overload of waking up cold and wet in a strange world, with a strange man, who seems to know her even though she does not know him. But he is kind to her, and he shows her love, and somehow, she trusts him.

The more she thinks about this situation, the less it makes sense. The more she looks around this room, the smaller it feels, the more trapped she is. She spins around in the empty office, gasping for air, adrift. Blue lightning flashes outside the windows as the power surges, as if in tune with her. She would scream if she could, but there's not enough air.

Thunder rumbles. Discordant piano. Gasping, spinning, turning, choking, it's too much it's too much it's much too much --

She's exhausting herself. She goes to the desk, sits down, and counts backwards. Grounding. One thing at a time. One foot in front of the other.

She leaves the office, into the city, and finds a fashionable-looking shop. No one is working there, and she has no clothes of her own, so if nobody's looking then nobody can mind... She takes a red jumpsuit that fits her perfectly, and a pair of shoes, and a lovely fur coat. In the pocket, there is a torch...

In the alleys of the city, she finds a map pasted on the wall. Shaped like the wooden toy from the office, an intricate maze - no, a labyrinth. Labelled with strange names.

Hesperides? She sees the sign lit up above her head. She wanders into a beautiful flower shop, with roses and greenery dangling from the ceiling and every type of blossom you could imagine laid out in the corner. Once again, it's empty behind the counter.

So she searches for clues - What is this place? Where, and when? How does she fit in? Did she once belong here? She rifles through drawers, papers, a box full of... feathers? A portrait of a Grecian goddess? It's all so strange.

A man in a yellow velvet suit comes up to the counter. She freezes. Act natural. "Hello," she says, "...How can I help you?"

The man gazes around idly with large, round eyes. "I'd like a bouquet," he says softly.

"Sure!" she says. There's one right on the counter. "Here you go."

He chuckles and shakes his head. "I was hoping for maybe... that one, by the mirror?"

"Of course." She goes over and retrieves it. The flowers are beautiful, but they're all fake. Such a large shop, is there such a high demand for faux flowers?

She lays down the bouquet for him and he smiles. "Actually, could you add something extra for me? Something special. Your choice."

The charade is wearing thin. She doesn't actually know anything about flower arranging. What flower would suit? She looks around at the stems on the counter, and grabs the one that catches her eye. A fluffy pink peony, a splash of colour in the pale bouquet.

She unwraps the bouquet to add in the extra flower. But there's something else inside... a paper parcel falls to the counter as she's unwrapping. She sets it aside so her customer cannot see.

She wraps up the bouquet in some fresh tissue paper, with a green ribbon cut with an unnervingly large pair of scissors. "Here you go," she says, relieved that she has not been found out.

He examines the bouquet and sniffs the flowers. "Oh, uh," the woman says, "You do know they're fake, right?"

The man in the yellow suit, blue neon reflecting off his skin, smiles. He picks a business card up off the counter. "Yes," he says, "The finest." Hesperides: Finest Fake Flowers.

She laughs uneasily. "Right. Of course. Have a good day!"

The man pauses as he leaves. "Have a good night," he corrects.

She lets out a sigh after he walks out. How did she get into this mess? But something about the little paper parcel intrigues her, and she unwraps it. It's some kind of bureaucratic form, SPECIAL PERMIT. Inside, there's a little metal horse figurine. And on the paper, someone has scribbled an address: PEEP BAR, 3rd ~ C / 3rd Division / UW.

She takes her torch back into the alleys, reading the strange names on the posters and flyers and neon signs of the city. Philotas. Sikinnis. Terpsichore. Who are they? HIC HABITAT MINOTAURUS. What?

She emerges into a square, and she can hear pounding music from across the way, and she sees the sign for PEEP. There it is! And she wouldn't mind a drink to settle her nerves. So she goes in.

It's a wild and debauched place, this strange bar draped in velvet. Ghostly faces leer at her and cheer at the dancer on stage. It is a tall, thin creature in a black catsuit, beckoning one of the emcees on stage with a clawed finger. The emcee jumps up eagerly, and the dancer licks their lips, pulling their victim closer and then choking them and shoving them to the ground.

She finds a seat, and gasps at this dark entertainment that is driving the crowd wild. But there's something incredibly alluring about it.

The dancer leaves the stage to raucous applause and gives her a wink as they pass. She sips her drink and wonders if she should leave, when suddenly...

The door opens. The bar host drops their martini glass in surprise. "We have a visitor. A friend? A presence. A gift! A surprise guest has descended upon us!"

It's the man in the grey suit again. He gets on stage, and the bar hosts kiss him on each cheek. Unprompted, the band starts to play.

She decides to stay for a little while longer. Is he a performer too, like that slithering dancer dressed all in black? He doesn't seem the type at all.

"If the sun should lose its light,

and we lived in an endless night,

and there were nothing left that you could feel...

That's what it would be would be,

What my life would seem to me,

If I didn't have your love, to make it real."

He's singing to her. She doesn't know him, not really, but he knows her, and he's serenading her with this strange and beautiful song.

"If the stars were all unpinned,

and a cold and bitter wind swallowed up the world, without a trace,

That's where I would be! That's what my life would seem to me!

If I couldn't lift the veil... and see your face."

The lights swing around to light her face in red and blue. She feels herself blushing. All this for her? Why?

"To make it REAL! ...Real!" During the instrumental break, he fills the time with a cute little shuffling dance. He blows her a kiss - overcome by this whole sweet gesture, she catches it.

"If the sun should lose its light, and we lived in an endless night, and there was nothing left that you could feel...

If the sea were sand alone, and all the flowers made of stone, and no one that you hurt could ever heal! That's how broken I would be, that's what my life would seem to me... if I didn't have your love... to make... it... real..."

"Well. Shoot a speeding arrow through my tiny, tiny heart." The hosts of Peep pop up through a trap door behind him and usher him off the stage.

The man comes down and puts his arm around her shoulder. "That was wonderful," she says, brimming with sincerity. "Nobody's ever done that for me before."

A beat. "...I have," he replies. "Let's go."

He pulls her through the square with an odd sense of urgency. But she wants to see, she wants to know this city that he claims is her home - and why is this young man drawing a circle of chalk in the square?

But there are sirens blaring, it might not be safe, so she turns and heads towards the office. Another man, in a long leather coat, scared, desperate, is turning the corner just then and collides with her. He rushes away with hardly a chance for an apology. She scurries into the office, her makeshift home.

The man in the suit guides her to the desk. He offers her a pair of headphones, which she gratefully accepts. Anything to drown out those terrible sirens.

Take a deep breath and exhale for 5, 4, 3, 2, 1...

He hands her a papier mâché pomegranate from a wooden bowl, which she clutches as she closes her eyes and sinks to her knees.

Close your eyes and picture yourself in a meadow, on a beautiful May morning. The air is filled with the scent of wildflowers. All around you things are growing, blossoming, bursting with life. Feel the grass between your toes, the sunlight on your skin. Now, open your eyes and know that the sunlight is with you still. Even in the middle of the darkest night, it shines forth from within you, awakening life around you. As the world turns and season follows season, everything is unfolding exactly as it should. You have all the time in the world. All you need is here.

Slowly she opens her eyes and rises up from the floor. The pomegranate in her hand is real, fresh and juicy.

"Did I just...?"

The man claps his hands and has a broad smile on his face. "Yes, my love! You did!" He takes one side of the fruit, and together, they split the pomegranate in two.

"You're... you're my husband."

As she disappears into the cabinet, he smiles dreamily. "That's my wife," he says with affection.

Inside the cabinet, she moves backwards. Time rewinds, and she finds herself at a table, facing a pinboard of clues, speaking into a tape recorder.

"Meditation tape number... 572. Take a deep breath and exhale for 5, 4, 3, 2, 1..."

"Don't panic. Every time you panic, you lose yourself."

Frustrated, she shakes her head. "No, that's not right. You can't just tell someone not to panic. That'll make you panic."

"Take a deep breath, and exhale for 5, 4, 3, 2, 1. The mind is a maze, isn't it? The mind is a dark, mysterious maze of winding streets that are only seldomly lit by knowledge, and experience, but ultimately, memory. Memory lights our way through this dark maze.

And every time I come back, it's as if the power has gone out. As if I'm drowning in a sea of darkness. It's as if I am dead.

But every once in a while a glimmer of light shines from around the corner. An object, or a song, or a face... Your face. That feeling guides me the most.

I hate that it has to be like this, but show me the light and I will come back to you every time, my love, like a moth to the flame.

I can feel the seasons changing, and I know that I will leave you soon. I hope this tape can be a beacon for you, the way you are for me. Know that I will come back. I always do. Always."

She's not sure where to go next. She wanders back to where she started: Alighieri's department store. As she passes, her husband looks down at her from a balcony - she waves shyly, but hurries on.

Her next clue is the special permit border pass and the tiny pewter horse. She sees a sign - BORDER CROSSING AHEAD, HAVE PAPERS READY. So she crosses over.

She rummages around the border crossing station, finds other border passes like her own - or, the one addressed for Judith Kore. The one she has claimed as her own.

She wanders into some sort of store room, cold and deserted, full of massive wooden crates. In the corner is one covered in horseshoes. This must be the place.

On the floor of the crate is a horse, splayed out, motionless. She sits beside it for a while, looking for signs of life. Instead, she sees a coin resting on its head.

Harsh torchlight shines into the crate.

"You. Out. Papers?"

She slips the coin into her pocket as she marches out, not wanting to cause any trouble. She hands over the only papers she has.

He looks them over with suspicion. "You shouldn't be here. It's not safe. Go, now." The Watchman waves her away.

She heads back to the city - to Troy, judging by the poster plastered over a wall, reading TROY WELCOMES YOU. Troy doesn't feel that welcoming... it's dingy, a bit rough, with all the graffiti on the walls and the yellowing papers wheatpasted one over another. And in the corner of the square is a man, huddled up in his rags: by all appearances, a beggar.

But he looks... familiar. Yes! He was the first face she saw in this place! He takes her hand, spins her round, and... snatches the silver coin from out of her pocket.

"Hey!" She runs after him, chasing him to the doorway of a hotel - The Elysium. He holds out his two fists and nods for her to pick one. When she does, he opens his hand to reveal a key. Another link in this strange chain of events.

Then he stands stock-still, and points her into the hotel. "Rrrrrrring, rrrrriiing," imitating the sound of a telephone. She steps inside the cramped hotel reception area, and picks up the receiver.

She listens for a moment to the voice on the other side.

"Hello? ....I don't know. I can't remember."

"OK, fine. There was this big party, a chandeliers and caviar kind of thing. I felt... out of place. So I got a drink. A martini, I think. And there was this beautiful woman, covered in sequins, and she walks up to me and asks to read my palm."

"She traced her finger along the heart line, and said I was a hard girl to pin down. That I'd find love later down the line."

"Then she reads my head line, and she said I was... I dunno... Forgetful or something."

"And then she read my life line, and that's when things really got weird. She looked at me with her big smiling face, and she said, well the funny thing is, according to this, you're already..."

The line goes dead.

She goes back to her husband's office. He's not around, so she has a chance to search out clues.

She lays her border pass out on the table, and notices some stationery on the desk. His cards and letterheads all say HH, 9th C, 1st D, UW.

H, H? U, W?

She rifles through his papers, finding magazines, punchcards, music scores... Nothing helps.

She looks back to that haunting painting on the wall. Those lost souls, falling into darkness. 9th C, UW... 9th circle...?

The address on her pass matches. "Welcome home, he said... I am Judith Kore?"

Her husband walks in, and she hastily puts away what she's been searching through.

Judith scoots to the edge of the room and changes the music that's playing. She puts her arms around her husband's neck and sways gently. A solitary piano grows into a sultry tango.

And they dance.

Slowly, closely, until they find each other's rhythm. Then it grows. They are a whirlwind together, this tiny office cannot hold them.

They burst out of the door, and the city opens up before them. And though she's never done this before - or maybe she has - she feels like she's always known these steps. It's effortless.

She runs, she jumps, he catches her, they really must have been something, mustn't they? Back before she lost herself. They're so in tune.

Almost in tune. He's under her spell, so she can lead him back in the office, and he's so blinded by her that he doesn't notice her hand slip into the key case. Judith holds the bull key behind her back as he picks up a flower and presents it to her, like a shy little schoolboy.

She accepts it and smiles warmly.

"It's beautiful," she says with sincerity.

"It's fake..."

"I know." She gives him a kiss on the cheek, and turns to leave.

"Come back to me..." he says weakly.

"Sure, I will." She'll find her way back eventually.

But first... find the bull. She hears pounding music up above - something big is happening. She climbs up the stairs into the hotel, down the long, dim hallway, into a terrible scene.

She can see it through a large window, glowing red. A gruesome gang are holding a man down, looking up hungrily at a tall, thin woman in a fur coat. The woman bends down, screams, and claws at the poor man's face. She triumphantly holds up two bloodied eyeballs.

"Shit." Judith backs away, aghast at the horror. But there's the bull, or rather, a golden idol, a man with the head of a bull, with compartments in its chest. She unlocks one to find a tiny plant, inside a glass dome. Small enough to fit into her pocket. It must be another clue.

The blinded man gets dragged into the room by a stone-faced woman. He crawls along the ground, pitiful, sobbing, alone. Crying for help.

"Come here," she beckons. "I can help you. Follow the sound of my voice."

There is a bowl of water and a cloth already there, as if waiting for him. The bloodied weeping man scoots over to her and she wipes his eyes, his injuries seemed so serious but all it takes is a few passes of the rag, and he is restored.

She wanders the halls of the hotel, and there is a strange feeling around her, as if the entire city is moving at once. As if something is dawning.

The next door she opens takes her into a room with a greenhouse inside. I thought we were in a hotel? But anyway, a greenhouse is where plants belong, so she must be on the right track. She retrieves the little plant from her pocket.

As she pokes around in the greenhouse - a strange greenhouse, where there are no plants, only barren trays of soil! - the man in the yellow suit arrives.

"Oh, hello again!" It's good to see a familiar face.

But he cocks his head. "Again?"

He's probably trying to save her the embarassment of their prior encounter...

"Is this your greenhouse? Maybe you can help." She show him her little plant. He smiles, goes to the back of the greenhouse, unlocks a safe. A safe? What does he need to lock away...?

It's another plant. Bigger, stronger, but still a seedling, and clearly precious to him. He hands it to her with reverence, and moves out of the way, as if he knows what's about to happen.

Because when she takes the plant - when she runs her fingers through its soil - she feels a connection that she has never known in her life. Or maybe, has never known since she forgot everything about her life.

Judith feels the earth between her fingers and she knows what she was made for. This is the root of her power, here in the soil. She finds herself, in the roots and the stem and the leaves.

Energy travels through her, electrifying her from toes to spine, and she bends back, taking it in, absorbing it, letting it return to her. It's terrifying and thrilling and yet it feels right. It's overwhelming, but she knows she can handle it - it's part of her. It was just waiting to awaken.

The florist looks on in awe. "Your majesty, welcome home." He bows deeply.

Your... majesty...?

He presses a baggie into her hand. "New life for Troy," he says softly. The bag is full of tiny seeds.

She thanks him, promises she'll keep them safe, and continues on her journey. Somehow, this raised more questions than it answered. But she feels she's on the right path.

She sees the man in the ragged coat, who helped her once - maybe he will guide her again. He takes her by the hand and spins her around, then holds her against the wall. With a piece of chalk, he traces her outline. Draws a pomegranate in her hand, and a crown on her head.

After this, he leads her over to a chair, and pours her a cup of tea. Sure, tea would be nice. The radio is playing; a chipper announcer is speaking.

"Hey! Thanks for tuning in. We're asking for your best party stories, we'd love to hear yours!"

"Hello? ...I dunno... I can't remember..."

Wait.

"There was this beautiful woman, covered in sequins, and she walks up to me and asks to read my palm."

The potter stretches his hand out, asking for hers.

"She said I was... forgetful, or something..."

Judith smiles, rolls her eyes, OK, very funny. Great prank.

But the man continues, tracing his finger over her palm, and she continues hearing her own voice over the radio, "And that's when it got really weird."

"The funny thing is..."

Judith cuts in. "The funny thing is, according to this, you're already dead."

The beggar holds up a candle and looks around. As he brings the light higher, ghostly figures appear out of the darkness. One by one, their pallid, motionless faces emerge from the mist. Judith staggers back.

"It's OK," the man says softly. "They don't do anything. They just watch."

She steps forward and brings a hand up to one, gently touching its face. Have they been here all along?

She takes a step, they take a step. She walks away, but they follow her. She turns a tight corner and ducks into the back entrance of a bar. Still, they pour in after her.

She tucks herself into a corner, finding a stool, and beckons the barman for a drink.

"There's so many of them..." Ghosts fill the bar, cramming themselves in, their eyes fixed on her. "There's so many of them."

"Just the right amount, I think," the barman says, oblivious, admiring his array of bottles on the wall. He pours her a drink.

Judith examines their faces, looking back at her attentively. "Maybe they're just lost," she muses. "Wandering in the darkness."

"We're all a little lost," the bartender says agreeably.

"Cheers to that. The funny thing about darkness, you know... You need the darkness to see the light. From darkness comes light, from night comes morning, from winter comes spring, from death comes rebirth... hopefully." She downs another shot of sake. Zagreus takes the empty cup and spins it on the counter.

"Over and over and over again. Circles and cycles and circles and cycles... they keep going, on and on... but do they ever break?"

The barman shrugs. "Everything breaks eventually." The spinning cup comes to a stop.

"Hey, I remember you!"

He looks back blankly.

"I recognise you, I do. We crashed into each other, remember?"

The bartender looks puzzled. "We've only just met. I've never seen you before."

"C'mon, you must remember... Nevermind. Thanks for the drink."

Judith rushes off, out into the square - outside the entrance to Peep. Familiar music is playing.

"Hey, they just played that song an hour ago! Is it just me, or is everything repeating? Going in circles, round and round?"

"I can see you... and you can see me, right?" The shade nearest to her nods.

"Right, so if this is all happening again, that means he'll be there, in there, and he'll know what to do! He can explain everything! Let's go!"

She rushes into Peep, and sure enough, Kampe is dancing on the stage again.

"Give it up for Kampe! They really glisten when they move, don't they? That reminds me..."

The emcee drops their martini glass. Judith catches it, a smug smile on her face. She nods, assuredly, "And now he'll come in... He'll come in... Where is he...?"

"...We have a visitor. A friend? A presence. A gift!"

The Peep hosts look down at her. They hold their hands out to her and hoist her on stage. They each give her a kiss on the cheek.

"No, this isn't right... It's not supposed to be me..."

The band begins to play.

"I... guess I do know this one. I think I remember the words. I can try, anyway."

"Something about... if the sun should lose its light? And we're in endless night? And a veil lifting up to see a face?"

"And if the sea were sand alone, and the flowers made of stone... Flowers made of stone? And no one that you hurt could ever heal?"

Everyone forgetting. All the flowers fake. All the water dried up. Morning never comes.

"That's... That's what this is. That's where we are. That's what this is!"

The hosts pop up from the trap door. Just like before. "...they're behind me, aren't they? I'm sorry, I have to go..."

"Well, shoot a speeding arrow through my tiny, tiny heart..." But she's already rushing off, back home, back to Hades House, the office where she hopes she will find him.

And she narrowly avoids running into the barman, because she knows he will be passing through at that moment. She swings open the door, where her husband is preparing a game of checkers for them.

A game? When outside, people are risking their lives? In a war that may be artificial, but is so very real to them. She saw the fear on the barman's face.

So they sit down, Judith and her husband, inside Hades House, and prepare to play a game.

"You see them now, don't you?" he says.

She nods.

It's a simple game, checkers, draughts, whatever you like to call it. One move after another, wait for your opponent to give you an opening. Faster and faster they trade moves, until Judith is sick of it all - she throws her keys down on the board. Look what I've accomplished, no thanks to you.

War is screaming outside. She screams with it.

He shrivels, he falls to the floor. She rips open the curtains, forcing him to see the blood that has been split.

What is this horrific place? And how do we figure into it, you and I? We are both a part of it, and not a part of it. They all forget. They all can never heal. You and I persist. What is this?

It's a shock to his system - perhaps he didn't expect her to work it out so quickly. He's frozen, stiff, curling up into a little ball, such a tall proud man now vulnerable. She softens, goes to him, picks him up. She reminds him of their bond, tangoes him to the desk, and finds...

Their pomegranate.

The one that she created. The one she gave life to.

She stands tall over him, pushes him down onto the desk. She takes the juicy fruit and squeezes, drips it down into his mouth and onto his face, the ruby seeds sparkling in the light, feeds him this product of her power until he believes again, until he begs for mercy.

Her demands are simple: "Show me."

"I'll show you," he replies, "I'll show you everything."

They pass through the rubble of the invaded city. A princess laid out, shroud over her head. A Watchman, picking up the pieces. Judith's husband hands her a lantern, and she lights her way.

A domestic worker freezes, caught in the light. Everyone here prefers darkness.

One of the arcade cabinets is full of black sand, with tiny figures inside - figures of her and her husband.

Hades hands her the final key. He points to the stage door.

She chooses a few shades to be her companions. Ones that have been with her on this journey all along, ones that have been paying attention. Ones who will see it through until the end.

They go up the steps, together. They look out onto the city, together.

Judith goes out onto the balcony.

"Is our city not fair and vast? It shines for you, all for you, dear Judith."

"Fair and vast is your city." "Yours, Judith. Yours forever. Here, multitudes reside. They'll be your companions forevermore."

"Fair and vast is your city..."

"Here is a handmaiden, loyal to us both." A young woman in red, barely more than a girl, looks up. "Here, a vial to catch tears of sorrow, tears of joy, dropped from the eyes of time's fleeting shadows."

"The streets of your city are marked with blood. Blood runs down the walls, blood stains the paving stones. The clouds above throw bloody shadows. Who has bled for the sake of your city?"

"See, but ask me nothing. Look, but ask no questions."

"I only remember one thing: I came here because I love you. But I will not have a single door held shut against me."

"Take care Judith, you're ahead of yourself. Why hurry? We have all the time in the world."

"Not a single door held shut against me. I demand it."

"I will show you everything. All in good time."

"All in good time… In a world where time seems to stand still..."

She turns to look behind her. "I was lost when I arrived, just like you. Lost in the labyrinth of these streets. But hedged by gloom, a garden. Our garden. Filled with lifeless flowers. A fallen horse gave me solace and made me rich. Rich with abundance, rich in brain and body. I am the sunlight. So many of you, wandering in the darkness. In a world filled with cruelty, torture and war, I heard your city sighing. I heard your kingdom crying."

"...city sighing, I heard your kingdom crying."

City sighing, your kingdom crying. City sighing, your kingdom crying.

There is a crack in the record. It begins to skip. She wasn't speaking, it was only a recording.

Now... The recording is over. She walks her own path.

There is a display case in this room. It holds a record player needle.

She opens a door and finds an ancient Greek pot in another display case. On one side, a scene of violence she has seen play out in this city. On the other side, a key.

Another dark room, another case of pottery. But there is much more ground that needs to be covered, and not much time.

"Run!" she calls to her ghostly followers. Down the halls, through the strange museum, until she finds a locked door, and a daffodil laid in front of it.

This must be the place.

The last door. The last key. She steps inside, and feels sand under her feet. She walks slowly, the lantern lighting her way. She picks up a stick of chalk.

Nothing but darkness ahead.

"It's the strangest feeling... I can feel it all coming back."

A straight path. One foot in front of the other. Don't panic.

"If the sun should lose its light, and we lived in an endless night..."

She begins to draw on the wall of the long corridor, organising her thoughts.

"and there was nothing left that you could feel... If the sea were sand alone" -- she draws the waves on the wall. Not a drop of water in this place, only sand. "And all the flowers made of stone..."

"And no one that you hurt could ever heal..." She draws an infinity symbol on the wall, tracing it over and over until something breaks in her.

MEM

BER

"I remember..."

She walks on, past more walls with more chalk scribblings, and more, and more, flowers and waves and infinities and labyrinths and I REMEMBER over and over and over and over and over, layered one over top of another.

Proof of the years gone by, proof of the seasonal cycle, proof that she always, always comes back, and she always remembers, and she's always been capable, and she's always been able to find herself again. The power was within her all along.

"My name is Judith Kore, better known as Persephone," she says, to herself and to her lost souls. "Queen of the Underworld. Child of Earth and Starry Skies. My people are heavenly, and yours are too. I grant you safe passage into the land of the shades."

She emerges, with her shades, through a curtain into a sharp dagger of light in the middle of No Man's Land, Mycenae. Iphigenia-turned-Hecate delivers to her the last tears of Patroclus before she murders him. Agamemnon ascends the stairs triumphantly to his doom. Persephone sees it all laid out before her in perfect order, ticking along exactly as it should, as it always has since time immemorial.

She heads back towards Troy - She must find her husband, Hades, and take her place on the throne alongside him. He tried to hide this from her because she had to find it herself. Would she really have believed him if he had told her from the start?

On her way to the border, she crosses paths with the Watchman. He has a talent for making things grow - he holds the last vestiges of new life in this country - she knows this. So she entrusts him with the seeds that Askalaphos gave her.

Something is brewing when she arrives in Troy Square - Hades is setting up a new cycle to begin. Or end. What's the difference, really?

They embrace. He knows that she knows. He points her to the office. One last secret?

She trusts him.

Persephone enters, puts the headphones on, and hears her own voice. She has been guiding herself all along.

"Get up," the voice tells her. "Stand up." More insistently: "Up. Higher. Higher..."

So she climbs up onto the desk.

"Now. Take a deep breath. And look around. This is where you need to be. Where you belong. There is power within you, feel it awakening deep inside you. Growing, flowing, and blossoming in spectacular profusion. You are the sunlight. This world is beautiful. This city is yours. From the highest heights, down to the darkest depths. Yours. All yours."

"When you are ready to go deeper, deeper, deeper, deeper..."

The darkest depths...

A floorboard is loose. She bends down and lifts it up, revealing a cellar, with dozens of vials of tears, exactly like the one she has around her neck.

"The history of the world in teardrops, Judith. Tears of sorrow, tears of joy... Mortal emotions, immortalised. Preserved. For us. Forever."

They kiss, finally reunited, finally themselves. She hugs him close.

"Thank you for coming back to me," he says quietly.

"Always. Always."

She goes to the record player, and lifts the needle.

"I love you..." "I love you too. Are you ready?"

Hand in hand, they emerge from the office. There are a few final orders of business.

He presents Hecuba with her coat; she wipes off her blood-stained hands.

At the end of everything in Mycenae, she finds the last soldier standing, the whole remains of the Greek army. She wipes the sweat from his brow, and points his way to join the rest of the lost souls.

The last of the music starts to fade. She throws down the rag with the sound of a gong.

There they are, the fall of the damned, rolling down the grand staircase to greet her. They are naked, broken, identities fading away, becoming one mass of the Dead, her faceless nameless subjects. She continues upwards, head held high, exuding power. She knows herself now, she is a goddess of two sides: life, yes, plants, yes, but death too. She knows both sides of the cycle. She too has died and been reborn, every six months she resets back to the start, and comes back stronger for it.

So she ascends, to meet her husband Hades, ruler of this underworld, harshly lit on that long, cold stone table.

Hades & Persephone find their spot to watch the proceedings, the last gasp of this world as it dissolves into nothing. The souls race around, Clytemnestra reaches out, desperate for any connection, but she cannot reach them.

What a beautiful piece of theatre he has built for her. She looks out with him, and points, cueing the dust to fall.

They break open a new pomegranate, each bringing a seed to their mouth. They kiss, and the lights fade.

What a beautiful record. Rips your heart out every time.

With thanks to everyone who worked on this show to make it as magical as it was.

#the burnt city #the burnt city spoilers #punchdrunk #persephone #hades #immersive theatre #writeup #tbc oc

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rissarants · 4 months

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Farewell, My Favorite Fever Dream

Note: If you're only interested in my final show's recap, scroll down a bit. Obviously, spoiler warning. My Previous History with Sleep No More Before this past Saturday afternoon, it had been about a decade since I last checked into The McKittrick Hotel. What I thought would be my final visit was in October of 2013, my best friend and I attended another Sleep No More show that was promptly followed by Panic! At The Disco's album release party. It was an incredible evening, despite the "give me a vodka cranberry, this time with vodka" incident that resulted in a bartender gleefully sending me into a drunken spiral. It was my fourth show and I assumed it would be my last. After all, how many times could a person justify seeing the same show? (After perusing the Sleep No More subreddit and discord... apparently a lot. How the hell are you all affording this?!)

Content with my experiences and convinced I had seen all there was to see, I put that obsession behind me.... or so I thought.

The mysterious and cryptic world of Sleep No More lingered in the back of my head like a haunting melody that refused to fade. Occasionally I would reminisce about the blue-tinged forest maze, the smell of the hotel lobby, and recall my 1:1 with Hecate. I relished retelling my experiences to people who had never been to the show. During the peak of my obsession, I had recapped a couple of my visits here on Tumblr (Sleep No More and The Third Time's The Charm) and I would return long after this blog had grown dormant just to reread those posts. I had toyed with the idea of returning, but as I grew older and life became more expensive, so did the show. I couldn't justify dropping that amount of money on something I had seen four times already. Then came the closing announcement. Suddenly I found myself pulling up the site, going over current ticket prices, and wishing I could take that leap. But I was no longer the financially irresponsible 20-something without real responsibility. I'm in my thirties, a mother, and have things like preschool tuition to worry about.

After a casual conversation with my in-laws over Thanksgiving dinner, the topic of Sleep No More was brought up. Immediately I was gushing about how much I adored the show, my past experiences, and how I had never reached that elusive 6th floor. As a result, they ended up buying me two tickets as my gift for Christmas. They had sprung for the Oz's Guest tickets, so we were able to get priority entry, a table, and a complimentary coat check. It was an incredibly generous gift, and I was nearly moved to tears. I was finally going back. My Final Show Recap After an excruciating month of waiting and obsessing, the day had finally arrived. I was going with my husband who had never attended but heard my stories and was looking forward to seeing it for himself. I wanted him to go in mostly blind and only gave him the most basic of tips (e.g. if an actor offers their hand, take it. If you hear techno music, run towards it.) He understood that we would not be going on this adventure together, I refused to be one of those obnoxious couples who held hands the entire time. Half of the fun is going with someone, separating from them once you enter the hotel, and then talking about what you both experienced afterward. For myself, I had done a bit of research before this final show and was hoping to follow the loops of characters I hadn't paid attention to before. While I had this initial plan, I also promised myself that I would go with the natural flow of things. I had been warned about the aggressive crowds and didn't want to let anything like that spoil my final visit. We arrived early, were checked in swiftly, and given a pair of playing cards (aces, which meant we would be in the first group.) Before I knew it, "The Man Who Knew Too Much Prelude" was filling my ears as we navigated the pitch-black maze that acts like a portal to the Manderley bar. We had a table waiting for us, but since we had aces there was not enough time for a drink. Our group was called, and Steve and I were separated almost immediately. I ended up on the elevator and he was in another group that went up some stairs.

I was the first person off of the elevator and the doors shut quickly behind me. For a split second, I thought I may have been dumped out on the 6th floor, but unfortunately, it was the 5th floor. I spotted the familiar bathtubs and beds of the King James Sanitorium and began to wander. I weaved through the Birch Forest maze, which was every bit as eerie and confusing as I remembered. I saw Matron Lang hanging out in her wooden hut and watched her through the window for what felt like a long time. Eventually, I grew a bit bored and wandered down to Macbeth's bedroom.

I watched the scene where Lady Macbeth eventually convinces her husband to murder Duncan. It was at this point that I considered trying to follow Macbeth throughout the first loop and chased him to the canopy where a sleeping Duncan lay. I watched as Macbeth smothered him with a pillow, a long brutal scene where we had to stand there helplessly as Duncan fought back angrily, eventually weakening and giving up with a final twitch. Macbeth tried to wash his hands in a basin, only to realize that they were now covered in blood. I still can't believe that I somehow missed this pivotal moment in my previous shows. At this point, a sizeable crowd had gathered around the (quite handsome) actor who played Macbeth and I noticed a few aggressive women were shoving their way to the front. It was then that I decided to hang back with Duncan's dead body to see what would happen next. I believe it was Banquo who came in, found the body, and began ringing the bell. Malcolm and Macduff arrived, and they all expressed their grief, eventually bringing the body down to the crypt. Again, a pushy crowd had begun to gather and I craved space. I went up a flight or two and heard the unmistakable techno beats of the witches' second prophecy/rave/blood orgy thing. I immediately changed course and followed the beats to the long, dark, hallway topped with a neon sign that once read "Hello There" but now simply stated "Hell here." The rave scene is still as impactful as it was the first time I had seen it... complete sensory overload. I ended up in a spot where I was front and center, watching as Hecate whipped the other witches up into a frenzy. The beat dropped and the strobe lights kicked in, causing the scene to be presented in short flashes. The Boy Witch completely nude, on top of a table wearing an animal's head. Macbeth presented with a bloody infant. The guttural screams of the witches' power.

I stayed after the rave to witness the Sexy Witch do her exhausted, eerie dance behind the bar as Hecate watched. Afterward, Hecate and Agnes had a tense moment where the former gathered the latter's tears in a little glass vial.

It was at this point that I decided to follow Agnes back to her apartment, the Tailor made his creepy appearance through her closet, and the loop restarted. I tried sticking with Agnes for as long as I could, getting to see her dance with the Tailor, steal his money, and eventually make her way to the hotel lobby.

It was there that I was reunited with an old character I remembered fondly: the Porter. While I did not have a true 1:1 with him in my previous shows, he did give me the note that eventually led to my cherished Hecate 1:1. That was then followed by a frantic, yet fruitless attempt at finding her ring.

This time I hung back and observed as the Porter had his tea scene with Agnes, followed by a drunken dance as he cleaned up the hotel. I have to say that this actor was incredibly good, mixing a bit of rage, sadness, and silliness as he leaped around the room pulling sheets from lamps. After the Boy Witch arrived to taunt and then cruelly reject the Porter, one of the other white masks (audience members) was whisked away into the Porter's office for a 1:1. At this point, I admit that I was feeling a little confused about what to do next. I was approximately halfway through this final show and had an anxious feeling about wasting the precious moments I had left. I recalled reading how you could gain access to the 6th floor 1:1 by encountering a nurse on the 5th floor. I decided to check it out quickly, hoping that I would get lucky.

Instead, I ran into Nurse Shaw, who was doing an odd dance in the window between the bathtubs and the forest. I followed her through the woods and ran into Matron Lang who seemed transfixed by the Nurse. They both seemed to mirror each other's movements and the Matron started moving through the maze in an attempt to catch up to the Nurse. She was unsuccessful as the Nurse disappeared back through her window, and I decided to follow a slightly dejected Matron Lang back to her hut. She walked up the steps to the wooden hut and turned around, staring right into my eyes. It was at this moment that she extended her hand. I suddenly felt breathless as the sensation of butterflies tinged with fear filled my chest. Tears welled up in my eyes as I realized I would be experiencing a 1:1 at my final show. I slowly took her hand, and she pulled me up into the hut.

My 1:1 with Matron Lang She was silent as she shut the door behind me, followed by the window, and then turned to face me. She slowly removed my mask, all the while never breaking eye contact, and whispered something along the lines of "That's better." I tried to say thank you, but the words caught in my dry mouth, my tongue suddenly feeling foreign and useless.

She offered me a seat, went to her desk, and prepared a cup of tea. As she did so, she locked eyes with me in a small mirror. She was not smiling. I wanted to look away, but it was so unnerving that I felt like I had to hold her gaze in fear of seeming rude.

She handed me the cup of tea with a spoon and leaned forward expectantly. I didn't know what she wanted, so after a couple of awkward beats, she gently grabbed my hand to guide the spoon into the tea and then into her mouth. I fed her the tea about three times, slowly and trying not to let my shaking hand spill any liquid onto her face.

The entire time she stared at me. I'm sure she blinked at some points, but I swear it felt like her piercing eyes never moved.

After the tea, she quietly told me a story about a young child who was all alone. "Once upon a time there was a poor child with no mother and no father. Everything was dead, and there was nobody left in the whole world. Everything was dead. The boy went on search day and night and since there was no one left on earth he wanted to go up into the heavens. The moon looked at him so friendly! But when he finally got to the moon, the moon was a piece of rotten wood. And then he went to the sun, and when he got there, the sun was a wilted sunflower. And when he went to the stars they were little golden flies stuck up there like the shrike sticks them on the blackthorn. And when he wanted to go back to earth, the earth was an overturned piss pot. And he was all alone. And he sat down and he cried, and he is still there to this day, all alone." (Apparently, this is from Büchner’s Woyzeck. I had to look it up when I got home.)

As she whispered this story, her eyes began to fill with tears, prompting mine to do the same. She held my palm, tracing the lines and occasionally squeezing my hand. She then leaned far back in her chair, pulling my hand with her so I had to lean forward. Without warning, she flung forward, grabbed my shoulders as I gasped, and whispered "It'll have blood they say, blood will have blood." She got up, put my mask on, and showed me the door. As I left, she shut the door behind her, and I was back in the woods with other white masks who were staring at me intently. I walked past them as I tried to regulate my breathing and figure out what to do next. After that adrenaline rush, the rest of the night was a bit of a blur. I bounced between characters as the crowds grew larger and more unruly. I saw the angry Taxidermist searching for something, finally caught the ballroom party, and helped another white mask catch pregnant Lady Macduff when she passed out. I saw the Bald Witch's transformation, the rave one final time, and then followed the Sexy Witch to the apothecary.

She knelt down, dress still hanging off of her with her chest exposed. She washed the blood off of her skin and hair in a small bowl, then stood and handed me a towel. I helped towel her off slowly, she then fixed her dress and grabbed me close to whisper "Blood will have blood" in my ear.

I followed her out to the last banquet and had a front-row spot for the finale. I'll never be able to properly describe how that scene makes me feel. The slow-motion acting, the allusion to 'The Last Supper", Macbeth's frantic "NO", followed by the snap of the noose. Absolutely chilling.

The wood groaned under the weight of the swinging body, with the creaking eventually drowned out by "A Nightingale Sang in Berkeley Square" by Glenn Miller. We were all herded out of the hotel in a haze, greeted by a loud jazz band playing old-timey renditions of current popular songs. It's a jarring switch of moods, which only seemed to exacerbate my post-show disorientation.

The 6th floor still eludes me.

Is that all there is?

#sleep no more #the mckittrick hotel #punchdrunk #sleep no more nyc #immersive theatre #macbeth

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theworstofallpossibleworlds · 3 months

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The Worst of All Possible Worlds #123: Sleep No More

Dara Swisher (Here I Am) and the lads grab their masks and book a stay at the McKittrick Hotel as they dive into the deep secrets and complicated legacy of the industry-defining immersive theater piece: Punchdrunk’s Sleep No More. Topics include the history of immersive theater, the seductive appeal of tracksuits, and the eternal battle between the production of theater and the monolith of real estate.

#sleep no more #sleep no more nyc #punchdrunk #immersive theatre #plays #dance #twoapw #podcasts #i'm cool voltaire #Spotify

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myburntwritings · 7 months

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Mycenae

#the burnt city #punchdrunk #immersive theatre #greek mythology #greek myth retelling #tbc #greek myth #set #set design #Mycenae

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infinitelytheheartexpands · 2 months

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she’s back in the rehearsal room!!! it was her first day of rehearsals today!!! and it was really fuckin cold!!! but great times were had anyway!!!

#also i got brownies out of it so no matter what. a win. :)#acting #theatre #theater #children’s theatre #immersive theatre #first day of rehearsals #will keep y’all posted <3

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bargarraninc · 4 months

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the child of a traitorous thane; musings on sleep no more's porter

SON He has killed me, mother. Run away, I pray you! [Dies.]

— Macbeth, Act IV. 2

There is a certain beauty to the Porter's character in Sleep No More — for he exists only in the transitional space of the Lobby, a minion of Hecate meant to set up the important scenes through which the looping tragedy of Macbeth will continue to flow. Without him, Banquo is not given the letter holding his prophecy, Malcolm never learns of the falcon shot down, the prophecy cannot take place.

The Porter is loop-aware — there is a consistent deterioration in the character as the show goes on, everything becoming harder and harder for him to deal with. Throughout setting up the scene for the next magical cycle, he is well aware what his actions lead to. It is why he tries to stall Agnes from going upstairs, to where he knows she will be put through the harrowing ordeal of tear collection by Hecate. He tries to keep her safe, failing each time.

Another party that he desperately (moreso than with Agnes) tries to keep safe is Lady Macduff, the innocent murdered for sins not hers in any manner. This is the most intrusive we see the Porter — as he tries to bat off Danvers and her poisonous milk, milk he knows will render Lady Macduff incredibly vulnerable and thus easier to kill.

In Shakespeare's Macbeth, the chief character who attempts a similar, desperate protection of the Lady and who too fails is the Lady's young son. Stabbed to death by the Murderers, her son cries to his mother — begging for her to run away, abandoning him in his last minutes as to save herself from a similar fate. Reversing the traditional parent-to-child protection, the kind we see with Banquo and Fleance when they are attacked, here, the child must be the protector.

Every loop, our Porter fights off Danvers and loses, watching Lady Macduff grow weaker in the aftermath of drinking the accursed milk. He then hears her death, tortured by its violent sounds as he hides in the lost luggage space, desperately trying to distract himself. Then, everything resets again, actions supplemented by his own hands and he continues to live this harrowing loop again and again and again. Why?

In my eyes, our Porter is not only Hecate's lost child in the forest but also the lost son of the Macduff's. The child doomed to protect his mother. After all, Fife is a wooded area.

The Porter is actively putting himself through the loops, losing himself to the inertia of Hecate's endless time magic, out of a deep, child-like hope that this time, he will be able to set things aright. Maybe, it will be this loop, just one more each time, that he will be able to protect his mother from the brutal fate she suffers. Just one more try. Hope keeps him centred as he hands away the note for Lady Macbeth to Danvers, moping in the phonebooth, knowing it will restart his suffering.

There is more substance in the performance to support the Macduff Child theory —

When Lady Macduff is murdered, something he is intimately aware of and scared by, the Porter hides himself into the Lost Luggage. He leans into childish methods of comfort, making paper boats and busying themselves playing with it, even if the boat is made of a tearful letter to his tormentor that he knows will be ignored. Some Porters even tear up at the noises, cowering closer to the counter.

The Porter only emerges from Lost Luggage when not only the murderer Macbeth but Macduff too is gone. In Macbeth, the only conversation we see between Lady Macduff and her son concerns her worriation that her husband is a traitor — abandoning her and her children in a place which he himself finds too dangerous to stay in. There is little affection lost for Macduff on the end of the Porter. He waits for him to be gone, only willing to put himself through the torment if it is to comfort his mother, to give her her coat. His traitorous father, gone again to protect the son of another.

Lady Macduff's messes are cleaned up with a gentleness the Porter shows little of to the other residents (bar Boy who he is in love with) who pass like storms through the Lobby. As he collects her strewn clothes, the Porter dons them with a childish glee, resembling more than ever a child rifling through their mother's cupboard, finding something that makes them feel beautiful. The clothes are collected carefully and packed away, her coat is kept safely hooked. Her presence in the lobby, even through just her abandoned possessions, is looked after gently.

You can never know the true story behind the residents of The McKittrick — for those are secrets they keep close to their hearts, lost in their chosen silence. But, this personal retelling of the Porter's story as I understood it is one I can share easily and so I do. My poor Porter, my poor poor Porter.

#immersive theatre #sleep no more #sleep no more nyc #punchdrunk #sleepnomorenyc #the mckittrick hotel #musings about the mckittrick #the porter

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sophieakatz · 6 months

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Thursday Thoughts: Playing the Best Version of Myself

I’m not intending to permanently turn this blog series into a “Sophie listens to podcasts and talks about the Starcruiser” thing, but… this week I found myself once again listening to a podcast episode about Star Wars: Galactic Starcruiser. It was The No Proscenium Podcast this time, and the episode was titled “Last Call at the Sublight Lounge.” One of the panelists, Kathryn, said the following about Halcyon passengers:

“I believe that a lot of the people on the ship were roleplaying that idealized version of themselves… Maybe you’re braver, bolder, more confident, more willing to stand up for what you believe in. Maybe it’s a version of yourself that you want to wish into being, but you’ve never had a chance to articulate it before.”

Funnily enough, this wasn’t the first time I’ve heard someone express this idea about the Starcruiser. On the final night of the show, I met up with a bunch of the performers after closing time. Emotions were running high, understandably, but a lot of those emotions were positive. There was so much love and gratitude in that space – for each other, and for what we had created and accomplished. Everyone kept talking about how much we’d grown because of the Starcruiser. Late in the evening, one of the performers attributed that growth to how we’d created a space where everyone who participated, everyone who came to play, could come be “the best version of yourself” – and playing as the best version of yourself changes you forever.

It gave me pause, when that performer said it, and I’m thinking about it further after hearing Kathryn bring it up again – because when I entered the Starcruiser as a guest, I didn’t think I was playing the best or idealized version of myself. I fully intended to not be myself. Sophie Katz knew too much about the Halcyon and its characters. I spent six months running around that ship, making sure that everyone else knew everything they needed to know about where to be, why they were there, and what to do while they were there. The beats of the whole two-day show are imprinted on my brain. So I thought that in order to have fun, and to avoid ruining anyone else’s fun with metagaming, I had to separate my guest-self from my writer-self.

Shira Alderaani Khesed was a character I made up almost two years ago. I wrote a poem about the destruction of Alderaan in Star Wars, and afterwards I fleshed out the character behind that first-person perspective. She was a woman without a homeworld, the daughter of Alderaanians who just happened to be off planet on their honeymoon when the Empire destroyed their lives. And as far as I could tell before my voyage, playing Shira would be about as far from acting as my real self as I could get without outright sacrificing my morals. Shira was a mechanic; she’d never had the good fortune to be able to pursue art as a career. She was cynical and cowardly, weighed down by the trauma she’d inherited and unable to imagine a better future – in direct contrast to my real-world optimism. She didn’t have a family or community to support her; her late parents kept her intentionally ignorant of her culture, believing that would protect her from her people’s genocide – unlike my real-life parents, wonderful and alive, who raised me to take pride in my culture. I wouldn’t have called Shira my ideal self; I certainly wouldn’t wish to be her or live her life!

I thought I’d successfully separated my real self from my Starcruiser-self.

But the performers on my voyage were quick to prove me wrong.

I mentioned last week that some of the performers dropped hints that they knew me. Gaya said I looked familiar. Raithe said he knew I understood what was going on better than anyone. Lenka outright added a bit to my backstory, saying she remembered how I helped repair the ship before this voyage.

There’s another example of this that I should mention now.

Captain Keevan’s path did not cross much with mine, but at one point late on the first day, I was standing with a friend in the lower concourse when the captain came out of the dining room. She approached us and asked how we were doing, mentioning she’d heard that I’d had some issues with Sammie the mechanic. I responded in character, explaining that Sammie had asked me to do something that I wasn’t comfortable with (lying to First Order Stormtroopers, which from Shira’s cautious-and-cynical point of view was a good way to get killed).

The captain told me that I shouldn’t have to do anything that made me feel uncomfortable or unsafe. Half joking, I looked at my friend and said, “Does that mean telling my friends to not sing anti-First Order fight songs?” (Which, yes, is another thing that happened. Video evidence here. Sophie loved that scene; Shira did not.)

“Well,” said Captain Keevan, “something like that could be a useful distraction, at times. I find that some people work well on the front lines, and their actions make it possible for others to do the important work they need to do in the background.”

“I do well in the background,” I said.

And she smiled and replied, “And I know you’re good at keeping things on schedule.”

As she walked away, I realized something about Shira. I’d thought that by making her a mechanic, I was making her unlike me. I’m not a hands-on hard-science building-things sort of person. I’d even been a bit nervous that someone might ask me something technical that I wouldn’t be able to answer.

But as Lenka had pointed out, as a mechanic, Shira was someone who had helped prepare the ship for this voyage. And as Captain Keevan had pointed out, Shira was someone who worked well in the background, supporting the people who were visible on the front lines.

In other words, Shira was the me I aspire to be, as a professional creative writer – not the person in the spotlight, but the person who makes it possible for other people to do well in the spotlight. The person who builds the world, who takes care of the details in the background, and who, if I’m doing my job right, goes unnoticed. You don’t notice a mechanic unless something breaks; when things go smoothly, you praise the captain. Similarly, you don’t notice a writer unless the dialogue is bad; when shows make you laugh and cry, you praise the actors and directors. That’s how it is. That’s the space I work well in and take pride in. Sure, I want people to know what I can do, and I want to get credit when I do a good job – so that I can continue to do this work that I love and make a living with it. I don’t dream about being a big flashy hero with crowds chanting my name. I want to be quietly essential.

I realized that Shira had an opportunity here – to learn to be that quiet, essential background player.

And as the show progressed, moments kept coming up that developed her story in that direction. When Lt. Croy ordered that a restraining bolt be put on beloved droid SK-620, Shira whispered to Sammie that he needed to go through it, despite the boos of the crowd, to keep the ship safe. The next day, Shira helped lure Lt. Croy and the stormtroopers downstairs to give Lenka and Saja Fen a chance to rescue SK. During the heist, Shira didn’t get one of the many “noisy distraction” jobs; instead, Raithe secretly passed Shira the gem, and she stood far away from the action, quietly keeping it safe while Captain Keevan ordered Raithe to turn out his pockets. Moment by moment, act by act, decision by decision, Shira was learning how much of an impact she could have on the galaxy from the background, even if – perhaps even because – most people didn’t know she was there doing the work that needed to be done.

Everything culminated in a scene that caught me off guard just as much in reality as in character. Shira wound up in the middle of the atrium, with a whole crowd of people’s eyes on her, telling Lt. Croy a series of objectively terrible lies.

It would be impossible for me to exaggerate how uncomfortable I am with improv. I’m fine with public speaking – I’m honestly pretty good at it – but I always prepare a lot in advance. If you’ve ever heard me say something cool, it’s because I spent at least ten minutes beforehand planning it out. I did not plan for this moment. And so, in that moment, even though I objectively knew that no real-world harm would come to me, my fear and Shira’s were one and the same. All I wanted to do was run away.

But I didn’t run away. I kept talking – babbling, really – because I had to keep Croy’s attention on me, so he wouldn’t turn around and see Raithe sneaking up to the mezzanine to steal the coaxium. Because that’s what Shira would have done, after everything she’d been through on that ship. She would play her part. She would make it possible for other people to do the more obviously important and visible job. And, as soon as the job was done and it was safe to do so, she would run away… straight towards Raithe, who promptly handed her the suitcase of coaxium. He knew he could trust her with it.

And me? I want to be trusted. I want to be someone that people can rely on. I may not literally want to be Shira Alderaani Khesed, but I want to have the kind of impact she had on the story unfolding around her, just by being me, hard at work in the background. Building worlds, preparing experiences, and keeping everyone around me on schedule. Relied on and appreciated by the people who matter most. Quietly essential to a life-changing experience, and given the chance to be so again, and again, and again. That’s the best version of me.

You wanna know the best part? Those two days I spent as Shira was not the only chance I had to be that best version of me. I now understand that the role that Shira played on the Halcyon was the role I played with Star Wars: Galactic Starcruiser. I see it now more clearly than ever before. We don’t often get the chance to see ourselves so clearly, and I am so grateful to this cast for helping me see. They gave me such a gift. They gave everyone who set foot on that ship the gift of getting to be – and to learn that we are – our best selves.

I know what I can do for others – for a creative team, for an audience, for the world. I want nothing more than to do it again, and again, and again.

Let’s do it again, together.

#thursday thoughts #writer #writblr #star wars galactic starcruiser #starcruiser #halcyon legacy #galactic starcruiser #immersive theatre #themed entertainment #writing #larp #roleplay #immersion #immersive experience #star wars #no proscenium

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