showmaster | SHOWMASTER HEART GAME (FRIDAY)

SHOWMASTER HEART GAME (FRIDAY)

A familiar voice can be heard above you, you're not sure if they're talking to you or not but it does feel like you're part of this conversation:

"What a Wonderful Story that you have. I've read it many times when I was feeling sad. You know, I wanted to keep it in my personal collection, but it doesn't seem that's going to be possible. To grant my wish, I'd have to sacrifice what it means to be a reader ... to become the story. That's The End that I'm looking for.

...

...

...

...

..."

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[The shadows seem to disappear as if allowing him to tell his story.]

[he still has the lighter in his hand, though it’s out; he runs his thumb over it, looking out at where an audience should be]

My story isn’t gentle. Then again, stories large enough to move a world rarely are.

You ended up putting me between two worlds, you see. In both, people are people, but the world is full of power, and enough power in one place can have a mind of its own. In both, that power seeks out people and makes them more than they are, but it burns a great deal of what used to be there, in the process. It makes them immortal. It costs them enormously, and many of them wish to be free of the burdens it brings.

[is anything happening or is he just literally monologuing to the room]

[There is someone in the audience watching.]

[he offers her a small, formal bow, when he notices her]

In both worlds, in foolishness and desperation, a girl called people out of stories. She warped the fates and narratives they were struggling in, to tie them into her own.

But in one of them, the one that came before this one…that had a power of its own that was unexpected. Because when you rip someone out of their story like that…you make it clear, and obvious, that things can change. That they do not have to remain as they are, even if you thought they did while within their bounds. That even in places with seemingly no hope, barren and scorched and riven with strife, green may come on the wind from faraway lands, and endless wars may be laid to rest.

When stories are told, they bring excitement, and comfort, and joy. When stories are afforded the opportunity to change and grow—and when doors open between them—it makes miracles.

You would be a good Storyteller.

[Smiles.]

Perhaps, lady. But I wouldn’t aspire to be more than an ordinary one.

But, that’s the story I’d offer you to replace the Legends. One of opening doors, and keeping them open to new possibilities.

I feel like I've opened millions of doors at this point and every one seems to be empty.

[She slowly gets up, obviously tired, but she walks up to the stage.]

And the only one that I'm still hung up on is the one that I can't ever seem to achieve. Mister Charon, please choose me as the narrator if you do not mind.

I will choose myself as the narrator before I place that mantle on your shoulders.

[that is not him making a choice; it’s just a flat statement of fact]

Truly the insufferable sort. I'm not one to give my secrets up willingly though. This could be your chance to force it out of me.

Edited 2026-01-18 19:44 (UTC)

And how would I do that? By agreeing to your desires in exchange?

If I am chosen to be the narrator of my story, I will have to tell it. That's part of the rules here. It is no cost to you.

But then you would have already achieved your goal, and therefore that avenue is not of use.

. . . if it was that easy to achieve my goal, I would have done it by now, I'm sure. But every attempt fails.

My goal isn't just to tell stories.

Your brother’s rescue, isn’t it? Or something more…?

That is only part of it.

If you would have a hope of my choosing you, I would hear it.

...you want me to say it out loud on my own?

You have said you are bad at revealing yourself. At asking for help.

But you also said you would try.

Truly insufferable.

[how could he do this to good showmasters.]

...I do not wish others to stop me.

I am sorry. If I thought it would truly be worthwhile to let you continue the loop, I would.

But it only brutalizes all involved, including you. Are you not weary? Is it not time for a change?

...I am weary.

And I keep forgetting more and more. Every so often, I can regain what memories I've lost but...

I don't even remember his face these days.

But he’s still alive. He could come back, given the means You could see him again.

You don’t need the stage, for that.

The stage is one way to be remembered. If I can create enough stories, good or bad...

That is what we call the sunk cost fallacy.

Have pity. You know that stories are not just stories. Your work is the interruption of lives and lifetimes. I am not even asking you to lay down your cause—-just to let us help you look for other roads.

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