Chapter Text
September 13, 2009--Uranium CIty, Saskatchewan
Ocean O’Connell Rosenberg. The whole city—no matter that it’s quite small—knows her. As the self-proclaimed lead of the St. Cassian Chamber Choir, she has respect. Fame, or infamy, as some would call it.
She’s known publicly for her part in the choir, but everyone who’s met her recognizes her not as Ocean, or Ms. Rosenberg—rather, “God, that narcissist?” “The crazy ginger,” or “Bitchy class president.” She dismisses it all as jealous wanna-bes, angry that they aren’t like her.
After all, she is the most successful girl in town.
She wakes up feeling refreshed, a few minutes before her alarm. Tomorrow, they will be performing at the Uranium City amusement park. Excitement blooms inside of her at the thought, her fingers tightening around the blanket with glee. Her time to shine! And the others too. Of course.
She gets out of her nightgown, changing into her uniform. The choir is an extension of their boarding school, though it is quite small. She’s in the girls’ dorm with her, uh—best friend, Constance, as well as a few others. The rest are still sleeping, of course.
Slackers.
She brushes her hair and pushes it back from her forehead with her headband, making sure not a single lock is out of place. She heads to the lounge, to relax and read a bit before breakfast. She eventually hears footsteps, of the other girls waking and walking around. As soon as the first few enter her area, she leaves and makes for the meal hall. Taking her usual spot, she is one of the few early ones. Her lips twist into a mild scowl as she sees her plate, scrambled eggs. Gross. They never cook it fully. She pushes the runny yolk to the edge of her plate, and swallows it all in quick, consecutive bites. As she lets her fork clack gently against the plate, she spots Noel out of the corner of her eye.
“Good morning,” she greets him with when he sits next to her.
He nods back with a slightly sleepy grumble of acknowledgement. His delicate nails push through his shiny black hair, smoothing it back. He cared about his appearance just as much as—if not more than—Ocean herself. He eats quietly as he wakes himself up, and more students start filing in and taking their seats.
Next is Ricky, then Constance, then finally Mischa. Being close as they are, they all sit together. Ocean eyes Mischa, shoveling eggs in his face, in mild disgust. Constance doesn’t complain about their undercooked-ness; that isn’t surprising considering she never complains about anything.
”I’m a little nervous about the concert tomorrow,” Constance mentions conversationally.
”You are always nervous,” Mischa says with a mouthful of egg. Ocean scrunches up her eyes and leans back to avoid the crumbs he’s spitting, unaware. “We will knock town’s socks off.”
”We practiced lots, it’s gonna go well,” Ricky signed, leaving his crutches under his chair. “We’ve never screwed up too bad before.”
Ocean doesn’t acknowledge the thought that pops up in the back of her mind: “Well, we practiced lots. You just played your little tambourine.”
She wouldn’t think that, she’s a great person.
When the rest finish their meals and the bell rings, they all split up for their classes. Just school, then the rehearsal… and then the concert! Nothing could mess it up.
————
“Wh—what do you mean, he’s dead!?”
Ocean is frazzled. She feels like she’s going insane. There’s no way it isn’t a joke—but with the somber way the always no-nonsense principal delivered the news, there’s no way it can be a joke.
”I’m sorry, we were all terribly shocked by the news. Approximately five hours ago, he suffered a heart attack and passed.”
The news had been abrupt, as the choir members sat down in the rehearsal hall, wondering why their conductor—an old-ish, greying man—wasn’t waiting for them like usual. They hadn’t known what to think when the principal walked in instead.
They still weren’t sure what to think now.
“Passed… P-passed away..?” Constance asks, lip trembling like she’s about to cry.
“Yes, obviously Constance!” Ocean snaps, turning to her with open annoyance. The other girl pulls back, and a tear falls. God, this is just… so, so irritating!
Well, of course, it’s sad that a man died. But, like—she wasn’t close with him, she barely knew the man! And excuse her for wishing he’d waited, I don’t know, two more days!? You can’t judge her for being kind of pissed.
The principal is talking like she’s trying to console them, (seems a little distressed herself) but—
“—What does this mean for the concert?” Ocean asks, getting right to the point. Whatever, the man is dead. Let’s focus on the more pressing issue.
The woman seems somewhat taken aback. Noel gives her a look. A Girl I know you’re like this but maybe tone it down for a few minutes??? kind of look. The principal hesitates.
”Well, I could arrange for a substitute conductor, but I fully understand if you would wish to cancel it. It’s a very last minute, significan—“
”We have to do it," Ocean cries. "For--to honor him. We can't let our grief overpower us, the show must go on!"
She’s obviously bullshitting. Nobody calls her out, though.
Noel hesitates, then nods. “We’ve been practicing for weeks. Let’s just do it.” Ricky nods, Mischa shrugs, and Constance… has her face in her hands, Ocean will take care of that later.
“If… if you’re one hundred percent sure about this,” the principal says, wringing her hands, “I’ll find someone to take over for him. Such a shame, he was a good man…” Ocean zones out after that. She doesn’t mean to, she’s just preoccupied with her own thoughts.
On one hand, at least the woman is letting them go through with it. On the other hand, why did this have to happen so last minute!? They’ll barely get a chance to warm up with the new conductor—if they can find one in time! Then again, though… better it happens now than, say, in the middle of the performance.
Mischa seems to have a similar thought—“Yo, we are totally fucked if the new guy is bad. Rhythm going to be wack.” The principal seems too overwhelmed to call out his foul language.
After this, they aren't sure what to do. Constance's sniffles are the only sound, until the older woman lets out a sigh, rubbing her face with her hand. "Anyways... you are all dismissed. I hope you are well. I'll... try to arrange something for tomorrow." With that, she leaves them by themselves to go back to their dorms, or whatever other activities they have. Mischa is the first to break off, grumbling something under his breath as he slouches away, shirt untucked. After looking around at the rest somewhat nervously, Ricky is next.
"I guess there's nothing we can do," Noel begins uncertainly, "I'm... gonna go take a stress bath."
With that, he too is gone, leaving the two girls standing by themselves. Ocean purses her lips in distaste, then gives Constance a brief, light pat on the back. "Hey, Connie, I get that you're upset... let's get back to the dorms, okay?" She tries to sound reassuring. Constance looks up at her, wipes a tear away from her red eyes, and nods with a "...Mhm."
She lays on her stiff mattress, staring up at the ceiling fan that hasn't worked in months. Dust floats down, falling on the floor beside her. Constance seems to have calmed down, but last she saw, the other girl was eating ice cream in the common room, curly purple buns undone. Ocean looks through some polaroids neatly stacked on the nightstand. None of them were taken by her, but given by her friends. It was mostly group photos, some of her with her acquaintances, some of bad angles quickly snuck by fellow choir members. The ugly ones, she'd always want to throw out, but Constance wouldn't let her, saying "You'll want to look back on them!"
Though the conductor had been with them through their whole “career,” up to this point, there were no photos with him. It makes sense, given that he is—was—a teacher, but it’s still enough to make Ocean almost sad.
At dinner her leg bounces uncharacteristically. Constance has decided not to join them. Ricky picks at his food. Mischa wolfs it down—it’s pork and baked potatoes, one of his favourites. He asks Ricky for some, and he in turn pushes the plate over.
Ocean feels the need to fill the silence. Get the mood up, you know? “We’ll be alright, guys. We’ve been through some troubles before. I’ll do my best to make it work for all of us!” Her grin feels a little too wide.
Noel rolls his heavy-lashed eyes at her chipper tone. “Sure. I mean, I am curious who the replacement will be. Like, after the sub leaves. Hopefully he’ll be, like, some young & hot guy.” Ocean scoffs at his dreamy smirk, chin resting on hands.
”No offense,” Mischa cuts in, a piece of red meat falling off his fork, “but no guy who joins choir going to be hot.” He takes a bite, then reconsiders. “‘Cept me an’ you of course.”
Noel looks up, mouth open as if to snipe back, then seems to realize what the other boy just said. His face turns red, and he looks determinedly at his plate. Ricky picks at his nails, looking between the two.
They finish the meal in silence, split off to their dorms, and head to bed. The nervous energy has dulled with fatigue, and Ocean almost finds herself crashing right to bed. But! She doesn’t, of course. Ever orderly, she brushes her teeth, her hair, changes into pristine pyjamas, and tucks into her bed. Constance says she snores sometimes, but she was obviously joking. She would never snore. Turning off the lights, closing the windowpanes—all things Constance didn’t do, but is already snoozing away despite it.
And then she falls into a quiet, restful sleep.
Except…
It’s dark. It looks the same whether my eyes are open or not. Where is this? I don’t remember anything…
Wait. I can see a light! An orb? I venture closer, for sure this will give me an answer. Why am I looking for answers? More of it comes into view. Two glowing eyes above the orb—framed by a face. It looks like a doll, with a hinge mouth and robotic joints.
Hello. I am The Amazing Karnak.
Whoa, what? It sounds like he’s talking, the sound echoing in whatever space this is. His mouth and arms move stiffly as he preaches.
I was designed to predict the exact time and place of someone’s death.
…What? Why? Who would make something like this, for what reason??
The man—or, robot, or whatever it is—goes on to explain how he can no longer tell the fairgoers what he knows. He also introduces Virgil the Rat as the cause of his own demise, once he chews through the power cord soon enough. Then, as if the situation can’t get any more surreal, Virgil the Rat procures an electric guitar and begins to perform. As I watch, the sound ripples like a stone dropped in water and fades, fades, fades…
Ocean wakes up with a sharp intake of breath.
What a weird fucking dream.