Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Memory transcription subject: Arbo, Yotul toymaker

Date [standardized human time]: February 23, 2137

"The kids today were a handful,"

I glanced up from my holopad to see my roommate Rhedit enter our apartment and put down his things. It's hard getting used to that again after those Humans showed up.

"What's the trouble this time?" I turned back to the guide I was following, "Someone refused to share? A bad case of bullying?"

"Yes," He groaned, plopping himself beside me with a panting tongue out, "I need to speak with little Mulpa's mother tomorrow."

I grazed my tail against his gently to show my sympathy, "We can only hope she's more reasonable."

Rhedit rolled over, his back flat on the couch now, "What's this new thing you're working on?"

"Well, it turns out Humans have their own dolls as well. Their fondness for varying pelts certainly heightens the appeal," I explained, showing my work-in-progress for Rhedit to see, "I've figured out how to create these pillow ones with the stuff I can get from the stores here. If ambition gets the best of me, I could try doing this with other Human toys."

He was intrigued, "Hand it over, please?"

I did so, the old schoolteacher taking the toy from my paws into his.

It was a pillow doll that resembled a Human. I repurposed my last batch of Colia cloth of which I stuffed with imported Earth cotton. I embroidered the doll with colorful thread to imitate the aliens' external features.

"It's very soft, but also firm," Rhedit sounded pleased at my handiwork, "it's very nice to hold."

"Damn right it is," I chuckled, grabbing it back, "but like I said, it's not finished. It's missing its pelts."

"Right," Rhedit sat himself into a more proper sitting position on the couch we were on, "I know Josie is quite particular with hers, especially when it comes to color and texture."

Josie was Rhedit's Human exchange partner. It was rather polite of both the Zurulian and Human governments to partner two teachers together. Rhedit would travel very much ever since he agreed to sign up, cautiously excited about these resurrected predators in the beginning.

When I first heard of the Humans' arrival, I was honestly surprised at how Tarva had softened to them so quickly. I was wary too, but it quickly became clear to me as time went on that they really meant no harm. They were just…well, ugly. Aliens will be aliens, and this lot was the most alien of all the aliens that Leirn had ever seen.

I had considered joining the program, but I'm not exactly a fan of the whole pairing up process. If I wanted to meet new aliens, I'd prefer we meet in small groups, not pairs. There's that whole censorship thing the UN was apparently fond of too, as though they thought that we were as skittish as our neighbors. Ah well, not everything can be perfect.

"Are you implying that I make a doll of Josie?"

Rhedit immediately got excited, "Oh, she'll love that! You have to finish it soon, then."

I shook my head humanly, "Fine, but don't take the damn credit. She'll be able to tell if you're lying, anyway."

"Twenty cycles under the same roof and you still think I'll have the audacity to attempt outshining your furs? You wound me, Arbo."

"I didn't mean to, Rhed. Speaking of Josie, how is she?"

"She's gotten progress for her approval process," Rhedit took a glance at my holopad, eyeing the measurements I had typed down, "if her other health treatments keep going well, we could meet up by within the next six months!"

My parents were craftsmen, both having a paw in the Yotul theater industry. Papa would make creative stages and props while Mama would make incredible drapery and curtains. I learned from the best, and soon I was just like them, one paw each in both crafts. I had a good ten years working with my old partner Nidel, a child actor turned renowned writer of provoking plays and novels.

I worked on a lot of plays, but I'll never forget the night sky backdrop I made for The Breaking of Silence, or the glow-in-dark Aurumgrain fields for Yeko and the Hensa House. This isn't even mentioning the extensive work I poured into making those prop yachts for Loveboats at Sunrise, because of course they were plot relevant!

We got hit badly when the Federation came, not just shutting down many of our theaters but censoring our writers. We were in the middle of planning out Sky Cry—Nidel's satirical way of telling the people his thoughts on the Federation—when they suddenly burst in and destroyed the theater. The drafts were burnt along with the building.

Nidel had cried loudly in the crowd that surrounded the fire, while I held it all up until I was home, alone enough to sob in the deafening quiet. If it weren't for the money in his figurative pouch, as well as his actual acting skill, Nidel would probably be in one of those damned Predator Disease facilities, his light being smothered forcefully.

A lot of good Yotul writers got thrown in those things, because somehow much of their bibliography was regarded as "predatory." Sure. That's one way to silence your critics. I'm glad the facilities back home and over here are getting shut down. The things I heard were awful, to say the least.

"I'm glad things are great between you both," I said to Rhedit, pausing my work, "You finally got sick of me."

He made a noise of indignation, "Never, Arbo! I was going to ask if you would join me when I eventually meet her."

"I don't want to intrude—"

"Arbo, you're her first proper Yotul friend. She's as old as we are and probably stays home as much as we do."

"But it's your moment with her!"

Rhed got off from the couch to get a proper look at me, "You two have video calls without me sometimes. Come on, now."

Before I could answer, my holopad vibrated and showed a name I did not expect would call me.

I answered immediately, "Hello?!"

"Arbo!" I was greeted by none other than Nidel himself, his happy tail visible in greeting, "Thank goodness you answered!"

"H-How are you doing? We haven't talked in so long," I replied, still flabbergasted.

Seeing my excitement, Rhedit acknowledged Nidel before leaving quietly.

"I'm doing wonderful!" Nidel waved back to the Zurulian with his tail, "How about you?"

"Well, I still live with Rhed, and I still live in Venlil Prime,"

"Ah, same as pre-Human contact."

"I mean, Rhed's part of the Exchange Program."

"And you aren't?" Nidel then laughed, "You're not someone I'd expect to be nervous around them."

"I have mixed opinions about how our governments have been carrying out the whole program, that's all," I scratched a sudden itch, "but you clearly didn't call me to talk politics, did you?"

"You still know me well, Arbo," Nidel flamboyantly flicked an ear, "Let's just say First Contact has inspired me."

"Really now?'

"And it appears that the Technocracy got inspired as well."

"W-What?" I tried to make myself relax by reclining back onto the couch.

"So, as part of our ongoing cultural exchange with the Humans," Nidel said, "I accepted an opportunity to produce and direct a Human-written play that will be presented to the heads of the Sapient Coalition."

Unconsciously tuning out Nidel, I thought back to what had happened after I parted ways with him.

I said to myself that if theater didn't work out, I'd make something out of my hobby of toy making. Having been raised by orphaned parents will make anyone drawn to helping other orphans, and I've found time growing up making toys with my parents to give to orphanages and refugee centers. Some of these get exported to said centers on other planets.

I've been told the art is dated and primitive over and over, but I know for a fact that the comforting tangibility of a toy to a hurting child would negate any and all of those "flaws."

Early in my journey as a toymaker, I had traveled to Venlil Prime in search of materials to experiment with. I bumped into this clumsy Zurulian who needed something to give to several big groups of children. His name was Rhedit, and he was awfully lonely. When we learned of each others' trade, well… the rest was history. Now, we've been roommates for twenty cycles and counting.

"Arbo!"

"Sorry!" I blurted out.

"Are you listening?"

"Y-Yes," I blinked, "It's just… a Human-written play? Why not collaborate with a Human playwright a-and make a new piece?"

"It's far too time-consuming with our deadline."

"Which is?"

"About six months from now. Almost a year since the Human's first contact with the rest of the Federation."

"Alright," I adjusted my sitting position, "what made you agree to do that instead of asking whichever Human you were talking with to adapt one of your own works?"

Nidel sighed with a shame I didn't know he was capable of visible in his eyes, "I need to ease back into this slowly, Arbo. My mind is sharp, but it's also rusty."

"How unfortunate," I replied back with sass.

"Hey, they have this interesting style of play I've never heard of before. They call them 'Musicals.'"

I was confused at the name, "Do Humans not give their plays some semblance of ambient score?"

"No, they do, they do," Nidel scratched an itch from his back, "these 'Musical' plays they have apparently involve performing acts of singing and dancing. I'm using this opportunity as a means of study."

"Hm. It sounds frivolous, don't you think?" The idea of it seemed so ridiculous, especially with the dancing, "Like, if all they do is sing and dance, how will they have room for any plot or acting to occur? Are you seriously coming back to the industry with your brain empty, Nidel?"

"For—" He inhaled, clearly frustrated with my inability to understand whatever the fuck he's trying to get at, "they use the singing and dancing to tell the story. The acting is still there."

"Ah… yeah, okay, I see why you wanted to try that out." I gave the idea more thought given this explanation of the Human Musical, "Thinking about it, this kind of experimentation can definitely warm your furs!"

We both chuckled at that.

"To be honest, Arbo, I'm honestly still shocked these predators still have theater at all," I could hear his claws tapping from across the holopad screen, "And yet, apparently, what I've heard about their art forms contains complexities I've yet to see from the best of the Federation's greatest own. Those apes can give the Harchen a run for their money!"

"Really? And what complex Human 'Musical' have you chosen?"

"After some research, the plot of this one took my attention immediately. Apparently, this is one of the Humans' longest running plays in their history!"

"Must be really important if they kept it running for that long,"

"That's what Tempest--the head of the Human side of the project, by the way--had told me," Nidel moved off camera to reach for a notebook, "The show is called Hadestown, which was described to me as 'an early 21st century adaptation of an ancient Greek tribal myth.' It's about a musician who uses the power of music to get his lover back from the realm of the dead!"

The plot piqued my interest, despite the odd name, "That sounds like a good story. I think I'd like to watch that."

I've heard Rhed bring up discussions he had with Josie about tales from this ancient Greek tribal mythology. We both agreed these stories weren't age appropriate for the kids Rhed was teaching, but a good number of these myths were interesting nonetheless. I liked that one about the guy who wanted everything he touched to become gold.

"Tempest said the best professional recording of the play I could see was the one performed for the show's hundredth year of running," Nidel's eyes were on his notebook, "Once I receive her copy, I was hoping we can watch the footage together? Maybe we can stream it, assuming you're saying yes to all this, of course."

"To… wait, we're supposed to produce and direct it?"

"Well, we'll find a way to make the thing appear more suitable to diverse alien audiences. That's what the Technocracy wants, so we have something to celebrate with the Sapient Coalition in recognition of our friendship with the Humans."

If we watched this recording of a live performance, we might have an approximation of what we can and can't do.

"So, you're thinking of using Yotul staging styles for this Human story."

"Exactly!" Nidel placed down his notebook, "Oh! I just received the file. This is your time to say yes or no, Arbo. I do hope it's yes, because I struggled to get a new Costume and Makeup guy yesterday and I would not like to replace you too."

An opportunity to get back into theater… I suppose Nidel had a point about easing back in slowly. I'd prefer performing a Yotul play, but this Human plot! It's so refreshing for a story so ancient.

"Hold on, where's the show supposed to be performed?"

"It's either on Earth or on Leirn, but I think that will be decided once we have our show and our cast."

"Alright, alright…" I gave him a tail flick of affirmation, "This sounds like fun. Let's do this."

"Yes! Let's do this!" Nidel began tapping and typing away, "Let me just start a video call with us and the Humans we're going to be working with. You've got about thirty minutes to prepare any snacks you want."

"Gotcha."

Chapter Text

Memory transcription subject: Tempest Wheatley, Human stage director and choreographer

Date [standardized human time]: February 23, 2137

One of the things that made my government-assigned coworker Nidel stand out amongst the Yotul I've seen was the bright orange-yellow highlights on his fur. I was told by the bosses that the Yotul become fiery in appearance, or “touched by Ralchi” when they're getting old, especially if they're about to die. If my math was right, the famously contrarian writer was in his late fifties, slightly past halfway through the average Yotul lifespan. There were surprisingly few Yotul his age roaming around the parts of Leirn I've been in, including where I'm at. I need to ask him about that later tonight.

I remember when we first met, he commented on my dyed hair. While the Yotul had a concept of fur recoloring, they had no idea that one can easily make the recoloring last long periods of time. His demeanor reminded me of the old pompous critics one would usually come across in the theater circles I frequented, feeling wary but intrigued at what he believed human theater has to offer. He has experience, and I had to show him that I respected that, which as far as I knew, did.

We had a decently lengthy discussion, mostly involving Yotul acting tropes and traditions. Much of Yotul theater started out as heavily improvisational and fundamentally behaves as such, similar to human role playing-based storytelling, apparently inspired from the roots of Yotul religious rituals. I discovered that theatrical adaptations of more static works like novels and short stories were a fairly recent development in regards to Yotul history, Nidel and his contemporaries pioneering it as a so-called 'Sunpeak Age' of theater that had ended quickly due to their First Contact with the Federation, who had introduced camera film and streaming.

It was appalling to me how those awful aliens tried to remove the Yotul's practice of theater, perceiving the art to be as obsolete as the trains they have developed independently. I mean, I love film and television, but all these art forms can still coexist. We humans still do painting and photography, after all. Hell, combine them even! I hope the Yotul recognize that in their own way and in their own pace.

"You didn't forget to send the subtitling extension, right?"

“Shit, I did,” I tapped away on my laptop, “Thanks for the heads up, Eman.”

“Just looking out for you. You know the translators ruin music, right? The show is literally sung-through—”

“I know, I know. Let me inform Nidel and his friends about that translation issue.”

As I pressed send on the email containing the subtitling extension, I couldn’t help but bury my head back into the absurdity of my circumstances.

Luck is visiting my parents in Chicago during the Attack. We were a small and contented family, but I had lost an equally important other family, a family of fellow artists and creators, that day.

That kind of loss is irreplaceable. I miss my friends, my exes I knew who still lived in New York, and the folks who run the bagel stands and coffee shops I visited every day.

It’s haunting, seeing so many iconic theaters and history lost like that, without warning. It all just makes it so easy to lose meaning at the sight of rubble, to lose hope at the blood that colors the earth, and to lose energy taking in the chemical, clouded sky.

I can’t believe the many, many things we take for granted now.

From here on out, I swear that my grief shall bring about rebuilding and preservation. As long as we keep singing the songs we sing, these things that die will always keep coming back to life. We have to keep on singing, we must.

“Eman?” I briefly changed the tabs to my voice call with Eman.

“Yeah, Tempest?”

"How are you feeling about all this?" I asked, reclining into my chair and taking a sip of my iced coffee, "I mean, you haven't exactly been to space, yet, right?"

"Yeah," Eman replied in an unsure tone, "that's true. I just… I don't know."

"It's still surreal, huh?"

"I don't even know why I agreed!" He laughed out in disbelief, "I know those Yotul guys are supposed to be nicer than the sheep ones, but like, how much nicer?"

Asking questions can produce interesting answers, it seems, "...are you afraid of them, Eman?"

"I don't really like them,” Oh? “A-and I must confess, I find it really fucking creepy that these animal-looking aliens are… well, real! Doesn't help that a lot of them wanted us dead. Like some stupid xenos can get in the way of my God-given right to take from the creatures of the Earth."

"Woah, tone that down a bit," I scolded, "you don't want folks thinking you're one of those Humanity First idiots."

"Sorry," He sighed, "It's... can I tell you something?"

"Tell me what?"

"That I actually considering joining the HF branch here in my town,"

What the fuck?!

"Shit, really?"

"Yeah, I may have bought a little bit into their propaganda and everything. It wasn't until I learned from a cousin living in the States whose kid did join that they weren't exactly, uh, non-violent," Eman replied with a bit of pity, "Clearly, God has stopped me and given me clarity. Like, after what happened to Meier, you'd think more people would be dissuaded to join."

"Yeah," I huffed as I sighed, "Grief can do a number to one's principles, dude."

It was at this time I got a reply from Nidel.

Thank you for the subtitles. Please give me about thirty minutes to set up the group call. I can't wait to see the talent you have gathered, and I wish you'd be happy with mine.

Nidel

He was never this formal in our other messaging apps. Does he think emails are strictly formal affairs? Ah well.

"Nidel got the subtitles," I said to Eman, "We'll have the viewing in about thirty minutes, so get your snacks or whatever."

Memory transcription subject: Rhedit, Zurulian School Teacher

Date [standardized human time]: February 23, 2137

“Hey Rhed, what snacks do we have there?”

I jumped, almost spilling the mixture I was mixing. I let go of the handle of the mixing instrument I was holding with my mouth to turn back and face Arbo.

“I’m attempting some sort of microwaved instant strayu,” I said, resuming mixing after.

Arbo focused his attention at the microwave atop the mini kitchen counter then at me.

“Do you want help with that?” He approached me.

“Please, I am getting so tired.”

I handed Arbo the bowl for him to mix.

“I don’t remember strayu being instantaneous to prepare,” Arbo remarked.

I sat down on the floor to take a breather, “It most certainly isn’t. I just had a conversation with Josie on the way to work about microwave cakes. I found some unused ipsom lying about in the fridge, and I saw you being creative—”

“So you wanted to be creative too?” Arbo chuckled out.

“Yeah,” I giggled back, getting back up, “You want some shadeberry jam with that?”

“Hmm,” Arbo paused in his work, “what about that jelly Josie sent over? The one that struggled through delivery?”

“Her homemade grape jelly?” I went to the fridge, “Let me check if we still have some. With how good it is, I’d be surprised if we still had any left.”

There were, in fact, some left, enough for a meal prepared tomorrow.

“How much longer do I have to keep mixing?” Arbo asked as I pulled out the grape jelly, “I’ve got an important call in a bit with Nidel.”

“Until the lumps are gone,” I placed the jelly on the counter, “Also, didn’t you just get out of a call with him?”

“He needed a break to prepare something. He means to stream to me, and I’m guessing a few others too, a recording of a Human theater play.”

“The Humans still do theater?” I spoke my mind, “And record it too?”

Arbo tensed a bit, “I-I don’t know why. I think Nidel mentioned it was a special show, but yeah. Apparently the Humans do theater. Surprised Josie didn’t tell you that.”

“It never came up,” I went to prepare the microwave, “I bet the story is incredibly ancient.”

“Well, you’re right on that one,” Arbo stopped mixing, “does this look good now, by the way?”

I peeked and saw the mixture had one or two lumps left, “I think that’s fine. Get it in here.”

I took the dish from Arbo and placed it inside the microwave, applying the settings I remembered Josie told me during our discussion on "mug cakes."

“So…” Arbo spoke out of the brief silence that followed, “do you want to watch the recording with me?”

“With you? I-I don’t know much about theater, let alone Human theater! Though if it is recorded, it surely won’t be too different from a movie, right?”

“Sure,” Arbo replied, sounding as though he didn’t like my answer, “you don’t have to sign any NDAs or whatever, affairs like theater for us Yotul are usually prepared with relatively relaxed management.”

“And if the Humans involved ask me to?”

“Well, they can just tell us during the call.”

The microwave finished its work as we ended that banter, my paws quick to getting out the microwave strayu. It was to our shock and delight to find that the batter sponged and rose from the dish. Arbo quickly took two plates and started portioning the strayu.

“How much jelly do you want?” I asked.

“I’ll take care of that,” He replied, taking the jar away from me, “you go plug my holopad to the television, so we’ll have a really good time, huh?”

“Alright, that sounds perfect,” and then I went back to the living space.

As I began looking for the right Bluetooth settings on the pad and TV, I began to think in curiosity about this apparent opportunity Arbo was handed. The Yotul are loud conversationalists, and it wasn’t hard to pick up what my roommate and his old friend were talking about.

I feel like I’m being goaded into another brand new learning experience, honestly. Arbo brought up his history working in the Yotul theater industry before coming to Venlil Prime—Skalga, I hear some people are calling it now—though he didn’t discuss much of how that went down. He just said it made him happy and nothing more. His demeanor as he worked in the mini kitchen with me was much more lively, his tail wagging and the light in his eyes brighter than mine. I hope I could find joy in this, perhaps something new to connect to Yotul pups with.

…I need to talk to Josie about all this once we finish the viewing. If Arbo starts going through it, I'll have someone to watch him with me, that's for sure.

Chapter Text

Memory transcription subject: Arbo, Yotul toymaker

Date [standardized human time]: February 23, 2137

Rhedit sat next to me as I tapped along my holopad, his position making him look small in the camera. We had just placed the jellied and microwaved strayu on the corner table next to the chilled Sprunk cans I pulled out of the refrigerator.

I had to make sure the subtitling extension was installed. After I messaged that I was clear, Nidel sent the invite to the call, and I pressed to join. We were greeted not just by Nidel but also a young woman I didn't recognize. Her fur was devoid of any extra coloring, brushed like she was about to attend a formal school event.

"Greetings, Arbo. Thank you for joining this viewing," Nidel said warmly.

The woman quietly waved her tail in greeting, to which I waved back in return.

"Podsu is the person I hired for our Costuming and Makeup," At the mention of her name, Podsu flicked her ears in affirmation, "she's quite young, but her work is excellent."

"We could use the youthful insight," I remarked, "You're lucky to have joined us, Podsu."

"A-Anything to make history with people like you, Mr. Arbo," She replied with pleading eyes, "I know it's old fashioned, but I can't imagine losing something as immersive and creative as our cultural contributions in theater."

"Alright Podsu, the job interview is over," I joked, overwhelmed immediately with her clean-pressed desperation, "Excited to work with Humans?"

"I'm working through my squeamishness around them, but I know inspiration lurks even the most dangerous and unknown places, Sir."

"Good to know, Ms. Podsu," Nidel replied to her before I could, "but take care not to use language like that around them, alright?"

“L-Language, Mr. Nidel?”

"'Dangerous and unknown,'" He scoffed with the vitriol I remembered him having very well, "It's Fed-like, incredibly unseemly for someone working in a project with alien friends like this one."

Podsu deflated, "I-I'll make sure to be more careful, Mr. Nidel."

"So," I spoke up, "are we waiting for anyone else before we get the Humans in call?"

"I was supposed to invite my old friend Nuvar, but apparently she had a date or something this evening. Good for her, but she's missing out," Nidel replied, "She's one of Minoo's closest co-workers—for the unacquainted here, a talent in orchestration. She's been doing her cultural historian things during the past twenty cycles, and I hear she's doing as well as any Yotul would be in Skalga."

I remember Minoo, one of Nidel's so-called artistic rivals. Poor thing got sent to a facility last I heard, and to think she was good at writing too. While Nidel liked adapting short stories or making shit up to dabble in abstract themes, Minoo liked portrayals of lesser known historical events, the niche stuff, usually by subverting popular tropes. My favorite play of hers was Pigment Hearth, focused on the invention of our fur coloring practice.

Wait a minute…

"When did you become friends with Nuvar?" I asked, "Did you lose contact with Fetzi?"

"Fetzi said no, I'm afraid," said Nidel, pinned ears showing genuine displeasure, "He doesn't exactly like the idea of working with our Human friends."

"Ah, of course."

"S-Speaking of our Human friends," Podsu cut in, "we're supposed to be on a call with them, right?"

"Yes," Nidel wagged his tail impatiently, "and they should've joined minutes ago! Let me ping Tempest, they said setting things up would not take too long."

After a minute of audible tapping, the awaited Humans showed up, three in number like us, with the one whose camera was labeled Tempest Wheatley possessing a scrunched up expression.

Fuck me, they are hideous.

"Apologizes for the delay," Tempest said, typing on their end as audible as Nidel's, "One of the people I was supposed to invite here told me last minute that she couldn't make the call."

"We're not complete either, Friend Tempest," Nidel replied on behalf of the Yotul in the call, "but now that we're here, I think it's about time we introduce ourselves, hm?"

"Of course," Tempest cleared their throat, a hand trailing through their short, pink hair, "I'm Tempest Wheatley, the UN's chosen producer for this project! I've had seven years experience doing stage direction and ten for choreography. I've done work on various touring casts for Musicals all over the USA, but my latest endeavor has been doing choreography for a workshop of Rina Park's Apotheosis. I'm happy to be here!"

The unfamiliar word apotheosis was translated to me as: "the elevation to peak perfection; in reference to Theology, deification." I wonder what that show must be about.

“My name is Nidel,” He then started after them, “I was asked by the Technocracy to participate in this grand collaboration. While I’ve only published mild, agreeable editorials for the past twenty cycles, I’ve pumped out a good eight plays in my ten cycles of play writing, alongside two books. I have also had a few stints of acting when I was a pup in my hometown Thysun, if that’s relevant.”

Not five seconds later, Podsu took the floor.

“I’m Podsu! Um, I study and do c-cloth weaving, a-as my job. I know how t-to do it as practiced here on Leirn, as well as the F-Federation standard borrowed from other planets. My Dad used to do theatrical makeup and taught me all he knew, and my Mom taught me how to utilize dyes and pigments for fur coloration. T-This my first time working seriously in the, uh, t-the theater industry, and I joined to expand what I already know.”

That wasn’t too bad for someone who claimed to be squeamish around humans.

“Raphael Fleischer,” Started this Human, who had blonde head fur and exposed skin almost as pale as that of Tempest, “I do prop design, as well as a bit of graphic design. Most of my work was done in the former West End, and um, my notable contributions were for Where’s Your Whimsy and the 2131 revival of Great Comet. I found this job offer to be very interesting, and I really needed the distraction.”

Ah, this is the Human props guy. He sounded young. Well, younger than me. I pray he’s not a struggle to work with.

“I’m, uh,” The next Human coughed before continuing, “I’m Emmanuel Reyes, but you guys can just call me Eman.”

This Eman guy looked very uncomfortable.

“I’m the current music director for the main Broadway run of Hadestown. Luck has kept me alive, I-I’ll say,” He choked out a chuckle before continuing, “but, uh, I worked on the Diceroll Dance soundtrack. If you guys have free time, you should give the campaign a listen. I’m here to…”

He paused, and paused for an awkwardly long time.

“...sorry, uh,” He blinked repeatedly, like he must’ve disassociated in his brief silence, eyeballs uncomfortably frantic in their movement, “I-I joined to face my fears. Of the unknown. L-Like working with extraterrestrials!”

He's pretty skittish. I hope Eman doesn't get too distracted from his work. I'll laugh if he's more afraid than Podsu.

“My name is Arbo,” I started my turn with an ear flick of greeting, “I’m a close friend of Nidel, and we have been working together for about the same amount of time. In fact, he’s why I came to join this project.”

I paused to get my can of Sprunk, which Rhed was kind enough to reach for me.

“I do crafting and woodwork for props and staging, a lot of which I did for Nidel’s old plays,” The hiss of carbon hit my ears as I cracked the drink open, “Not many of my crafts were recorded with photos or cameras, but you can take the guy’s word for it.”

“I can confirm that you were, and hopefully still are, a pleasure to work with,” Nidel jested with a sinister look in his eyes.

“Come on now,” I cackled, “I’ve been keeping myself busy making novelty toys for younglings across the stars since Leirn made First Contact, which was around twenty cycles ago. I’m glad to be here with all of you.”

“We’re all glad,” Tempest said with that alien smiling their species was famously known for, taking lead in hosting the call, “so, before we begin, we all have the extension installed, right?”

We all gave answers of affirmation.

“Good, good,” They began tapping away on their end, “this should be smooth. As I’m loading in Act 1 of the show for casting, I’d like to inform everyone to adjust your personal translators. Please keep your mics off during the viewing, and if anyone’s confused, just chat in the chat box. We can ask each other questions there, as well as let out any thoughts or reactions.”

I did as instructed, and I briefly caught Rhed do the same as I took a small sip of Sprunk.

Nidel said the recording was of the Centennial show of the Musical.

“When was this, er—when was Hadestown first performed?” I asked.

“Well, this show has several versions when it was still new,” Tempest replied, “this is the show for the Hundredth Anniversary since the show first came to Broadway.”

“Which was how long ago?”

“First Broadway show? Hold on,” Tempest made a quick search, “yeah, it first got on there in the year 2019.”

“So this recording was from around—”

“Eighteen cycles ago?” Nidel cut me off, shocked as I was at the information.

“Well, yeah,” Tempest had finally casted their player into our view, “though the show itself prior to Broadway was much older, its oldest version first performed in 2006.”

“It sounds so ancient,” remarked Podsu, enthralled given her tone of voice, “to think you’ve been performing this show for such a long time!”

“Eh, Hadestown is nothing to Wicked, or Hamilton,” Raphael joined the conversation, “Phantom and Les Mis had pretty long runs despite not running anymore.”

“Most shows aren’t running anymore,” Eman cut in rather darkly, “...not counting shows by independent troupes like New Shine Company or Team Starkid anyway.”

“Art that good gets remembered for a long time,” Tempest said, “and this show is notably known for its timeless quality, despite using musical styles much older than the popular music of the time it was written.”

“How much older?” Podsu asked.

“It’s Jazz and Folk,” Eman explained with a tone which insisted that we were supposed to understand what those words meant, “which are… um, instrument-heavy styles. Anaïs Mitchell, the person who wrote the show, was a songwriter who specialized in these genres of mu-m–Human music.”

“Do all Musicals follow these musical styles?” Nidel asked.

“Oh no,” Eman continued, “the music in the Musicals we’re talking about is literally its own category, n-not that it was exempt from the influence of popular music anyway. Though, I will say that Jazz and Folk influenced and were precursors to the popular Musical styles from about two hundred years ago. The musical tone of Hadestown when it first came out would have sounded somewhat dated already, a-actually, because of that.”

Twice more if it’s been more than a hundred years, apparently!

“And as an adaptation of an even more dated story,” Tempest said, “the dated nature of the musical style isn’t really a problem. A lot of the imagery used in the show would be considered old to the average 22nd Century Human, anyway. Besides, you picked this from the shows I told you about, right, Nidel?”

“A bard rescuing a lover from the land of the Dead is familiar but new enough of a plot,” Nidel replied, “it’s unbelievably Human, no doubt, but the seeming simplicity brings a warmth the average Yotul would gravitate to.”

“Your pantheons sound interesting too,” I added.

“I see, I see,” Based on their tone, Tempest could tell our chatter was taking up time, “Now, let’s start the show.”

As they hit play, the television flashed the fading in of the show’s name, colored in metallic gold across black, white, and red. The melodious sound of a horn was ringing through, the dark revealing spotlight over one of the Human players. This one was dressed in silver-looking pelts, and the player began to make a complementary low hum. He was answered by the chorus, the spotlight over them illuminating a small crowd in dull colored pelts who imitated his humming with harmonious clarity.

He hummed a different melody and the chorus followed. Suddenly, he started making the noises that mimicked locomotives, the chorus repeating and overlapping to show an increase in volume.

Once upon a time there was a railroad line

The chorus hummed as the percussion kicked in.

Don’t ask where, brother, don’t ask why

Another hum.

It was the road to Hell

It was hard times

It was a world of gods

And men!

As I caught my tail involuntarily swinging to the rhythm, I slowly realized just how alien, wonderfully alien, this viewing was going to become.

Chapter Text

Memory transcription subject: Arbo, Yotul toymaker

Date [standardized human time]: February 23, 2137

Fog had filled the stage, lights built into the flooring peering through and shaping the misty clouds.

See, on the road to Hell there was a railroad line,

and there were three old women all dressed the same,

and they was always singin' in the back of your mind—

Everybody meet the Fates!

As the silver player had sung it, three new players entered, dressed the same indeed. Their pelts were long and flowy, black lace and netting marking their figures. Their head fur seemed tucked into caps of similar material as their pelts, with their exposed skin of varying tan shades lined with coloring that emphasized their hideously Human faces. The clop of their heels seemed miraculously muted out, and an air of mischief seemed to grace their movements.

They bent forwards with a flourish, the motion reminding me of Krakotl dancing that I saw when I once attended a Nishtalian chorale performing by the Dayside with Rhedit. One of his co-teachers was performing in the chorale, and Rhed made me his plus one. Krakotl singing is undeniably ethereal.

And on the road to Hell there was a railroad line,

And a lady steppin' off a train,

With a suitcase full of summertime,

Persephone, by name!

The lights pointed to an elevated part of the stage, revealing another player fanning away the fog that hugged her. Her head fur was poofed like a Prihteyloo tree, accessorized with metal imitations of Earth-flowers that glimmered along with the sequins on her bright green pelt. Starpowder lined her dark, exposed skin, the stage lighting making her look rather elegant instead of silly.

She nodded to the camera in acknowledgement, before making some sort of expression I couldn’t understand.

“Humans have such expressive faces,” I said absentmindedly.

“She’s trying to look coy,” Rhedit replied back, as if I was supposed to be able to tell.

I glanced at him, “Have you really been with Josie for so long now that you can read human faces immediately?”

Rhedit turned as well and chuckled at me, “I suppose so.”

“That’s not fucking fair—”

“Just keep watching, Arbo,” He cut me off, “Maybe you’ll get a read on them better like me while you’re working on this…erm, this thing.”

I pinned my ears and continued watching.

…Where the sun don't shine and it's always shady

It's there you'll find the king of the mine,

Almighty Mr. Hades!

The camera panned to the right, and the player in question was in layers of black pelts that delightfully contrasted with his exposed white skin and white head fur. He was the only one with eye coverings, the accessory’s glare as he nodded ironically making him look more imposing.

That’s no king, but that certainly looks almighty.

We got any other gods?

Oh, right, almost forgot...

The lights and the camera returned once more to the silver-pelted player. As the camera focused on him, I noted that his skin was as brown as Rippleroot, and his dark hair seemed sprayed with silver paint, as if to messily match with his pelts.

On the road to Hell there was a railroad station,

And a man with feathers on his feet,

Who could help you to your final destination—

Mr. Hermes, that's me!

The player in question did that same bending action, a little stiffer than the Fates had down, but still nonetheless lively.

“I need to go to the bathroom,” Rhed said, getting up suddenly, “tell me everything I miss when I get back!”

Before I could protest, he zoomed out of the room and into the bathroom.

It's a sad song,

(It's a sad song!)

Once again, the chorus began to echo after Hermes.

It's a sad tale, it's a tragedy!

It's a sad song,

(It's a sad song!)

We're gonna sing it anyway!

Wait, a tragedy?!

Fucking hell, of course only Nidel would be insane enough to choose a tragedy for celebration. Perhaps he wasn’t informed beforehand? Though loud so far, this show hasn’t shown signs of being a tragedy yet. It calls to question now, I suppose, what would Humans consider a tragedy?

…To the hardest working Chorus

In the gods' almighty world!

The crowd of players in dull pelts ran up in front of Hermes, bending forward too, some with a flourish. Is this a movement common in Human theater?

I was tempted to ask away in Chat, but it felt too distracting to concentrate on formulating a question.

And workin' just as hard for you

Let's see what this crew can do!

At that, they began doing synchronized but clearly non-uniform dancing, the clash and the chaos holding the illusion of a crowd. The fog blew itself away, revealing the rest of the stage.

It then hit me that the stage lacked distinct props and decorations besides the elevated portions that were decorated with metal bars. The music pouches were poorly hidden, the lights moving with the Chorus. It was all wood and basic foundation, with color and fog bearing the load of the faux environment. It was difficult to tell if it was on purpose or this was budget cuts. Did Humans simply suspend their disbelief so much?

Aight! Aight!

Hermes calmed down the Chorus, taking center stage once again.

On the road to Hell there was a railroad line,

As the Chorus hummed back, the lights dimmed, concentrating on a corner by one of the music pouches.

And a poor boy workin' on a song

La la la la la la la, sang out the new player in focus, producing the cleanest melody I have ever heard from a Human—nay, from any alien!

I was mesmerized at his demeanor, captured by the way he entered. With an aloof whimsy, he was cleaning a prop cup using a rag.

The player in question had white exposed skin, similar to Tempest’s shade, and the fur atop his head was as fiery as the fur of a growing pup. He wore thin pelts, white to cover his chest and arms plus gray for his legs. His muted foot protection matched with the leg covering, and there was a much more loose cloth of a sandy green that was tied around the waist. A red cloth was tied around his wrist, its bright hue stark and striking.

I could feel myself sink into the couch at that second La la la la la la la, but I stopped that urge by reaching for my Sprunk can.

‘Cause he was touched by the gods themselves!

Give it up for Orpheus!

Orpheus, in a moment of clumsiness, nearly dropped the cup, only to miraculously catch it before it hit the ground. As he glanced towards the crowd, he stood up and waved, showing off his teeth.

There was one more soul on this road,

Girl, come on in from the cold!

The lights then focused on the opposite corner of the stage (of which had been clearly fogging up in the darkness), and out emerged another player. This one seemed standoffish, acting out perfectly the look of one emerging from a snow storm. Her head fur seemed mostly shaved away, possessing black remnants of hair that went well with her fur brown skin. She was dressed in layers of black pelts too, some sort of unfamiliar material playing coating her. She had golden feathers pinned to her ears, as well as faded yellow foot coverings.

And brother, thus begins the tale of Orpheus and Eurydice!

As Hermes and the Chorus kept repeating specific lines and verses sung earlier, the stage soon lit up in full. There were suddenly tables and chairs, and the Chorus members began drifting towards them. Hades drew himself back and so did Orpheus, the two by a quiet corner.

Still in the front is most likely the player for Eurydice, the three players for the Fates trailing close in the front as well.

Memory transcription subject: Podsu, Yotul cloth weaver

Date [standardized human time]: February 23, 2137

So much was happening already!

I’ve never really been to a play before. Well, before the Humans showed up anyway.

Daida, my co-worker and mentor in my line of work, was almost as old as Mr. Nidel and Mr. Arbo. She took me to a reopening of Tulleo’s Feud a few days ago, and I was certainly delighted. A lot of restored theaters all over were pushing that show out apparently. The work we watched was historical, talking about the Grain Wars and the tribal infighting our ancestors had during our Age of Punishment. Historians called the period that because of the frequent droughts in many parts in the major islands of the planet. Droughts were seen as a punishment from Ralchi, and I reckon fighting over limited grain would have incensed him more.

Theater was so much more immersive than I expected. To play audience to what should’ve been filmed scenes before you—it was quite the experience! The lights, the color, the ever-moving stage, it was amazing! Daida was quick to point out when we watched how our theater used Federation technology to enhance the performance. The anti-gravity for Tulleo’s grand monologue has not left my mind, and it clearly didn’t leave hers too.

I brought my thoughts back towards the Human play. Mr. Nidel informed me of his shock and delight about the collaboration with the Human Tempest Wheatley. Ambassador Laulo had messaged Mr. Nidel personally, as far as the old man had told me, about the deadlines and the audience to be expected. He was given the freedom to choose between either Leirn or Earth as the stage, even with both planets having their differing rebuilding efforts. Mr. Nidel had said he would confirm that last bit once the play chosen was final.

According to Mr. Nidel, Tempest had tried to push for something by the Human called William Shakespeare, apparently a very revered playwright among the Humans. He was curious about the work called A Midsummer Night's Dream up until diverging topics brought him and Tempest into discussing the Human idea of combining concert performance with acting—the performance of a Musical. From Tempest’s suggestions, he had been immediately drawn to Hadestown, finding its premise interesting and the implied imagery familiar.

I must say that the show was splendid so far, and it surprised me that the Humans could flex their deep voices with colorful melodies. The percussive nature of the music was intriguing, fueling a celebratory tone I didn’t think could be achieved in such a way. I haven’t heard much Yotul music outside of the tiny concerts during family affairs that my Dad would have arranged for my Running Day and my older brother’s. It was percussive too, melodic on occasion, but such aggressive music was either for worship or wartime. Mom was always religious, a little more than Dad was, so Running Day in our household was in some way religious too. I believed in Ralchi, but I wasn't exactly devout as Mom, though I wasn't as dismissive of religion as my brother, who believed in no god at all.

As I watched, I understood that Eurydice was someone who was poor and struggled very much, the trio following her vocalizing the poor thing’s thoughts. She had entered some sort of… hall? I’m not sure, but the amount of props could only tell so much. When Orpheus saw her, he fell in love instantly, with Hermes by him guiding and encouraging like a lightguard. Did Human gods behave no differently than Humans did?

I'm workin' on a song

It isn't finished yet,

But when it's done and when I sing it,

Spring will come again!

Come again?

Spring will come!

When? I haven't seen a Spring or Fall since...

I can't recall

I love how the pelts they all wore told stories too. From Eurydice’s tattered coverings and the thinness of Orpheus’s pelts, it was very clear the two were scraping by. If not for the colors, they would have easily blended in with the Chorus. The gods of the show, on the other hand, were dressed with bright and clean drapery, noticeable by being covered in starpowder, whether it be on their skin or coverings.

To endure hard times… I barely tasted it, but the few times I had brought me back to when I was visiting Colia to study how to make medicinal cloth and drapery. A lot of the doctors I met there certainly made it difficult to ask around, but the few who have been nice to me were people I was very grateful for. Sure, I was an uplift, but I wasn’t poor! My father came from a rich family, and my mother was certainly smart enough to marry into one. Even with that truth, all those awful Zurulians saw was a hopeless primitive. You’d think doctors, whose job is to keep people well, would be a lot less rude!

We had been doing fine making machines of our own. The Sunpeak Age was a time of new developments, after all. My Dad said it was the start of steam: faster boats, trains, and better machines. He and Mom were one of the first people to ride the Leirn train, money letting them take priority. By the time I was born, Federation transportation was the norm, and that same train my parents rode was gone.

So when you sing your song,

The one you're working on,

Spring will come again?

Yes!

Why don't you sing it then?

I-It isn't finished—

Sing it

You wanna take me home?

Yes

Sing the song

To silence Eurydice’s doubts, Orpheus began his string of melodic vocalization. The Chorus echoed him powerfully—and then a red flower manifested in his hand!

My eyes widened, following the flower being gently placed in Eurydice’s grasp. It was a beautifully executed illusion, especially with the clear lack of holographic machines!

How'd you do that?

Still shocked, I typed immediately in Chat.

I don't know

The song's not finished though

PODSU: What kind of flower is that?

Even so, it can do this?

RAPHAEL: That is a red carnation or Dianthus caryophyllus

You have to finish it!

EMMANUEL: We would give some of those away during the end of a show! Not all nights but it was expected during very special ones

I moved the chat box to my other monitor and went to search about carnation flowers, absorbing the audible lyrics and glancing back every so often. Apparently these were popular flowers on Earth, carrying a cultural meaning about love. That must be why Orpheus gives one to Eurydice!

They existed in all colors but blue, the variety astonishing to me. How did Humans have flowers of so much distinction and variety? Regardless, they are very pretty! I wonder if they made good dye? In cloth craft, flowers are either good dye or good fabric. Most flowers in the galaxy fell in the former category, but the latter group were not to be ignored either. Most flowers from Leirn were used as the latter, and our joining with the Federation had expanded the flower classification in question. My personal favorite to use was Himvulyn, because these strain my claws the least.

I closed the tabs and turned my attention back to the recording, harmonious humming soothing me. I saw the poor couple incredibly in love, inspired by a hope and determination I found very familiar.

Chapter Text

Memory transcription subject: Rhedit, Zurulian school teacher

Date [standardized human time]: February 23, 2137

“What did I miss?”

By the stars, I wish I didn’t take so long in the bathroom.

As I arrived back to the viewing, my eyes caught two Human players in some sort of embrace.

“Arbo,” I nudged him as I plopped myself down beside him, “how much did I miss?”

Before he could reply, a horrendous ringing whistle sounded out from the speakers.

On the road to Hell there was a railroad line,

“What was that awful sound?” I then asked.

Oh, come on!

“Old Human trains apparently used whistles to signal,” Arbo replied, “it’s a miracle the Humans of the time didn’t go deaf!”

“Thank goodness for digital speaker jingles,” I reclined into the couch, “what did your trains use? I know Leirn had locomotion prior to uplifting.”

“We had…” He paused, “Well, I forget the exact term for the instrument but it was basically a kind of horn.”

“Ah.”

Follow that dollar for a long way down

Far away from the poorhouse door,

You either get to hell or to Hadestown

Ain't no difference anymore!

“Who’s that one in the blood-colored pelt again?” I asked, reaching for my half-eaten snack.

“Persephone,” Arbo struggled to articulate the Human name, “an ancient Human goddess of the warm season. They sang about it earlier, but apparently the goddess once fell in love with the god of the dead, whom the Humans called Hades. Since the goddess had a duty to the World, she and her beloved made an agreement that she would be among the living for half a Human cycle, and among the dead with her lover for the other half. Being with her lover meant going underground, since ancient Humans buried their dead there. Therefore, her absence from above meant no plants and sustenance. It was as if she died, and for half a cycle, the rest of Earth died with her. Well, until the next half-cycle, where the earth would be rejuvenated upon her return.”

“And it repeats…” What a wonderfully primitive myth, “Why didn’t the ancient Humans simply learn to stock up before the Winter?”

“I don’t fucking know,” Arbo scratched the back of his ear, “but I hope you can at least understand that was one of their old ways to explain the seasons of their planet, right? Before they developed their science?”

“O-Of course, I understand! Josie told me about that myth before. You explaining it like that just made me think of the question, you know?”

“Yeah, but I do think myths like this aren't supposed to be scrutinized like that.”

“I disagree,” I then bit into my strayu.

“Oh?” He stopped scratching, “Why not?”

“Well,” I swallowed, “I think revisiting old knowledge with new scrutiny opens up new knowledge, you know?”

Arbo’s tail began to wag with interest, “Of course, but we can’t forget what we learned before that. Much gets lost that way.”

I huffed, “I suppose we’re lucky we haven’t lost too much.”

Arbo stiffened at my statement but calmed down just as fast.

“Let’s not test fate that way, then.”

Way down Hadestown,

Way down under the ground!

This Persephone character was singing like she was distressed, the dull-pelted actors circling around her menacingly in synchronized movements. Why didn’t she want to see her lover again?

Down there, it's a bunch of stiffs

Brother, I'll be bored to death!

Gonna have to import some stuff,

Just to entertain myself

Give me morphine in the tin!

Give me a crate of the fruit of the vine!

Takes a lot of medicine

To make it through the wintertime

I’m no doctor (and I would’ve been if I wasn’t afraid of seeing reasonable amounts of blood for a doctor to handle), but morphine and alcohol should NOT be consumed together.

Way down Hadestown,

Way down under the ground!

More distinct actors began singing, warning about the place called Hadestown—which might be code for the Land of the Dead.

It’s odd how Humans approached Death, if I was listening to these lyrics right. They were framing their Hades as a creature that embodied incredible cunning and manpower, as if he was the spawn of the greediest of Nevoks and the bloodiest of the Arxur.

Everybody hungry, everybody tired,

Everybody slaves by the sweat of his brow

The wage is nothing and the work is hard,

It's a graveyard in Hadestown!

No, the playwright was representing Death through things that would make anyone want to die! Death to a Human must be found in meaningless, all-consuming work, from the sufferings that come with incredible greed.

Perhaps, then, their strange moments of anger were now something that needed no explanation.

As Josie relayed to me, for so long these predators had an affinity with injustice, so much so that they knew very well how to destroy it (and unfortunately, create it too, if some of her stories about Human history were of any indication).

The actors in the fancy wear were guiding and dragging around two other actors that were distinguished from the ones in the dull pelts, singing their warnings to the two like doting parents would to their cubs about visiting dangerous places.

The actors then quieted, for the fancy actor holding a strange stick began blowing on that awful whistle.

On the Road to Hell, there was a railroad car,

They all cleared the way as fog filled the stage.

And the car door opened and a man stepped out,

A man indeed stepped out, dressed in layers of black, and the only one wearing eye coverings.

The tension was strong in this grand entrance, for I found myself holding my breath too.

“You're early,” Persephone said, unhappily clutching her light luggage.

Hades removed his eye coverings, revealing an expression of restrained but clearly desperate yearning.

“I missed you.”

The camera traced it all as Hades and Persephone reached for each other, walking across the center of the foggy stage.

I was taken away by the subtlety in these actors' movements, the way their naked faces convey emotion in place of tail wagging and ear flicks. It was something that stood out from the more expressive and emotional work I’ve seen on television.

Josie told me many times already how much her species was fond of creating and artistry, and yet I get surprised every time I see evidence of it. Humanity’s primal passions were more organized, beautiful I dare say, when it came to art. I couldn’t look away, and neither could they. No wonder their species made an effort to preserve such old-fashioned practices!

My musings were cut as Arbo began yelling, and my eyes widened at what he was yelling at.

“A sinking pit?! A sinking pit!” He pulled us closer to the screen. I nodded humanly in return, too speechless to even guess what prompted the Humans to do that.

Hades and Persephone were miraculously sinking down into the underground of the stage, the rest of the cast staring at them as they sang out the final chorus with a flourish. As the song ended, I couldn’t help but wag my tail in appreciation at the sight. The Human audience in the recording was audibly cheering too, and I glanced at Arbo, excited and starry-eyed in ways I didn’t think possible for him.

Memory transcription subject: Nidel, Yotul playwright

Date [standardized human time]: February 23, 2137

If these Humans weren’t deemed predatory at first sight, the sight of this show would have pushed those Feddie fucks in a rather specific but absolutely annoying way.

I reclined back into my seat, listening to the simple chords spelling out what the characters were saying was a storm. I did a bit of research before watching, and I must stress that the contrasting nature of Earth’s seasons must be quite the sight to behold. Leirn climates were never so extreme, especially here in the ever-stagnant, semi-tropical Thysun, only blessed in shine and showers. To interpret this weather change as a kind of rising and dying, a cycle that never stops—it’s creative! It’s intelligent, and the workings of my rattled brain couldn’t help but shake upon recognition of powerful uses of story.

The thing about stories from this tribe of ancient Humans that I noticed was their fondness for grand figures. Like us, they knowingly and intelligently honored heroes and similar men of renown as they deserved. The story of Orpheus was apparently unique, as he was the sole bard in a sea of ruthless warriors. If the Humans had been treated the same way we were, the Feds would ensure Orpheus was the only hero they remembered, assuming they didn’t remove the entire literature altogether!

I clutched the cup of Ekwon wine in my paws, sipping as I recognized another musical repetition begin to play. (I mean, we Yotul have reprises in some songs of ours, but the Humans’ apparent need to repeat things is incredibly absurd.)

But for half of the year with Persephone gone,

His loneliness moves in him, crude and black

He thinks of his wife in the arms of the sun,

And jealousy fuels him, and feeds him, and fills him,

With doubt that she'll ever come,

Dread that she'll never come,

Doubt that his lover

Will ever come back

The character was singing about Hades now, strumming the bowedut-like instrument in his hands, no picks or equivalent edutees present as his dexterous digits did their work. As he played, the stage lights began to move, shadows of new players visible from the stage corners.

The pickaxe flashes

The hammer falls

And crashing and pounding,

His rivers surround him,

And drown out the sound of the song he once heard:

The bard’s “La la la la la la la” repeated in varying melodies, up until the floor from under him suddenly started dragging him away like a Federation-standard conveyor belt.

His vocalizations gradually became tension-inducing, as fog filled the stage and the lights began to dim. New players dressed in some sort of semi-exposed workwear entered, marching in a militant fashion, their stiff but monotonous gesturing reminding me of the first industrial factories I’ve seen on Leirn. As their stomping unmuted, the most sinister music I’ve ever heard started to play.

Okay, so maybe predatory music was something that existed, because this new melody sounded intense, my ears perking at the sound of sharp strings stretching against harsh chords and heavy stomping. I wasn’t one to feel chills at a play, but this was more menacing compared to the past upbeat melodies earlier!

In every note, you could tell each sound contained a dread that permeates, creating the illusion of entering a dangerous place unknowingly. Death, quite literally, awaited.

Low! Keep your head, keep your head low

Oh, you gotta keep your head low!

If you wanna keep your head—

Before I could formulate a conclusion about the dark implications of that shanty, a pillar had emerged from the center of the stage, the dispersing fog immediately telling me that the setting had changed.

Keep your head, keep your head low

Oh, you gotta keep your head low!

If you wanna keep your head,

This was the so-called Hadestown, and Hades and Persephone had arrived.

Oh, you gotta keep your head—

In the coldest time of year,

Why is it so hot down here?

Hotter than a crucible

It ain't right and it ain't natural!

The pillar the two showed up on remained elevated, the apparent workers circling below as they danced like machinery. The melody escaping these players’ breaths carved comprehensible imagery into these abyssal voices, giving ease for the translator and the poetry it was sharing.

Here, I fashioned things of steel!

Oil drums and automobiles!

Then I kept that furnace fed,

With the fossils of the dead

Lover, when you feel that fire,

Think of it as my desire

Think of it as my desire for you!

Oh Ralchi, these Humans have fucking been through it, haven’t they?

As I watched Orpheus try to song-write in the eye of the snow storm, my mind raced to think, to clarify, to pick apart!

When I was writing Loveboats at Sunrise, I was in a particularly desperate spot. Well, romantically, anyway. I’d been alive for more than twenty cycles and had, like, no boyfriends. It’s not like I could magic compass my way into finding one, so I thought that maybe I could express this yearning properly if I produced a romance. However, I already had the reputation for being thought-provoking in my play writing, and I didn’t exactly want to follow up my sunpeak work with something too fluffy, if not too vapid.

Inspiration hit when the news of the local iodorb population’s decline reached my ears. The folks that cared were quick to blame the early factories for the phenomenon. I liked those balls, especially how much they brought color in any shallow body of water. My interest prompted a brief period of research, and suddenly I was writing a romance that also talked about the dangers of an industrialization that wasn’t careful with nature. May Ralchi burn those who willingly destroy the nature upon which is blessed by his light!

Looking high and looking low,

For the food and firewood I know

We need to find, and I am keeping one eye on the sky and—

I’m trying to trust that the song he's working on is gonna shelter us,

From the wind, the wind, the wind!

Eurydice was being followed by these Fates again, the role of this valpar intriguing me. Human mythology stated that these Fates dictated the direction of people’s lives, portraying Human souls akin to strings of thread they produce, measure, and portion. To see cosmic agents of predestination being portrayed as conscious, independent thoughts of the mortal mind made me scratch my head a bit. How much of this was Eurydice’s actual thoughts?

In the darkest time of year,

Why is it so bright down here?

Brighter than a carnival—

It ain't right, and it ain't natural!

The lights brought attention back to the Human gods again. Persephone had a drink in her hand this time, the color of the prop liquid matching the one I had with me, and she seemed blinded by the increased intensity of the stage lights. She drank as Hades sang his reply.

And wasn't it electrifying,

When I made the neon shine?

Silver screen, cathode ray—

Brighter than the light of day!

Lover, when you see that glare,

Think of it as my despair,

Think of it as my despair for you!

Strange practice, this Death god was doing, begging his spouse to stay with him longer with gifts of his own making.

The playwright made the choice to associate innovation with Death, a sentiment I did not expect the FTL-discovering Humans of all people to make. Then again, it had been a hundred years since this show was written. Society reaches us like claws covered in Ansi oil, and I don’t doubt it had its ways in Human fingers.

I mean, if we weren’t careful with how we took from Nature, it was clear that we would suffer. We still had losses as a civilization during our own road of industrialization, if the stuff about those iodorbs were of any indication. Even if the Federation did not come, we would have changed so much of Ralchi’s illuminated world eventually! It doesn’t take a genius to figure out that our shortage-fueled wars have historically been linked to improper tampering with nature, to a refusal to share in the Nature gifted to all of us.

Maybe the Federation coming was a punishment of its own, from the hubris of our engineers and politicians. Perhaps, even my hubris. I truly only cared so much for my own needs during my youth, and I don’t deny my cowardly narcissism.

Looking low and looking high—

There is no food left to find…

And we were back to Eurydice, raggedy with a bag on her person, just after a demonstration of Orpheus’s creative drought. She was being followed by the Fates still.

I'm trying to believe

That the song he's working on

Is gonna harbor me from

The wind—the wind, the wind!

As Hermes started narrating again, one of the Fates began tugging at Eurydice’s empty bag.

Give that back!

And—oof! Is she…? Holy shit, that trip and fall looked awfully realistic.

It’s everything we have!

The camera began to zoom in on the actress, and my eyes watched her body and face. That’s pure pain right there, with frustration that felt familiar, her glittery gold face markings trailing along with her tears.

“Orpheus!” She shouted desperately, the echo booming through my device.

Eurydice drew a fist into the wooden platform angrily and belted a gut-wrenching and melodious cry:

Shelter us!

Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! By Ralchi, I could feel shivers going down through my fur.

Harbor me!

I couldn’t breathe, and just as tensely the camera went back to Hades and Persephone. The anger I could feel permeated by the players made it difficult for me to calm down, but I tried my best.

Lover, what have you become?

Coal cars and oil drums,

Warehouse walls and factory floors—

I don't know you anymore!

And in the meantime up above,

The harvest dies and people starve!

Oceans rise and overflow!

It ain't right, and it ain't natural!

Lover, everything I do,

I do it for the love of you!

If you don't even want my love,

I'll give it to someone who does!

Someone grateful for her fate,

Someone who appreciates

The comforts of a gilded cage

And doesn't try to fly away

The moment Mother Nature calls,

Someone who could love these walls

That hold her close and keep her safe

And think of them as my embrace—

As Orpheus cut in with his vocalization, it seemed apparent that all the players were singing together, this final chorus more intense than the previous ones. This tension in the overlap was making my paws start shaking now, and I watched with wide eyes the players walk themselves into their next positions.

I downed what was left in my cup to help calm myself. I then neared my screen as the song reached its end, leaving Hades and Eurydice alone together onstage.

Of you.