Theatre Room
This room appears to be a massive theatre. Countless seats litter the room, more than the silly little cast could ever fill. You seem to have come in through the lower entrance, right next to the stage...there looks to be an entrance to the upper floor somewhere, but it's inaccessible for now.
Stranger: Ah. The theatre. As opposed to the multiple times he has come here before, it wasn't being used for any motive-giving or trial-starting. The silence...soothing, yet cold. The last time he was here for a casual walk of those sleek, gorgeous rows of seats, it was moments before Jasper's death. Lotus was still alive; what good company he made. Ivan, unperturbed by the murder he hadn't committed yet.
Ah, so much had changed. Even after it all... all of the drama, the changes, the bloodshed and tears... this accursed room still provided a comfort he could not place.
Stranger: ...The faint sound of music. A stringy bass, accompanied by a chorus of soft trumpets. And were those... flutes? What a wonderful sound. It tickled the corner of his ears, like the ghost of a melody, as he stood in front of the stage.
Stranger: ...Something compelled him to walk onto it.
Something even stronger compelled him to dance.
Stranger: It wasn't the energetic kind a dancer would do on the street. It was...slow. Methodical. Although he was alone on that stage, he still acted like he was dancing with someone else. Someone he loved, perhaps...?
Each piece of footwork was a surprise. When did he learn to dance like this? He didn't know, but didn't want to stop. It felt so... freeing.
He closed his eyes, getting lost in the sensation...
Stranger: ...And when he opened them again, the music was alive. The seats were filled with faces he could not process, and he was dancing with... with...
...who was he dancing with? He didn't remember. But their gaze, as fragmented as it was, gave a comfort so dear he didn't care to ask. He just continued to dance, invigorated by the music, the clapping of the crowd, and the sensation.
The sensation, of...
...
He closed his eyes again.
Stranger: The smell of blood came before he could even open them once more.
The person he danced with was not alive. They were bleeding profusely, neck slit. Stranger was covered in this prota's gore. He gasped; instantly, he wanted to stop the waltz, to vomit, to curse the thought of even trying to dance. And yet...his feet would not stop. The crowd was still cheering, the music even louder.
It was deafening. Consuming. Any semblance of warmth was gone. If he could tear his own eardrums out, he would.
Stranger: And before this dragon of cacophony could consume him...
Dax: Creeak.
"So I was thinking that I could sneak the cats in here, and-"
Dax stopped at the doorway, both them and Rue staring at Stranger like they had seen a ghost. The man was lying on the floor of the stage, faceplanted, limbs shaking. He was breathing heavily.
"...Oh. Hi, Stranger. What are you doing?"
Stranger: Huff. Huff. Huff. Just keep breathing, Stranger. He had to remind himself, otherwise he may cease to live.
"...Tripping out of my damn mind." He replied.