Chronological markers: this scene fits in as a deleted scene from The Umbrella Academy, season 3, between episodes 5 and 6, during the evening.
Suggested soundtrack: Chicago Ensemble (1997) - All that jazz ; Parov Stelar - Booty Swing. TW: alcohol consumption.
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April 4 2019, 11h11 pm
Klaus and I have had plenty of lame excuses for being late here and there. Most often at work - for me, anyway - even if Rodrigo is pretty lenient when I'm not opening the hardware store. For Klaus, at his appointments with Dr. Milligan for his post-rehab follow-ups, though most of the time, he didn't even show up. But what are our reasons tonight for being late meeting Christopher in front of the Celestial Theatre, with the show of Chicago already ten minutes underway?
Klaus claimed he spent way too much time in front of the mirror and then in the shower, but he didn't mention that it was because he was watching himself heal unnaturally fast after being pierced by a speargun. I said I'd been held up at work and then went to buy antispasmodics, when in fact, I spent several hours trapped in a space-time anomaly. In a corridor that possibly leads to the control room of the universe. Minor details.
And tonight isn't about burdening Christopher with that.
Tonight, I promised him he would meet Granny. The grandmother who is more his than mine in this version of 2019 and who followed him here to America with his mother. My mother. Our mother? Through an act of desperate love. It twists my heart to discover, day by day, how far this woman would have went for me, even though I only ever showed her ingratitude until her death. But tonight, what I am about to do is also, in a way, in her memory.
Chris, of course, is furious about our lateness, crackling and sparking angrily, making the few fans asking for autographs under the neon lights above the big doors scatter. Yes, people do often ask for his autograph, and yes, he can sign them: by burning the paper very finely with energy. Just imagine what he could do to your skin.
He wasn't surprised to see Klaus with me: he just pointedly ignored him after calling him a 'lowcoast Ouija board' directly into his mind. To be fair, Klaus is as unstable as a three-legged chair tonight. But as a result, he couldn't care less about insults. And at this moment, he's far too enchanted by the soft jazzy notes drifting through the closed theater doors and, in general, by the place we find ourselves in.
The Celestial Theatre is a retro gem of the music hall, glowing tonight like a constellation in the urban apocalypse. While its Art Deco facade might seem imposing at first glance, it's actually made of smoky glass and entwined golden details. The carpets and seats are the deepest red velvet, and its programming objectively rivals Broadway's.
'Come on babe, why don't we paint the town?
And all that jazz
I'm gonna rouge my knees and roll my stockings down
And all that jazz
Start the car, I know a whoopee spot
Where the gin is cold but the piano's hot
It's just a noisy hall, where there's a nightly brawl
And all that jazz'
Apologizing profusely in the dim, glittering half-light, we slip into the room where some two thousand souls are already clapping for Roxie Hart and Velma Kelly to the iconic swing of 'All That Jazz'. The staff have been informed of our arrival, and Granny has clearly arranged everything: she reserved a small private table for me tonight, surrounded by deep Chesterfields, where we are served champagne without even ordering.
'No, I'm no one's wife
But oh, I love my life
And all that jazz
That jazz'
I gaze up at the spotlit, shadow-crossed high vaulted ceilings, bathed in enthusiastic murmurs and bursts of laughter from the audience, as the songs unfold one after the other: 'Funny Honey', 'Cell Block Tango'. 'A Little Bit of Good' et 'I Can't Do It Alone'.
As the curtain rises for the intermission, right after 'My Own Best Friend', which nearly brings Klaus to tears, I clap along with the crowd, wondering if he's taken a single breath during the ten songs we just heard. Chicago is a story about a prison encounter, so of course he loves it. He's always in his element amid such unbridled glitz celebrating a life of flamboyance.
Chris, on the other hand, does nothing but grumble and shamelessly flirt with the waitress bringing us drinks. Over-the-top, even. I feel a bit embarrassed, as if I'm the one doing it. But the intermission only lasts ten minutes, and it's time to make the most of it.
"Come on, it's time", I say to them both. "Klaus? Klaus, are you with us?"
He smiles blissfully, letting me pull him to his feet, though his recently resurrected mind is paradoxically still lost somewhere in Chicago.
"I want a poster", he whispers. "Can I buy one at the merch stand?"
Christopher buzzes sarcastically, and Klaus brushes off the comment with a wave of his 'Goodbye' hand.
"I know, I know: I don't have my own walls... You guys own the place now, etcetera. Besides, who would want Hargreeves Mansion? That big house is impossible to heat in both winter and summer, and the plumbing is a nightmare all year round."
Chris gives a jerky laugh, insinuating he could handle Klaus's plumbing himself. Before he can act on it, I drag them out of our private corner.
We walk up the carpeted aisle, muffling our steps, toward the tall doors of the hall. Cutting through the crowd, many of whom are heading for the bathrooms. Some will probably wait a good fifteen minutes before reaching them, but our destination lies elsewhere: Granny has agreed to meet us in the VIP lounge. There, we'll be safe from the onlookers trying to approach Chris again. Macarons will be served during intermission, more champagne... and, above all, we'll be able to talk for a while.
We find the place easily, slightly set back in a hallway with beautiful parquet flooring on the upper level, after a polite attendant escorts and introduces us. The room has a high ceiling, gleaming chandeliers, and deep green banquettes. Like he's at home, comfortable in the midst of this sophisticated glam as if in pajamas, Klaus moves ahead the moment he spots Granny.
"Mrs. Hoàng... Pinch me, I must be dreaming!", he says, beaming as he approaches her with arms wide open.
He looks like he's greeting a friend of fifteen years, which is both true... and not. I tense slightly because she doesn't know him... and because I know what she's capable of. She abandons her conversation with a suited man whom she dismisses as if he were of no consequence, turning to scrutinize Klaus from curls to heeled Chelseas. I have to admit she has never looked more stunning, and he lets out a giggle of admiration.
"Good gracious. You look divine: you must share your skincare routine. It's so nice to see that you exist beyond your television screen, all pearls and silks, and that you-"
"I did not book an escort tonight, Nancy. Certainly not from that section of the catalog. And this one talks too much."
She addresses the poor attendant who introduced us, who apologizes profusely, but Klaus keeps his most charmed expression. If Chris had eyes, he would be rolling them in exasperation, but I can feel him buzzing, unsettled by seeing his very own grandmother in the flesh.
"No, no", Klaus says with an expression of ultimate complicity toward Granny.
"I've been on permanent sabbatical for a few years now. Although, everything's negotiable, especially for you, Mrs. H-"
"Klaus, shut up."
The words escape me, stopping Chris from sending a jolt to his velvet-covered rear. Even though I know his fondness for wealthy older ladies, like with Kitty in recent years... holy shit, this is our grandmother...
At my interjection, Granny's gaze suddenly shifts to me and the floating cube beside me, realizing we are there in the wake of that lanky, unabashedly casual guy. Klaus just go to sit beside her, picking at the macarons while slipping off his shoes to get comfortable in the lounge.
"You can't be...", she says, almost breathless.
She rises slowly in her impeccably tailored sheath dress, likely of her own design. She isn't even looking at me anymore. Her entire focus is on the being she has only seen from afar until now, of printed on the huge posters of the Sparrow Academy covering countless skyscrapers in The City.
When she had suggested attending tonight's show yesterday, she hadn't expected me to come with company. Certainly not the tall, curly-haired oddball now being served blackcurrant liqueur. And especially not ~ him ~.
I step back, letting Chris move to where I had stood, as if replacing me, and it causes a slight ache in my heart. In this reality, he's the rightful one to stand before her, to speak to her as her dgrand-son, even though he's just an absurd cube. I am only an echo from another timeline, which shouldn't exist.
"Christopher..."
She doesn't use the name Marine or Bạch Liên, and I can feel all of Christopher's gratitude for that, in his energy. I have never seen the surface of his psykronium cube glow so brightly with a light, pulsating purple emotion. No matter how insufferable he can be the rest of the time. In that moment, Chris is no longer a jerk, not even a Sparrow. He is just a pure energy meeting another energy without which he would never have existed.
This moment isn't mine.
I walk to Klaus, grab him by the arm, and he bends to retrieve his shoes from the carpet before I pull him across the VIP lounge. We have to leave them alone. They deserve to meet without prying eyes, even if it hurts to think that this is what I have become.
"Granny is amazing, Rin-rin, look how high her dress-slit goes! She-"
"She's not Granny, Klaus."
There is certainly sadness in my voice as we sit at a small round table, where an attendant promptly places a fresh plate of macarons. Klaus has brought his kir along but orders another immediately. He knows what I feel, which is exactly why he has refused to meet Dave in this reality. I understand so well now. And I sigh.
"I'm not sure I did the right thing by finding her. We have to face the truth... we don't exist here."
He looks at me over the sparkling, deep red drink, condensation frosting the crystal.
"You know that's not true. Look at us. We're here in flesh, bone... and all kinds of interesting spongy tissues."
He pinches my side gently, and I don't even flinch, but my eyes wander to the rugs that adorn the golden oak floor.
"Our timeline was devastated by an apocalypse. We're nothing but castaways."
Certainly more like the aliens of Makȟá Zuȟéča than we could ever imagine. But Klaus shrugs.
"Does it matter?"
I stare at him, knowing he will elaborate.
"Rinny. Ever since January 3rd, 2007 of our era, as your damned cube counterpart pointed out, I haven't had a single legal and permanent wall of my own to hang a poster. I'm under the Squatter zodiac sign, rising Couches-and-Silk-Beds Surfer. Now a Timeline Surfer. And, so what?"
He shrugs, taking a macaron filled with apricot jam.
"Does that mean I don't exist?"
Klaus always has that perspective on what it means to be a person, or to have an identity. Until the age of thirteen, he didn't even have a first name, just a number. And after that, he always had a personality that metaphorically knockouts on the screen of our lives. Just by himself, detached from places, material possessions, and sometimes - out of necessity - relational attachments. His approach to the permanence of being within impermanence has always moved me deeply, in a good way. And again today.
"You're right. I just... I just need to mourn Granny. Mine. I think."
It's terrible, but I think of Allison. Of what she must be feeling about Claire, who is lost, left behind. I've only crossed paths with her a few times in recent days, but each time, I've felt a dark aura surrounding her.
Unlike Klaus, she built herself powerfully on attaining her desires, not always honestly, using the Rumors a lot to that end. Literally defining her own reality. She had formed a strong connection to her former career, her home, her daughter, all while bearing the guilty feeling that she'd usurped it all. She had imagined having a second chance, finding Claire again. And she's lost. She refuses to accept her loss. And I fear that, despite appearances, deep down, she blames Viktor for everything that has been taken from her.
Hoàng Thị Liên sits down, Christopher floating above the same bench, and I watch them in silence. Klaus places a hand meant to be comforting on my shoulder but is heavy with all the alcohol he's consumed.
"There are good sides to this nomadic life of timeline-hopping", he says.
"Look. I get to understand who I am, what I'm capable of, and what my father expected... all while having tea with a much nicer version of him."
I exhale heavily. After what happened tonight, I know he will go back and try to understand himself by questioning his almost-father. But then he adds something else that makes me look at him again:
"I find it fascinating to have this second chance."
I blink and repeat.
"A second chance."
I harshly reacted to the way Klaus wanted to get closer to Sparrow's Reginald Hargreeves. I've been very worried about it too. But I decide in that moment not to judge that anymore. I'll help him if needed, because he is right: the answers are behind that monocle and nowhere else.
"A second chance...", I repeat once more.
I think again of Iggy and his fellows, who were also awaiting this renewal, for their families and lands. I think of the reboot of the universe-machine they hoped for. All of it weighs heavily on my heart. Too heavy for me alone, and I realize I need to talk to him about it. Badly.
"Klaus...", I say cautiously, wondering if he will even remember anything I tell him tonight, in his current state.
"What would you think... if I told you that we're not the only ones lost in space-time?"
He leans back on the banquette, stretching his long legs to cross them on the spare chair at our table, chuckling softly as he wiggles his toes.
"I'd say if your idea is to open a kennel to house us while we wait for adoption, it's already kind of what Hotel Obsidian has become."
I smile because he is closer to the truth than he knows. But with his current level of intoxication, I know if I am too cryptic, he won't understand, so I choose to be direct.
"If I told you there are aliens, capable of mimicry beneath human skin, who are also waiting for a second chance, for their planet that was destroyed? A sort of... reset of the universe?"
He blinks three times, as if I am the one who is drunk, and I sense he is about to tease me.
"Of course, Rinny. Aliens. Hidden among humans, pulling the strings of every government..."
"Klaus..."
"Rin! I also found your boss's conspiracy gazettes at the hardware store entertaining. But just one day on the job and it's already getting to you?"
"I saw them. The hotel residents, they were-"
"Oh sweetie, you're really starting to sound like Diego, who believes in lizard-men and insists that Dad is one."
I freeze.
It's true. Since Dallas, ever since he was stabbed in the abdomen during a scuffle in Reginald Hargreeves's business offices, Diego has been convinced that the man isn't the human he always claimed to be. That he saw scaly skin and appendages that were clearly not human. None of the Hargreeves gave him any credit for it, not even Klaus, who often suffered from being ignored.
"Diego... believes that..."
What he just said unsettles me, and my eyes drift to the Sigil on my forearm. Could it be that Hargreeves was interested in the Sigil simply because-
"Rin-rin, you need a kir and some sugar."
He snaps his fingers for the server to bring me what he just had, and I surrender as he places a coffee macaron in front of me.
"You don't need to make up any alien planets for reasons to save the universe."
He gestures to the theater around us, and I understand what he means. Each of these people has already lost a family member to the Kugelblitz: statistically, it's a fact by now. Sometimes two, three, or more.
"Look at them defying death. They're here tonight, where the gin is cold and the piano's hot."
I know he's right and that more than a musical is at stake tonight, possibly the last before the world's end. And I smile because he just quoted the first act of Chicago. He continues, moving to the chair and using it as a cabaret prop. From where she's speaking to Christopher, Granny gives us a look, smiling with silent gratitude as Klaus raises his kir and continues quoting the song.
"Yes, look at them all, Rinny, with their styled hair, buckle shoes, and corsets. Tonight, they're painting the town and rouging their knees: they're no one's wife, but they love their life... and all that jazz."
I give him a bittersweet smile. Because he makes me feel so much better by saying that. Even if I know that sometimes ~ he ~ would prefer to give up. To stay in that afterlife where he finally feels at peace. But he keeps going. Sometimes driven by a survival instinct, sometimes because his power gives him no choice. And I have no words now to express my gratitude to him.
"You're right...", I say. "I, too, want all that jazz to g-"
Mid-sentence, I freeze for a reason Klaus doesn't perceive but that makes Chris shift from calm to another color. We both feel it: the vibration of energy and matter in all things, just before the inevitable strikes. Like every time.
One second passes. Two.
*Zzzzzmmmmm*
As the first wave hits, all the lights in the VIP lounge flicker, and I stop Klaus from trying to lift his leg higher than his tendons allow. I know we're in the eye of the storm, and it will only be a few more seconds before the Kugelblitz's return wave finishes its lethal surge. Klaus blinks, unaware.
"What? Eat your macaron, you're pale. Goodness, tonight, you're the one who needs a lavender bath and a good-"
No, he can't feel what's coming. So I say the only word that will make him understand everything.
"Kugelblitz, Klaus!"
*SHHHHRAAAAAA*
The tsunami crashes down on us again. Slashing, reaching the deepest part of my being and my Marigolds, stronger than any wave we've experienced so far. Chris turns orange, then red, as my eyes fall on the hall of the Art Deco building, seen through the bay windows of the lounge. Around us, the very people filling the Celestial Theatre - still waiting for the bathrooms for some of them - are pulverized into space-time. Hundreds of them, perhaps one out of every two. The same people Klaus was just praising for their zest for life moments ago.
I cling to him, my heart feeling as if it's about to implode, and I close my eyes, waiting for the energy of the titanic cluster of hungry black holes to recede. And it does, as always: the surge fades away, and reality resumes its course around us, now devoid of many more lives. Silence returns, followed by the little tune announcing the end of the intermission, quickly followed by the heart-wrenching cries echoing throughout the theater, from those who came with someone and will leave alone.
I'm shaking as I reopen my eyes, already feeling between my tight fingers that Klaus is still there. However, on the other side of the VIP lounge, I sense a terrible ripple of energy, not from the Kugelblitz, but from the deepest kind of psykronium grief.
In the lounge, all the lights crackle, and I can't tell if I am the cause of it, or if it's the work of my Dopplegänger. I look at Klaus, but he has already understood.
Facing Christopher's grief-stricken, collapsed cube, the one who was no longer my Granny simply isn't anymore.
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Notes:
This chapter could have been funny if it hadn't been - deep down - so tragic. The show deliberately sidesteps the human dramas brought on by the Kugelblitz, though it hints at them through Chet's sadness when his dog - poor Mr. Pennycrumb - gets blasted.
Here, I wanted to show the horror that these mass disappearances have caused, as well as the resilience of human spirit. Rin has lost Granny, physically. But as she realizes, she had never truly found her back.
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