heroes and villains and prompts and stories

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“Look at what you’ve done.”

Supervillain’s hand curls over his shoulder, a phantom touch, the weight of each finger known only to Hero. Hero jolts. Not here. He swallows, glancing down the line of soldiers, all clothed in ceremonial garments. Not now.

“You’ve pathed the way for a tyrant king.” Supervillain croons, tracing the ceramic edge of Hero’s mask. “All that power, all that will, and yet you bow before him, without name, without face.”

Hero turns his head from the touch, gaze forced along the crimson carpet. The runner leads up to a semi-circular dais. At its center, Superhero stands, facing an assembly of clergymen and alchemists. The lead priest cradles a spired crown with both hands.

He will lead us to the light. Hero swears.

Supervillain sighs against his ear. “Such willful delusion.”

Superhero bears the mark of destiny. The gods have chosen him and he shall bring us into an age of prosperity.

A weight builds along Hero’s back. If Hero focuses, he can feel Supervillain’s chest through his cloak, rising and falling in a languid rhythm. The slowness of each breath reminds Hero of where Supervillain’s real body remains, entrapped in slumber beneath Superhero’s soon-to-be palace.

“Fortune favors fools.” Supervillain rests his forehead against Hero’s back and Hero twists his hand tighter around his spear. “And destiny breeds compliance. True power lies in choice, in the courage to forge a new path.”

After hours of standing in the cold ceremony chamber, Supervillain’s touch scalds, and Hero swallows back a pitching breath. Supervillain had never been so solid, so warm before—almost real.

“And if your destined Superhero was so powerful, why was it not his hand that felled me?” Supervillain reaches down Hero’s arm and wraps his fingers over his knuckles. The shaft of the spear creaks; splinters flake the floor. “He couldn’t even touch me but you—you burned me.”

It was not his destiny to slay you.

“Then why did he claim it so?” Supervillain hisses. “Why did the world praise his name and not yours?”

The priest begins to sing, voice like a tolling bell, resounding about the hollow hall. Each note devolves into a singular, piercing tone in Hero’s ear.

“That’s it.” Supervillain purrs and Hero can feel his breath this time, stirring the hair by his ear. “You have so much power. Let them see. Let them know.”

Sweat builds beneath Hero’s mask though the porcelain should be frigid. Beyond Supervillain’s weight, the heat spreads, pooling in chest.

The singing stops.

The priests and the long, long, line of soldiers—everyone except Superhero—turns their attention down the hall. Gasping, Hero stumbles back, dropping his half-ashen spear. His neighboring soldiers spring away as he descends but Hero never falls.

He’s caught by the shoulders and pushed back into the light.

“Morgan, she is an independent, fierce Eurydice. She falls for this sweet, soft boy, and she just wants to protect him.” (x)

Morgan’s Eurydice doesn’t like to be touched.

I’ve been trying to find clips of other casts to see if what she does is a new choice or not (let me know if anyone’s seen other Eurydices do this -- I've seen Eva and Maia's Wedding Song and they don't play it this way). Eurydice is always written as stand-off-ish at the start so there's obviously a foundation for it, but the new blocking plays it up in a way that's really interesting. (Also I've only watched the Sep 2 opening night performance so I don't know what else Morgan’s done with the role on other nights). (And to be clear, I'm comparing with other Eurydice performances as a way to explain what I think are unique choices that this production made, not saying one is better than the other).

So when Orpheus and Eurydice are first meeting, Eurydice sits up on the table and at one point Hermes tells her “Orpheus isn’t like any man you’ve met.” In most productions, Hermes places a hand on her shoulder as he says this.

Now in our current version of the show, Kurt’s Hermes reaches a hand toward Eurydice's (Morgan's) shoulder and she flinches back and glares at him. So then he backs away from her with his hands up in a placating gesture.

When Orpheus hops up on the table beside her she scoots over to the edge of it and leans away from him.

Then they sing Wedding Song. In OBC the choreo is a push and pull of Orpheus moving toward Eurydice and her playfully stepping past him to avoid him. Then maybe halfway through the song Orpheus stops moving and holds his hand out for her to come to him (truly stray cat energy). In OBC, Eva brushes her fingers against his and then steps past him again.

In Morgan's version, every time Orpheus walks toward her, Eurydice steps past him and then holds her hand up in a "stop" gesture. When he stops moving and holds his hand out for her, Morgan holds out her index finger, slowly walks toward him and makes a show of touching his palm with just the tip of her finger. Then runs past him again.

[Edit to add: Jack’s Orpheus then smiles down at his hand and rubs the spot that she touched, which was cute].

The rest of the blocking seems to play out the usual way. (Though if you haven't heard it yet, in the Sep 6 show Morgan did an impression of Jack's accent when she's teasing Orpheus about his song. I love her, your honour). Anyway, Orpheus does his first iteration of "La la la la" to conjure the flower, which impresses her, and he ends Wedding Song holding her hand and kneeling like a proposal, the usual.

When Persephone shows up for her song, there's a few lines where she puts an arm over Eurydice's shoulders, welcoming her to the place. Eva's Eurydice also puts an arm around Persephone so they're holding each other shoulder-to-shoulder. But Morgan's Eurydice doesn't touch Persephone back: she keeps her hands to herself and even stands with a bit of space between them, and they don't stay in contact for nearly as long.

Then we get to All I've Ever Known and Morgan's Eurydice is so heartbreaking y'all.

I’ve been alone so long I didn’t even know that I was lonely

Eva’s Eurydice played this song a little more playfully, more sweetly: she giggles and gestures to herself in a self-deprecating kind of way. She uses the above lines to tell Orpheus “this is who I am, this is what you’re getting,” and she’s using the song to ask Orpheus for permission to hold him.

Morgan's Eurydice feels like she is singing this song to herself. She's still fighting her feelings. She stands so far away from Orpheus on the stage and she looks closed off, refusing to move for those first few lines. When she gets to the below line she sings it forcefully, defensively, like she’s trying to explain herself:

All I’ve ever known is how to hold my own

And then the mask starts to slip and she says it more gently:

All I’ve ever known is how to hold my own

She holds her hand out towards him now, the way he did for her earlier in Wedding Song:

But now I wanna hold you too

But she also stares at her hand, not at him, looking unsure. And so Orpheus stays still and holds his hand out again, allowing her to make the decision. She, so hesitantly, closes the distance between them and, instead of using just her fingertip, this time she grabs his whole hand and practically flings herself into his arms, finally allowing him to touch her.

You take me in your arms And suddenly there's sunlight all around me

It might sound like a small detail (and tbh I could be reading into it more than was intended) but what I love about Morgan's Eurydice being more touch-avoidant is it makes it feel so powerful when she finally lets Orpheus hold her. It's such a release of tension when she throws herself into his arms the first time.

(You can see him holding her in this video clip).

I think this was the most interesting part to notice, but I’ve also written a description of the rest of the blocking for All I've Ever Known if anyone's curious. Under the cut because this post was getting way too long.

"Oh," the villain said. "You came."

"I can leave."

"No, no." The villain reached out a hand, smiling wide, drawing them inside. "It's good! I'm glad. I wasn't sure you would. What with - well. I made your favourite!" The villain stopped, considered them. "Is corned beef mash still your favourite?"

The hero's stomach twisted, the pain made a million times worse with affection. "Yeah."

The villain had been the first to make it for them, when they were sick as a kid. It was one of the few things in their lavish and bloody childhood that could truly be called comforting.

The villain's smile widened further.

"Great!" The door shut behind them both and locked with an automatic beep, the threat of it worn homely with age. Then, the villain's hands were cupping their chin, examining them. "Jesus, you look like crap."

The hero pulled away, scowling.

The villain held their hands up, placating surrender and apology.

"I'm allowed to worry about you," they still said "You'd have a lot less enemies trying to hurt ya if you were willing to kill a few of them."

The hero's jaw clenched, scowl deepening.

"I figured I owed it to you to at least chat," the hero said, cool. "But I'm not here for - this isn't - this is a courtesy. Nothing more."

"Nothing more," the villain echoed, a little mocking.

The hero turned to leave.

The villain rolled their eyes and clapped them on the shoulder, reeling them in and leading them further into their beautiful home. "Should I bin the mash too? I assume you couldn't possibly accept so much as a potato from these murderous hands of mine."

"You're such a twat."

"Well, I missed you."

"Wouldn't have to miss me if you weren't such a twat."

The villain snorted. "Is this how you start all of your diplomatic peace endeavors?"

"Only the ones with you."

"Yeah? What do mum and dad get?"

The question dropped like an icy stone to the pit of the hero's stomach. They sat, folding their arms across their chest, then unfolding them again a moment later. It was hard to fight with folded arms and oh, they both knew how to fight. Mum and dad had made sure of that.

"Mm. Still avoiding them, then," the villain said. They brought plates over to the table, along with a large saucepan.

"Do they know I'm here?"

"What do you take me for?"

"A member of my god forsaken family."

"If they know you're here," the villain served up the mash with a flourish, "it's got nothing to do with me, kiddo. You tell me. Were you followed?"

The hero studied the villain for a beat, then relaxed. Just a fraction. They dragged a hand through their hair. They searched for something to say that wouldn't be thorny.

Nice place. Murder going well for you?

They came up blank.

Out of all of their family, they'd always got on with the villain best. They could be a bit overprotective, sure, but in a world where weakness was a thing to be culled or exploited, a little protectiveness had been kind of nice. Or a relief, of some sorts, anyway.

In the end, they simply pushed their bowl across the table at the villain.

The villain chuckled, but obligingly took a big forkful, before raising their brows.

"I had to check," the hero said.

"Of course you did - you were raised right."

The hero scowled again but, as usual, the villain was blithely unaffected by such things. They settled comfortably, helping themselves to their own food, smiling with all the sweetness of cyanide.

For a moment, they both thus ate in silence.

"You might as well get your pitch out of the way," the hero said.

"My pitch?"

"Join the family again? Stay safe? I'm making a terrible mistake? Yada, yada." The hero jutted their chin up. "That's why you wanted me to come, right?"

"As opposed to, abandon flesh, blood and tradition?" The villain's head tilted. "Die a martyr for the sake of sheep?"

"People aren't sheep."

"People aren't us."

"I'm not planning to die. Are you planning to kill me?"

"Now you're just deliberately hurting my feelings," the villain said.

The hero's stomach gave another awful churn. They forced down the most terrible urge to smile, ducking their head to hide it.

It was a mistake.

The very first moment they finally took their eyes off the villain, the villain moved. A viper fast shot. The tranquilizer dart sunk straight in a vein. The hero had a moment to stand, then to crumple as their limbs turned to jelly.

"Put the rug down for you," the villain said, setting the small gun down on the table. "It's brand new. Lovely and plush. Knew it wouldn't hurt you too much on the way down."

The hero didn't waste breath or time cursing at them, they grabbed for the knife and hurled while they still had waning strength in their fingers. The villain caught the blade, careless of the blood that slicked down their fingers. They tossed it again, catching it by the handle, before standing.

"For what it's worth," the villain said, as the hero went next for the saucepan lid. "I did have like fifty different contingencies to make sure you went out nice and sweet. This whole floor is rigged. Mum helped. She's got connections with the building manager. You were fucked from the moment you walked in."

The villain blocked the shaky blow of the saucepan lid with one hand and kicked, sending the hero sprawling onto their back.

The world spun. The damn carpet really was sinfully soft. The villain straddled them, like the two of them were still kids rough-housing.

"A Kensington doesn't do chats and diplomacy," the villain said, almost pitying. "This wouldn't have happened if you weren't so soft. I mean, Christ. Thank god it's just me."

"Screw you."

The hero meant to headbutt them, but their head lolled instead. The villain caught the back of their head on the way down, before they could bash their skull too hard.

"I'll put the mash in the microwave for you; feed it to you when you wake up. You'll want something gentle."

"I hate you," the hero said.

"And you love me," the villain said. They stroked their fingers through the hero's hair, unabashedly fond. "Otherwise this would never have worked."

The hero faltered, at the wretched truth of that. The poison they wished they could cut out.

Their childhood had been lavish and bloody and cruel and so filled with the most monstrous love that they couldn't possibly excise the wound cleanly.

"Go to sleep," the villain said.

The tranquiliser pulled them, nauseatingly, under.

When they woke up, it was to a straight jacket, the family all crowded around the bed, and the family doctor rattling off prescriptions.

Hero wasn’t a liar, yet they struggled to admit even internally that they had simply just panicked. A few hours ago, they’d been taken by surprise; cornered and outnumbered by plenty of adversaries who planned to have them kidnapped and later executed. Crammed into a dark, dingy cell, the only gift they had been given was a burner phone — one last chance to make amends before it all ended — and all of a sudden, relief swelled within them as they realised they’d memorised the villain’s number.

And that was nothing but damning: during a crisis, when they had one singular shot at survival, all they could do was hope the villain would come.

They did.

The criminal walked towards the kneeling captive, nothing but scrutiny in their gaze. Their confusion made sense, after all Hero wasn’t even supposed to have their number, yet the crimestopper still wished their attitude would soften even in the slightest. It wasn’t like they were capable of much harm chained to the floor.

“You could have called quite literally anyone else. You know that, right?”

The comment wasn’t inherently mocking, yet Hero still felt the sting. After all, they really didn’t have anyone. Nobody else would have came.

“I work solo, remember. There’s no team for me to call, no backup coming for me. You were—“ Hero couldn’t quite finish the sentence. You were the only person who I believed would come for me died pitifully halfway up their throat.

“Ah, so that leaves me the only person worth pestering in the middle of the night for help? Oh, and that does remind me: the phone you called me from was a burner. That means you’ve memorised my number. My personal number. Any particular reason?” Villain ran their finger across the edge of their blade. Surprisingly, it wasn’t bloodied, and sickeningly, Hero almost felt flattered that the criminal had chosen to threaten them with a fresh blade rather than an already used one.

Before this, they hadn’t thought Villain cared about them in the slightest. Hero was surprised the criminal even recognised their voice through all the breaking. Then again, Captor was a rival in the industry of villainy. Maybe this was all just some large convenience to them. Two birds with one unfairly large stone.

“No matter what I say, you’ll assume I remembered it to track you down,” Hero responded, aware that Villain was looking to see how willing they were to confess rather than searching for a genuine answer. Truth be told, the reason Hero has memorised the number wasn’t even incriminating, they’d always been paranoid that spam callers were criminals in disguise trying to track them down. At least knowing Villain’s number meant they were safe from their technological tyrades.

That was too embarrassing to admit, though. That, or, they knew Villain would dismiss them as a terrible liar.

“Well, if you’re not going to entertain me with theatrics, I suppose I should work out what to do with you.” Villain moved towards the captive until they were so close that Hero’s neck ached from looking up at them (though, in actuality, that was probably a byproduct of the concussion).

“If you wanted me dead, you could have waited for Captor to finish the job.”

“So?”

Hero wasn’t sure what came next. Their reasoning words had truthfully been a way to calm themself down, to try and rationalise with the part of their brain that was trembling at the idea of dying at Villain’s mercy. But, they weren’t particularly sure what other option there was than death. It wasn’t like Hero had anyone, or really anywhere, they could be unceremoniously dropped off.

If that wasn’t the case, there was no way in any variation of hell that Villain would have been their emergency contact, right? A moment of silence passed, only for it to be broken by the sound of chains snapping. More specifically, the metal cuffs keeping them bound to the floor were ripped off of their wrists and chucked carelessly to the side as though they didn’t matter in the slightest.

“Well, there’s no point in deciding right away what to do with you. We can take our time now that Captor isn’t pushing deadlines onto us. Come on, up we go.”

Hero expected to be hauled up (probably in a harsh manner), dragged along by their wrist, and maybe untied if their acquaintance felt they were particularly helpless and unthreatening. They were not expecting to be lifted up with seldom warning and promptly chucked over Villain’s shoulder. Their protests were delayed but certainly not weak, and in response Hero swore they heard a softer chuckle.

“For someone who called me here to save you like a damsel in distress, you sure seem to be whining a lot. Would you have rather I have kept the chains in tact?”

Hero responded with a muffled curse, though it lacked the illwill that their frustration towards the criminal usually contained. That was, Hero could presume, because they were typically the one saving people from the villain, not the other way around. It wasn’t like they were complaining though.

The criminal took them out to the front of the building, where Hero first realised just how far out Captor had transported them. They were quite literally in the middle of nowhere, and Hero would be shocked if there was any sign of civilisation within an hour from here. Villain had come all this way? In front of the pair was a car, which brought the second wave of surprise upon the crimestopper.

As they were (almost sickeningly gently) placed horizontally into the backseat of the car, they commented interally on how average it all appeared to be. The make was nothing extravagant, a few scratches and dents adorned the blandly coloured paint job. The leather seats inside were worn in, and seemingly decorative items such as an air freshener and an old plastic water bottle were dotted around where one would expect to find them in the car of a completely normal person.

Was this their personal car? Hero knew Villain had a secret civilian identity, that practically came with the job. Still, why hadn’t they just headed over to their base first? It didn’t make sense — or well, it did, but the truth felt too ludicrous for Hero to consider it anything other than an a rogue notion. The villain, dressed down in civilian clothes, rushing out of the house unexpectedly, no villainous paraphernalia in tow, just to come and find them? It felt intimate.

Hero, still splayed politely across the backseat of the car, took a glance at the criminal who had just shuffled into the front seat. Their large black coat covered their torso and legs almost entirely, leaving no hints as to what type of gear they had underneath. Hero’s cheeks went warm.

“Listen, Hero. As you’ve demonstrated, you have access to my personal details. I can’t just let you go back onto the streets, it would bite me in the ass even if you didn’t mean any harm. But, it doesn’t have to be all that bad for either of us, so just hang tight until we get there.” Villain’s tone matched their usual self, finding amusement in the misfortunes of a hero. Like this was all a hilarious scenario. Their worried glance towards the backseat betrayed them.

The protagonist barely moved from her spot at the window. Through the view of the porthole, stars floating in the near abyss seemed to mock her, promising the freedom of deep space and distant galaxes.

But there was no such thing. At least, not for her.

“In the old world, marriage for women was an economic proposition,” the protagonist responded quietly, no matter how softly she spoke, the villainess would hang onto her every word.

The villainess crossed the room, footsteps soft against the metallic floor of the satellite. She stopped just over the protagonist’s shoulder. 

The protagonist turned, gazing up at the much taller woman. Fire twinkled in the villainess’s eyes, like small stars themselves. 

“Marriage between women on the other hand,” the words felt sour on her tongue, despite the protagonist’s marked past attractions to women. And current, if she was being honest. If she allowed herself to register her body swaying closer to the taller woman. As if she hadn’t before imagined how everything would lock into place. Hips against hips, hands in hands. Locked together? Or lock away? Lost in the villainess’s vicelike embrace. 

Besides, the villainess barely touched her. Not like that. 

“It was unprecedented in the old world,” the protagonist continued, not sure where she was going with this line of thought. Certain it was a trap, anyway. 

“Unprecedented, but not unheard of,” the villainess replied, a hand snaking up to catch the protagonist’s chin, sliding a thumb along her jaw. 

“Wedding bells, indeed,” the protagonist whispered, surrendering to the touch. 

“I didn’t think you’d go this far for her,” the villainess murmured, stroking soft patterns across the protagonist’s cheek.  

At that, the protagonist jolted, not expecting the comment. The direct address of a supernova smoldering just below the surface. But the villainess didn’t seem to care if it exploded.

“You would do anything for wouldn’t you? You orbit her like a moon.” 

The protagonist’s eyelashes fluttered involuntarily, but she managed to find her voice.

“I’m here at the request of God and at the behest of his council. If the thermo-energy of a union is needed to contain the forced of our enemies, so be it,” the protagonist replied.

The villainess tsked. “Ever the diplomat, you are. You can admit that you want to save her. And only her. I think secretly you hate everyone but that lover of yours.”

“Former lover,” the protagonist rasped, closing her eyes. 

The villainess released her jaw, wrapping an arm around the protagonist’s waist to flick a switch just behind the small of her back. The view-port window closed, the humming noise of its metal shade almost tender. Like a lullaby. 

“Let us avoid another fallout,” the villainess said. “Though I don’t know what happens when a moon detaches from an orbit.”

The protagonist turned her face away.