Disclaimer: I own none of the characters, situations, etc. of Repo! The Genetic Opera and mean no harm, ill will, or infringement. I just wanted to play with them for a little bit...
It was like a clicking into place- I felt my soul, my identity, lock into place, audibly, I think. I laid my father's head gingerly on the stage, looked up at the audience who had just been privy to the most intimate moment of my life- seeing my father clearly for the first time, accepting and loving and letting him go, all at once. I looked at them and felt them whispering and fidgeting around, made uncomfortable by the proximity to something real in this insane lack of reality we all shared like a waking dream. And in that moment I knew.
I knew I was the survivor. My own father- the Repo Man- hadn't been able to endure the wreckage of the past, but I would. My godmother had looked this world in the face and made her own decision- she had gone out on her own terms. I would look into the world and force it to face my terms. I had it all within me- all of their strength, their hopes, and the clarity they had both gained in their final moments, as if it had passed to me through some link we all shared.
Rotti lay dead on the floor, and I stepped easily over him, sparing him no further thought. Luigi and Pavi were scuffling with each other somewhere in the wings, but I ignored them. I sang my last song and walked out of the opera, into the waiting lights of the cameras and even more crowds. The insane pastiche of the last hour had been helpfully broadcast to those who were forced to stand outside once the opera itself was full, so they all knew who I was. The people parted and let me through, more like I was contaminated than out of deference. Let them be scared, let them back away- I don't need them.
I descended the steps, grinning a slow grin Rotti's driver smiled underneath that estimable moustache as he opened the door to the limo.
"Home, m'lady?" He even bowed at the waist.
I heard a laugh, like an audible smirk, and turned my head to trace the source. Of course… Strange to see him in such lavish and well-lit surroundings, but it was undeniably the Graverobber. My eyes met his and he placed a hand over his heart before bowing toward me, not unlike the chauffeur. I laughed and, in one fluid moment, pulled my wig from my head. When Graverobber straightened up he was met with the mass of straight black hair I threw to or at him (I'm not sure which).
I climbed into the car and let the driver take me home.
Note: I know, this is really rather short. I meant it to be jumping off point for further adventures and glimpses of a Grillo variety, but I have no idea whether that will happen or not...