War of the Worlds: The Musical – Live at the Grand Theatre
Steve adjusted his collar for the sixth time as he rolled beside Bumbly through the velvet-draped entrance of the theater. Chandeliers sparkled overhead, the air smelled faintly of old wood, perfume, and drama, and the ushers were wearing little bow ties.
“I feel like I should be holding a champagne flute and a monocle,” Steve whispered, eyes wide. “Do they serve snacks?”
“No snacks,” Bumbly said with a dry smile. “You’re here for the ambiance.”
Steve snorted. “I’m here because you said it would blow my mind. Don’t blame me if I whisper the plot out loud like it’s a Marvel movie.”
They found their seats in the accessible front row, dead center. The stage loomed before them like a promise. A giant mechanical structure—part spaceship, part Victorian nightmare—hovered under blue lights. Strange chords played in the background, vibrating in Steve’s chest.
“Okay,” Steve murmured, suddenly quieter. “This already feels like something important’s about to happen.”
“Good,” Bumbly said. “That means it’s working.”
Act I:
The narrator’s voice echoed across the room.
“No one would have believed…”
And from the very first ominous cello note, Steve was hooked.
Thirty minutes in, he leaned toward Bumbly and whispered, “Okay, but why are the aliens so metal? This tripod thing looks like it should be in a Daft Punk music video.”
Bumbly didn’t answer—just nodded, eyes wide, already deep in the soundscape.
Later, as the orchestra swelled and thunder clapped from hidden speakers, Steve visibly jumped, then immediately whispered, “That bass drop almost reset my nervous system.”
Bumbly chuckled quietly. “Told you.”
Intermission:
They rolled out into the lobby. Steve looked dazed, like someone who’d just witnessed a religious experience via electric guitar and dry ice.
“Okay, so like…” Steve shook his head. “This is live? People are doing this in real time? That singer with the glowing red eyes? I think he saw into my soul.”
Bumbly smirked. “Welcome to theater.”
“I want to ride one of those tripods into town and declare myself Mayor of Drama,” Steve said, dramatically waving toward the ceiling.
Act II:
As the stage returned to life with eerie lights and haunting melodies, Steve leaned in, chin on hand, eyes glued.
By the time the iconic melody of “Forever Autumn” began, Steve had gone completely still.
When it ended, he whispered, “This show is emotionally manipulating me and I’m not even mad.”
After the Curtain Call:
The applause thundered. Steve clapped so hard his paws stung. Bumbly just sat there with a satisfied smile, soaking it in.
Outside, under the cool evening sky, Steve exhaled like he’d been holding his breath the entire second act.
“That was epic. I feel like I just watched a prog-rock opera written by aliens.”
“That’s... not far off,” Bumbly said, chuckling. “Worth it?”
Steve looked over with a grin. “You’ve officially ruined movie theaters for me. If this is what real live shows are like, I’m going to need more of it. Like… all of it.”
Bumbly smiled.