Fanfiction: The Romolo Vargas Theater (1/2)
Hi guys! I'm posting this here just to have a place to store it in. Please DO NOT READ if you do not like BL/Yoai/etc.
Title: The Romolo Vargas Theater
Author: Asriel
Recipient: reconquista
Character(s) or Pairing(s): Spain/Romano, Germany/Italy, France/Jehanne, slight Germania/Rome, slight Russia/America, mentioned in passing and vague Frying pangle, etc.
Word Count: 8,260
Rating: R
Warnings: Excessive cursing, Boys love (of course), character death mentioned in passing
Summary: Antonio is the head male dancer for Francis' ballet company, and Romano is the surly stage painter that watches him dance in secret.
Author notes: The works mentioned are as follows: Hamlet, Romeo and Juliet and Macbeth are movies using William Shakespeare’s revised scripts. Coppélia (L. Delibes), Cinderella (S. Prokofiev), Giselle (Adoplhe Adam), Sleeping Beauty (P. Tchaikovsky), Swan Lake (P. Tchaikovsky), and The Nutcracker (P. Tchaikovsky) are live ballet performances. The Marriage of Figaro (WA Mozart) and La Boheme (G. Puccini) are live opera performances. Wicked (Stephen Schwartz) is a Broadway show.
Additional notes: I am NOT a fan of ballet. Sorry if it doesn’t focus on ballet as much. OTL I’m more of an opera fan. Also, sorry if I use very stupid terms about stage management and stage design. Google can only go so far.
=0=0=0=0=
In the beginning
“Thank you. I cannot express how happy I am to receive this award! This is a pretty big and strong trophy… I have been building sets for years now. This… This must be the year for me. Five grand projects: Hamlet, Romeo and Juliet…[audience claps] Swan Lake and the Nutcracker Ballets…[louder clapping] and Figaro. All successful projects…[long silence]
“Oh, sorry. I am getting emotional in my old age. Again, thank you all for this wonderful award. I could suggest stripping but no one wants to see an old man’s body [catcalls] except that guy! [laughter]
“I cannot thank you all enough for this award. [flying kisses] Thank you so so much…”
-end of video-
=0=0=0=0=
“I have decided to retire from set design. [audience uproar; camera flashes and questions]…
“I have always wanted to give new bloods out there something to look up to. I have done that and I have enjoyed myself making the grandest set of my dreams in the Marriage of Figaro. Being the first set designer ever to be given an award, I am and always will be grateful to my fans. Eternally grateful…
“This will not be the last you will see of me. I do not think all of you are tired of my face just yet. [light giggles] But do not expect to see my name in big productions…
“That is all… [audience uproar]”
-end of video-
1 Romolo was there
“It’s really beautiful,” Feli murmurs as they pass each scenery hanging on the wall.
Little Feli’s arm is around his for a change. They march ahead, ignoring gawking, open-mouthed stares. At least they try to get a look at most of the designs in the exhibit before the reporter’s cause a scene.
They leave the modest paintings in favor of the in-depth architectural designs in the next cubicle. There are only two on display. Romolo knows for a fact that Romano stores more than a dozen models in his basement-turned-studio. A modified set for Puccini’s La Bohème captures Feli’s attention. He drops Romolo’s arm to coo at the miniature cardboard opera singers his brother set up. Romolo glances at the second piece. Tchaikovsky’s The Nutcracker ballet. Very simple with stark contrast using colors and shadows. He inches closer. Furniture and lighting combined on a predominantly colorless (actually colorful) stage. Interesting. Romolo giggles. Romano sets whipping tops with ballerina cardboard faces on the miniature theater.
Good. Very good. This may work…
“Uhm, are you Mr. Romolo Vargas? The famous set designer?” a young lady asks him. He turns and beams a smile down at her.
“Why, yes, pretty lady! Who else would come to appreciate his own grandson’s exhibition?”
“Grandpa, who are you talking to?” Feli attaches his arm to Romolo’s and faces the girl.
“I think she is your brother’s fan, Feli,” Romolo chuckles.
Feli’s eyes grow large as he drops Romolo’s arm again this time to grasp the lady’s hand in both of his.
“I’m so happy brother has fans now! Please continue to support my brother, okay?”
Romolo can see the lady melting from Feli’s puppy-eyed stare. He can only admire his grandson’s remarkable skills before he hears squealing sounds all around him.
He sighs. They still need to see the other half of the exhibit.
2 Feliciano was there too
“They took us to a café across the street! The coffee was delicious and the girls were very pretty!”
Feliciano tried hard to catch his brother’s attention. He receives a grunt for his efforts. Romano is drinking the coffee (sweet, creamy, wimpy girl’s coffee) he brought home.
“Have you slept yet brother?” He worries.
“Of course I did,” Romano grunts, “Three hours. I set an alarm. This coffee is so lame but thanks. Now, get out of my room.”
Feliciano sees the dark bulges under his brother’s eyes and nearly cries in fear as the computer screen’s blue light washes over Romano’s face.
“But big brother, that’s not healthy…”
“Like you can talk. You don’t sleep trying to practice on your violin before an audition.”
Romano slurps the last bits of whipped cream off the cup. His fingers fly over the keyboard to play with the mouse’s track ball. The structure on the computer screen twists and turns to follow whatever Romano had in mind for it. Feliciano appreciates the strange colors and shapes. Where and whose theater is it for anyway? And what type of show is Romano working on?
Something shines and shrieks from Feliciano’s left side. He jumps in fright.
“Oh crap, the paint’s dry. I need to get there quick,” Romano mutters to himself as he reaches for the cell phone to turn the alarm off. Romano quickly saves his files and doesn’t wait for the computer to finish shutting down. Feliciano watches as his brother procures a scarf around his neck from nowhere. Romano battles with his jacket.
Feliciano wants him to stay. He rarely sees Romano these days. He misses his scariness, rudeness and strong hatred for sweet Lud. He wants his brother.
“Don’t look at me like that Feli,” Romano says. He runs a hand through his hair. “You know I don’t show my face in public and I hate going to my own exhibits. I’ll pay you back for the coffee and snacks. They’re real life savers.”
Feliciano stares at a closed bedroom door by the next second, his brother’s footsteps sound farther and farther away.
3 In case we forget
“Don’t touch it!”
The man/lady flinches and freezes on the spot. Romano spares a split-second of his fucking busy life to observe. Tights. Make-up. Classical cut of a ballerina’s dancing dress (and if he recalls correctly, he himself fit for a big woman who will be playing Swanhilda tomorrow.) It brings him straight to his current dilemma. His volunteer painter, a real amateur, fucks up one of the windows and colors it green. Fucking color blind and did not feel the need to say so until Romano arranges the set on stage. Yesterday, Romano repaints the thing. The paint may not be dry enough. He prefers not to spend another second trying to paint the dancer’s hand white just because-
She/He is still looking at Romano, dark eyes so big like a deer caught in headlights. Uh. Retreat. RetreatRetreatRetreat. Romano thinks there’s only one thing this man/woman can be.
“Sorry, miss, I didn’t mean to scare you,” smile at the prima donna, “but the paint is not dry yet. I’m sure I had a sign up somewhere. Anyway, we wouldn’t want to get your lovely fingers dirty, do we?” Flash another smile. Walk away. Bad ass.
He thinks he hears a deep rumbling bass (and very male) laughter behind him but he dismisses the thought. Nobody smiles as warmly as a lady except a lady… or his little brother…
4 Francis brought trouble
Romolo remembers the scene like yesterday. The man before him laughs, carefree but not as innocent, with the clear nasal accent of his origin. A true Frenchman as the man swears himself to be. Flowing blond hair frames the young man’s face. Romolo loves seeing the boy’s facial lines. It makes him less conscious of his own.
He recalls that night. The very same man stands in front of him with fire in his eyes and brimming with confidence.
“Francis, what brings you here?”
Romolo is working on the set for Figaro due that very same evening. Production for the set is dated four months from then and another two months till opening night. He tries to find the patience for a dear friend’s nephew.
“I have a business venture for you, Mr. Vargas,” the boy spoke.
Romolo raised an eyebrow at the boy, probably a fresh graduate from university. He racks his brains for an idea about this so called “business venture.”
“I wish to rent your theater for my ballet troupe, the - Company,” the young man blurted out. His face shows no sign of distress, only a warm unsuspecting smile. Romolo studies the child even further.
“What good does it do to me?” Romolo challenges. He is ready to go off on a tirade about the money his theater brings into his bank account, how so and so companies have rented it for the season and how it’s been booked for the year. And the next year. And the year after that.
“My lead danseur, Antonio, will be the next ballet star, give or take three years of good publicity,” the boy cuts him off, “I am confident in all of my company’s sellable abilities.”
“But that really has nothing to do to me, Francis,” Romolo remarks as he doodles on his draft.
“Most of all,” the boy continues, “I want to use Romano’s sets for the productions. He needs all the publicity he could get, no?”
Romolo leans back on his chair and sighs, long and loud. Francis Bonnefoy. He hears the rumors about the budding contemporary ballet company and this so called wonder boy, Antonio Fernandez. Romolo wonders briefly when Francis had started to plan on renting his theater. He knows he still have the leftover ticket stubs from when he was invited by Clovis to watch the - Company’s latest performance.
He takes his time thinking. He looks at his drafts once more. The fifth project for this year set for completion next year. All of the projects are going to be big. There is gossip going around about a set designer’s award nomination going to him. It is probably another certificate to add to the walls of his theater. He owns enough stock for himself, his grandsons and maintenance for the theater. But he really wants to retire, to turn over the baton to new people with new ideas and bigger dreams. He is more scared of Francis asking him to design the set for the - Company’s next show.
He thinks about Romano, his cute but feisty grandson who is currently slaving himself away at run-of-the-mill productions with little pay and nearly no publicity. Romano will be working closer to home. Romano can work on better productions. Hopefully, Romano will get tired of hiding his face from his fans and show up for a photo shoot someday. These are his current dreams. Should he jump or should he stay? The boat is sinking fast.
“Do you need a solicitor? A producer?” he whispers. The body in front of him visibly relaxes…
Romolo is shaken from his musings by multiple strong taps on his knee. He finds a three-tooth little creature beaming up at him, all blond curls and blue eyes. He smiles and the little girl rewards him with drool.
“She was fussy during the rehearsals and I couldn’t get her to stay put,” Francis says as he sweeps the baby girl in his arms and offers a napkin at Romolo. He keeps his gaze on the floor as he bounces his child.
“Jeanne always found your office very calming. I thought that maybe Claire will too,” Francis grimaces, “I guess I was wrong.”
5 In the form of
The first time Romano sees the Ass (in person and up close) is when he drafts the set of Prokofiev’s Cinderella for the - Company. It’s his 14th project and his first for the season. He sits on the back row of his old man’s theater (his grandfather’s, not his poor excuse of a father), the tips of his fingers black with charcoal powder and bits of blackened eraser around him. He looks up the stage to correct his size estimations and writes on the edges of his work.
Bam! The Ass faces him from the space of 25 seats. What a fucking view.
The man stands on pointe and goes down again as if he’s unsure about his footing. Romano wants to scold The Ass (fucking trespassing on private property!) but he finds out he can’t. All that up and down action jiggles those sumptuous pert round mounds.
Romano jumps from his seat before he realizes and swears he’s getting closer to scold the Ass for trespassing (not to get a closer look at the perfectness). The Ass twists and turns, like a ballerina (Oh. Bulge.) and does five revolutions, his leg swinging out to his side once in a while. Romano’s eyes drift higher and higher. The Danseur’s face smiles like a mannequin but his eyes… deep emerald and mischievously innocent…
Those eyes pin him down where he stands.
The danseur breaks his stance and shyly smiles at him. Romano finds his tongue again, just when he needs it.
“W-who are you and what are you doing here?”
Romano scolds the man who looks more embarrassed now that Romano’s climbing up the stage.
“Uh, my name’s Antonio. I’m with the - Company. Are you okay? You look very red. You look a lot like the owner of this place. Are you his son?” Antonio chattered.
“I’m not related to that grandpa!” Romano denies, “b-but I do work here and I hate interruptions!” (and I’m definitely not red anywhere!)
“Ah, I’m sorry. I thought I could get a sense of the space since Francis promised we’re doing all our projects here from now on!” Antonio spreads his arms wide.
“What are you doing by the way? Architecture?” Antonio tries to peer at Romano’s drawings, “You still look pretty red, you know, your face. I don’t think I got your name either.”
“It’s Rovino.”
“Just Rovino?”
“Just Rovino. Can you please get your ass off the stage?”
6 Antonio Fernandez Carriedo
“…the new rising star of the Romolo Vargas Theater! The twenty-four year old male danseur studied at…
“Now he will lead famous set designer’s theatre this coming season as the lead male dancer to the - Company in the role of the nutcracker in Tchaikovsky’s The Nutcracker this Christmas. To join him as lead ballerina is Jeanne Iris in the role of Clara, the nutcracker’s love interest.
“Stay tuned for more updates, fresh from the theater world…”
-end of video-
7 We found out more
Romano paints the backdrop. Brushes dances up and down in sure strokes over the canvas. He holds a long roller instead of a brush. But even with six pairs of hands, the blue sky background for the much awaited Coppélia can’t be done any faster. He nearly breaks down in tears when he imagines how he will paint the drop if he’s alone to do it.
“Aww, man! This is too boring!” Alfred exclaims as he throws his brush on the ground for the umpteenth time. The brush falls on the newspapers with spot on accuracy.
“I swear, you just like seeing the paint splatter around you, bastard,” Romano grumbles under his breath. (He can say it out loud but two consecutive weeks of sleeping three hours a day is really taking a toll on him by dimming his spicy personality.)
“The girls aren’t even here today,” Gilbert whines some feet away from Romano.
“Why do we have to do this? It’s too boring!”
“Quit complaining and get back to work!” Vash shouts. Both men (boys, really) shut up and return to painting. Alfred picks his brush and spreads the pain nonchalantly on the cloth.
Something taps Romano’s knee and he looks down. A face peers up at him.
“C-can you please not paint so close to my shoulder, Mr. Rovino?” the quiet voice begs. Romano spares a glance at the man’s sweater spotted with sky blue paint.
“Sorry,” he mutters as he moves a little farther from the edge of the drop, “I didn’t see you there.”
The man smiles and… Romano forgets what he says. Someone startles him by hugging him tight.
“Hi, Rovi! What are you doing?”
Romano can’t understand a word so he yells back, “What the fuck?! Who the fuck-?! Get off!” and paints Mattie’s arm with the sky.
So his name is Matthew?
Anyway, he turns around and scowls at the Ass. Yes, he can recognize Antonio Fernandez Carriedo, principal male dancer of the - Company. Yes, he also remembers to rest his roller on the floor.
“Dude, not cool! Hey Mattie, are you okay?” Alfred rushes to his brother, crouched behind Romano.
“So, what the fuck does the famous Antonio Fernandez want?” Coffee has a way of reducing Romano’s brain functions…
The Ass is dressed in gym clothes. He lays his black bag down and fucking ignores Romano to stare at the half-painted sky.
“Are you guys painting?” the Ass asks. There is a pair of deep green eyes accompanied by a blinding smile in front of him. Vash proves to be useful for scenarios like Romano’s temporary brain loss.
“He doesn’t need to be here, does he? We can throw him out, Rovino,” and Vash stands up to crack his knuckles at the Ass. Romano is impressed.
“Don’t mind him. He’s just here to poke fun at Rovino,” Gilbert mumbles from where he’s working. The Ass moves and speaks with him instead.
“Gil! I didn’t see you there! How are you? Is that a brush? I didn’t know you worked here. Can I try?”
The Ass holds a brush and colors the canvas blue before Romano could even blink.
“Brother…” blond-potato-bastard-who’s-too-close-to-Feli sighs.
“It’s fine. That’ll keep him quiet for a while and we get another volunteer for this boring job,” Gilbert grumbles and dunks his brush with a bit more force that he intended. Gilbert yelps as the watery paint spills on his pants and into his shoes. Romano delights in the fact that the bastard will have blue socks for the whole afternoon. Vash raises a questioning eye brow at him. He waves him off and raises his roller, careful not to hit… what was his name again?
TBC
Title: The Romolo Vargas Theater
Author: Asriel
Recipient: reconquista
Character(s) or Pairing(s): Spain/Romano, Germany/Italy, France/Jehanne, slight Germania/Rome, slight Russia/America, mentioned in passing and vague Frying pangle, etc.
Word Count: 8,260
Rating: R
Warnings: Excessive cursing, Boys love (of course), character death mentioned in passing
Summary: Antonio is the head male dancer for Francis' ballet company, and Romano is the surly stage painter that watches him dance in secret.
Author notes: The works mentioned are as follows: Hamlet, Romeo and Juliet and Macbeth are movies using William Shakespeare’s revised scripts. Coppélia (L. Delibes), Cinderella (S. Prokofiev), Giselle (Adoplhe Adam), Sleeping Beauty (P. Tchaikovsky), Swan Lake (P. Tchaikovsky), and The Nutcracker (P. Tchaikovsky) are live ballet performances. The Marriage of Figaro (WA Mozart) and La Boheme (G. Puccini) are live opera performances. Wicked (Stephen Schwartz) is a Broadway show.
Additional notes: I am NOT a fan of ballet. Sorry if it doesn’t focus on ballet as much. OTL I’m more of an opera fan. Also, sorry if I use very stupid terms about stage management and stage design. Google can only go so far.
=0=0=0=0=
In the beginning
“Thank you. I cannot express how happy I am to receive this award! This is a pretty big and strong trophy… I have been building sets for years now. This… This must be the year for me. Five grand projects: Hamlet, Romeo and Juliet…[audience claps] Swan Lake and the Nutcracker Ballets…[louder clapping] and Figaro. All successful projects…[long silence]
“Oh, sorry. I am getting emotional in my old age. Again, thank you all for this wonderful award. I could suggest stripping but no one wants to see an old man’s body [catcalls] except that guy! [laughter]
“I cannot thank you all enough for this award. [flying kisses] Thank you so so much…”
-end of video-
=0=0=0=0=
“I have decided to retire from set design. [audience uproar; camera flashes and questions]…
“I have always wanted to give new bloods out there something to look up to. I have done that and I have enjoyed myself making the grandest set of my dreams in the Marriage of Figaro. Being the first set designer ever to be given an award, I am and always will be grateful to my fans. Eternally grateful…
“This will not be the last you will see of me. I do not think all of you are tired of my face just yet. [light giggles] But do not expect to see my name in big productions…
“That is all… [audience uproar]”
-end of video-
1 Romolo was there
“It’s really beautiful,” Feli murmurs as they pass each scenery hanging on the wall.
Little Feli’s arm is around his for a change. They march ahead, ignoring gawking, open-mouthed stares. At least they try to get a look at most of the designs in the exhibit before the reporter’s cause a scene.
They leave the modest paintings in favor of the in-depth architectural designs in the next cubicle. There are only two on display. Romolo knows for a fact that Romano stores more than a dozen models in his basement-turned-studio. A modified set for Puccini’s La Bohème captures Feli’s attention. He drops Romolo’s arm to coo at the miniature cardboard opera singers his brother set up. Romolo glances at the second piece. Tchaikovsky’s The Nutcracker ballet. Very simple with stark contrast using colors and shadows. He inches closer. Furniture and lighting combined on a predominantly colorless (actually colorful) stage. Interesting. Romolo giggles. Romano sets whipping tops with ballerina cardboard faces on the miniature theater.
Good. Very good. This may work…
“Uhm, are you Mr. Romolo Vargas? The famous set designer?” a young lady asks him. He turns and beams a smile down at her.
“Why, yes, pretty lady! Who else would come to appreciate his own grandson’s exhibition?”
“Grandpa, who are you talking to?” Feli attaches his arm to Romolo’s and faces the girl.
“I think she is your brother’s fan, Feli,” Romolo chuckles.
Feli’s eyes grow large as he drops Romolo’s arm again this time to grasp the lady’s hand in both of his.
“I’m so happy brother has fans now! Please continue to support my brother, okay?”
Romolo can see the lady melting from Feli’s puppy-eyed stare. He can only admire his grandson’s remarkable skills before he hears squealing sounds all around him.
He sighs. They still need to see the other half of the exhibit.
2 Feliciano was there too
“They took us to a café across the street! The coffee was delicious and the girls were very pretty!”
Feliciano tried hard to catch his brother’s attention. He receives a grunt for his efforts. Romano is drinking the coffee (sweet, creamy, wimpy girl’s coffee) he brought home.
“Have you slept yet brother?” He worries.
“Of course I did,” Romano grunts, “Three hours. I set an alarm. This coffee is so lame but thanks. Now, get out of my room.”
Feliciano sees the dark bulges under his brother’s eyes and nearly cries in fear as the computer screen’s blue light washes over Romano’s face.
“But big brother, that’s not healthy…”
“Like you can talk. You don’t sleep trying to practice on your violin before an audition.”
Romano slurps the last bits of whipped cream off the cup. His fingers fly over the keyboard to play with the mouse’s track ball. The structure on the computer screen twists and turns to follow whatever Romano had in mind for it. Feliciano appreciates the strange colors and shapes. Where and whose theater is it for anyway? And what type of show is Romano working on?
Something shines and shrieks from Feliciano’s left side. He jumps in fright.
“Oh crap, the paint’s dry. I need to get there quick,” Romano mutters to himself as he reaches for the cell phone to turn the alarm off. Romano quickly saves his files and doesn’t wait for the computer to finish shutting down. Feliciano watches as his brother procures a scarf around his neck from nowhere. Romano battles with his jacket.
Feliciano wants him to stay. He rarely sees Romano these days. He misses his scariness, rudeness and strong hatred for sweet Lud. He wants his brother.
“Don’t look at me like that Feli,” Romano says. He runs a hand through his hair. “You know I don’t show my face in public and I hate going to my own exhibits. I’ll pay you back for the coffee and snacks. They’re real life savers.”
Feliciano stares at a closed bedroom door by the next second, his brother’s footsteps sound farther and farther away.
3 In case we forget
“Don’t touch it!”
The man/lady flinches and freezes on the spot. Romano spares a split-second of his fucking busy life to observe. Tights. Make-up. Classical cut of a ballerina’s dancing dress (and if he recalls correctly, he himself fit for a big woman who will be playing Swanhilda tomorrow.) It brings him straight to his current dilemma. His volunteer painter, a real amateur, fucks up one of the windows and colors it green. Fucking color blind and did not feel the need to say so until Romano arranges the set on stage. Yesterday, Romano repaints the thing. The paint may not be dry enough. He prefers not to spend another second trying to paint the dancer’s hand white just because-
She/He is still looking at Romano, dark eyes so big like a deer caught in headlights. Uh. Retreat. RetreatRetreatRetreat. Romano thinks there’s only one thing this man/woman can be.
“Sorry, miss, I didn’t mean to scare you,” smile at the prima donna, “but the paint is not dry yet. I’m sure I had a sign up somewhere. Anyway, we wouldn’t want to get your lovely fingers dirty, do we?” Flash another smile. Walk away. Bad ass.
He thinks he hears a deep rumbling bass (and very male) laughter behind him but he dismisses the thought. Nobody smiles as warmly as a lady except a lady… or his little brother…
4 Francis brought trouble
Romolo remembers the scene like yesterday. The man before him laughs, carefree but not as innocent, with the clear nasal accent of his origin. A true Frenchman as the man swears himself to be. Flowing blond hair frames the young man’s face. Romolo loves seeing the boy’s facial lines. It makes him less conscious of his own.
He recalls that night. The very same man stands in front of him with fire in his eyes and brimming with confidence.
“Francis, what brings you here?”
Romolo is working on the set for Figaro due that very same evening. Production for the set is dated four months from then and another two months till opening night. He tries to find the patience for a dear friend’s nephew.
“I have a business venture for you, Mr. Vargas,” the boy spoke.
Romolo raised an eyebrow at the boy, probably a fresh graduate from university. He racks his brains for an idea about this so called “business venture.”
“I wish to rent your theater for my ballet troupe, the - Company,” the young man blurted out. His face shows no sign of distress, only a warm unsuspecting smile. Romolo studies the child even further.
“What good does it do to me?” Romolo challenges. He is ready to go off on a tirade about the money his theater brings into his bank account, how so and so companies have rented it for the season and how it’s been booked for the year. And the next year. And the year after that.
“My lead danseur, Antonio, will be the next ballet star, give or take three years of good publicity,” the boy cuts him off, “I am confident in all of my company’s sellable abilities.”
“But that really has nothing to do to me, Francis,” Romolo remarks as he doodles on his draft.
“Most of all,” the boy continues, “I want to use Romano’s sets for the productions. He needs all the publicity he could get, no?”
Romolo leans back on his chair and sighs, long and loud. Francis Bonnefoy. He hears the rumors about the budding contemporary ballet company and this so called wonder boy, Antonio Fernandez. Romolo wonders briefly when Francis had started to plan on renting his theater. He knows he still have the leftover ticket stubs from when he was invited by Clovis to watch the - Company’s latest performance.
He takes his time thinking. He looks at his drafts once more. The fifth project for this year set for completion next year. All of the projects are going to be big. There is gossip going around about a set designer’s award nomination going to him. It is probably another certificate to add to the walls of his theater. He owns enough stock for himself, his grandsons and maintenance for the theater. But he really wants to retire, to turn over the baton to new people with new ideas and bigger dreams. He is more scared of Francis asking him to design the set for the - Company’s next show.
He thinks about Romano, his cute but feisty grandson who is currently slaving himself away at run-of-the-mill productions with little pay and nearly no publicity. Romano will be working closer to home. Romano can work on better productions. Hopefully, Romano will get tired of hiding his face from his fans and show up for a photo shoot someday. These are his current dreams. Should he jump or should he stay? The boat is sinking fast.
“Do you need a solicitor? A producer?” he whispers. The body in front of him visibly relaxes…
Romolo is shaken from his musings by multiple strong taps on his knee. He finds a three-tooth little creature beaming up at him, all blond curls and blue eyes. He smiles and the little girl rewards him with drool.
“She was fussy during the rehearsals and I couldn’t get her to stay put,” Francis says as he sweeps the baby girl in his arms and offers a napkin at Romolo. He keeps his gaze on the floor as he bounces his child.
“Jeanne always found your office very calming. I thought that maybe Claire will too,” Francis grimaces, “I guess I was wrong.”
5 In the form of
The first time Romano sees the Ass (in person and up close) is when he drafts the set of Prokofiev’s Cinderella for the - Company. It’s his 14th project and his first for the season. He sits on the back row of his old man’s theater (his grandfather’s, not his poor excuse of a father), the tips of his fingers black with charcoal powder and bits of blackened eraser around him. He looks up the stage to correct his size estimations and writes on the edges of his work.
Bam! The Ass faces him from the space of 25 seats. What a fucking view.
The man stands on pointe and goes down again as if he’s unsure about his footing. Romano wants to scold The Ass (fucking trespassing on private property!) but he finds out he can’t. All that up and down action jiggles those sumptuous pert round mounds.
Romano jumps from his seat before he realizes and swears he’s getting closer to scold the Ass for trespassing (not to get a closer look at the perfectness). The Ass twists and turns, like a ballerina (Oh. Bulge.) and does five revolutions, his leg swinging out to his side once in a while. Romano’s eyes drift higher and higher. The Danseur’s face smiles like a mannequin but his eyes… deep emerald and mischievously innocent…
Those eyes pin him down where he stands.
The danseur breaks his stance and shyly smiles at him. Romano finds his tongue again, just when he needs it.
“W-who are you and what are you doing here?”
Romano scolds the man who looks more embarrassed now that Romano’s climbing up the stage.
“Uh, my name’s Antonio. I’m with the - Company. Are you okay? You look very red. You look a lot like the owner of this place. Are you his son?” Antonio chattered.
“I’m not related to that grandpa!” Romano denies, “b-but I do work here and I hate interruptions!” (and I’m definitely not red anywhere!)
“Ah, I’m sorry. I thought I could get a sense of the space since Francis promised we’re doing all our projects here from now on!” Antonio spreads his arms wide.
“What are you doing by the way? Architecture?” Antonio tries to peer at Romano’s drawings, “You still look pretty red, you know, your face. I don’t think I got your name either.”
“It’s Rovino.”
“Just Rovino?”
“Just Rovino. Can you please get your ass off the stage?”
6 Antonio Fernandez Carriedo
“…the new rising star of the Romolo Vargas Theater! The twenty-four year old male danseur studied at…
“Now he will lead famous set designer’s theatre this coming season as the lead male dancer to the - Company in the role of the nutcracker in Tchaikovsky’s The Nutcracker this Christmas. To join him as lead ballerina is Jeanne Iris in the role of Clara, the nutcracker’s love interest.
“Stay tuned for more updates, fresh from the theater world…”
-end of video-
7 We found out more
Romano paints the backdrop. Brushes dances up and down in sure strokes over the canvas. He holds a long roller instead of a brush. But even with six pairs of hands, the blue sky background for the much awaited Coppélia can’t be done any faster. He nearly breaks down in tears when he imagines how he will paint the drop if he’s alone to do it.
“Aww, man! This is too boring!” Alfred exclaims as he throws his brush on the ground for the umpteenth time. The brush falls on the newspapers with spot on accuracy.
“I swear, you just like seeing the paint splatter around you, bastard,” Romano grumbles under his breath. (He can say it out loud but two consecutive weeks of sleeping three hours a day is really taking a toll on him by dimming his spicy personality.)
“The girls aren’t even here today,” Gilbert whines some feet away from Romano.
“Why do we have to do this? It’s too boring!”
“Quit complaining and get back to work!” Vash shouts. Both men (boys, really) shut up and return to painting. Alfred picks his brush and spreads the pain nonchalantly on the cloth.
Something taps Romano’s knee and he looks down. A face peers up at him.
“C-can you please not paint so close to my shoulder, Mr. Rovino?” the quiet voice begs. Romano spares a glance at the man’s sweater spotted with sky blue paint.
“Sorry,” he mutters as he moves a little farther from the edge of the drop, “I didn’t see you there.”
The man smiles and… Romano forgets what he says. Someone startles him by hugging him tight.
“Hi, Rovi! What are you doing?”
Romano can’t understand a word so he yells back, “What the fuck?! Who the fuck-?! Get off!” and paints Mattie’s arm with the sky.
So his name is Matthew?
Anyway, he turns around and scowls at the Ass. Yes, he can recognize Antonio Fernandez Carriedo, principal male dancer of the - Company. Yes, he also remembers to rest his roller on the floor.
“Dude, not cool! Hey Mattie, are you okay?” Alfred rushes to his brother, crouched behind Romano.
“So, what the fuck does the famous Antonio Fernandez want?” Coffee has a way of reducing Romano’s brain functions…
The Ass is dressed in gym clothes. He lays his black bag down and fucking ignores Romano to stare at the half-painted sky.
“Are you guys painting?” the Ass asks. There is a pair of deep green eyes accompanied by a blinding smile in front of him. Vash proves to be useful for scenarios like Romano’s temporary brain loss.
“He doesn’t need to be here, does he? We can throw him out, Rovino,” and Vash stands up to crack his knuckles at the Ass. Romano is impressed.
“Don’t mind him. He’s just here to poke fun at Rovino,” Gilbert mumbles from where he’s working. The Ass moves and speaks with him instead.
“Gil! I didn’t see you there! How are you? Is that a brush? I didn’t know you worked here. Can I try?”
The Ass holds a brush and colors the canvas blue before Romano could even blink.
“Brother…” blond-potato-bastard-who’s-too-close-to-Feli sighs.
“It’s fine. That’ll keep him quiet for a while and we get another volunteer for this boring job,” Gilbert grumbles and dunks his brush with a bit more force that he intended. Gilbert yelps as the watery paint spills on his pants and into his shoes. Romano delights in the fact that the bastard will have blue socks for the whole afternoon. Vash raises a questioning eye brow at him. He waves him off and raises his roller, careful not to hit… what was his name again?
TBC