(Untitled)

[skinofalizard]

[in a VERY SECLUDED* area of camp, there is a lizard-teen studiously looking at a book.

Eventually, he sets the book down, takes a few steps away from it, and begins the monologue]

If music be the food of love, play on;
Give me excess of it, that surfeiting,
The appetite may sicken and so die...

[he's quite good, actually]

[*not nearly as

Comments

[alwaysuserubber]

[are you even speaking English]

[skinofalizard]

[I am, in fact! Here, have some more]

That strain again! it had a dying fall:
O, it came o'er my ear like the sweet sound,
That breathes upon a bank of violets,
Stealing and giving odour!

[alwaysuserubber]

...

[skinofalizard]

Enough; no more:
'Tis not so sweet now as it was before.
O spirit of love! how quick and fresh art thou,
That, notwithstanding thy capacity
Receiveth as the sea, nought enters there,
Of what validity and pitch soe'er,
But falls into abatement and low price,
Even in a minute: so full of shapes is fancy
That it alone is high fantastical.

[alwaysuserubber]

[perks up at "sea"]

What's that?

[skinofalizard]

--what?

[alwaysuserubber]

That!

[skinofalizard]

It's a monologue. From a play called Twelfth Night.

[alwaysuserubber]

...

[skinofalizard]

--by William Shakespeare?

[alwaysuserubber]

...!! Do you know the green lady?

[skinofalizard]

Uh--I've seen her around a few times, yeah.

[alwaysuserubber]

You're both really cool!

[skinofalizard]

Uh--thanks?

[alwaysuserubber]

[nods once to himself, approvingly]

[skinofalizard]

Most people seem to stare for the complete opposite reason.