Heroes Go Wilde - Chapter 4
Lo and behold, a chapter! And a long one! And a fun one, too! Probably the last update until spring... But there may be some other things coming up in the meantime. (Like the BA thesis, mwahahaha.) Just saying. So. Enjoy the brofeels and have a good time. And merry whatever doesn't offend you, as it's that time of the year again.
Coulson checked his watch and turned an expectant glance to where Natasha was standing, script in her hand, helping the older Odinson with his new lines. They have been taking their time for a good while now. The director cleared his throat.
"Are you ready?" He asked. "We really ought to be starting."
"Yes! Sure, of course, sir. We're ready. Absolutely," Thor stretched his arms before him like a boxer preparing for a fight. "You ready, brother?" He called towards the opposite end of the stage, where Loki was walking in circles, his face concealed behind the script.
"I was born ready," the younger Odinson muttered through gritted teeth, tossing the script to the floor and breaking the next circle to step to the center of the stage. Thor nodded to Natasha with a broad smile and stepped up to face him. The two stood still for a couple of seconds, looking each other in the eye. Coulson couldn't help but to peek at his watch again.
"How are you, my dear Ernest," Loki finally broke the silence. "What brings you up to town?" He asked in a chit-chatty tone, slightly raising his eyebrows and eyeing his interlocutor with polite, interested anticipation.
No, seriously. What brings you up here, you big dumb goof?
"Erm… " Thor looked over his shoulder at Natasha. "What brings me up?" He mouthed.
"Pleasure," Loki snarled quickly before Natasha found the right place in the text.
The pleasure of seeing me humiliated. The delight of destruction. The joy of spreading chaos.
"Oh. Right," Thor's face brightened up. "Perhaps I should… Could you…?" He turned to Natasha, gesturing at her script.
"Yea, sure. Go ahead," she handed the booklet over and took a couple steps back, thrusting her hands into pockets.
"Great. Where were we… Ah," Thor geared up to reply. "Oh-pleasure-pleasure-what-else-should-bring-one-anywhere?" He recited quickly, eyes fixed on the text.
"Slow down," Loki squeaked, startled by the pace at which the words of the classic came hurled at him. "You're talking like a machine gun. It's not a race!"
"And here we go again," remarked Clint quietly, having just come back from the backstage where he's been begrudgingly familiarizing himself with his new lines. "Though this time he does have a point," he admitted not without satisfaction, watching Thor struggle with the role he wanted for himself.
"What, are we jealous?" Natasha teased with a smile. "Hey, don't worry. It may all change yet. And if not, I'm sure you'll make a great Cecily."
"I don't see how that's a compliment," Clint groaned. His friend snickered and nudged him with her elbow.
"Come on, it'll be fun. Now shush. Enjoy the show."
Clint stood next to her, hands in pockets, and turned his attention to the two brothers on stage. As much as he disliked Loki's attitude, he couldn't help but to sigh understandingly at the irritation that transpired through his face as Thor stammered out his lines. No matter what Coulson would say about their "natural dynamics", this guy just won't cut it. No way.
"Got nice neighbours in your part of Shropshire?"
"Where on earth is that?" Thor chuckled; the name sounded unexpectedly funny.
"Shropshire," Loki repeated, only now noticing he had practically hissed the word. He berated himself in his head and quickly put on the best conversational tone he could bring himself to. "So. Got nice neighbours in your part of Shropshire?"
"Perfectly horrid! Never speak to one of them," lamented Thor.
Loki suppressed a facepalm.
"No! Don't whine like that! You don't care about your neighbours! Natasha," he called her over Thor's shoulder, "haven't you told him anything at all about his character?"
"Don't look at me," Natasha shrugged. "You can't expect me to spoon-feed him his role. Just… Give him some time to get in it. To get used to it."
"Have faith, little brother," Thor gave Loki a heavy pat on the shouder. "I shall do my best to improve. I can become a great actor yet, you'll see for yourself."
That's what I'm afraid of.
"Fine," snapped Loki. "Now let's get moving. How immensely you must amuse them!" He fluently leaped from his own peeved self to the unperturbed persona of Algernon Moncrieff. "By the way, Shropshire is your county, is it not?" He continued, walking leisurely past Thor.
"Eh? Shropshire? Ye-" Thor lifted his gaze from the text and burst with laughter.
"Sorry, I can't! It's that name again! It's hilarious! And what are you doing?" He giggled, watching Loki wriggle his fingers before reaching to a perfectly unoccupied spot in the air and raising an empty hand to his mouth.
"Eating a sandwich," Loki explained, munching on the invisible snack. At this point of the rehearsals it wasn't necessary to practice the stage movement yet, he knew that - and he was well aware how awkward this pantomime must have seemed. He just desperately wanted to do something, to get away from this unfortunate position; he couldn't stand looking at that Cheshire smile on Thor's face. This whole situation was becoming increasingly disconcerting. Loki chewed away on the stale air, trying to keep up the poker face of a dignified English gentleman.
"Ah. All right," Thor shrugged at yet another peculiarity of his brother and the world of theatre, and turned back to the script.
"Why all these cups? Why cucumber sandwiches - oh, I see now! Good one, brother. Why such reckless extravagance in one - wait, what's so extravagant in cucumber sandwiches?"
"Odinson," the director put in mildly. "Focus."
"Sorry! Sorry. This text is strange. But I'll be good now," Thor saluted with a smile. "Who is coming to tea?"
"Oh, merely Aunt Augusta and Gwendolen," Loki waved his hand nonchalantly, gulping down his bogus sandwich and casting a short glance at Natasha. With the current cast shortage, it looked like Gwendolen was going to show up without a chaperone. Unless they somehow manage to talk Clint into taking another female role.
Not likely.
"How perfectly delightful!" Thor's enthusiastic cry brought him back to earth. "It really is delightful, right? I should be happy about it?" He made sure, looking from Coulson to Loki and back again.
"Yes, that is all very well." Loki didn't even bother to reply; Algernon Moncrieff did it for him. "But I am afraid Aunt Augusta won't quite approve of your being here."
I know I don't.
"May I ask why?"
Let's see... Where do I start…?
The mask of the English gentleman cracked a bit.
"My dear fellow, the way you flirt with Gwendolen is perfectly disgraceful. It is almost as bad as the way Gwendolen flirts with you."
Oh, hell. Nooo. Please don't make me watch that. This is going to be so horrible...
"I am in love with Gwendolen," replied Thor with no emotion whatsoever. "I have come up to town expressly to propose to her."
"I thought you-"
PULL THE TRIGGER! SHOOT TO THRILL! PLAY TO KILL!~
"Banner," Coulson turned to the currently jobless rigger, shouting over the racket exploding from the speakers, "go and tell Stark that I can still have him sit a regular detention at some nice, convenient hours that don’t interfere with the rehearsals."
Bruce put down his Physics handbook and trotted backstage. After a while the music stopped abruptly, though the piercing voice of Brian Johnson still throbbed in everyone's ears.
"I thought you had come up for pleasure?" Loki picked up, trying to get the buzzing out of his head, still a bit shaken from the sudden outburst. "I call that business."
This is none of your business.
"How utterly unromantic you are!" laughed Thor. He really was having fun, wasn't he?
"I really don't see anything romantic in proposing! It is very romantic to be in love. But there is nothing romantic about a proposal… About a definite proposal…" Loki corrected himself in the same breath, risking a quick glance to see if anyone caught the error. Nobody seemed to notice.
Of course. They just don't care.
"The very essence of romance is uncertainty," he raised his voice to mask any traces of uncertainty that might have crept into his lines. "If I ever get married, I'll certainly try to forget the fact."
"I have no doubt about that, dear Algy. The Divorce Court was specially invented for people whose memories are so curiously constituted."
Thor seemed to actively try to match his brother in terms of loudness. He wasn't peering at the script anymore. His voice rumbled loud and clear, and it looked like he was more or less starting to come to grips with his role. Loki grit his teeth and scanned his memory for the next line.
"Oh. There is no use speculating on that subject. Divorces are made in - what are you doing?"
"Eating a sandwich," Thor stopped munching on his own tongue. "It says so in here," he brandished the script. "And you did it yourself just a moment ago!"
"I did- yeah, maybe I did! Doesn't mean you have to! You'd better focus on the script. You're messing up every other line even without fooling around! And you don't even get to eat those sandwiches! They're for Aunt Augusta, for Someone's sake!"
"Odinson," the director's voice rang with just a tinge of a weary warning. Both brothers automatically looked his way. Loki pursed his lips, recognizing he's lost it for a moment.
Carry on. Do your job. Don't let that clown take it from you.
"Calm down," Coulson continued while he still had their attention. "And just stick to your lines for now. We'll get to the more exciting part once you get the hang of these, so you won't need to have your noses in the script all the time."
"As you wish, Mr. Director," Thor grinned. "All lines. No play. Got it."
"Can we go on?" Prodded Loki impatiently. "Please don't touch the cucumber sandwiches. They are ordered specially for Aunt Augusta - see?" He couldn't help but point this out, but any further remarks froze on his lips under Coulson's stern glance.
"Well, you have been eating them all the time," Thor looked positively amused with how well their earlier talk matched the scripted exchange.
"That is quite a different matter. She is my aunt… Have some bread and butter. The bread and butter is for Gwendolen. Gwendolen is- ah, devoted to bread and butter."
"And very good bread and butter it is too." This time Thor thankfully saved his doubts about serving the guests such a bizarre snack for himself.
"My dear fellow, you need not eat as if you were going to eat it all. You behave as if… you were married to her already. You are not, and I don't think you will ever be."
"Why on earth do you say that? And by the way, you missed a part of a sentence."
"Well, in the first place girls never marry the men they flirt with. Girls think it- don't think it right. Secondly, you don't need to correct me, thank you very much."
"Oh, that is nonsense! I mean that thing about girls."
"It isn't. It's a general truth- no, a great truth! It accounts for…for the… Uh. For the extraordinary number of bachelors that one sees all over the place. In the second place, I don't give my consent!" That sounded a bit harsher than it was supposed to. Irritation steamed from his voice no matter how hard he tried to hold it back.
"Your consent!" Thor mocked.
"My dear fellow, Gwendolen is my first cousin. And before I allow you to marry her, I- you will have to clear up the whole question of Cecily."
Thor looked genuinely puzzled.
"Cecily! What on earth do you mean? What do you mean, Algy, by Cecily! I don't know any one of the name of Cecily. No, really now - who is this Cecily? Guys?" He lifted his eyes from the script and scanned the people on the stage for answers.
"We'll get to that," Loki dismissed hastily, trying not to fall out of rhythm. Seriously, could this guy be possibly any more distracting? What's next? Ah.
Enter LANE.
Wait, we don't have a LANE.
Improvise.
"Bring me that cigarette case Mr. Worthing left in the smoking-room last time he dined here," Loki off-handedly turned to Clint. Barton mumbled something unintelligible in answer, but that was enough. The show could go on.
That was it, that was the key to a good play: to take the skids that life puts under your plans and from them build a path to victory. To be ready to work with whatever you get. To have everything under control.
But control was something that has started to slowly slip from Loki's twitching hands. The more he was trying to concentrate on staying in character, the more it occurred to him how much more effort than usually he had to put in it. What used to come without a thought was now a struggle; the enjoyment has evaporated. As his role was beginning to come apart at the seams, so was he.
"I think this is rather mean of you, Ernest, I dare say."
So extremely mean, if you ask me.
"It's 'must'. 'I must say', so it says here," remarked Thor obligingly.
"What- look, never mind. It's trivial, you really don't have to point out every single departure!"
"I just wanted to help you, brother-"
"Well, you're not helping!"
"Come on, man," called Clint from where he had sat down on the floor, his head rested on hands. "Cut it out, both of you. It's taking you forever to go through this scene!"
"He's right, guys," Coulson crossed his arms. "We're on a tight schedule here. No time for fighting. You're getting there," he turned to Thor, who immediately lighted up. "A bit more practice and I think we can put you to a good use. Now go on."
The silence that fell was almost palpable.
Thor peeked at the script, but did not dare urge his brother to finish his line. It took Loki a moment to realize what everyone was waiting for. One heavy breath later, he was on again.
"However… However, it doesn't matter for now that I… It doesn't matter, for, now that I look at the…No, it makes no matter…"
Loki fumbled through the lines, unable to gather his thoughts. The anger and scorn that's been piling up in him were now set ablaze with every lapse. Focus.
"…Now that I look at the inscription inside, I find… I find…"
"Where is that damned script?" He muttered to himself, looking stealthily around. He didn't need it, all right, not really, not like some other people… Just wanted to make sure…
"You need a look?" Thor asked loudly, seeing his brother cast helpless glances all around. "Here, take this one," he waved at him with Natasha's script.
The mask of the English gentleman crashed into pieces.
"I don't need your stupid script!" Loki screamed. "I can do it! I don't need your help! Would you leave me alone for once?" He stormed past Thor and vanished behind the wing.
Thor exhanged confused looks with Natasha and Clint.
"Wow. Artists. So sensitive," he shrugged with an embarassed smile. "Are you guys all like that in here? Some drama club it is!"
"Mr. Coulson, should I go and fetch him?" Natasha offered, looking searchingly backstage.
"No, just… Leave it. We can go through some other scene in the meantime." Coulson covered his eyes with one hand and rubbed his temples. This was going to be a really long rehearsal.