[Open to All Auditioners] Casting Call for Agatha Christie's The Mousetrap

[howmanylives]

After the Island's latest prank on Halloween, Jamie was, admittedly, concerned that not enough people would show up for auditions. He'd considered postponing the casting call for a later date, but had, ultimately, decided against it. The snowstorm was such a vital component to the play's plot that the idea of performing it in tropical weather didn'

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[headofaccounts]

Pete hadn't attended any sort of audition since getting his job at Sterling Cooper. He'd never even taken part in the auditions that were occasionally held in the offices for the various commercials that were shot, but, well.

He figured that he could do this. He didn't have anything to lose by trying out, at least. (Besides, how bad could it be? He'd pitched presentations before.)

When he first stepped up to plate (so to speak), he couldn't help a slight frown, although it looked more as though he'd had a vaguely contrary thought rather than noticed anything unusual to him. The tattoo on the man's face wasn't exactly the sort of thing he generally expected on anyone. Still, he smoothed his initial surprise over with a polite smile. Best foot forward, after all. A client didn't need any lip. Thinking of this in terms of a pitch was all that he could think of to do. To be honest, the processes were similar enough. He needed to sell an idea; in this case, himself. Easy enough, wasn't it?

"Peter Dykeman Campbell," he said, already shifting into sell mode (and almost hoping that the name would hold some significance with the director). "I've no previous theater experience, but I worked in the advertising business before I arrived here -- at Sterling Cooper -- so I do have a little experience in performance, so to speak."

[howmanylives]

"An ad man," he surmised thoughtfully, peering at the guy. If the name -- and face, for that matter -- hadn't tipped him off, his job description pretty much confirmed it. This was the oily kid off Mad Men. Jamie frowned, but it was more bemused than anything else.

There once was a boy named Peter Dykeman Campbell, and he almost deserved it.

After jotting down the guy's particulars, he leaned back, resting his weight on one hand, and drumming his fingers against the wood of the stage floor. "Alright, Mr. Campbell of Sterling Cooper -- show me what you got."

[headofaccounts]

Ad man. How long had it been since he'd heard the phrase? His smile only flickered once, and he shook his arms out and straightened up before taking a breath, and beginning his monologue. He had his pitch. He'd practiced it, and while he wasn't necessarily confident in interacting with people, he was confident in his job. Or at least a semblance of it.

"If you're going to be a lady, you'll have to give up feeling neglected if the men you know don't spend half their time sniveling over you and the other half giving you black eyes," he began, the usual superciliousness in his voice compounded with a certain (not entirely affected) bitterness. "If you can't stand the coldness of my sort of life, and the strain of it, go back to the gutter. Work til you are more a brute than a human being; and then cuddle and squabble and drink til you fall asleep. Oh, it's a fine life, the life of the gutter. It's real: it's warm: it's violent: you can feel it through the thickest skin: you can taste it and smell it without any training or any work. Not like Science and Literature and Classical Music and Philosophy and Art."

He paused to laugh, hands turned with their palms out in mock supplication as he delivered the last few lines. "You find me cold, unfeeling, selfish, don't you? Very well: be off with you to the sort of people you like. Marry some sentimental hog or other with lots of money, and a thick pair of lips to kiss you with and a thick pair of boots to kick you with. If you can't appreciate what you've got, you'd better get what you can appreciate."

[howmanylives]

Shaw -- an interesting choice to be sure, and he earned a few points with Jamie for the selection alone. He'd half expected something by Miller, though given the man's reputation during Pete's lifetime, that had probably been foolish of him. Straightening out of his lean, he added a few quick notes under what he'd already written, then looked back up, his gaze intent.

"Just to sate my curiosity, would you mind taking it again from those last few lines?" he said, head tilting to the side. "I'd like to hear your attempt at an English accent. Don't worry about accuracy."

[headofaccounts]

Clearing his throat, Pete shook out his sleeves again in an effort to regain his composure. The most exposure he'd ever had to any accent other than American had been through film and television, and that was hardly training. Still --

"You find me cold, unfeeling, selfish, don't you?" he began again, his pacing a little slower, initially more occupied with trying to manage a passable accent (it was halfway decent at best).

"Very well," he continued, now more comfortable and closer to his original delivery in terms of investment in the emotions that would be going through Higgins' head. "Be off with you to the sort of people you like. Marry some sentimental hog or other with lots of money, and a thick pair of lips to kiss you with and a thick pair of boots to kick you with."

Another pause, and this time the end of the monologue was more resigned, more cold (a closer analogue to how he wished he'd been able to react to Peggy). "If you can't appreciate what you've got, you'd better get what you can appreciate."

[howmanylives]

Realizing he'd asked the guy to step well out of his comfort zone, Jamie made sure to keep his expression as neutral as possible, not wanting to embarrass him. In spite of the accent, though, which wasn't all that great, the sentiment behind the words somehow rang truer this time around, and it was that which he wrote down under the rest of his notes.

"Thank you, Mr. Campbell," he said, a brief smile flitting across his features when he looked up. "That should do it."