Artaud Wouldn't Approve - NO.6 AU
Title: Artaud Wouldn’t Approve.
Fandom: NO.6
Genre: Teen!Drama!AU, humour.
Rating/Warnings: PG.
Summary: "Shion's auditioned again," the tutor notes conversationally.
A/N: AU!verse, inspired by this picture by demute, for what was described as a 'AU high school headcanon where Nezumi is the star actor in the theatre club and Shion is a member of the lighting crew who often volunteers for the club when they need extra members.'
"Shion's auditioned again," the tutor notes conversationally. Nezumi raises immaculate eyebrows, sneer shuttering down into place. Front legs of a mass-make hardback chair clatter down abrupt. The rest of the resident theatre club fall into choreographed silence.
"You have got to be kidding," he says, voice steely, torn from the resonance that's had him acclaimed as the Shakespearean thespian lead thrice in a row now -- and with standing ovations too, thank you very much. Outside, lunch break swirls around in inane chattering confusion, fuelled by hormones and daydream longings for something, anything, more. Inside the Biology classroom accosted for their bi-weekly meetings, the dramatic types glance back-forth, relishing the potential for pathos.
"The kid's tech, isn't he?"
"Lighting crew."
Nezumi flourishes a hand dismissively. This is his kingdom, adolescent princeling, and he won't revoke it. He lives to feel applause on his skin, under veils of eyelids.
"Lighting crew, tech, they're the same already. Since when did we start letting them onto the stage?"
The tutor shuts a worn paperback script with a snap of binding, waft of old book smell.
"Since we started running short on members."
Nezumi can't exactly deny this in good faith, glancing around at the rapidly diminishing numbers.
"I thought we were doing Wilde. Importance of Being Earnest doesn't have that large a cast, does it?"
Nezumi was cast as Algernon two days ago. It was a painfully obvious choice, seeing as he'd memorised the lines for all three acts and terrified of any opposing competitors by sheer dint of his personality-slash-reputation, both of which are - shall we say -- formidable.
"No. But we're short of a Lane. I think that Shion boy has the makings of a good manservant in him. He'll only appear in Act One, Nezumi, so I don't understand the difficulty."
"Exactly," says Nezumi, "With me. He's Algernon's manservant. So he'll appear with me."
There is now a fairly quelling metallic glint in the tutor's eyes.
"Nezumi," he responds icily, "I am aware that you are more than aware of your considerable talents. I am also aware that you have quite the fan base here at West Block Sixth Form, particularly after that stint as Shakespeare's Rosalind the other month. However, I was not aware that you had become the one responsible for casting decisions here at our theatre society."
"Well, maybe I should be!"
The theatre group stifles a ripple of gasps. Mr. Rikiga is a RADA Alumni. You do not argue with RADA Alumni. It simply isn't done.
"I don't care whatever you have against Shion outside these walls, though what the poor lad has done to deserve this level of treatment, I don't know --"
"He's a snobby rich bourgeoisie kid who got chucked out of private school. It's on principle!"
"He is a hardworking, extremely capable student who is passing the Sciences with flying colours, and, as you know, is the best chance for a successful Oxbridge applicant this place has got. But never mind that. As far as I am concerned, you do not bring your drama into my drama. Shion will be called back to read for Lane, and you will be civil to him, however much artistic liberty it requires of you. Agreed?"
Nezumi doesn't reply. He merely walks out -- more storms out, really, tossing back his hair and slamming the door so hard the screws themselves ricochet.
"First tantrum of the performance run, and haven't even got the read-through yet. Guess I lose my bet," Inukashi notes, glancing up from where he sits on the window-sill with that stupid anime death-god notebook, eyelids lacquered with liner and black nail polish carefully chipped to achieve the perfect effect. "That Shion sure knows how to get under your skin," he continues, leaning one black Converse against the wall casually. They share an agreement of socially-based hatred, and nothing else mutually.
"Piss off," Nezumi snarls.
Inukashi just laughs.
*
Shion's beginning to get used to West Block Sixth now, he thinks happily, opening his locker to access mother-made cherry pie lunch. There was a bit of a stir when he first enrolled -- what with the scars and the white hair and the red eyes, no they aren't contact lenses, yes there was an accident, no it was about six months ago. Yes, there was a plastic surgeon, yes the scars were all over his body, no, he wouldn't show them. Yes, it was true it was some kind of parasite bee, some tropical disease he'd picked up abroad. No, it didn't bother him that much anymore, but could they let him past, he was getting late for class?
Then there had been the rumour mill unspooling itself overtime when news of his previous expulsion reached the students here -- but it's quieted down mostly. He's vaguely friendly with otaku-scene Inukashi and so sat with his various accomplices-in-crime sometimes, though when he mentioned this to his ecology table, they'd frowned, wrinkling their noses.
"God, why?" they'd asked, "They're all such dogs."
"They've been very kind to me," he'd responded, "I think they noticed I was nervous."
Apparently, this was then a social cue for the science-y types to adopt him into their ranks as well, so he spent his time dashing between the two groups, trying to keep everyone happy. It appeared to be working thus far, an equibrilum somewhat established. Safu wanted to know if there was any new best friends. He'd told her none. He'd even volunteered for the lighting crew on a brief, crazed whim, and that was where he'd met --
"Greetings, your Majesty. I bring an ode from Rikiga."
Shion's stomach flipped. Assembling his features into a casual demeanour, he turned around to face Nezumi, queen bee darling of the theatre society, star of the English Literature department, head student librarian and general patron of the arts. His fangirls and fanboys were college-wide -- if someone didn't try and sneakily take a picture of him on their phone at least once during his scheduled timetable, it wasn't an average day at this place. He even had his own bloody alter-ego, Eve, all red lipstick and kohl-rimmed eyes, and even the alter-ego had its own sodding Facebook fan page. Scratch that, make it three at last count. Shion had checked.
"Uh, hi, Nezumi." Shion blinked up at the unsmiling boy, flanked as he was by his mousy-haired entourage. One of them, in a fit of teenage rebellion over the weekend, had dip-dyed her fringe acid green. Another one wore black lipstick -- then again, they tended to wear black performance clothes, as though they might break out into an impromptu recital of an Ophelia soliloquy at any moment. (Nezumi had done that last week, actually. Shion seemed to remember that one of the cafeteria staff fainted.) Nezumi was in his usual uniform of noir turtleneck, leather jacket, darkwash jeans and pointy boots, haughty expression included in the package free of charge.
"I like your jacket," Shion offered.
The entourage giggled a little. Nezumi frowned.
"Your Majesty might care to know you've been called back for Lane in the theatre society's version of Earnest."
"R-really?" Shion was stunned. He thought he'd done terribly, stuttering over his words in the audition whilst one of Nezumi's minions watched with pinprick eyes. "I mean, does that mean --"
Nezumi stepped forward; on automatic, Shion backed up, noting somewhere faraway in his brain that his locker was flush against his back, beneath the cardigan and dress shirt ensemble he favoured.
"If you get it, you'll be onstage with me," Nezumi was saying. Shion tried to follow, but Nezumi was very distracting when he was leant so close, all eyelashes and cheekbones and husky implication, "So if you do get it -- and I doubt you will, although I suspect that's increasingly beyond my control -- don't be such an airhead, don't corpse, and don't do anything that could make me look bad."
Shion was sure he could feel Nezumi's breath on his mouth. Lightheaded, he nodded. Nezumi, tight-lipped, turned on his heel and began another dramatic exit, stage left. Was it stage left? Shion didn't like to ask and interrupt it.
"Remember, your Majesty, the only two stars West Block needs are me, and Eve."
"Look," Shion remarks, surprising even himself, "it was a private school, not an academy for royalty, Nezumi."
A pause. Nezumi freezes, and so does his entourage. It's eeriely in sync as they swing about to face him again.
"There are some privileges," Nezumi tells him, with a bitter smirk, "That you won't understand you have, because you haven't been without them. Your Majesty."
"Try me. I was unfairly expelled from my last Sixth Form because someone claimed I'd cheated and I hadn't. My mother paid for the fees for that place by working double-shifts at her bakery, and I did the same, because she wanted me to have the best education. I was infected on a volunteer research project in the tropics and nearly died, I mean, I thought I was going to die and so did everyone else, they told my mum to say goodbye, and I survived but I ended up like this."
Shion hasn't even realised he's been shouting, so loud the phrases ricochet off the metal lockers. He hastily lowers his voice, but doesn't break eye contact with Nezumi, who's wide-eyed, a butterfly pinioned into place, shocked.
"I've been privileged," Shion finds himself saying, "But I've paid for it."
A gasp for breath, a blink. Abruptly, Nezumi smiles. A true, stunning smile that lances through Shion like bright sunlight, dreamy photosynthesis state, the stuff that flowers feed off so they can grow.
"I'll be in rehearsal studio three until five tonight," he says, "Come along, and we'll run through your entrance in Act One."
"I'm sorry?"
"Whatever for, your Majesty?" Nezumi grins as he opens the door and slips through, entourage pooling behind, "You know, I'm beginning to think this might prove interesting."
*
NOTES:
Since I set this AU in a British Sixth Form, they're might need to be some explanation of references.
RADA = Royal Academy of Dramatic Arts, a very prestigious drama school in London. One of the major three in the country. (The other two, also in London, are LAMDA and Central School of Speech and Drama.)
Oxbridge = common colloquial phrase to refer to Oxford/Cambridge universities, at which places are highly coveted. Their current grade boundaries for applications are A*, A, A at A-level, if that's any indication of standard.
The Importance of Being Earnest = a satirical comedy by Oscar Wilde. Algernon Moncrieff is the main character, and Lane is a minor character appearing only in Act One. There are three Acts.
Artaud = Drama practitioner known for his wild, unconventional methods and ideals. Believed Drama was supposed to confront and unsettle an audience. Devised rehearsal techniques known as 'The Theatre of Cruelty.'
Nezumi refers to 'corpsing' = a drama term, whereby someone 'blanks' or forgets their lines, and due to nerves and panic, literally freezes up and can't move, like a corpse.