So as far as Geoffrey knew, his production of Twelfth Night was well under way. No, really -- despite it having been weeks since his
posters had been altered, he had somehow entirely failed to notice that the people who were signed up for the play were, in fact, signed up for a completely different one. This meant he was probably due for something
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She had considered a monologue from No Exit, its existential angst appealing to her. In the end, though, her diva sensibilities chose for her.
"I am Hedwig Robinson," she declared as she took the stage. "I am here for your audition. I will perform a monologue from the fabulous Tennessee Williams. This is from Cat on a Hot Tin Roof."
Hedwig wore one of her softer wigs, today, and one of the few hausfrau smocks she hadn't discarded from back in the Junction City days, when she'd lived as a soldier's wife on an army base. Her makeup too was softer than her usual, though still pretty damned overdone. These were her concessions to costuming.
In a voice that did not have to strain to fill space -- she had a set of lungs on her, our Hedwig -- she declaimed her lines"I wish you ( ... )
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But beyond those little annoyances... well, she was really pretty good. Better than nearly every other person who'd come in, certainly. And charismatic. A little old to play the leads, and God knew if he took Titania from Ellen now without giving her Helena she would never speak to him again; but Hedwig, he determined, would be in his play. And she would have a good part, dammit ( ... )
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So, he stumbled up onto the stage, a glass of red wine in one hand, looking as if he'd actually showered in his clothes. Which, of course, he had. "Ladies and gentlemen," he announced, speaking around his cigarette. "What I bring to this theater today is a classic of the classics!"
Bernard coughed into his wine glass, took a sip, and began. The fact that he was reading literature outloud, and not speaking lines of a play, completely escaped him. Also, Middle English was totally appropriate for a Shakespeare play.
"Have do", quod she, "com of, and speed the faste ( ... )
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As for the piece, well. Geoffrey'd had his fair share of raunchy speeches. He'd asked Ellen if he could lay his head upon her lap and asked if she thought he spoke of country matters. This wasn't that much worse. He raised a brow, glanced back towards where Ellen sat, looked over at Bun-Bun, and shrugged. "And you are?" he asked the hopeful actor.
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"Er, Bernard. Black. I mean, Bernard Black, obviously." He paused, staring into his wine glass. "See, I find this is the problem with theater auditions," he announced, related to absolutely nothing, "You can get up on stage and say your piece, but after that, you're really just on your own, aren't you? What do you say?"
Bernard took a moment to ponder this, frowning heavily and scratching the back of his head. Then, he looked up, the sudden action making him sway slightly. "I know! Do you want a pineapple? ...No, that's stupid," he reprimanded himself. "What play is this going to be, exactly?"
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The second question (or rather, the third) made his smile a little more strained. "Well, apparently, we are doing A Midsummer Night's Dream," he explained wearily. And then, hopefully: "Why, did you hear something else?"
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There was a director whom Camilla hadn't yet met, and there was Bun-bun, whom Camilla remembered from his Sorting.
Perhaps it would be better simply to owl the director. Bun-bun could be rather difficult.
She pulled aside one of the aspiring actors, an outlandish-looking drag queen who apparently wanted to be a blonde Elizabeth Taylor, and asked the director's name. Owling Bun-bun likely wouldn't be much easier than talking to him face to face. Also, the drag queen turned out to be very nice, and Camilla gave him/her a cigarette and a friendly few minutes of small talk before going off to write some owls.
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She waited for a lull in the insanity before approaching the trio obviously in charge of auditions. "Excuse me?" she said politely. "I must have been back home when the casting call went out, because this is the first I've heard of this, but... what play are you putting on? I can't really tell from the monologues."
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Geoff was feeling just a little frazzled right now.
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"It's the Dream," she confirmed for May. "Are you interested in auditioning?"
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May did not recognize Geoffrey's I hope someone dies in the next five minutes look; in fact, the smile initially puzzled her, since she expected him to be wanting to hit something (hence the politeness). The bitterness in his tone, however, was evident. Ah. Well, that explained a lot. At least it wasn't Romeo and Juliet, but the Dream was one of the two that had been ruined for her by a train wreck of high school production. She hadn't liked the movie much, either ( ... )
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