Lain of the Wired sat a short way away watching the newest applicant with her ever-present grin.
"Sorry, never heard of you or I've since forgotten." She gave a dismissive wave of her hand, mirroring Darren's gesture during his answer for question three. "I also have no need for life advice or a play either; However, I wouldn't mind the scarf. Then I would answer any questions you may have and vote you to the house of your choice." The sides of her mouth curled even further upwards.
Darren mentally rolls his eyes. Oh no, some philistine hasn't heard of him, he may just keel over and die from disappointment. The rest of what she says is intriguing, however. "Excuse me? Why do you think I'd give my scarf to a random person? And why are you talking about houses?"
"As a bribe. It's the way the rules work here. Applicants give bribes to buy their way in. A somewhat strange system but it works. Houses are houses, we live in them. Eight in all, some good, some bad based on your personality disposition. Any more information will cost you though."
Darren can't help feeling that this must be what life is like for Geoffrey; he's confused by what's going on, curious as to how he reached this place, and unsure if the person he's talking to really exists. Still, he may as well go along with the hallucination; at worst, he'll have an interesting story to tell and something else to draw on while directing.
He unwinds the scarf and hands it to Lain. "Alright, then. Tell me more about those houses you mentioned earlier. And where is 'here,' exactly?"
As this was the first Sorting that Sansa had attended since leaving the library, it was vaguely disappointing that the applicant made so little sense. "Tolt... Brecht?"
"You haven't heard of the playwright Bertolt Brecht? Threepenny Opera? Mother Courage and Her Children? How disappointing." Ignoring her actual question, he's instead inspired to lecture her. "The man was a genius. He originated the concepts of the 'verfrumdungseffekt' and epic theatre, and used his plays to oppose the rise of Nazis and Fascists. His work is a category unto itself; you must see it performed some time."
Sansa listened with all the patience of a teenage medieval noblewoman who had no idea what someone was talking about and some idea that that 'someone' was insane. When Darren was finished, she asked, "Verfrumdungseffekt?" (Carefully sounding the word out, of course, and probably screwing it up.)
He nods, impatiently. "Yes, verfremdungseffekt. Like many German words, English is incapable of offering a perfect translation. The idea behind it is that the production should emphasize to the audience the fact that they're watching a play, to force them to address the artificiality of the whole scene. It's a principle that is sadly lacking for most contemporary plays."
She thought she'd recognize that piercing voice. Sighing, arms crossed and cigarette hanging loosely from one hand, Ellen gave Darren what could have been a smile, a grimace, or an all-out declaration of a bitch fight. One could never be too sure.
"Darren Nichols." Oh, God, Geoffrey was going to have a fit. "What are you doing here?"
Ah, he'd wondered why the room felt cold suddenly- that must have heralded Ellen's approach. Still, he was happy to see her, as he was almost certain she was real, and gave her a genuine smile.
"Ellen, darling, thank goodness you're here! I fear I've caught crazy from Geoffrey. Do you see the other people in this room?"
"Geoffrey is not crazy," she snapped, eyes narrowing. Well... "Not anymore. And for God's sake, Darren, of course I can see the other people. I'm not blind." Unlike whomever had picked out his wardrobe.
Darren smirks. "I'm sure you're right, Ellen. You do know him better than I, after all."
He lets out a relieved sigh at finding out he's not gone crazy. "Well, thank goodness you can see them. I'd hate for the world of theatre to be deprived of such talent, and at such a young age." Here, he would usually toss his scarf dramatically, but he's already given it away. He knew he should've worn a back-up scarf.
Darren can't help snorting at the thought of Richard. "Richard Smith-Jones is the unfortunate maggot who's in charge of making the New Burbage Theatre into a mint. It's mystifying, but he seems to think this role entitles him to respect and support from the people involved in actually producing theatre."
He gives her a tight-lipped smile. "Yes, more or less."
"In post-modernism, one draws upon a variety of styles and sources in producing a work that is often intentionally incoherent. Post-post-modernism is a rejection of these values, instead embracing the utterly new, that does not have precedents, and is not just some mishmash of past stories and techniques. It's all very cutting-edge."
The one person Geoffrey did not want to see at Hogwarts. He had gone to bed some nights praying, agnoticism be damned, for Darren Nichols not to show up here. And now he was, the last person on the entire planet wanted to see.
Well, all right, maybe Barbara the Lizard Queen was worse. If only by virtue of the fact that at least Darren had never gotten Geoffrey kicked out of his own house.
Still, this was pretty bad.
"Darren," he asked loudly, striding into the Sorting Room, "would you please be so good as to tell me what the fuck you are doing here?"
"Hello, Geoffrey!" Darren smiles at him, but his tone becomes sardonic. "I'm pleased to see you, too."
Darren steps close and kisses Geoffrey on each cheek- not because he's feeling particularly European at the moment, but because it will make Geoffrey uncomfortable. "Imagine my surprise when I found myself transported from the theatre, called here for a Higher Purpose of some kind." He sniffs, dramatically. "I always knew I was destined for great things."
Unfortunately, Darren was far too good at knowing what would make Geoffrey uncomfortable. He grimaced and pulled back from the kissing, looking a bit ill. It wasn't homophobia by any means -- one couldn't possibly work in the theater for as impossibly long as he had and cling to that kind of prejudice. It was just that it was Darren. He could have looked like a Playboy Bunny and Geoffrey still would have cringed.
"Yes, very well," he muttered, glaring at Darren through narrowed eyes, "but is there any reason you feel the need to do them here?" Great things. Ha. "By the way, as far as I know, the only person to do great things combining horses and art was Longfellow when he wrote 'Paul Revere's Ride.' And even that's debatable."
Darren responds to Geoffrey with an innocent expression. "As I said, something else has determined that I'm fated to be here. I'm sure that my purpose for being here specifically will reveal itself with time. For starters, it seems that you are in the midst of making The Dream a reality and could use my help. Ellen was quite insistent I do my part."
This would teach her to treat him so poorly; if he truly 'drains every good and decent thing from any production you touch,' this one should be easier to ruin than most.
"And, Geoffrey, I would beg to differ. Equus is a brilliant play. A little modern for your tastes, but that hardly means you should dismiss it out of hand."
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"Sorry, never heard of you or I've since forgotten." She gave a dismissive wave of her hand, mirroring Darren's gesture during his answer for question three.
"I also have no need for life advice or a play either; However, I wouldn't mind the scarf. Then I would answer any questions you may have and vote you to the house of your choice." The sides of her mouth curled even further upwards.
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Houses are houses, we live in them. Eight in all, some good, some bad based on your personality disposition. Any more information will cost you though."
She started to giggle slightly.
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He unwinds the scarf and hands it to Lain. "Alright, then. Tell me more about those houses you mentioned earlier. And where is 'here,' exactly?"
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"Darren Nichols." Oh, God, Geoffrey was going to have a fit. "What are you doing here?"
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"Ellen, darling, thank goodness you're here! I fear I've caught crazy from Geoffrey. Do you see the other people in this room?"
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He lets out a relieved sigh at finding out he's not gone crazy. "Well, thank goodness you can see them. I'd hate for the world of theatre to be deprived of such talent, and at such a young age." Here, he would usually toss his scarf dramatically, but he's already given it away. He knew he should've worn a back-up scarf.
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What's post-post-modern thought?
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"In post-modernism, one draws upon a variety of styles and sources in producing a work that is often intentionally incoherent. Post-post-modernism is a rejection of these values, instead embracing the utterly new, that does not have precedents, and is not just some mishmash of past stories and techniques. It's all very cutting-edge."
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Darren Nichols was here.
The one person Geoffrey did not want to see at Hogwarts. He had gone to bed some nights praying, agnoticism be damned, for Darren Nichols not to show up here. And now he was, the last person on the entire planet wanted to see.
Well, all right, maybe Barbara the Lizard Queen was worse. If only by virtue of the fact that at least Darren had never gotten Geoffrey kicked out of his own house.
Still, this was pretty bad.
"Darren," he asked loudly, striding into the Sorting Room, "would you please be so good as to tell me what the fuck you are doing here?"
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Darren steps close and kisses Geoffrey on each cheek- not because he's feeling particularly European at the moment, but because it will make Geoffrey uncomfortable. "Imagine my surprise when I found myself transported from the theatre, called here for a Higher Purpose of some kind." He sniffs, dramatically. "I always knew I was destined for great things."
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"Yes, very well," he muttered, glaring at Darren through narrowed eyes, "but is there any reason you feel the need to do them here?" Great things. Ha. "By the way, as far as I know, the only person to do great things combining horses and art was Longfellow when he wrote 'Paul Revere's Ride.' And even that's debatable."
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This would teach her to treat him so poorly; if he truly 'drains every good and decent thing from any production you touch,' this one should be easier to ruin than most.
"And, Geoffrey, I would beg to differ. Equus is a brilliant play. A little modern for your tastes, but that hardly means you should dismiss it out of hand."
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