no_sin_but | (no subject)

Welcome to Romeo and Juliet, of the New Burbage Theatre Festival.

It is back stage.

Sarah thinks the Iguana that broke the ex-director's back may be back in the building. Patrick can't find his FUCKING tights. Cyril is telling stories about the time he played Mercutio when it was just a tent, and the pigeon flew in right in the middle of Queen Mab, and attacked Benvolio. Maria is on the warpath about god knows what. One of the giant silver balls has made its way back stage, and is rolling in one of the too-narrow hallways. One of the ladies in waiting has shown up in a red bra by mistake, and is in tears because it's visible through her costume, and she doesn't know if she can find a new one in time.

Jerry grabs Darren the minute he arrives through the door.

"Darren! This is important. There may be, um, barbed wire in the entrances, depending on whether Geoffrey..."

Sarah screams. Then goes bright red.

"Sorry, just a sock. Sorry."

Jerry pushes on.

"...it was MacBeth, you see, and Henry wasn't doing it..."

Darren breathes deeply through his nose.

"Jerry, I assure you, Geoffrey's attempts at guerilla theatre have been successfully dismantled. All entrances and exits are fully available. Just... watch out for nails."

Jerry nods and walks off, and Darren looks over his shoulder at Kit.

"Well. Welcome to my play."

Marlowe grins at him. "Thank you, my dear man."

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Very, very amused,

"Care to tell?"

"The problem with actors," Cyril says, blandly, "is they occasionally believe they know more than their directors. Now, sometimes this may be true, but once in a while you get someone like Geoffrey Tennant. Or rather, since it is the job of an actor to pander to the director, someone like Geoffrey Tennant gets someone like Henry Breedlove, who has played MacBeth successfully, three times, and will do it his way or no way at all."

Cyril smiles. He looks practically sweet and elderly.

"Geoffrey just put up a few obstacles, is all."

Calmly enough,

"I know the type."

"Geoffrey just put up a few obstacles, is all, and had the fight scenes totally reblocked without telling him so he was swinging away, practically at his wit's end, and had dear Lady M go on stage, and true to Goeffrey's vision, wash the blood from her husband's body. I don't know that this festival had seen a play with actual male nudity before."

Pause, as he opens the stage door.

"Except Darren, but he's a different case now, isn't he?"

"Usually." Say little, keep eyes open and don't sliiiiiip.

"Here we- Nahoum."

The security guard pushes past in the narrow hallway, carrying what must be Geoffrey's tree, pursued by Darren.

"It needs to be anywhere where my actors won't trip on it. Oh, hello, Kit."

A quick grin.

"The tree saga continues?"

"Not for long," says Nahoum, cheerfully. It takes a lot to stress him out, "and on the grand scale of things..."

Darren snorts.

"There is no such thing as a minor problem the size of a tree! Keep going."

Nahoum is too polite to roll his eyes, but keep going he does. Cyril... is not too polite to roll his eyes. He does so, and pushes open the stage door for Kit as Darren tears off.

Marlowe watches his ~~lover~~ roommate dash off madly, just barely manages to turn a laugh into a cough, and steps through.

Catiously, mind. The tales about Geoffrey may have made him nervous.

The set is practically normal. Hugely so, given Darren. It's all warm wood. There's a bed in the wings, waiting to be wheeled on, occasionally. A stool, a few candlesticks. Baskets and things for people to carry on for the various markets.

Someone's left Macbeth's bloodied head in the corner by mystake. Cyril gives it a fond pat.

Not pig's blood? Tch, tch, tch.

The wings are full of members of the young company. Fluttering and telling each other the few lines they do have, dazedly going over blocking and just kind of being nervous at each other. They're dressed in warm colours, perhaps the cuts of the necklines are a little immodest... but you need to attract crowds somehow.

Several pairs of eyes turn to look at Kit, like he might have some sort of answer for why they're putting themselves through this anxiety voluntarily.

That would require him being helpful. So, he just gives them a quick, cheerful kind of smile.

They can take that as they will.

"House doors are..."

Cyril peers out from behind the curtain,

"Just opening. I'd best take you back around, then."

"I'm in your hands." Theatre is theatre, but this isn't anything like the ones he knew.