Opening Night
Summary: One-Shot, unless enough reviews beg for it to be continued. An actress and her lion dæmon reflect on their unexpected settling as they wait in the wings for their Opening Night production. Pre-Golden Compass.
Disclaimer: Don't own. Don't sue.
If Mrs. Druery, the sharp-nosed Head of Attire, saw me sitting down while in-costume, I probably would be skinned alive, but I was nervous enough about going onstage to desperately need the privy, and that was something I definitely could not do while wearing the poufy, pink confection of a dress I was currently forced into wearing. Themius sat down beside me and gave me a look. "You know you're going to be mending costumes for three weeks if she catches you." I've always wondered how an adult male lion can sound so much like my mother.
I pointedly ignored him and reached under one of my skirts to find I had sat on a program for tonight's show. "The Oxford Players present : Much Commotion About Naught, by Bellarium Shookpike" was proudly blazed on the cover. I opened it and traced my finger down the list to find my name. "Calliope Warwick – Marge (d. Themius – lion)." I smiled. Finally, I had a role in one of The Minstrel's greatest works, something that should have happened months ago if not for one pesky dæmon's timing on settling.
"Relax Cal, you'll do fine. Really, just go onstage a drunken, easy serving woman! Shouldn't be too far from what you do everyday."
"I'm not the one I'm worried about." I said briskly.
Themius growled, "Oh, not this again."
"Yes, this again." I said, enjoying the verbal joust. I usually relieved tension by doing this before every show, exchanging barbs with Them until it was time to go onstage. Being the theatrical girl and dæmon pair that we were, this also helped both of us get into our stage characters, though Them was only going to be voicing the part for this character. It didn't make much sense for a serving woman to have a lion dæmon, so I had my lap dog pretend-dæmon in a basket under one arm. "You couldn't have waited to Settle for one more day?"
"I didn't choose to Settle, you did." He pointed out.
"Well…" I searched for words, and failing that, stuck my tongue out at him.
I still remember Themius' settling clearly. It was about a year ago, when I was fourteen. Parts for younger characters are usually written for children, keeping in mind their dæmons unsettled form. Dæmons usually have to switch forms one or more times through the play, making it really hard to keep in character for the actor or actress since dæmon's form sometimes affects emotions.
This was my first time getting a lead role in the Company, or as Themius liked to say, "First time not having to sing and dance like a complete pansy." I had been noticing that Themius liked to revert to lion form in the wings for some time now, but I had chalked it up to his way of reassuring me from nerves.
It was Closing Night, and nearing the final scene. My character, a young daughter of the protagonist, was confronting the villain, revealing that I had heard him telling an accomplice of his plans to murder my mother. Themius was supposed to be in his lion form for my soliloquy, and roar at the end. I remember thinking I felt a little jolt from our connection, but thinking it was a stray pin poking me in my uncomfortable, itchy costume.
The antagonist then whipped out his stage dagger and pressed it to my throat, spitting curses and threats at me if I told. Themius should have changed into his mouse form, since the next line was the evil man's cackle and, "So the lion becomes a mouse at the slightest prick, so shall my tender care become a dagger in your mother's back." Too bad Themius didn't change. I felt him try to change, but…nothing. Lucky for the both of us, the other actor was a veteran of the stage and he covered masterfully. After a beat of pause, he narrowed his eyes and growled, "Your steadfastness is noble, but such actions are anything but for the consequences to your dear mother." Which resulted in me blubbering and begging for mercy, which was back on script.
I remember turning to Themius off-stage, ready to lay into him for forgetting to change, when he stopped me by saying simply, "I'm settled." I stared at him blankly for a few seconds before years of training took hold. For the final scene, I was to enter onstage, speaking to my dæmon and discussing how to warn my mother when my dæmon suggests writing a message and leaving it in a basket of bread/ At that point, Themius was supposed to be a gerbil.
Backstage, I ran to the closet where we store stuffed animals as props and pretend dæmons. Themius, in the meantime, picked up a cone provided for the actor's dæmons who had to speak from backstage, so the audience could hear them through the heavy theatre curtains, from one of the prop tables. I held the faux gerbil in my hand and walked on-stage when my cue came, hoping that no one would notice the "gerbil" wasn't twitching, licking it's paws, or when you get right down to it, breathing..
Themius stayed backstage and tried to say his lines in as small a voice as possible. The play continued, going as well as could be expected, given the circumstances, ended with the protagonist dead anyway, since it was a tragedy, and a successful curtain call. Afterwards, but before the us acting folks had to pitch in and help with striking the set, I caught the actor, Astrid Sandoval, as he was putting away his own prop dæmon; a gyrfalcon with clips on it's feet that could attach to his costume and hooks that a crewmember could attach a string to and make the "dæmon" fly.
"No trouble at all." He said, ruffling my hair. "I remember when my own Hypraltia settled a three days before Opening Night. I was only a chorus member, but the director wanted her otter-voice to sing a soprano in contrast to my baritone. When she settled as a Grevy's Zebra, I thought I was going to be fired." He laughed as Hypraltia pushed him with her nose.
"It's not my fault you chose to grow-up." She said, dignified. "I would have been perfectly happy with being unsettled forever."
"I remember it being you who was in such a hurry to grow up." He said, pulling at his beard and winking at me. They backed off as the director of the Company, Myles Arsiniegas, or as the cast and crew called him, the Pirate, yelled at me from across the theatre to meet him in his office. Even giving the seriousness of the situation, I had to smile at his persistence in calling the large wood shed behind the stage where the crew stores properties and smaller set pieces until they can be brought out again for a new show his "office". It has a desk and a chair in it that I'm reasonably certain were set pieces before the Pirate commandeered them for his personal use, but to get in there you have to be nimble and careful to avoid stubbing your toe on a stray block of wood.
Themius and I resigned ourselves to sitting across the desk, enduring a long, drawn-out tirade damning me to Hell, cursing my mother for having birthed me, and bemoaning how such a great artiste of his caliber was stuck having to work with such useless novices such as myself, none of which I actually listened to. We didn't call him the Pirate for nothing; he had a theatrical manner and swagger about him that was all bluster with very little truth behind it. Not to mention his Scarlet Macaw dæmon who usually perched on his shoulder, sometimes reminding him of more insults to throw at me. See, the Pirate was one of those rare people whose dæmon was the same gender as themselves, and Brynn was a flamboyant male dæmon to match the Myles in theatrics.
But, like real pirates, the director had swords beneath the act, and he soon got to the point. He moaned and threw himself into his swivel chair and put his head in his hands. "Be grateful no critics were here. The Company is doing poorly as it is." I sat up straighter. This was the first I had heard of problems drawing crowds; ours was one of the few theatres in London and the lower standing room was almost always full to bursting with groundlings.
"It's time you learned about the state of affairs. The Church is decrying our act." The Pirate enlightened me. "Our use of props as dæmons is seen as blasphemous, and stage violence and romance is blamed as poisoning the minds of the masses. Not to mention the sin of employing and drawing those with unorthodox preferences." He said bitterly. I looked down to hide my blushing. It was well known that our Pirate preferred his own gender, but I tried to avoid that touchy subject when I could. It didn't bother me or anyone else in the Company, but I knew many people would stop patronizing our theatre if they found out. He leaned towards me, dropping his hands to his desk.
"Themius' Settling has put back some of my plans for you. I had a lovely part ready for you in our next production, but your dæmon's form suggests a baritone or bass that would be all wrong for the part." He sighed again. "No matter. I'll schedule voice lessons to have you two work on complimenting your tones and getting Themius to adjust to a new accent." He stood up and faced away from us, hands behind his back. "You may go."
I looked at Themius and stood, both nervous about what I had heard about the Company's problems and relieved that I hadn't been forced to clean paint trays for the next five years. Themius began leading the way out when the Pirate spoke again. "Calliope." I stopped. "Nice cover." The Pirate said before beginning to examine his fingernails. I paused, shocked. "Th-thank you." I said. Myles never gave compliments, or said anything nice about anyone. With him, no news was good news. I walked out in a daze. Settled and Complimented, all in one night. Striking the set was easier than it had ever been before.
That was one year ago. One whole season since I got pushed down to biding my time in the wings and singing with a chorus, the third munchkin/townsperson/beggar from the right. The Pirate finally deemed me ready to make my re-entrance onto the main stage, and I will do whatever it takes to help the Company and get my name on the Callboard.
A quick break from my Circle Remade fic, I wrote this a couple months ago on a plane and recently unearthed in a lost notebook. ((REVIEW)) I was going to turn this into a series, but thought it sounded better as a one-shot. ((REVIEW)) If I get enough reviews, I might turn it into a series shrug Don't expect any updates for a while, though. Even if you don't want it to become a series, take a second of two and say so in a REVIEW. ((REVIEW)) Oh, and I'm not trying to send subliminal messages or anything. ((REVIEW))