Summary: Modern AU. I'm Mary Bennet, rational and methodical. I left the melodrama to my family...until I got involved in theater, tabloid scandals, corporate espionage and worse, sentimental nonsense. I blame Georgiana Darcy.

Disclaimer: Everything belongs to Jane Austen.

Thank you to last chapters' kind reviewers!

"Well," I told Georgiana, "I was disappointed by the lack of Shakespeare during the auditions. It shows a sad lack of ambition in our group."

I took a sip from my cup of tea.

"At least Bertram made an attempt, ill-fated as it might have been. But the fact that nobody else was willing to rise to the challenge doesn't fill me with confidence."

"Maybe they were intimidated," Georgiana suggested. "They knew from your run-in with Tom that you would be a stern critic."

"Everyone's a critic," I said with dignity. "I am only giving pointers to anybody who needs them."

"It's too bad you didn't get to sing with the rest of us," Georgiana sighed.

"Trust me, I was doing a better job on the piano. I have sworn off singing."

"Why?"

Because I sing badly and I'd rather remain silent than being mocked for my caterwauling, as I've heard some members of my family put it. (Way to give a girl a complex, Dad).

"Sometimes you have to know when to quit," I shrugged.

"But you sing for yourself, not for the critics?" Georgiana insisted. "If you enjoy singing, I find it sad to give it up."

"I'm hardly giving up. I'm focusing on other fields I'm more suited to. Persisting would be a waste of time and energy."

Georgiana looked unconvinced but changed the subject:

'How did your interview go?"

I stilled.

"Not very well, I'm afraid."

Understatement of the year, but saying "it went down in flames," would have cast a chill over the conversation.

I did not suspect that an entry-level position in a middle-sized company would require jumping so many hurdles.

"I am sorry, but I do not think that you would be a good fit for this job," the HR person said at last after an excruciating pause.

No matter my qualifications, my academic success, it always came down to this, right?

I am not a good fit.

What more can I do? What do you want? I screamed internally.

Why is it never enough?

I do not fit in with Jane and Lizzy any more than I fit in with Kitty and Lydia.

They say I'm nerdy? Fine, I'll fit in with the nerd group, teenaged- me thought.

Do you know what's more humiliating than not fitting in with the "popular crowd"?

Being excluded from the nerdy crowd.

Or, to be more accurate, being actively avoided until I got a clue that I was persona non grata among the Highbury high school nerds.

It took me a while to understand this, which made it all the more humiliating, as social cues were not my strongest points. I have no stomach for games, and I don't see the point of hinting things that can't be understood literally.

The truth is, Meredith Lucas took pity on me and explained the rationale behind their actions.

I stood, rooted to the spot, as it dawned on me that I had made a fool of myself, chasing after people who were supposed to be on my side but still did not want me. Some of it must have shown on my face since Meredith added hesitantly:

"I don't think they're against you, Mary. It's just that you try too hard sometimes, you know? Just be yourself."

If there's a piece of advice I abhor, it's this: "just be yourself."

Just be yourself and it will all work out. What about hard work, perseverance?

And how can I try too hard? Clearly it comes so easily to me otherwise.

I pulled myself together (nothing good can come of ruminating these thoughts) and told Georgiana that she was in for an evening of Comfort Telly.

She took a look at my DVD and gave me a dubious glance:

"A miniseries based on Shakespeare's Henry VIII is comfort telly?"

"Watch and learn, Georgiana. Watch and learn."

"I can't believe I had never heard of him before. What are the casting directors of this country doing?"

"I know!"

"He's just so…so talented! And his voice…"

"Just the right kind of velvety baritone. He could read the phonebook for hours and I wouldn't complain."

"And he's so handsome to boot!" Georgiana giggled and I smiled pleasantly.

I do not indulge in fangirling very often, but I might be excused in some cases.

Besides, it's not being a fangirl when it's more of a healthy appreciation for the classics being brought to life by a competent actor.

"He's not conventionally handsome, but he exudes charisma," I allowed.

"That he does!"

"It's too bad that the directing choices were nonexistent."

"The directing choices?" Georgiana asked with the air of someone who had not spared a single thought about the directing.

"Yes, it's obvious when you look at the bonus content. I have watched it several times with the commentary."

"Isn't it a bit dry?" she said dubiously.

"It provides very good insight," I countered, and pressed on repeat.

"Why? Why did you cut this scene? This transition is the most awkward thing ever!" I cried in anguish.

"Oh, yes, you, o great and wise director, thought that the philosophical debate was boring. But maybe it would have interested your viewers. Don't pretend you are dumbing it down for our sake!"

"It's a complicated play to adapt? Really, that's your excuse? Then don't do it and let someone who actually has a vision direct the bloody thing!"

"Mary, are you alright?" Georgiana was staring at me. "I thought this was supposed to be comfort telly?"

"Oh, I get a bit worked up, but it's cathartic, really. Besides, if grown-up men can hurl abuse at the TV during football games, I think it perfectly legitimate to express my valid concerns in a similar fashion in the privacy of my own flat."

Georgiana finally gave a small smile:

"Yes. I can get the appeal."

She only clamoured timidly for more close-ups, though. Baby steps.

We were waiting for Mr. Ravenshaw. I was scribbling furiously in my trusty notebook when I heard John Yates saying loudly:

"Ravenshaw told me we were going to do some improv! That's so cool! I have already tweeted it!"

I rolled my eyes and he caught me:

"Why don't you tweet it too? We could create a hashtag and make some buzz about our future performances!"

"I've never tweeted in my entire life and I'm pretty sure I never will," I said.

He gaped at me. I had broken John Yates.

Tom Bertram glanced at my notebook:

"Welcome to the twenty-first century, Mary. Where we can enjoy computers and social networks instead of relying on feather quills and vellum."

I gave an irritated sigh:

"I am not a Luddite, but I believe technology should be used in proportion to what is required. Why would I use a computer when I have books and notebooks at my disposal? "

Tom gave a mock-gasp:

"What about the ecosystem? Have you no pity for our evergreen forests? Who will save the trees?"

How dare he accuse me of not being environmentally conscious!

"I'll have you know this paper is made of recycled fibres!"

Burn, as Lydia would say.

But of course he just looked amused by my outburst.

"Technology is far too often misused," Mr. Palmer said from behind his newspaper.

"When my friends opened accounts on social networks, I followed them to keep in touch. They spammed my dashboard with pictures of laughing cats, then they moved on to grumpy cats because they reminded them of me. I ended up unfollowing the whole lot of them."

"You have all my sympathy," I said sincerely. "When I opened an account for professional reasons, I had to block my younger sisters."

"Wow," Tom laughed. "You had to resort to this? You don't think you overreacted?"

"You have to compartmentalize your life on the internet," I said. "Especially when you're using your own identity."

"And I'm convinced you are very good at compartmentalising, but please spare me the tutorial on The Proper Use of Technology. I'm not a noob."

"A what?" I asked.

"Newbie," John translated.

"Oh. Why didn't you say so in the first place?" I glared at Tom.

"I know what I said and I stick by it. Newbies are newcomers who learn from their mistakes- noobs are ignorant and refuse to listen to those who know better. You meet a lot of noobs IRL, too- I meant in real life," he added patronizingly.

We were cut off by Ravenshaw.

"Everybody's here? Good, let's start today with some improvisation! I'm giving you a theme, and you just have to jump in! Mary, Tom, why don't you start? Your theme is: animals!"

I racked my brains for something original and witty to say.

Tom smiled winningly:

"My dear Lady Hedgehog, how prickly you are today!"

I wanted to retort with a pun, but I blushed at its vulgarity, so I looked at this jocular young man who embodied everything I was not. A man who never had to work at anything in his life, idle like his friend Yates. A man whose polo and general demeanour just screamed "privilege". A man who would be welcomed wherever he went, without any conscious effort on his part.

"Hello, Mr. Bumblebee. Are you still bumbling around?"

"I am still living."

"So am I."

We both tried to think of an animal metaphor to weave in.

"Well, you are a rare parrot-teacher," he attacked.

"A bird of my tongue is better than a beast of yours," I replied automatically.

"I would my horse had the speed of your tongue, and so good a continuer. But keep your way, i' God's name; I have done".

And without further ado, he went back to his seat.

"This was not quite what I had in mind," Ravenshaw sighed. "Besides, it's improv, so in the future I'm asking all of you to seek the inspiration in yourselves, not in the well-tried works of the Bard."

Tom tried to look penitent. The performance was unconvincing.

"We could have done worse," he pointed out.

Privately I agreed with him, but I would never say so.

A hedgehog, indeed!

"At least it was not entirely wooden," Ravenshaw told us. "You chose to express a quarrel, and it was rather realistic, if a little short. Now let's try to give Lady Hedgehog and Mr. Bumblebee a backstory. Why such animosity? Suggestions, anyone?"

"Neighbor argument. Mr. Bumblebee plays loud music after 9 pm and Lady Hedgehog can't go to sleep ," Henrietta stated.

I frowned. Why couldn't my character pull all-nighters too? I had done so many times (not playing loud music, but writing my thesis or finishing a book I could not put down. Not quite the same, but it's the principle of the thing.)

"Nice try, Henrietta. Someone else?"

"They see life in different ways?" Georgiana offered.

"Conflicting ideologies, quite interesting! Another possibility?"

"UST!" John said triumphantly.

The abbreviation did not seem to register with the rest of our group. Unfortunately, it did with me.

For my part, I was busy attempting not to hyperventilate. Where had Yates found such a ridiculous idea?

Alas, he elaborated.

"It's the oldest trope in the book!"

"But what is it?" Henrietta asked.

"Unresolved sexual tension, of course!"

Tom shot him a betrayed look.

"Oh, come on, John! That's absurd!"

"It suggests a new angle," Ravenshaw said thoughtfully.

The tilt of Henrietta's head reminded me too much of my younger sisters for my peace of mind. That they could consider this…

"Occam's razor!" I all but shouted. "The simplest hypothesis is the most likely to be true. Lady Hedgehog just can't bear what Mr. Bumblebee stands for, and it's reciprocal."

Tom shook his head in disbelief:

"You had to quote Occam's razor to win an argument about the hypothetical relationship of a fictional hedgehog and a bumblebee?"

"Well, your friend is the one who suggested there was subtext in an innocuous exchange between an imaginary bumblebee and a hedgehog, so I don't think I'm the one with issues here!"

Then Ravenshaw paired up Henrietta and Mr. Palmer, and peace was restored until Louisa got too much into method acting during her stint with Fred, almost broke her neck trying to impersonate a monkey falling from a tree branch, and we had to call emergency services.

At this rate we would never get any true acting done.

-as usual, reviews are very much welcome!

-next chapter will be told from Tom's POV.

-other information/ mini-poll:

I have been playing with the idea of writing the stories of the next-generation of The Odd Duck's Quest (with a focus on the children mentioned in the coda of the epilogue: Cassandra and Samuel Bertram, Marian and Phoebe Wickham, etc.)

Would that interest you, since it would be about these original characters and not about the characters of the book? I write about minor or secondary characters and I know not a lot of people are interested in them, so I understand if original characters are not your cup of tea ^^