AN: Warning. This is one of the most pointless chapters I've ever written. Heads up guys.
And to soosha-q, here's to me remembering requests waaaaaaay back from iVoldy.
Thanks to all of you fantastic readers. When the humor runs low, your great reviews bring it back in a flood! X)
DC: Okay, seriously. I'm not even going to bother writing these any more. Warner Bros. can just get over itself. So ha.
Enjoy!
…I've run out of catchy ideas for page breaks…
Ted was having breathing problems. Again. The cast and crew of Voldemort's theatre were desperately trying to get him to quit smoking. They even got him a free T-shirt that said, "There are cooler ways to die" with a picture of a cigarette.
Unfortunaly, Ted didn't wear clothes. Which became a problem when it came to costuming.
In other news, Voldemort wanted new curtains for the stage, but couldn't decide on a color. His favorite presumptive color was death. Not black, (black was soooooooooo yesterday) but death. Unfortunately, curtain companies didn't carry it, so he had to choose something else.
Eventually he decided on green with silver, and purple trim. And the catalogues and color chips got him so excited he hired a bunch of designers to redo the whole theatre. He had it painted red, green, and blue. It ended up looking classy, if not clashy.
Lame excuse for asking for favorite colors in the first place completed, he waited for the cast and crew to arrive for rehearsal after picking Ted up from rehab.
One by one, the thespians filed in. Last to come was Lucius.
"My god, man." Voldemort exclaimed when he saw the Death Eater. "What the hell are you wearing?"
Lucius glanced down at his robes, a combination of sky blue and spring green. "I had a random fashion designer come in," he said nonchalantly. "I was feeling colorful."
The Dark Lord stared for a full minute at the bright, happy robes.
"I need some of those…" he gasped eventually. "What was the designer's random name?"
"Sasha."
Voldemort snatched a pen from Snape and scribbled the information on his hand.
…I've run out of catchy ideas for page breaks…
Rehearsal did not go very well. The cast was unaccustomed to working in a brightly colored theatre, and as such continued to run into each other, props, and fall off the stage.
"It's the jaguar, scene!" Lucius yelled to Voldemort from the stage. "Where's the jaguar?"
"No idea." The Dark Lord shrugged, speaking a little louder to be heard over the consistent roars and growls issuing from backstage.
"Dang."
They sat around for a moment.
"Anyone else hear something?' Voldemort asked.
Some people glance around, cocking their heads to listen.
"Nope," one answered.
"Hm." The Dark Lord frowned. "Must just be me then."
They kept doing nothing, as they couldn't continue rehearsing without the jaguar, and they were all too lazy to go looking.
Once again, Voldemort interrupted the silence.
"Are we missing someone?" he asked.
Lucius seemed to be pondering this, but before he could answer, a man in a suit walked through the door.
"Mr. Voldemort Voldemort?" he said in low, serious tones.
"Over here!" The Dark Lord waved cheerfully. "What can I do you for?"
"Mr. Voldemort," the man said coming over. "We need to know what the production you're putting on in this theatre is. You're opening night is scheduled a month away, so you might want to pick one soon."
"No problem." The Dark Lord replied airily. "Is that all?"
"Well, there's this group of muggers outside. They said they were waiting for a certain victim to come out, but he hasn't yet, so they were wondering if everything was alright."
Voldemort snapped his fingers. "That's it!" he cried. "We forgot our scapegoat!"
"Who?" chorused many of the thespians.
"Minion!"
"… That's Snape, right?" Lucius asked carefully.
"Er… right!" Voldemort agreed. "Snape, Minion, whatever… the point is we've forgotten him!"
"Where?"
The Dark Lord frowned.
"I have no idea..." he said slowly, over some muffled screams, issuing from backstage.
"Well, I'll just being going." The man in the suit said. "What should I tell the muggers?"
"Oh, tell them he'll be out shortly." Voldemort waved off.
The man left.
The door backstage banged open. Snape, bloodied, mangled, and rather depressed looking, dragged himself out.
"I… need… my… tea…" he muttered, scooting along the floor to the green room, leaving a faint trail of blood.
"Hm." Voldemort noted a few minutes after the green room door had slammed. "So that's where Minion got off to."
…I've run out of catchy ideas for page breaks…
AN: Okay, I know, it was sort of pointless. I'm counting on you guys to discern the one meaningful bit of plot development, and that is that there is now a deadline for Voldemort's production. (Oooooh, dramatic music….) But this was just a chapter that wrote itself, so I had no control over relevance. Now that I think about it, anychapter that writes itself involves some amount of misfortune for Snape, and is one damn smart chapter…
My question, because I couldn't fit it 'coherently' into the chapter is this: How many of you have heard of the musical Title of Show?