Okay, better clear this up – the note on the end of the last chapter, (one more, my readers, one more) wasn't actually referencing that this was the final chapter of my story – I was meaning that the chapter (chapter 11) was one more – as in, another chapter. There is still more to go, don't you worry.
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"Where is this going, Sir?"
"Stage left – Marie! Did you fix those hems like I asked? And for Shakespeare's sake, where the hell are the repainted statues?" Cassius threw his hands up in exasperation, hurrying over to a group who were moving set.
Rose watched him go. She was sitting with her wedding dress costume over her knees, stitching a dark reed ribbon around its hem, on Cassius' orders. He had said that he wanted a bit of colour to it – so two ribbons, one at the base hem and one at the top edge, were the answer.
Next to her, Marie was making a last minute completion to the hem of Lady Montague's dress from where the actress had slipped and torn it. She seemed completely calm, in strong contrast to Cassius. With pins in her mouth, she was deftly stitching the edge, no worry or stress evident in her movements. Rose envied her.
The performance was tomorrow night. The days had slipped by; full of rehearsals and back stage preparations. Everyday was tiring, and Rose looked forward to falling into the familiar comfort of her TARDIS bed. She had had her lines hammered into her through the recordings and the rehearsals that she felt like she could be doing it in her sleep.
The rehearsals of the past few days had also introduced her to the new Paris. He had fire orange hair, and was almost the complete opposite to Xander. Rose thought she had seen him before, working at the rehearsals, but couldn't be sure. He was arrogant, rude and held none of Xander's passion for acting. Someone had obviously told him he was good, because he knew it and made sure everyone else knew it too. Rose had come close to slapping him a few times, as he made insulting remarks about the rest of the cast.
Xander had been the main topic of conversation between the Doctor and Rose for the past few days. Rose was worried about him. If Cassius' story was right, then surely he would have sent a message, or come to see them? There was nothing to stop him from doing that, and when she had said this to the Doctor one night after rehearsal, he had agreed.
The TARDIS was the only place they could talk about Xander and share their suspicions openly. If something was going on, then giving any indication of suspicion wouldn't be clever at all. It was logical, so both the Doctor and Rose found themselves acting everyday anyway – but not only on the stage.
Rose finished the stitching of the lower ribbon. She still had to do the top one. After mentioning to Marie that she knew how to stitch, Marie had immediately given her job of the alterations to Rose's own costumes. It wasn't exactly mentally stimulating or anything, but it made Rose feel she was doing her bit behind the scenes.
The Doctor, having displayed both interest and knowledge technically, was helping with the lighting. His sonic screwdriver was proving to be a very effective tool, much to the delight and intrigue of the other technical workers. He was, at current, lying on the rigging, suspended high above the theatre, completing wiring connections.
Rose turned her torso, reaching behind herself to find more thread, the dress still draped across her crossed legs. As she did so, she heard a slight thud and felt a weight hit her legs, the impact softened by the material of the dress.
Grinning as she looked up, Rose held up the sonic screwdriver. "This yours?"
"Um, yeah…" The Doctor was grinning above her. "Could you, you know, bring it up to me? I'm not exactly in a position to easily get it myself."
Carefully putting her dress to side where it would be out of danger, Rose stood. "How do I get up to you?"
"Backstage, there's a thin metal staircase. Climb to the top, you'll be on one of the catwalks. You should be able to hand it to me from there." Still lying across the rigging, he put his hands beneath his chin. "I'm not going anywhere."
Rose bypassed the many workers of the theatre, heading out to the darkened backstage. She could hear voices, and sank back into the shadows in case it wasn't friendly.
"Cassius wants the blue gel, I told you that. Have you got one?"
"Blue light? I suppose – I still think natural would look better. Yeah, I've got one."
Two arguing people walked past Rose in the shadows, a young man and a woman. The woman was holding a bunch of wires, and the man held a bulky black metal box – a light. These must be other technical people. When the two of them were gone, Rose headed the way they had appeared from.
After a little searching, slowly getting deeper and deeper into backstage, Rose discovered a steep metal staircase – so steep she would have called it a ladder, but that didn't matter.
Putting the sonic screwdriver in the pocket of her jeans, Rose began to climb; thanking herself she wasn't afraid of heights. The theatre's catwalks were so high they couldn't be seen in the darkness and shadows of the roof. The rigging was positioned underneath.
Reaching the top of the stair/ladder, Rose stepped gingerly onto the catwalk. It didn't swing or creak, like the movies, simply held strong beneath her. Rose started to walk along, pausing to look beneath her and the buzzing crowd. It was a different world up here, watching from above.
"Great view, isn't it?" Said a familiar voice, breaking into her thoughts. "But could you hurry it up a little? After this I can take a break. I don't lie on metal frames high up as a hobby."
"Whatever," said Rose, walking further along and dropping down on the catwalk next to where the Doctor was. She stretched her arm, with the screwdriver, out towards him and slipped it into his hand. She watched as he flicked it on, secured the connection his other hand was holding, and smiled at his work.
She couldn't help but grin as she watched him put the sonic screwdriver in his mouth and slowly begin to move, spider-like, across the metal framing of the rigging. Rose put out a hand to help him onto the catwalk, and he took it, pulling himself up next to her and avoiding the bars that created railings for safety.
Avoiding the lights, Rose swung her legs over the catwalk edge. As she leant on the lower railing, head on hands, she felt like it was a chance to observe the thespian world anew. From up here, she could see everything.
Below, people were scurrying and spread around the theatre. Not only the acting cast, but a few newcomers from the past few days, back stage workers too were immersed in their work. Sets were being constructed and decorated, Marie was still deftly threading costume repairs, a few people (Rose squinted, she was pretty sure it was Tybalt and Mercutio) were rehearsing on the upper levels of seating.
And in the middle of everything, praising some and yelling at others, tearing around like a mad thing possessed, was Cassius. She watched, the Doctor next to her, as he supervised the moving of an ornate angel statue that was part of the set.
"It can't be centred!" He was saying to the helpers who were moving it. "If it's centred it creates too much attention! It has to be off to one side, so it may grace the head of Juliet's tomb when we come to the scene!"
"He thinks he the number one, doesn't he?" said the Doctor next to her. He was watching Cassius with amusement in his eyes.
"Well, he is the director."
"Well, yeah."
There was a loud thud as the angel moved. A exclamation form Cassius accompanied is, as well as, "Don't you dare break that!"
When he was satisfied, Cassius took a sweeping glance around the theatre. "We are ready, my players – costumes on, report for make up, too! We begin in
thirty minutes!"
A flurry of movement accompanied his words and the Doctor sighed. "We had better get down there then."
"Yeah. I really don't want to. Up here, it's like…it's like a different world, you know?"
"Yeah." He leaned forward on the rail in a mimic of Rose. "A chance to watch without being watched, yes?"
"Mmm, yeah." She sighed and stood. "Come on. Cassius will have our heads if we're not ready to go."
The two of them made their way back to the ladder, the Doctor climbing down before Rose. They made their way towards the costume room, weaving in and out of hurrying actors. Once inside, Rose was hurried away by Marie, who had her Capulet Ball gown with her, with a wave and a smile, the Doctor vanished into the crowd of people in the room. Rose knew she wouldn't see him until they were onstage.
She felt like some sort of star. As soon as she was dressed, Marie guided her over to a pink-haired woman who cooed over Rose's hair before attacking it with hairpins and spray. Soon it was in an elegant bun on top of her head, and she was lead to another woman, who gave her foundation, eyeliner, mascara, lipstick, eye shadow…
Twenty minutes later, feeling relieved that everyone had left her alone, Rose stood backstage as the prologue recited itself. She hadn't seen the Doctor at all, and he made his entrance to the play before her anyway.
She closed her eyes to the argument going on between Tybalt and Benvolio, leaning on the wall but being careful not to mess up her hair. She wanted to rub her face, bring out some inner energy to go through this yet again, but couldn't screw up her make up. Damn. So she did a few breathing exercises instead. They didn't really help.
By the time it was time for her scene, Rose had been watching the Doctor dreamily from the wings. He suited the theatre – make up and costume just accentuated how good looking he was.
When she stepped onto the stage this time, it was the strangest feeling. Like there were two people inside her – Juliet, who was talking to her mother and the Nurse, and Rose, who was watching through Juliet's eyes as it happened. This feeling allowed her to relax in the role.
It began to speed past. Soon, she was irritatingly pulling herself from the Doctor's kiss in the Capulet Ball, and walking up the stairs for the balcony scene. The two incidents concerning three words hadn't been mentioned since they happened. Every time the balcony scene was performed, Rose subconsciously waited to see if it would happen again, but it didn't. She had only done it one, when they had rehearsed Romeo's final monologue before Xander vanished.
Sooner than it seemed, Rose was sitting numbly next to Romeo's dead body, kissing him for the last time looking for remnants of poison on his lips. She pretended to stab herself (she loved the knife she used – the blade slipped silently and smoothly into the handle) and fell onto the bed, her hand on Romeo's chest.
She felt like she could sleep here. She was tired from working and rehearsing, and worry about the next day was weighing on her mind. What if it didn't work? What if the Duke didn't like her acting, and they couldn't leave?
As the final scene continued, Rose heard a whisper, so low only she could hear it.
"Don't worry."
"I'm not." She murmured quietly back, not opening her eyes.
"You are. I can tell when you worry. You get a worry crease between your eyes. You'll be fine."
She smiled, opening her eyes to meet his gaze. His eyes were only half opened, masking them from the audience (and mainly from Cassius). She gave him a half smile, which he returned. If he thought she could do it, then maybe she could.
Tomorrow night, the time when everything would flop or fly, was coming closer.
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The acting thing of Rose's I describe, where it's like she's watching out the eyes of her character, is something I do. Don't ask me how, I just do – I can have perfectly conscious thoughts on a different topic and not screw up my script. It almost like it's automatic…it's weird, but there you go.
