...wow it's been a minute, hasn't it?
Hello! How are you all doing? Staying safe out there? I hope so. This whole spring and summer has been absolutely insane, but none of you need me to tell you that.
So let's talk about this fic instead!
A little explanation. And by little I mean a lot, because this thing is a monster and the situation around it is crazy. I started writing this as my NaNoWriMo project in 2017, right after after I posted the last chapter of Like Teenage Skin (feels like ages ago, doesn't it? damn!). At the time my motivation was just symmetry: If You Love Me, Answer Me Softly was Subaru's story, Nihta was Seishiro's story and Like Teenage Skin was Kamui's story, so it only seemed right that Fuuma should get a story! Plus I find Fuuma such a fantastic character (and a BRILLIANT antagonist) in canon, particularly how he serves as a kind of blank canvas, being whoever you need him to be.
At first I thought I could explore that by writing something basic: modern AU where everyone's unhappy, dating and being unfaithful, the usual nonsense. Surprise surprise, I totally wasn't inspired, so I decided to expand my repertoire. A very dear fandom friend of mine had suggested before that I write some kind of ballet AU, which like… aesthetically would have been beautiful but so wouldn't have worked for many reasons, number one being that despite working with a lot of dancers in my day job, I'm not one, and I'm not familiar enough with the world to do it justice. However, it occurred to me that I could do that with theater, which aside from knowing way more about from first hand experience, would translate way better into a written story. Plus, good directors have to be who the actors need them to be to get the most out of them, so I thought it'd be perfect for Fuuma!
Awesome, now I've got my brilliant scheme, what play should Fuuma direct? I didn't wanna do Shakespeare, but Chekhov seemed like a good option for the cast of X, so I reached out to my dad (both an actor and familiar with the characters) and asked for his advice. He just said "Do Three Sisters." So I got several translations, then, the day after I finished posting Like Teenage Skin, adapted the script (side note: do NOT try and adapt a whole ass script in three days, just don't) and started writing November 1st!
Unfortunately, it became clear very quickly that I wasn't getting this story told in 50,000 words. It ended up being way longer, denser and heavier than I'd anticipated, so I didn't finish it until NaNoWriMo 2018. I say unfortunately because at the time I just wanted to get it done, post it and be out. My thinking was that I'd be able comfortably step away from writing about X, quit while I was ahead, etc. Now, though, I only say unfortunately because at the time I was in an incredibly dark place, mentally, emotionally, physically and spiritually. I was just starting to come out of a depression I'd been in since May of that year, but also I was deep in a self-destructive spiral. Like, Challenger Deep levels of self-destructive behavior, toxic behavior, all of it. It was awful. However, now that I'm out of it, it realize working on this story for three years isn't unfortunate at all.
This fic saw me through a lot of shit over that time. It saw me get out of a depression and stay out, despite everything going on. It saw me through four break ups, some friend and some romantic, some more devastating than others. However, it also saw me enter a recovery program to address my issues in relationships, and my new and renewed relationships have been much healthier (or just… generally healthy for the first time) for it. It saw me through a lot of career upheaval, of getting new jobs but also quitting them, of questioning why I do what I do but then coming to a new understanding and getting more education. It saw me read 20,000 Leagues Under The Sea which changed my life like X did, forcing me to confront things as nothing else could. So yeah, it saw me at my lowest point, but it also saw me get back out, so for that reason alone, this fic means a lot to me. Also the fact that I was able to persevere and finish it despite the odds is huge for me, because I have trouble with task completion at the best of times. I won't lie, I'm really proud of myself.
Now, does any of that mean the story is actually good? I have absolutely no idea. I hope so. I hope it's entertaining, I hope you all like it, I hope it does something good. We'll see!
Okay, and now people to thank! Firstly every single person, fictional or flesh and blood, in my life still or not, who helped me and supported me while writing this: THANK YOU. From the bottom of my heart. I could not have done it without you. My friends, my recovery fellows, my romantic partners, you all are the best. A huge thank you especially to my dad for being on my ass about this fic and for all of his expertise and experience (I should credit him as technical advisor, truly), as well as to my mom for the same reasons, though she's not an actress. Thank you also to Mr. Chekhov for this play I picked apart and bent to my will, you're phenomenal. Another thank you to all of the artists who created all the songs I was both listening to while working on this and included explicitly. It was all necessary! Though of course, I think I owe the biggest thank you to the cast of X and to CLAMP for creating them. What an absolutely wonderful group of people, it's been both an honor and a privilege to be able to write about them as intimately as I do. Seriously.
Anything else…? Oh yes, the title is from White Mustang by Lana Del Rey because of course it is. All right, wow, I think that's finally it!
So…
My name is Queen Tzahra, this is Acting Like Armageddon, thank you so much for being here!
Disclaimer: I own nothing and am making no money off of this.
"The first draft is just you telling yourself the story."
-Terry Pratchett
5:37
"Oh shit, I gotta go," Fuuma said, raising his eyebrows at his phone before placing it back on the worn wooden nightstand. He disentangled himself from Seishiro and the warm and sweaty and very expensive sheets they'd been wrapped in, and heaved himself out of bed. Seishiro made a distasteful noise, covered himself in the sheets and sat up against the wrought iron headboard to watch Fuuma search for the jeans and t-shirt he'd carelessly tossed aside hours ago.
"You aren't even going to shower?" He asked, simultaneously incredulous and turned on. Fuuma located his jeans and put them on before answering.
"Nope," he replied, smiling over his shoulder as he zipped up. "I wanna smell you on me all night." Seishiro closed his eyes for a moment, either to hide that he was rolling them or to disguise one of his exultant little microexpressions Fuuma knew and loved. Either way, when he opened them, he made no further comment except to shake his head and reach for his cigarettes. Fuuma laughed softly to himself as he finally found his shirt and pulled it over his head. "You sure you don't wanna come?" He asked, facing Seishiro again and combing his fingers through his hair. Seishiro's eyes widened dubiously and he took a drag from his cigarette. "Someone will probably bring sweets."
"No thank you," Seishiro replied, stretching. "I'll come visit once there's actually something to see."
"You don't want to be there at the starting line? So you can marvel at how much better they all get by the end?" Fuuma asked, picking up his phone and shoving it in his back pocket.
"Not especially," replied Seishiro, delicately, smoke coiling gracefully around him. "You know I don't give a shit about process." Fuuma let out a sharp burst of laughter and crawled back on top of Seishiro, who just took another polite drag from his cigarette and exhaled out the side of his mouth.
"I know," Fuuma replied, his lip curling. "You're goal directed as fuck. That's why edging's good for you." A slight spasm crossed Seishiro's face and his lips parted in a barely audible gasp, but he recovered himself almost at once.
"Soon," he assured Fuuma, quietly. "In the meantime," he continued, taking another drag from his cigarette and exhaling over Fuuma's shoulder. "I'll be waiting," his eyes flashed, "with breath that is bated." Fuuma's eyes narrowed, a sudden heat spreading throughout his body, but he was sure to be late as it was. He took hold of Seishiro's wrist, brought his cigarette to his lips and took a deep inhale.
"It's not bated, you just can't get enough oxygen in your fucking lungs," he retorted on his exhale. Seishiro rolled his eyes, but Fuuma kissed him on the lips before he could say anything. He then rolled out of bed and snatched up his bag. "Will you be here when I get back? Or are you going back to New York?"
"I'm not sure."
"Uh huh," replied Fuuma. They stared at each other across the room for one uncomfortably stretched moment, before Fuuma just hitched a grin back onto his face. "Whatever." He turned and wrenched the bedroom door open with a loud creak. "Love you!" He called sarcastically over his shoulder, allowing the door to fall shut behind him. He emerged onto a grand hallway, carpeted and wallpapered in dark reds, purples and blues. After spending the afternoon in the sunny, white walled bedroom, Fuuma found the rich colors and lack of light incredibly gloomy. Although he'd stayed in this house the last three summers, the darkness always perplexed and amused him.
"Wasn't the point of houses in places like this to get fresh air and back to nature and shit?" He'd asked Seishiro, standing in the equally rich but gloomy living room his first time here.
"You'd think," Seishiro replied, vaguely disgusted. "But my mother bought this house so she could live away from the property while working. And to throw parties and get up to god knows what. Rustication wasn't exactly the goal." His eyes darted to the large fireplace in the corner, above which was mounted a huge black and white photograph from which Fuuma had politely kept his eyes averted. It showed a beautiful costumed woman in her early '30s standing on a stage under a bright spotlight, holding her young son in her arms. Seishiro's jaw clenched just enough for Fuuma to notice. "The bedrooms are marginally less oppressive. Pick whichever you'd like."
Fuuma smiled affectionately and headed downstairs, the old scratchy carpet under his feet muffling the floorboards squeaking and groaning. At the bottom of the stairs was a large foyer with the front door before him and smaller, open doors to his left and right. An Arts and Crafts chandelier hung in the center of the ceiling, though it wasn't on, and a star shape was worked into the bare floorboards below it. Through the door to Fuuma's right, he could see the living room, the fireplace and photograph staring back at him from the opposite corner. However, Seishiro had actually opened the windows there when they'd first arrived, and it was much more alive for it. Cracking open the old house for a new season each summer always reminded Fuuma of opening a casket.
Still smiling, he walked around the edge of the staircase and into the huge kitchen. It was one of the few rooms that had been recently renovated, so the light the windows actually let in reflected off gleaming modern countertops and cabinets as well as the cleaned and restored tile floor. Fuuma snatched his keys and water bottle off the island in the center of the room, stepped into his shoes and slid open the glass door that led out onto a screened in porch with an old charcoal grill in one corner and worn out weatherproof furniture in the other. A light clicked on automatically and unnecessarily, highlighting the dust and the holes in the screens. However, it was Fuuma's favorite place in the house, and he happily imagined sitting out here with drinks and books on his days off.
'Gotta fix those screens though,' he thought, pulling open the door with yet another creak and jumping down the back steps as it clattered shut again.
The house loomed behind him, casting the gravel driveway and thick surrounding woods into shadow. A soft breeze rustled the trees and played across Fuuma's face as he crunched over to one of the two cars parked there. He could smell grass and the approaching chill of the sun going down, and it felt bizarre that only five hours ago Seishiro had picked him up from his apartment in Manhattan's Lower East Side, where summer had already set in, sweltering and sticky.
As nice as it was to be out of the city heat, he did regret being stuck somewhere you needed a car. He hated driving, but unless you were right in one of the tiny towns along US Route 7 as it wound its way through the mountains, you couldn't get anywhere walking. At least Seishiro let him borrow this car for the summer, saving him the trouble of renting one or mooching rides. Not that he minded being in the car as a passenger, especially if Seishiro was driving. He smirked as he remembered their drive upstate.
"Are you serious?" Seishiro gasped, his knuckles white on the steering wheel and eyes fixed upon the highway. Fuuma just laughed and stroked his rapidly forming erection through his dress pants.
"Of course I am." A flush rushed up Seishiro's neck and he clenched his jaw and took a sharp breath in through his nose. Fuuma leaned over the gearshift with another soft laugh. "Keep your seatbelt on."
Fuuma slid into the front seat, started the engine and put on music. He felt the '80s synthesizer and pop beat effervesce in his chest as he made a sharp U-turn to get back out of the driveway. Summer, a male vocalist sang, it turns me upside down… Summer summer summer, it's like a merry go round! He turned left, out of the little enclave in the tree covered hill where the house was nestled.
He knew Seishiro liked being secluded, though from what he knew about his mother it always seemed incongruous that she would want to be this far away. "Setsuka was so kind to me!" "Setsuka was always so gracious…" "I've never seen Setsuka be rude to a fan." Fuuma had heard it all, though he'd never actually met her, and either her social battery was always fully charged, or it was as exhausting as it sounded. Of course, that had been a generation ago, when she and a few other artists were establishing the scene here from scratch, so all the publicity and appearances were completely necessary.
I've got a hold on you, got a hold on you, got a hold on you…! He shifted gears and sped up as he emerged onto Route 7, following the signs for the Village of Clow, the closest town, and the effervescence in his chest bubbled more excitedly. It was a new season, a new project and a mostly new group of people. Aside from those who'd become fixtures at either Babylon Theatre Company, the Soapland Arts Dance Center or Oruha Musicians Collective a generation ago, every summer brought new faces. It was Fuuma's fourth summer in a row directing at Babylon, and he couldn't decide if he liked being a regular or not. Not that he judged people who were: all three places were fantastic gigs if you could get them, with free summer housing and a prestigious name in theater, dance or music for your resume.
With another rush of excitement, Fuuma guided the car around the edge of the hill, the lush, green valley below cradling the evening sunlight. Seishiro had handed him this summer's script, a modern adaptation of Anton Chekhov's Three Sisters, in February when they happened to be in Los Angeles at the same time. Fuuma had held the auditions in New York City a month later, and though Seishiro hadn't been there, he hadn't wasted time feeling annoyed. He'd had Seiichiro Aoki, the man who'd adapted the script, with him instead, which had been far more helpful. Mr. Aoki had come as a surprise to Fuuma after reading the bleak and sharp script: he was soft and friendly and handsome in that middle school English teacher sort of way. They'd instantly struck up a rapport, and Mr. Aoki told him that he, his wife and their daughter would be staying in a rented house in Clow that summer to oversee the project. Though, as he'd assured Fuuma, "By oversee I mean show up occasionally and stand around for five minutes." Fuuma raised his eyebrows. "I've seen your work, here and up at Babylon. I trust you completely. Butcher my text, I don't mind!"
"Don't say things you don't mean," Fuuma warned him, though they were both smiling. "Especially considering how last season was a total shit show."
"It wasn't a shit show just because you weren't happy with it," Mr. Aoki reminded him.
Fuuma made a right turn at a mercifully green light, and after a short stretch at last entered the pretty little town of Clow. To his right stood a large old fashioned building that used to be a bank but now served as a visitor center, and on the left was an intersecting street that led into what locals called "downtown." It was full of expensive, though not very good, restaurants, old houses like Seishiro's that had been converted into bed and breakfasts and clothing and jewelry stores. As the season hadn't officially begun, the streets were practically empty, but soon they'd be swarmed, full of artists and people paying to see them.
Fuuma guided the car past two large, expensive hotels and down a sloping hill where the street was lined with more dense woods. Somewhere deep in those trees was a brooding Victorian house where some famous author had lived in the twentieth century before it was turned into a museum. Fuuma could never remember his name, his work not being at all to his taste. It was some conceptual pseudo-intellectual bullshit that had gone right over his head when he'd been forced to read it in high school.
He stopped the car halfway down the hill and turned right, a smile breaking out across his face as he pulled into the parking lot with a sudden surge of determination. Babylon Theatre Company had a massive swath of land all to itself that contained three theaters, the Igarashi, Ohkawa and Apapa (named for the families from whom Setsuka had secured donations to have them built); an office building; the prop and costume warehouses and dorms for actors, crew and students and teachers at Babylon Training Institute. It was sprawling and not well organized, but the Board of Directors seemed in no hurry to change anything.
Gravel crunched under Fuuma's tires as he pulled into the nearest parking lot outside the Igarashi, the largest of the three theaters. He unplugged his phone, shut off the engine and got out of the car, his heart swelling in his chest and his vision sharpening. Yes, he was back the fuck at work. He would do a better job than last year.
He strode across the parking lot and opened the door to the lobby, set in a wall of glass panels. It was a large, circular room carpeted in deep red and full of evening sunlight. He paused for a moment on the threshold and allowed the door to close behind him, breathing in the smell of dusty curtains, glow tape and coffee and taking in the handsome circular bar, the gift stand still full of last year's merch and the box office. Eight by ten foot framed photographs of previous shows hung from the glass panels and cast long shadows across the carpet. As he made his way around the bar, he spotted Setsuka playing Lady Macbeth in one photo beside another depicting a man sitting on the edge of a bed with his face in his hands, surrounded by a younger man and three boys, fifteen, twelve and eight years old. Fuuma smiled broadly and swelled with pride in spite of himself: that photo was from Yoru, the show he'd directed two years previously and his most successful production here or anywhere. He dragged his fingers across the glass and made a mental note to text the playwright, a colleague of his named Camellia, though he always called her Tsubaki.
He rounded the bar and came upon two people sitting at the end beside the theater entrance with mugs of coffee. He grinned broadly as he approached them. "There you are," his stage manager said in a deadpan tone to match his expression.
"Good to see you, too, Nataku." Then, before he could scold Fuuma for barely making it on time, he turned to the woman beside him, a BTC veteran. "And you," he said, extending his hand to her. "How are you, Kanoe?" She took his hand with an overly gracious smile and he kissed her on the cheek. "Had a good off season?"
"I never have off seasons of any kind," she replied.
"Heh…" He waited for her to let go of his hand.
"I wanted to ask you about casting, though," she continued. "I was just speaking to Mr. Aoki, and-"
"I actually need to talk to you about that too," Nataku cut in. "Sorry to interrupt," he added to Kanoe when she looked affronted. She was still holding tight to Fuuma's hand. "But it's urgent, that's why I'm out here waiting for you." Fuuma raised his eyebrows.
"Did this happen in the fifteen minutes it took me to drive over here? Because I'd like to think that if it's that big a deal you'd have told me sooner." Kanoe let go of Fuuma's hand at last, though she was still watching him expectantly. Nataku didn't look remotely discomposed and took his phone out of his pocket.
"I got the text exactly eight minutes ago. I can show it to you."
"I'll see you in there," Fuuma told Kanoe, his tone too final for her to argue. She rolled her eyes, slid off the barstool and sauntered back into the theater, leaving her mug of coffee on the bar. "What's up?"
"Our Transeau dropped out," Nataku informed him.
"Shit."
"Yeah. I have some people I could call to step in, but I didn't want to do anything without asking you."
"I appreciate that."
"Good. Now what do we do?" Nataku's expression hadn't changed, but his breathing had sped up subtly as though he were anxious. Fuuma thought briefly of the actor he'd cast as one of the unhappy military men with a soft pang of regret. He was such a good choice, and he'd worked well with the actress playing his eventual wife.
"Shit," he muttered again, to vent his feelings, but then, as though it were an easy choice, "we'll make it work, obviously."
"Obviously," Nataku replied, clearly hoping for elaboration.
"Tonight we'll do the read through as normal," Fuuma said decisively. "We'll figure this out in the morning." Nataku sighed, but nodded.
"Sounds good." His eyes darted to the door, then back to Fuuma's face.
"Is everyone else here?" Fuuma asked.
"Yes." Fuuma smiled.
"Good." He clapped Nataku on the shoulder.
"Do you wanna play Transeau?" Nataku raised his eyebrows a fraction.
"It'll be a cold day in hell when I get up on stage." Fuuma let out a sharp burst of laughter.
"Fair enough! We'd be fucked without you behind the scenes anyway." Nataku said nothing, though the corner of his mouth twitched. "Come on, let's get this over with." Nataku turned and Fuuma followed him beyond a set of black velvet curtains into the theater, knowing another pleasurable rush of excitement and determination.
The theater looked almost exactly as it had done when they'd struck the set at the end of the previous summer. The raised stage in the center of the room was scratched and covered in random spots of glow tape and paint. The audience sat around three sides, though the seats were all rather dusty or full of clutter and people's bags. There was a balcony of more seats above those, with the lighting booth glassed in in the center, above the special box of seats reserved for the most important guests. The opposite wall was all scaffolding and more random clutter. Only a few of the lights were up, casting a warm, pale yellow glow onto the center of the stage where Fuuma's cast and crew stood clustered, chattering excitedly and clutching scripts, coffee and random tokens either for good luck or to decorate dressing rooms.
Fuuma smiled affectionately, their excitement fueling his own as he stepped up onto the stage, Nataku hovering just behind him. "What's good, everybody?" He asked, and as one the cast turned sharply. Fourteen pairs of eyes widened and Fuuma could practically feel the collective inhale. 'They better not start applauding,' he thought, walking towards them.
"What's good? Getting places on time," came a familiar, cold voice from the back of the crowd. Fuuma bowed his head in sarcastic apology before stepping forward and extending his hand to his lighting designer.
"What's up, Satsuki?" She raised her eyebrows but shook his hand anyway.
"I have to design lights for five shows and tech yours, what do you think is up?" Fuuma laughed, let go of her hand and smiled around at the rest of the cast, who were all still staring at him with wide eyes.
"Are we doing this read through on the floor?" He asked, and they all exchanged looks, those who hadn't worked with him before trying to decide if he was being sarcastic. "It's okay if we are," he amended, shrugging. "I was just curious."
"All right, that's enough," Fuuma's carpenter and set designer, Kusanagi, said impatiently. "I'll go get a table, could I get help with some chairs?" He turned and a few people scurried forward to follow him backstage. Fuuma's smile widened still further as he watched them go, then,
"Good to see you, Mr. Aoki!"
"Didn't I tell you Seiichiro is fine?" He asked, smiling rather exasperatedly as he shook Fuuma's hand.
"How are you feeling?" Fuuma asked, with a gracious smile at Karen, the actress beside him, who he'd seen perform back in New York, but hadn't actually worked with. She smiled back, but said nothing, allowing Mr. Aoki to continue.
"I am so excited! This will be my first time hearing the whole script out loud from actors rather than just people in my writing group." Fuuma's eyes narrowed. "Hahah! It isn't as bad as it sounds," he said, clearly trying to reassure himself as much as Fuuma. "Everyone is talented and helpful, but…" He shrugged, and Fuuma was sure he just couldn't find a polite way to say "but they all irritate me," so he just nodded in solidarity.
"Fuuma!"
"Yes?" He turned and found himself face to face with Hokuto, his costume designer, with a young man he didn't know in tow. "What's up?" He asked, shaking her hand, pleased to see her.
"Sorry to interrupt, but you were taking too long. This," she said, moving aside and encouraging the young man to step forward. "Is my friend Kakyo."
"Oh yeah?" Fuuma said, looking him up and down. He was so pale the dark shadows beneath his eyes stood out almost shockingly. It didn't help that he was dressed all in white and rather hunched over.
"Yeah! He's gonna be helping me out this summer," Hokuto continued, patting him on the back. Fuuma nodded, still looking at Kakyo, who either wouldn't or couldn't meet his gaze.
"Are you also a costume designer?" Kakyo wrapped his arms around himself.
"No, I, truthfully I can't even sew," he replied, quietly.
"Well, perfect opportunity to learn!" Hokuto interjected, smiling encouragingly. Kakyo shivered and his jaw clenched, but before anyone could say anything else, a dull crash echoed through the room as Kusanagi set a large foldable plastic table down in the center of the stage. Those people who hadn't carried in chairs rushed over to help set it up. Hokuto took Kakyo by the arm and led him back to the group. Out of the corner of his eye, Fuuma saw Nataku scowl appraisingly at Kakyo's back as he followed them. Fuuma thought he knew what that was about: it wasn't the first summer Hokuto had brought someone up here with a similar story. Nataku set up a chair for Fuuma at the head of the table, then one for himself at his right, awkwardly at the corner but just out of the way.
"Thank you," Fuuma told him, quietly, before sitting down and watching his cast assemble. His heart swelled as they scrambled to sit beside the few people they knew and make sure they had scripts, pens, highlighters and drinks. Satsuki, Kusanagi and Hokuto all had notebooks and pens out in case something occurred to them during the readthrough. Fuuma appreciated that, because he himself had barely any idea how he wanted things to look or sound, but he was confident in all of their abilities and knowledge of his tastes and preferences.
Nataku cleared his throat softly in Fuuma's ear, and his face broke into an expansive smile as he addressed the room at large. "All right, you guys ready to get started?" A few people smiled and nodded. Satsuki, Hokuto and Kusanagi exchanged looks and the tension seemed to sharpen. "I obviously met all of you when you auditioned, but I figure we gotta do some awkward ice breakery shit, right?" A hesitant laugh ran around the table. 'I'm not trying to be intimidating, I swear to god,' Fuuma thought, then said, "I guess just say your name and who you're playing or what you do for now. We'll get into, I dunno, 'if you were a nail polish what color would you be and why?' later." Another round of slightly less tense laughter followed, as well as a few people whispering their color choice to their neighbors. "Do you wanna start, Mr. Aoki?" Halfway down the left side of the table, Mr. Aoki smiled and adjusted his glasses.
"Sure thing," he said, looking up and down the table. "I'm Seiichiro Aoki, I adapted the script. It's awesome to be here! I never really expected this to go anywhere, I just wanted a project while I was up in Glacier Park with my wife and daughter and in laws for a month." Everyone laughed, and it finally seemed genuine. Mr. Aoki rubbed the back of his head rather embarrassedly. "I know, I'm out in the middle of nowhere so I start writing about a family stuck out in the middle of nowhere."
"So meta!" Someone cried.
"What's the phrase?" Mr. Aoki laughed. "Write what you know? Anyway, I love Chekhov. The Seagull is my favorite, but Three Sisters was speaking to me at the time for obvious reasons, so Paying A Call To The Prozorovs is what I ended up with." He let out another embarrassed laugh, as though he still couldn't believe this was actually happening, and took a sip from his water bottle. "I didn't do much, just changed the setting and modernized some of the dialogue and social commentary. Now instead of the Prozorovs in the Russian countryside we've got the Perspicuous out west and instead of Moscow they're missing New York City."
"Wouldn't it make more sense to have them lusting after LA or San Francisco if this takes place out west?" Hokuto asked.
"It would," Mr. Aoki agreed. "But when I got approached by Seishiro Sakurazuka-" a frisson went around the table, "about doing it at Babylon Theatre Company, I changed it because I know how East Coast people get." Everyone burst out laughing. "I'm including myself in that, obviously!"
"Fair enough," Hokuto said, writing something in her notebook.
"I think that's it," Mr. Aoki finished, shrugging and looking to Fuuma, who grinned.
"Cool," he said, his eyes shifting to Satsuki, sitting on Mr. Aoki's left. She smiled a rather bored smile, raised her hand and jerked it back and forth unenthusiastically.
"I'm Satsuki, the lighting designer." She tilted her head to the side. "Looking forward to tech." A few people shuddered, but Satsuki said nothing, her expression tightening as she turned to the man beside her, who smiled graciously.
"Hello! I'm Yuuto, and I play Kirsch, the pretentious school teacher." Everyone snorted but Yuuto just held his arms wide, embracing it. "I'm also," he looked around. "Maudie's husband?" A pretty young woman sitting across from him smiled a tight smile. Kanoe, who was sitting on Yuuto's other side, crossed her arms, pushing her breasts closer together and lengthening the already long line of her cleavage. Fuuma's lip curled as she spoke.
"I'm Kanoe, Yuuto's offstage wife," she said, smirking as though that were an enviable position to hold. The young woman across the table looked away, clearly feeling desperately awkward. "And I'm playing Annemarie. The aunt."
"Aunt?" Asked Nataku, raising his eyebrows a millimeter. "It says 'the Perspicuou's Nanny' on my copy."
"Ouch," mouthed Satsuki as Kanoe turned to Fuuma, clearly demanding an explanation. However, all Fuuma said was,
"Annemarie, very nice to meet you." He then shifted his gaze to Kusanagi on her other side. He heaved a resigned sigh, but then smiled and waved, looking genuinely happy for a moment despite his obvious reservations.
"I'm Kusanagi. I'm usually just a contractor pretending to be a set designer, but I stepped in to play Grant, the army doctor, when someone dropped out." In characteristic humility, he left out that Seishiro had asked him personally. Fuuma pursed his lips in a kiss and Kusanagi pretended to catch it, then squash it on the table like a mosquito. Hokuto and Satsuki smirked at each other while everyone else looked quickly at Fuuma to see how he'd take this. However, he just laughed appreciatively and turned to the young man beside Kusanagi, who looked ready to burst with excitement.
"Me?" He asked, his face glowing.
"You," Nataku replied with a touch of impatience, casting a sideways glance at Fuuma, who just smiled encouragingly.
"I'm Keiichi! I've been waiting to do Three Sisters somehow since I was like, fourteen, so I'm thrilled to be here!" Everyone withdrew slightly from him, except Fuuma, who leaned in closer. He could tell Keiichi's excitement and eagerness were totally genuine; it had been so at his nearly flawless audition. "I play Jepsen!" His entire aspect lit up as he said it. "The army staff captain, Solyony in the original. You know that means salty? Strange, strange guy and massive scumbag, I can't wait!" He beamed around at his stunned castmates.
"I'll be very eager to hear you read," Fuuma told him, and he meant it. Keiichi gave him a radiant smile and they both looked at the young man beside him, who was looking almost shell shocked from Keiichi's enthusiasm. However, he shook his head before smiling awkwardly at the group.
"What's up, I'm Kamui," he said, and Fuuma felt his attention sharpen as he took in his beautiful face and intense, passionate eyes. "And uh, I'm playing Andrew."
"The central figure," Fuuma said, and Kamui shrugged.
"I mean, I guess so."
"It's your first summer here, isn't it?" Fuuma asked. Kamui nodded. "Good to have you." Kamui's eyes darted around the rest of the group for a moment before fixing almost defiantly on Fuuma, who felt a surge of his energy.
"Here's hoping," he said, and Fuuma laughed. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Hokuto's brother, who he only knew in passing, watching Kamui with a great interest. Kamui caught his eye and went slightly pink as he shrugged again and turned to the young woman next to him, who smiled widely at everybody.
"Hi!" Her excitement was as genuine as Keiichi's, though not nearly as overwhelming. "My name's Yuzuriha. It's my first summer here performing, but I was here the last two years doing summer intensives at Babylon Training Institute." Her eyes darted to Kusanagi for the briefest moment. "I'm playing Natalie, Andrew's wife." She grinned rather evilly at Kamui, who stuck his tongue out at her.
"How long have you two known each other?" Fuuma asked them.
"Too long," they said at the same time, then stared stunned at each other for a moment before joining in with everyone's laughter.
"But yeah! I'm super excited," Yuzuriha finished. Fuuma nodded, and his gaze lingered on Kamui a moment longer before he looked to the pretty young woman on Yuzuriha's other side, still looking desperately awkward at being exposed as Yuuto's onstage wife. Everyone followed his gaze, and he felt her guard go up like a guillotine in reverse. However, when she spoke, her voice was steady and dignified.
"I'm Arashi." The young man on her other side mouthed her name to himself and Yuzuriha and Keiichi gave her warm, reassuring smiles. "And I play Maudie." She glanced up the table at Fuuma as if to make sure she had it right, or perhaps hoping he'd contradict her. When he just smiled impassively, she continued, "Andrew's sister and Kirsch's wife." She stared even more intensely at Fuuma as if still hoping for confirmation and to avoid making eye contact with Kanoe.
"Cool," said Fuuma. Arashi looked down at her script and the young man beside her spoke almost at once, apparently to save her the awkwardness.
"I'm Sorata," he said, grinning and waving. "I'm psyched to get to know all of y'all, seems like we got a good crew here!" He nodded around at everyone. "I play," his chest swelled for a moment as he said it, "Colonel Young." Arashi's eyes widened, but she kept them on her script.
"Tch," muttered Nataku.
"Awesome," said Fuuma, hoping he was as talented as he remembered. Sorata then turned to Hokuto's brother on his other side.
"Hello," he said, sounding rather nervous despite his easy smile. Kamui's eyes fixed upon his face and he leaned in closer. "I'm Subaru." Kamui smiled. "And I play Jackson," he returned Kamui's smile, "Andrew's brother."
"Sweet," Kamui replied, apparently without meaning to, but then joined in with everyone else in another wave of laughter. Hokuto gave Subaru a glowing look, then extended her arms wide and flashed the group a winning smile.
"I'm Hokuto, your wardrobe mistress!"
"Ooh!" Sorata exclaimed, and she pretended to dust off her shoulders.
"Yeah yeah, I'm just here to make an appearance, be grateful." She and Satsuki exchanged another smirk of solidarity. Subaru sighed and ran his fingers through his hair while Kakyo watched Hokuto from her other side with a kind of awestruck affection. It was several moments before he realized everyone was staring at him.
"Oh god, I'm sorry," he said, embarrassed. "Um, I'm Kakyo. I'm just here to help Hokuto out with costuming this-"
"Could you read for us tonight?" Fuuma interrupted. Kakyo started and stared blankly at Fuuma. Nataku shifted forward in his seat.
"I'm sorry?" Kakyo asked. Fuuma's smile softened.
"We had a last minute drop out. I was going to read his part myself, but I'd prefer someone else do it." Kakyo's blank stare was suddenly incredulous.
"I'm so not an actor," he began, slowly shaking his head, but again Fuuma cut in.
"And you told me fifteen minutes ago you can't sew, but you're here to do costume stuff, what's up?" A few people suppressed giggles, but everyone else just stared raptly at Kakyo. His throat and jaw kept clenching as though he were about to throw up. Hokuto put her hand on his arm.
"Go for it," she whispered. Kakyo sighed, all his good counterarguments apparently dying in his throat as he made eye contact with her except,
"I don't have a script," he said, helplessly. Immediately, everyone except Satsuki and Nataku tried to shove their own scripts at him, but Hokuto forestalled them.
"Take my copy. I was only going to use it to check how much longer we had left. No offense," she added to Mr. Aoki, who just waved the words aside.
"None taken!"
"So… Who am I reading?" Kakyo asked in a constricted voice, thumbing through Hokuto's script.
"Lieutenant Transeau," Fuuma replied, smiling warmly at him. "Irene's eventual husband."
"You'll do great," Hokuto said, cajolingly, squeezing Kakyo's arm. He just nodded, his lips pressed tightly together, paler than ever under the glow of the stage lights.
"Cool, I'm glad that's worked out. Thank you for doing this," Fuuma said. Again, Kakyo just nodded. "Anyway, who the fuck are you?" Fuuma asked Nataku, who didn't smile, but nodded at each person in the circle.
"I'm Nataku, stage manager and Fuuma's production assistant." As if to prove the point, he shuffled his script and uncapped his pen. Affection bubbled up in Fuuma's chest, but he said nothing as he turned to Karen sitting on his left.
"Last but not least?" She pretended to look outraged, but then smiled at all of her castmates.
"I'm Karen, lovely to meet all of you," she said. "I play Irene. Andrew, Maudie and Jackson's other sister and Transeau's eventual wife," she winked at Kakyo, who looked terrified.
"Fucking wait," came a low, threatening voice from the other end of the table. It took everyone a moment to realize it was Keiichi who had spoken, apparently in character. A moment of stunned silence followed, then gave way to another chorus of laughter.
"I can already tell this is gonna be a fucking great show," Fuuma said, and Keiichi beamed down the table, snapping out of character almost shockingly. "So, should we get started?"
"Please god?" Satsuki asked, and there was a shuffling of paper as everyone found their page. Mr. Aoki's chest swelled with excitement. Subaru took a sip of coffee, then read the first line, shifting back and forth as though pacing the living room described in the script.
"Dad died a year ago today. May fifth. It was cold and snowy and awful, I thought we'd die in it." Fuuma made an immediate mental note to tell Subaru not to take the angst in the text so literally. "You almost did, Irene, you passed out! I'm glad we can talk about it now, though, now you're back to wearing white and smiling." And to loosen up too, unless that was what he was going for.
"Bong!" Satsuki said, sarcastically, in response to the stage direction calling for a clock to chime.
"I remember the clock struck then too, at Dad's funeral, and there was music playing, and they fired a salute right in the cemetery. He was a general, but hardly anyone was there; it was still raining and snowing."
"Can we not?" Asked Karen, wearily but snappishly. Fuuma smirked.
"It's beautiful out today, though, even though it's early," Subaru continued, as though lost in thought. "Eleven years ago, Dad was made a general and we all left New York. It was right around this time." Fuuma wondered suddenly how much of these lines he'd end up cutting or shortening before opening night. "The city would either still be cold, or that one week where it's warm but not hot and everything's in bloom." The entire cast smiled appreciatively. "It's been eleven years and I can still remember it exactly. When I woke up this morning and felt the sun? Oh my god it was all I could think about."
"Fuck both of you!" Kusanagi cried, despairingly. There was a brief pause, then Kakyo said, in a small voice,
"You're right, it's ridiculous." Hokuto squeezed his arm and he looked anxiously up at her, then at Fuuma, who gave him a warm, reassuring smile and an encouraging nod. He nodded back as Subaru and Karen continued their lines.
"-and my students are taking years off my life," Subaru said, wearily. "At least today I'm free, I'm home and I don't have a headache. I even feel younger, though I'm still an old man at twenty eight."
"Um, sorry, you talk so much shit, I can't listen to you anymore." Kakyo's eyes widened for a moment. "I forgot, our new battery commander's coming…" His cheeks flushed, and Fuuma's smile widened. He could hear more and more potential with each word, though Kakyo was so obviously not aware of it. Not yet, anyway. "He's got a wife, a mother-in-law and two little girls," he said of Sorata's character, Colonel Young. "Whenever he meets new people he tells them 'I've got a wife and two little girls!' Watch, he'll do it here too." Sorata smiled at his script. "His wife's crazy though, only talks pop psychology and waxes philosophical," Sorata's smile tightened, "then tries to kill herself all the time." Kakyo's eyes widened. "I'm pretty sure she does it just to give him a hard time." Kakyo's eyes now seemed to take up half his face. "If it were me, I'd have been out years ago, but he puts up with it and complains instead." Kakyo shook his head while Sorata punched the air in mock celebration before Keiichi read Jepsen's first line.
"With one hand I can barely lift fifty pounds," he proclaimed. "But with both I can lift over two hundred, so I'm convinced two men are not just twice as strong as one, but three times or even more!"
"What the fuck," Sorata laughed, looking incredulously between Mr. Aoki and Keiichi.
"Isn't he ridiculous? I just love him!" Keiichi exclaimed, with that same, almost unnerving sincerity. Fuuma raised his eyebrows at Mr. Aoki, who seemed perplexed, though touched, before nodding at Kusanagi to continue.
"Coconut oil for hair loss, huh," he read, furrowing his brow, then, as though continuing a conversation, "okay but like I said, you stick a tiny cork in a tiny bottle, then a tiny glass tube-"
"Dr. Grant!" Karen cried, excitedly.
"Rini, my girl!" Kusanagi exclaimed, matching her tone. "How are you?"
"I'm so happy today, but I have no idea why!" Karen said, sounding on the verge of either laughing or crying, and a little giggle ran around the table. The lines continued, discussing the Perspicuo's late father, how much he valued hard work and whether or not hard work was actually beneficial.
"I've never worked," said Kakyo, narrowing his eyes at the page. "I was born in Seattle, cold and rainy and rich, and my family didn't know shit about suffering. My mother was a helicopter parent before we had the term, so she was horrified to think of me working anywhere, but I showed them and joined the military. We haven't spoken since." Kakyo actually smiled and shook his head rather disbelievingly. Fuuma was delighted. "We'll work though, all of us!"
"I won't," Kusanagi said, bluntly.
"You don't count," Kakyo shot back.
"I'm not trying to live any longer than my time on base here," Keiichi cut in, matter of factly. "I'll lose my mind and off myself, it'll be great." Fuuma loved Keiichi's energy and dedication, though he hoped he wasn't too set in his ways about how to play Jepsen and would be open to direction.
Kusanagi laughed suddenly, and Yuzuriha, who had been counting the pages until her entrance at the very end of the act, looked up sharply for his first big line. "No seriously! I've done fuck all since I completed my residency aside from whatever CME things and I don't read anything except random stuff online. See? I go on Facebook and here's, 'A woman did,' oh I don't even know, something," he laid heavy sarcasm on the word, "for a week and 'what happened blew our minds!'" He grinned down the table at Mr. Aoki. "Good shit."
"Thank you!" The cast nodded in agreement and continued reading. Fuuma kept his eyes on Arashi as her first big line approached. She gripped her script very tightly and stared even harder at the page, her face set in would-be dignified determination. Casting her as the most passionate and intense of the Perspicuo siblings was a decision Fuuma had made impulsively, though not against his better judgment. When she'd auditioned for Irene, he'd spotted a well of talent buried deep under years of insecurity, mostly likely brought on by criticism. However, he also knew Irene wasn't the role for her to harness that talent. He was sure it'd be arduous to get her to harness it even as Maudie, but the fact that she hadn't turned down the role, not to mention his overwhelming instinct, told him it would be worth it.
"He's always doing shit like this," Subaru said, crossly.
"It's been six years… And now I'm back… I'm home, Mother," Arashi said, clearly caught between trying to sound mysterious, sad and confident all at once. A few people raised their eyebrows, but no one commented.
"Where the fuck are you going?" Subaru asked.
"Home," Arashi replied, far more coldly than was called for. Sorata watched her in some concern.
"What the fuck?" Karen asked.
"It doesn't matter, I'll be back later," Arashi said, dismissively.
'At least that seems to come naturally,' Fuuma thought.
"Right after-" Arashi broke off and shook her head, "right after Dad died, when we'd hold memorials and what not, there would be thirty or forty officers, like, so many people!" Gone was her overly cold or dismissive tone. Now her delivery was soppy and insincere and everyone was feeling it. Kamui and Yuzuriha exchanged looks while Karen, Mr. Aoki and Yuuto's eyes widened. Sorata continued to watch her in growing concern. "And now there's hardly any of us, it's as desolate as the view outside!" She swallowed, and the would-be drama continued. "Today's not a good day, I'm depressive, just ignore me."
"Fuck me," Nataku whispered to Fuuma, who ignored him. He'd make this work. He always trusted his intuition.
"Here, my darlings!" Kanoe burst out, distracting everyone. "From the City Council, from Nathan."
"What…?" Karen asked, bemusedly.
"From Nathan," Kanoe repeated. Arashi swallowed.
"I hate him," she said, doing her utmost to sound disdainful. "He's always trying to buy his way into places." She closed her eyes for a moment, trying and failing to hide her distaste.
"I didn't invite him," Karen assured her.
"I'd hope not," she replied, as though the line tasted bitter. Fuuma could tell her reaction was beyond nerves, that something about the exchange had hit her the wrong way. He was immediately curious, though of course he wouldn't ask her to explain herself yet. Fortunately, Kusanagi's next line distracted everyone and allowed her time to recover.
"You guys are all I have in the world," he told Arashi, Subaru and Karen in a warm, loving tone. "You mean more to me than anything else. I'm an old man. A lonely, insignificant old man. The only thing good about me is that I love you. I've known you since you were born, and I loved your mother so much!"
"Aww," Nataku muttered to Fuuma, who was too busy watching to respond. Yuzuriha's wide, eager eyes were glued to Kusanagi as he delivered his line, though he didn't seem to notice. After a quick glance at his script, Fuuma's eyes found Sorata instead. He'd had a good feeling about Sorata this whole time, but he was curious to see how he'd interact with Arashi. Fortunately, when he began reading Colonel Young's lines, he was light and quick in his delivery, and the mood around the table lifted considerably.
"New York? You're from New York?" Karen asked, eagerly.
"Yes!" Sorata replied, smiling at his script. "Your father and I met at West Point, after all!" He turned to Arashi as per the stage direction. "I do think I might know your face, though," he said, thoughtfully. Arashi stared determinedly down at her own script.
"I don't remember yours at all," she said, and Sorata backed off at once. As he read further, he maintained his light tone even during Young's more serious lines.
"I used to live just off Delancey Street," he said. "Right by the Williamsburg Bridge, but the East River always felt far away. I could never see or hear it, but I guess the neighborhood was too loud anyway." Fuuma smiled at his script. "But here there's the Missouri River, which isn't full of dead bodies and chemicals!"
"I'd rather have that if it meant I also got humidity and seasons," Subaru countered, bluntly, and everyone laughed.
'Yes,' Fuuma thought. His eyes darted between his script and the people speaking, though they fixed upon Kamui as they got closer to his first line. He kept fidgeting and looking to Subaru to see if he was watching.
"Nice to meet you. You're here as Battery Commander?" Kamui finally asked in Andrew's first line. He sounded convincingly surly despite making the attempt at politeness. Subaru laughed, and he and Kamui exchanged a smile before continuing.
The Perspicuos complained about not enough sleep and too much education with Young and Transeau's encouragement, while Jepsen chimed in sporadically with out of place, awkward lines. Sorata tried to engage with Arashi during Young and Maudie's first moment, but she was either unwilling or oblivious. Kamui kept glancing down the table at Subaru after he read each of Andrew's sarcastic, grumpy lines, and would always receive a smile in return.
"My dearest in-laws!" Came Kirsch's first line, loudly from the end of the table. Everyone turned to Yuuto, who continued in the same unctuous tone. "From the bottom of my heart, my deepest condolences! The history of our high school over the last fifty years-" Yuuto pulled a face, but then pretended to hold up a book as per the stage directions. "Written by yours truly! Totally frivolous- Yeah no shit. Written by yours truly! Totally frivolous, when I had nothing better to do, but still read it regardless! Greetings, ladies and gentlemen! Mr. Kirsch, teacher at the local high school. There's a list of all the alumni from the last fifty years too!" Yuuto paused and narrowed his eyes, then struggled with the rest of the line. "Feci quod potui, faciant meliora potentes. What the hell does that mean?" He asked, laughing and turning to Mr. Aoki for clarification. However, it was Fuuma who answered.
"I have done what I could, let those who can, do better."
"Oh," Yuuto replied, looking stunned but impressed.
"Cicero," Fuuma continued, shrugging.
"Pedant," muttered Nataku, and Karen read Irene's next line before anyone could say anything else. The dialogue kept flowing, with all of the characters finally organizing themselves to have lunch, supposedly the whole point of the scene.
"They're already sitting down, I'm late!" Yuzuriha exclaimed, when Natalie finally made her appearance. "My hair still looks okay… Irene! You have so many guests, oh my god I'm so embarrassed!"
"It's fine, don't worry about it," Karen replied, wearily. "How are you?"
"Good, just… There's so many people, it makes me nervous!" Yuzuriha cried, giving her script an earnest little shake.
"It's just family and close friends, relax," Karen assured her, then added, in a hiss, "what the hell are you wearing?"
"What? This dress isn't okay?" Yuzuriha asked, alarmed.
"It's not wrong," Karen replied, slowly, "just cheap." Karen's eyes widened and she mouthed, "I'm sorry!" at Yuzuriha, who waved the words aside with a smile before reading her next line in a deeply hurt voice.
"It's not! I bought it especially for today!"
"Are you getting married anytime soon, Irene?" Yuuto asked, suddenly, convincingly oblivious to Irene and Natalie's exchange.
"And you, Natalie?" Chimed in Kusanagi.
"You've not got long to wait on that one," Yuuto told him in a wink wink nudge nudge type of voice.
"I'll take a glass of wine! Now! Please god!" Cried Arashi, another line that seemed to come naturally to her.
"Your conduct gets a C minus!" Yuuto scolded her.
"This is delicious," Sorata interjected. "What's the vodka infused with?"
"Cockroaches," Keiichi muttered to snorts of laughter. Everyone spoke the next few lines more to themselves than to each other; disconnected, one sided conversations about disparate topics. It was quick and easy and funny, until they all started to needle Natalie and Andrew about seeing each other. Fuuma could already imagine Yuzuriha rising dramatically from a dining table in a dated dress, red faced and mortified, and he smiled as the act drew to a close with Andrew and Natalie's final exchange.
"I feel so out of place!" Yuzuriha burst out, her face actually flushing.
"Fuck them," Kamui cut in, speaking in a powerful, commanding tone that made the whole table draw breath. "You have a place here with me, because I love you! I love you more than anything else in the world. They can't see us, who cares?" He sighed and stared at his script imploringly. "I fell in love with you- I don't even know, just, please…" The direction (They kiss) followed, and Kamui and Yuzuriha looked up at each other in unison. Kamui held up his hand, and Yuzuriha high fived him. The table broke into applause. Kamui looked quite pleased with himself, and his smile widened as he caught Subaru's eye for a moment before turning to Fuuma.
"Cool," said Fuuma, grinning approvingly like a teacher whose students had aced an exam. "How's everybody feeling, good?" They all nodded, some just to agree with those who were genuinely pleased.
"I'm absolutely thrilled!" Mr. Aoki said, beaming. Everyone smiled back, except Satsuki, who looked bored to tears, and Kakyo, who looked terrified. "Things pick up from here," Mr. Aoki continued reassuringly. "The first act is the longest, and setting the scene is always a pain." Fuuma nodded appreciatively while everyone performing muttered in agreement. "The plot actually starts to move now," he persisted, still trying to sound as reassuring as possible. "Well, to the extent that there is a plot."
"Stick a bunch of unhappy people in a room and watch what happens is a plot," Fuuma said, firmly. "Anyway, let's keep reading, shall we?" Everybody took hasty sips of coffee or water and turned to Act Two.
It began with Natalie and Andrew, married with a baby and living in the house with Annemarie, Irene and Jackson. However, they were already questioning their situation, Andrew by talking to the hard of hearing Annemarie and Natalie by beginning an offstage affair with Nathan, the man on the City Council who the Perspicuos didn't like. Maudie and Young's affair also began to develop while Transeau and Jepsen entered into their standoff over Irene. The act felt dark all around, and Fuuma imagined the same living room from Act One with just a few lights upstage and full of shadows. Keiichi's spectacular delivery, however, was like a verbal spotlight guiding his castmates through the act, quick and sharp and on.
"'Good morning!' I'll say," Yuzuriha explained to him about her son. "'Good morning, Maddox!' He'll just give me that look. You probably think it's just the mom in me talking but no! He's special, I'm sure." Yuzuriha rolled her eyes. Keiichi took a deep breath, then read, in a voice that crackled with contempt,
"If that baby were mine, I'd fry him in a pan and eat him." A moment's ringing silence passed. Then everyone, even Satsuki and Nataku, dissolved into stunned laughter. Keiichi gave the table a glowing smile, and it took almost a full minute before Yuzuriha was able to respond with a gasping,
"Don't be disgusting!" The act ended shortly after that, with Natalie insisting either Irene or Jackson give up their bedroom so that her son could have it, then sneaking off to see Nathan, leaving Irene alone on stage.
"New York, concrete jungle where dreams are made of…" Karen sang, softly, as Irene's last line.
"Fuck, this is bleak," Kusanagi said, leaning back in his chair and stretching.
"It's not that bleak, is it?" Mr. Aoki asked, looking between Karen and Fuuma.
"It's Chekhov as told by writer from the Northeast," Fuuma explained with a shrug.
"True, but I didn't think it was that bad," muttered Mr. Aoki, rubbing the back of his head.
"So I figure this is when we'd have an intermission, if only because we'll need a pretty drastic set change," Fuuma said, nodding at Kusanagi.
"You mean this isn't a production where we just paint everything black and our only set pieces are cubes?" Kusanagi asked, straightening up. "Damn it, I thought you might give me a break considering I'm also performing." Fuuma pursed his lips in another kiss that Kusanagi pretended to swat away.
"To that end," Fuuma said, also stretching. "Let's take ten. Smoke, get more coffee, whatever." There was a great scraping of chairs as the cast got to its feet. Kanoe's eyes fixed upon Fuuma, who stood up and immediately busied himself with his phone. No new messages. He'd expected this, but still. 'Fucking Seishiro…' However, he did text Camellia,
'Tsubaki! back at Babylon, your show's photo's still up, come see this one if it's good'
"I'm gonna get more water, do you want anything?" Sorata asked Arashi, who replied with a suspicious look.
"No thank you." Rather disappointed, Sorata followed Yuuto back into the lobby, and they immediately struck up a conversation.
"I'm gonna go smoke, I'll be back," Subaru told Hokuto and Kakyo before leaving the theater as well. Kamui, who had been talking to Keiichi and Yuzuriha, immediately scrambled to his feet and followed.
"So what do you think?" Nataku asked Fuuma, discreetly.
"I'm pleased," he replied, without a hint of sarcasm, sliding his phone back into his bag. "Kakyo?"
"Yes?" He asked, warily.
"Are you sure you've never acted before?"
"Positive." Fuuma tilted his head to the side.
"That's interesting. You have a lot of natural ability." Kakyo said nothing, just stared at Fuuma, nonplussed. However, Hokuto's face lit up. "If you'd be willing to step in and play Transeau, the part is yours." Kakyo's eyes widened and Fuuma leaned in closer to him, his smile soft and inviting. "I'd love to see what you're capable of." Kakyo's jaw clenched and he swallowed.
"I-"
"Fuuma?" When she apparently could stand it no longer, Kanoe's voice cut through the conversation like a hot knife. Fuuma gave Kakyo a sardonic smile.
"Sorry. Can I help you?" He asked Kanoe.
"Exactly how final is this casting?" Fuuma said nothing. "It just seems more fluid than I originally thought," she continued, delicately, her eyes darting to Kakyo.
"What do you want, Kanoe?" Fuuma asked, his sardonic smile still firmly in place. She glared back at him.
"Did Seishiro tell you to cast me as this old nanny?" She demanded in a hiss. Nataku sighed impatiently.
"Would it make it any less insulting if I said yes?" Fuuma asked her, completely seriously. A moment's silence passed, then Kanoe just rolled her eyes and shoved Fuuma's shoulder playfully.
"We can discuss it at the party I'm throwing Sunday evening," she told him, before returning to her seat.
"So you'll do it?" Fuuma asked Kakyo, as though there had been no interruption. Kakyo looked at Hokuto, who was grinning in an almost I told you so sort of way.
"But I- I'm sure I'd mess it up for everyone."
"Nonsense," said Fuuma, airily, before continuing on a more serious note, "we'll get you up to speed. Voice lessons, movement classes, help you memorize your lines, everything. Right Hokuto?"
"Of course! You don't have to fend for yourself here."
"Right," Kakyo replied, faintly.
"Excellent," Fuuma said, decisively, returning to his script.
"We gotta grab drinks or something," Yuuto said loudly to Sorata as they reentered the theater shortly after that.
"Absolutely!"
Subaru, Kamui and Keiichi all came in together with smiles on their faces, followed by Satsuki, Kusanagi and Yuzuriha.
"Welcome back," Fuuma said, watching his cast reassemble around the table. They were all less tense, and there was a feeling of unity among them now. "Act Three… This is when stuff starts to really hurt, right?"
"Well," Mr. Aoki replied, hanging his head apologetically. "It begins with one of the streets in town being on fire, so…" Everyone sighed as if gathering courage and flipped open their scripts to the top of Act Three. Kanoe began to read.
"They're crying, the poor little things, crying, 'Daddy! We don't know where he is! What if he's burned up!' How could they think such a thing?" The atmosphere tautened perceptibly. Everyone leaned forward into their scripts and Satsuki even scribbled a few notes in her notebook.
"Here, take these, and this one, oh god this is so awful! The Youngs' house has completely burned down!" Subaru exclaimed, much more genuine in his concern for the victims of this fire than in anything he'd read so far.
"Jackson, darling, don't throw me away, please!" Kanoe cried, staring rather disbelievingly at her script.
"What?" Subaru cried back, distracted. "What are you talking about, I'd never throw you away!"
"Jackson, I work, I work so hard, but I'm getting feeble! Everyone tells me to get out! Where would I go?!" Kanoe wrinkled her nose at her script as Subaru tried to calm her down, again sounding far more at home with these lines than with those complaining about work or education.
"They're talking about organizing a committee to help the victims of the fire, and I think it's a good idea," said Yuzuriha, loudly. She continued speaking Natalie's lines with an almost offensive flippancy that made everyone around her cringe and Fuuma smile appreciatively. "Oh god, I look horrible! They say I'm gaining weight, but I'm not! They're all crazy. Oh, Maudie's passed out, poor thing. What are you doing sitting down?!" She snapped, suddenly cold and furious as she addressed Kanoe. "Stand up and make yourself useful!" She sighed. "I seriously don't understand why we haven't put her in a home."
"Excuse me?" Subaru exclaimed, though he sounded almost tearful.
"There's no reason to keep her around!" Yuzuriha shot back. "She should be in a home where professionals can look after her! It's not my responsibility!" Yuzuriha was flushed again, and Natalie and Jackson argued until they were interrupted by Kirsch, then Dr. Grant, who drunkenly delivered a monologue to a seemingly empty room, Yuzuriha watching Kusanagi with rapt attention as he spoke. Then Irene, Transeau, Young and Jepsen entered, adding to the chaos while simultaneously tightening the tension. The back and forth got faster and faster until Young too began a monologue. Sorata did well, but the entire scene began to crumble when he tried to engage Arashi, who was still desperately out of place in Maudie's passionate anger, and it only got worse as Kirsch tried to bid for her attention.
"Fucking Andrew!" She said, doing her utmost to sound furious. "I can't stop thinking about it! He's mortgaged this house again and his parasite wife stole all the money even though the house belongs to all of us and he knows that!" Nataku pinched the skin between his eyebrows with his first two fingers and thumb.
"Andrew's in debt, Maudie," Yuuto said, soothingly. "Just leave him be."
"It's fucking disgraceful," Arashi snapped back.
"Is it?" Nataku whispered to Fuuma. Fortunately, Irene began speaking, and though she was also ranting, Karen's delivery was sarcastic and scathing despite the overwhelming "woe is me" attitude of the text. Mr. Aoki was smiling widely, until Maudie's next lines. Arashi dispassionately confessed to the affair with Colonel Young, working hard not to make eye contact with anyone. She seemed to realize everyone was staring at her, though, because her knuckles were going white around the edges of her script.
Fortunately, Andrew got his big rant to his siblings shortly after, which brought the mood back to where it was supposed to be. Kamui sounded convincingly like he was trying and failing not to freak out, before dissolving into almost tearful frustration. "I just, I've lost so much money and I don't know what to do, and I'm sorry! I stopped going to the casinos. My income is still fucked, though…" He sighed heavily and ran his fingers through his hair, then looked rather discomposed to see everyone staring at him. He smiled hesitantly at Subaru, Keiichi and Yuzuriha, before finally catching Fuuma's eye. Fuuma gave him a wide smile, and he looked very pleased with himself. The act ended with Irene agreeing to marry Transeau at Jackson's suggestion.
"Transeau's a good guy, right?" Karen cried. "I'll tell him, we'll get together! But please, promise me we'll get back to New York!" Her eyes widened and she shook her head to clear it. "Goodness…" There was a long, drawn out sigh as everyone released the breath they'd been holding.
"I'm fucking excited," Fuuma said, grinning in the aftermath. "So here there's gonna be another pretty drastic set change," again, he acknowledged Kusanagi, "so we might need a second intermission, we'll see. Either way, right now I'd like to keep going if that's cool?" The cast nodded. "Awesome, let's go."
"The brigade is leaving today, it's the end of an era!" Kakyo began, already sounding miles ahead of where he'd started. Everyone except Nataku and Satsuki smiled, though she was hurriedly scribbling notes. Dr. Grant, Irene and Kirsch joined the banter, discussing the military leaving and an altercation between Transeau and Jepsen that had taken place the day before. Irene, however, seemed to take no notice: she was too preoccupied about leaving with Transeau.
The mood of Act Four was much lighter, though it felt tired, as though everyone were just dying to be done with it so they could leave for the night. Fuuma understood, he was beginning to feel impatient himself, but he obviously hoped this wouldn't happen to the audience.
"Don't bullshit me, you've been in a weird mood all day," Karen snapped, and though she became tender as Irene and Transeau shared what would end up being their final goodbye, there was still a residual sharpness. Then Andrew got his last monologue and Maudie and Young said their own final goodbye. Sorata's eyes kept darting to Kamui and Yuzuriha, then to Arashi, as though hoping for a high five too. However, he had no such luck. Colonel Young took his leave, and Maudie, Irene and Jackson got to share a moment together before Natalie and Kirsch came in and ruined the mood with their out of place, insensitive contentment.
"So I guess I'll be by myself all day tomorrow," Yuzuriha sighed. "I think I'll have that tree taken down, it's ugly." She sighed again, then, her tone turning cold and furious all of a sudden, "What are you wearing that sweater for, Irene? It's hideous, you should know better!" She mouthed "I'm sorry!" to Karen, who just laughed. However, that moment was further shattered by Grant rushing in to break the news of Transeau getting killed in his confrontation with Jepsen.
"Let them all cry. Get it out," Kusanagi said, bitterly. "Tarara boom de-ay, I sit in gloom all day," he sang. "Who gives a fuck?"
"We have to keep going though, don't we?" Arashi cried. "We have to!"
"We have to," Karen agreed, furiously. "In the meantime, until someone figures out what the point to all of this is… I'll go away on my own, I don't care! I'll go back to school and then I'll work- I'll always work!"
"We'll all die anyway," Subaru said, bizarrely able to make the words comforting. "No one will remember our faces, how we talked, any of our suffering, but all of our pain will help people after us, right? It has to! But now at least, we still have time!"
"Tarara boom de-ay, I sit in gloom all day, who gives a fuck?"
"I wish I fucking knew," Subaru sighed. Very slowly, he looked up from his script. A moment passed in silence, then Hokuto cheered and began to clap. Everyone else joined in, though Fuuma didn't allow it to continue for very long.
"Fantastic," he said in a low, commanding voice, and the cast fell silent at once. "How are you guys feeling now, still good?"
"Fuck yeah!" Kamui cried, and everyone laughed.
"Awesome. Well tonight's got me thinking, I'll tell you that," Fuuma said, his eyes flashing. "Go home and get some sleep. I'll see everybody except Mr. Aoki, Satsuki and Hokuto here tomorrow morning at nine to actually get this shit moving." He stood up, and there was a great scraping of chairs and shuffling of scripts as the rest of the cast followed suit. Fuuma fully expected to be swarmed, but the only person to approach him was Mr. Aoki, though Nataku remained by his side.
"Thank you, seriously," Mr. Aoki said, shaking Fuuma's hand.
"Thank you," Fuuma replied. "This is a fucking great script." Mr. Aoki shrugged.
"I leave it confidently in your hands," he said, and Fuuma snorted. "No, really, I can't wait! You sure you don't need me tomorrow?"
"Nah, not unless you really wanna be here," Fuuma replied, shaking his head. "You're more than welcome to sit in whenever, but if you'd rather spend the time with your family that's totally cool." Mr. Aoki smiled and tilted his head to the side.
"Fair enough. I hope to see Seishiro soon." Fuuma smirked. "Anyway, good night!"
"Good night." Mr. Aoki turned and headed back out of the theater. Fuuma sighed and heaved his bag onto his shoulder. "How are you?" he asked Nataku.
"Excited?" he offered, sarcastically, and Fuuma laughed. "I'll close everything up, you go home."
"You sure?"
"Positive." Fuuma clapped him on the shoulder and headed out of the theater too. It was pitch dark outside of the lobby windows, and its interior seemed to glow unnaturally brightly after the stage lights. Those people still hanging around all wished him good night, and he smiled and waved as he left the lobby. He closed his eyes for a moment, breathing in warm grass and cool night air before heading to his car.
"Good job tonight!" he called to Kamui, Keiichi, Sorata and Yuzuriha as they passed him on the way to their dorm across the lawn. The four of them exchanged excited looks and waved as Fuuma got into his car. He started the engine and music blared from his speakers. Immediately ideas about music for his show flooded his brain, but he didn't think about them too deeply as he made a U-turn to get out of the parking lot. He caught more cast members in the beams of his headlights. They waved, and he honked twice before driving back up the sloping hill, through the now totally deserted streets of Clow and back to Seishiro's house. As with his previous years here, it'd take a few days before he got used to the utter lack of light pollution. However, at the same time, the impenetrable darkness was comforting as it closed in around him, alone with the events of the evening.
His body was tingling as though with electricity. There was nothing quite like being back at work. Not that he'd been sitting on his ass, he'd been directing shows all year, but… After last summer he had something to prove, and he knew he could prove it. He smirked, thinking of Seishiro as he pulled into the crunchy gravel driveway and noticed the other car was gone. Fuuma had known this would be the case, but he pouted his lips anyway as he shut off the engine and got out of the car.
Insects were buzzing and chirping all around him, the sound strangely magnified in the silence. He entered the house through the porch and headed upstairs without bothering to turn on any lights, the entire house creaking under his feet. He entered Seishiro's bedroom, stripped to his underwear and fell face down into bed.
He closed his eyes and breathed in deeply, smelling detergent, Seishiro and their afternoon together, the humming insects and wind blowing in the trees still loud in his ears. He pulled a pillow towards him and spooned it, and his last thoughts before falling asleep were of the screens he needed to fix.
And so ends chapter one! I hope you all enjoyed it and will be back for more! I'm going to try and keep to a weekly posting schedule, but some of these chapters are insanely long, so that might not be possible. I'll try my best though!
Love you all, Happy Thursday!
I think about reviews when I summon my kekkai, leave me some!