DISCLAIMER: I was having too much fun writing this to worry about the fact that I don't OWN it
AUTHOR'S NOTES: It'll be come VERY apparent VERY fast that this was written by one incredibly insane techie (note: techie is the informal term we use for technician, you're gonna need to know that if you don't already ~_~) on a sugar-high no-sleep night RIGHT after being released from school. So it's strange.
It's also very AU and very OOC. Their personalities are all extremely exaggerated, but hey, it's a humor fic, ne? ~_~
The sad thing is I can actually picture most of this stuff happening at our rehearsals... maybe not all at ONE rehearsal, but we'd definitely do things like this. Drama people are very goofy ~_~ And we have so much fun being that way!
"Okay people, let's try and get this done quick so we can get on with rehearsal!" The faceless, nameless, personality-less director bellowed at the top of his lungs. Multiple heads craned his way from everywhere in the theatre, staring at him as if a flying saucer was crawling out his nose.
"I MEAN IT!"
Thuds and crashes and booms of all description were heard as everyone abandoned what they'd been sitting on (which was typically something far off the ground, they seemed to like heights) and ran in the general direction of the locked shop doors. Much chaos ensued until they figured out which one of them actually HAD the keys, at which point the poor person was shoved/pushed/squished/squeezed to the forefront of the group. Unfortunately, the poor person didn't know exactly which key opened the shop doors, so he was forced to try nearly all of them before they could be wrenched open, squeaky hinges protesting loudly and demanding oil.
But that was a project for another day. Five or six of them took charge of the large bed that filled most of the doorway, pulling it carefully out so as not to damage the "authentic wood paneling" ($4.95 a sheet from Ace Hardware) and trudging with it up to the stage. Everyone else spilled into the now-clear door like water from a broken dam, filling the room quickly and passing things from person to person to get them out. Props (candlesticks, old clock, curtains, nightcap, pictures, books, old-fashioned pens, etc) crossed head over head over head as they were passed from hand to hand to hand along the human chain, being thrown onto the bed from a rather long distance away by the purple-haired person at the end. A commanding voice shouted for everyone to get out, they were moving the flats now. The older boy supervised a small crew as they carefully lifted the screwed-together flats, which formed a semblance of a wall (one even had a working door in it) and gave them directions to steer the wall out of the shop without cracking it down the middle and various other places. Boxes of screws, nails, hammers, drills, tape measures, duck tape, markers, rulers, levels, and the familiar rusted T-square made their appearance from the black cabinet that was exposed when the wall was moved. Someone found the bag of cornerblocks and keystones and tossed it out the door, landing on the brand-new wooden stage with many a resounding THWACK THUNK CHINK and earning several shouts from the director.
Once everything was cleared from the shop, people settled down - a little. Everyone knew what job they had to do, where they had to be, and went there, anxious to get to the good stuff - the acting rehearsal. Well, the actors were, at least most of them, the techies weren't. The techies lived and breathed behind-the-scenes, and knew that once the acting part got underway they'd be kicked out along with their "noisy tools and dusty jobs" and would have to build from memory, never an easy thing.
Tasuki didn't know how he'd gotten himself into this position. He was typically the tech director, running sound or lights from the booth and yelling at the others to tell them where to go and what to do. But this time… THIS TIME…
It had all begun innocently enough, with a phone call from the director asking him to be at the auditions. That was fair, he would get a script there, like everyone else, so he could start planning tech stuff. But Tamahome, an Actor and one of his best buds, had also been there, sitting through boring audition after bad audition after frightening audition after way-too-perky audition (Nuriko), and in all their friendly mouthing off to each other Tama had somehow dared him to get up there. At which point he'd refused, but Tama had wheedled and bargained and called him chicken and some other, more explicit words, and the director had yelled at them to know what all their shouting was about, at which point Tama'd said Tasuki wanted to audition. And it was too late, despite his choice words, to get him out of it, so he pretended and went up and read the stupid audition scene and left the stupid audition.
And then the cast list was posted and he'd nearly died of fright. HE GOT THE ******* LEAD!
At this point the nice lady in the school "clinic" got to know him very well, although they already had a long-standing relationship.
He growled in his throat as he hammered a leg back on the bedside table, taking out his rage on the innocent, beat-up wood, again vowing to kill Tamahome, slowly, veeeeeery slowly, over about two and a half months, as long as he'd be forced to suffer through rehearsals (they couldn't find anyone else and the director wouldn't take his resignation), in a dark, dank, water-dripping rat-infested torture-device-stocked no-food no-heat stone dungeon somewhere in one of those medieval castles all over Europe, a creepy and abandoned one - and make Tama pay for the plane tickets.
"Tasuki-channnnnnnnnnnn!" Small body, long purple braid, sugar-high attitude, LANDING RIGHT ON HIS BACK.
"GERROFF GERROFF GERROFF!" Tasuki threw himself backwards and flailed around madly, trying to dislodge the much smaller boy now clinging to his neck and not succeeding all that well. The other one was even laughing as he made a fool of himself (again)! "GET THE **** OFFAME!"
"Tasuki-chan, you're too high-strung! No wonder mister faceless-nameless made you Scrooge!"
"GERROFF ME!!!"
Nuriko giggled and let go of the poor redhead, dropping easily to the floor and swiping his hat off his head in the process. Tasuki squawked with indignation as his favorite hat, his dark gray bucket hat with TECHIE sewn on the front and lit with little "lights", the only one big enough to contain all his hair, was snatched from him and plopped on Nuriko's head. The purple-haired boy grinned cheerfully at him and assumed a very over-exaggerated English accent. "Cheer up, Uncle Ebenezer! 'Christmas comes but once a year!' after all, and now 'tis the time!" He skipped off before Tasuki could manage to get himself untangled from the coils of ropes that he'd fallen on in shock.
He finally got free and on his feet again, adding the no-longer-visible Nuriko to the List of People He Wanted to Kill Most at the Current Moment and finding his hammer again. His other hand automatically dipped into the small Styrofoam cup that held a meager collection of nails he'd scavenged from the stage floor and pulled one out, judging by feel that it was long enough. He was still fuming as he held the nail where it was supposed to drive in and raised the hammer to give it the first swift blow.
Nuriko heard Tasuki's howl/scream of pain halfway across the theatre as clearly as if his friend was shouting in his ear, each and every school-inappropriate word echoing in the great acoustics.
He giggled and squashed the hat further on his head before ducking around the flat-wall in search of something to do until he could convince Tasuki to actually go over his lines like he needed to. Hotohori was there, showing some new recruit how to set the A-frames on all the joined flats so they neither blocked the door, made the wall lean, made it fall flat over or flat back, and wouldn't be drilled into the next flat to be added. "He did it again, Hotohori-sama."
"I know, I can- no, not that way, this way." He quickly pushed the newbie out of the way before he could be squished beneath the falling flats and set the frame in the right place so the whole apparatus balanced once more. "See? You'd be one flat freshman if this thing fell on you now."
Oh, Hotohori-sama, you're so brave, so gallant, you even care about the puny little no-one-likes-them FRESHMEN!
"All right, now just remember to make sure the frames are all positioned this way before each rehearsal, or Tasuki's going to try and make you part of the set. Go see if there's anything else that needs to be done." The elegant stage manager turned as the tiny freshman scampered off, his long brown hair sweeping out behind him in an invisible wind that definitely had nothing to do with the central heating system. "Nuriko? Are you all right?" The other boy was staring at him adoringly, stars in his wide eyes.
"Oh yes. I'm fine." Please do that again please do that again please do that again please I WISH I WAS A WOMAN!
"Well… If you're sure, we don't need Fred coming down with whatever's going around now two weeks before the show…" Hotohori pressed the back of his hand against Nuriko's forehead, feeling for fever. And of course Nuriko almost swooned.
Nuriko had often wondered just WHY Hotohori-sama wasn't one of the actors, but instead the stage manager. I mean, c'mon, he's leading man material! Noble, charming, DEFINITELY good-looking, very kissable…But there was just something about him that made people listen to him when he gave orders, so to a command post it was. It worked really well, he was also really organized, and as the stage manager keeps everyone from going insane when nothing goes according to plan this was an invaluable trait.
"Well, you're not hot." Nuriko almost screamed when Hotohori moved his hand off his skin. "But go home straight after rehearsal, have some soup, drink a lot of water, and TRY to get eight hours of sleep. At home." Although he never did it, Hotohori knew that for most high school students a good chunk of the "eight hours of sleep a day" came while in their most boring classes. "Have you seen Chichiri anywhere?"
"I think Houki hauled him back into wardrobe, something about his jacket not fitting or something like that…"
"Thanks." He swirled around and glided, not walked, but glided to the rear of the stage, in the direction of the dressing rooms, unknowingly leaving behind one very lovestruck boy.
He knocked politely on the door before entering, as good manners dictate. "Houki? Chichiri?" No answer. He stuck his head around the corner (built especially to prevent one from accidentally seeing "too much" when they opened the door) and saw a very strange sight. Chichiri was standing in the middle of the clothing-strewn floor, back and legs straight, arms held straight out to the sides and stiff as broom handles, with an open script gripped in his teeth, clearly trying to read the thing and failing miserably. Houki was holding the back of the cause of all the trouble, Chichiri's dull, worn, fairly authentic looking coat, her mouth full of pins. She was also trying to take in the rest of the fabric. "Um, Houki? Chichiri?"
They both looked up, Chichiri almost whacking Houki in the head with his script, Houki nearly pushing the pin she was placing through Chichiri's skin. However, neither noticed the other's blunder, waiting to hear what Hotohori said.
"Houki, when you're done, I'm going to need to borrow Chichiri for a minute, we need to find Miaka."
"Mmmphnnmphn," Houki said concisely.
"Hrphhphhn?" Chichiri asked clearly.
Hotohori groaned and removed the script from Chichiri's teeth. The blue-haired boy made a "blech" noise and worked his mouth for a minute to get the taste of cheap ink and recycled paper out of it, then tried again, relaxing a bit. "Thanks Hotohori no da. Where'd Miaka go this time no da?"
"mmmmmMMMMMMM!" Chichiri turned around to see clear blue eyes glaring at him over a mouthful of pins. He gulped and stood ramrod-straight again, holding his arms so stiff in the air they quivered. Houki made a satisfied noise in her throat, held up two fingers to Hotohori, and bent to work again. Hotohori waited, not quite that willing to face the wrath of the Ever-Impressive Wardrobe Mistress, as Houki quickly and precisely put in the last two pins she needed. Then she carefully removed the remaining pins from her mouth and placed them on the table next to her, sighing heavily. "Chichiri, you're nothing but bone."
"I know no da. But I'm not as bad as Nuriko na no da."
"True, I could probably fit his clothes comfortably myself." She giggled at the thought of her "twin" and made a beckoning gesture. "You can drop 'em, come here."
Chichiri let out a whoosh of relief and let his exhausted arms that now felt like they were made of lead fall to his sides, stepping in front of the full-length mirror as Mistress Houki indicated he should do. It fit fine now, not even the shoulders wrinkling as he moved his arms, cautiously so he didn't make the pins fall out and earn Houki's eternal wrath. "Can I go now no da?"
"Just give me the coat." He willingly shrugged out of the jacket and handed it to her, and she reached for a hanger to put it on as he made his escape with Hotohori.
"Thank you Hotohori no da," he said enthusiastically as they picked their way over various construction projects currently covering the stage. "She had me in the pants next!"
All the color drained from Hotohori's face at that terrible thought. "Then you are very very very welcome. I wouldn't wish that on anyone." Houki was great with clothes, but her aim with pins needed a lot of practice. Most people found that out the hard way, and he'd had to deal with the aftereffects more than once.
"So where is Miaka no da? Off with Tamahome again?"
Hotohori's eyes narrowed dangerously at the thought of his girl, the one he'd loved since he met her (although he conveniently forgot she didn't like him as more than a close friend) acting all snuggly-lovey-dovey with one of his best friends… Ohhh, he would pay someday, someday he'd make sure Tamahome got an hour with Houki and her pins in the most painful way possible…
"Calm down Hotohori no da!" The stage manager was actually pretty frightening with that look of uncontrollable rage on his face, which made no sense to Chichiri since he'd lost in the Race to Win Miaka and Tama'd won fair and square and Hotohori usually let it go if the other won fairly, and there was only one sure-fire way to calm him down. Chichiri calmly threw the monkey wrench in the works. "You'll ruin your complexion na no da."
He changes colors really quickly no da, Chichiri thought, amused, as Hotohori went stark white again out of fear and quickly covered his face with his arms until they were safely out of the theatre.
There was a bank of snack machines just a ways down the hall from the multiple doors that led where they'd just come from, and a familiar voice was echoing down the tiled hall to them. "Give it to me! I paid for that! GIMME MY HERSHEY'S BAR!" The vending machine, already pounded enough during the regular school day, now bravely bore up under the full weight of Miaka's wrath as she tried to tear it to pieces and get at the sugar inside, refusing to give up its prize. Tamahome stood much further down the hall, hiding his face in his hands and trying to pretend he wasn't in anyway associated with the Amazon Queen on A Quest for Candy.
Both Chichiri and Hotohori could now sympathize completely with him. Miaka in one of her food moods was the scariest thing in school. They crossed carefully behind her, staying well back to avoid being smacked in the face (it would be on accident, but it would still hurt) or somewhere else even more painful. Tamahome looked up as they approached, his eyes widening in very obvious gratefulness, thanking them for sacrificing themselves for him. The nodded silently back, faces full of sympathy, keeping quiet until they were right next to him.
"I'm sorry, Tamahome." Hotohori actually meant it; there were times when even HE couldn't deal with Miaka.
"I am too no da."
"Seventy-five cents… just… wasted," Tamahome cried softly in a long-suffering voice. "Just… gone…"
Chichiri and Hotohori cast each other exasperated looks, if Chichiri could ever show exasperation, as Tama buried his head in his hands again and slowly shook it back and forth. Wasn't there supposed to be a limit to his miserly ways? "And he wonders why he got cast as Marley…" Hotohori commented under his breath.
"And then… Miaka goes off the deep end…! Whyyyyy? Whyyyyyy?"
Chichiri looked at his tormented friend and gulped, but stepped forward bravely. "Miaka-chan…"
"CHICHIRI!" She whirled at his voice, eyes wide and breathing heavily, a commanding look on her face. "GET ME MY CANDY BAR!"
"Umm, Miaka-chan no da…"
"You can always go to the bookkeeper and ask her for a refund," Hotohori gently remind Tamahome, who brightened up immediately at the thought of getting his money back.
"What is it Chichiri, I wanna go get my chocolate!" Miaka started to turn back to the machine, pulling back to hit it again.
Chichiri quickly ran and grabbed her, dragging her away from the brutalized machine before she led it to an early grave. "Hotohori has something to tell you na no da! That's why we've been looking for you no da! And I'll give you the Skittles in my backpack if you listen to him!"
"Skittles? Okay!" She smiled happily, the overly optimistic and cheerful Miaka once more now that she had food guaranteed to her. "What is it Hotohori?"
"You and Chichiri need to work on your scene some, we've only got two weeks 'til we open." His heart ached when he saw her this cheerful, knowing She Would Never Be His. Oooh, Tamahome would paayyyy….
She grinned and linked her arm through Chichiri's, nearly bouncing on tiptoe beside the much taller boy and talking in a bad accent that rivaled Nuriko's. "C'mon, husband o' mine! The Great Slave Driver who dictates our lives says we must practice, so practice we shall!"
"I still don't get why I don't get to be Cratchett-"
Tamahome was shut up with a good hard smack upside the head.
AUTHOR'S NOTES II: OK, I freely admit I let my theatre vocab run away with me. If you have no clue what something means, e-mail me at Kazeko_sama@yahoo.com and I'll try to explain ~_~ Ja ne!