Addendum to the author's note: I'm not planning on any X/D shippiness in this story. While I love both Xander and Dawn (obviously), and I was very disappointed when Dawn grew out of her Xander-crush on the show, she's too young for him. Give it ten years, and maybe we'll talk. O.o
Roads Less Traveled
by Casix Thistlebane
Story 4: the Scottish Play
Part Three
Dawn looked up as Emma dashed over to her. The director was dressed to kill, wearing a long, red dress, her frizzy hair tied back for once in a neat bun. She'd been flitting about the theater lobby for the last twenty minutes, schmoozing with the guests. Dawn adjusted her headset, and shuffled the programs.
"Tell Mike we'll open the house in five minutes." Emma gasped, then straightened herself up, patting Dawn's shoulder. "Thank you so much for helping out with the house crew. When Mike gives you the signal, close the doors, and come find me in the audience. I'll be in the back, by the booth." She skittered off again, smiling cheerily at an older couple on her way out the side door towards the backstage area. Dawn shrugged, and looked back down at her programs. Theater, she determined, sucked. It was a whole lot of pressure, just for a couple of nights of even more pressure, in front of an audience. The graffitied message by the side of the doors to the stage said it all:
"We do for fun what others fear worse than death."
Dawn smiled at that. The same could be said for her sister, and the entire slayerette crew. Her headset suddenly buzzed on.
"Let's open up the house," Mike's voice was tinny and full of static. "Angela, are the actors about ready?"
Angela, the head of the set crew, responded back. She was a young British woman, and her voice made Dawn miss Giles and the former-potentials. "Just about. We're still waiting on the witches and Macbeth though. I told them not to go kayaking again. We're right in the middle of the bloody Dead Zone."
"Well, get them ready, Ang." Mike sounded annoyed. "I told you, no more movies back stage."
"Shove it, gobshite." The radio went dead for a moment, and Dawn and her fellow house crew member opened the doors. Dawn pushed the small gray button on the side of her headset. "House is open, Mike."
"Great, Dawn."
"What's the Dead Zone?" Dawn couldn't stop herself from asking, and received a few confused looks from the audience for it.
Ang responded. "Think Bermuda Triangle. Now hush up, and let's go."
"Couldn't have said it better myself." Mike's voice fuzzed in. "Jane, sound cue 1, go!"
Dawn couldn't let go of the Dead Zone comment. Bermuda Triangle, on a college campus? Where they were performing a notoriously cursed play. And she and Xander were both recruited to help out. Oh yeah, Buffy was going to ground her for sure.
Twenty minutes later, the lobby was empty, and she and her fellow crew member nodded to each other. Dawn hit the button again. "Audience is in."
"Thanks, doll!" Mike called. "Emma's giving the cue for five minute warning. Ang, we ready back there?"
"Yes. Macbeth and witches are in costume and standing by. The Dead Zone didn't eat the gobshites."
"Good to hear."
Dawn chuckled to herself, and slipped into the darkening theater. As she climbed the stairs to where Emma was seated, she pushed the button one last time. "Hey, Ang, what's a gobshite?"
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\
Xander smiled to himself. The play was almost over, and so far, everything had gone swimmingly. The crack-head scene was handled, and other than Nancy accidentally calling the bereaved MacDuff "Duncan", just after the king was killed, and Banquo managing to boil an entire Shakespearean speech down to "I'm taking my horse", they'd had no problems.
He refused to relax, however. This play was cursed, and unlike Mike and Jane, he knew they had to take that seriously. He found himself enjoying Macbeth, more than he ever had just reading it in high school. Shakespeare knew what he was talking about. All of the witches prophesies were cryptic and impossible sounding, and the way they manipulated the murderous king was spectacular. He remembered Willow complaining that the witches were being portrayed as too evil in tenth grade, when they'd read the play for class.
He was pretty sure she'd have a different take on that now.
MacDuff and Macbeth circled each other on the stage, their prop-swords gleaming in the eery, purple light.
"Stand by light cue 147."
Xander looked down, it was all set. "Standing by."
"Lay on, MacDuff!"
The two battling Scotsman flew from the stage.
"Go, 147!"
Black out. The audience roared, and he could almost feel Emma grinning through the back of the slayer's head. It was as much Emma as anyone else who'd managed to make Shakespeare clear to him, Xander reflected. She'd make an excellent teacher for the girls at the institute. He imagined how the play would be directed if they had real witches and superheros in the roles. He could just picture Buffy chasing Faith off the stage, sword in hand. Of course, they'd have had to make sure that Buffy wasn't really going to cut off Faith's head.
"Go 148,"
Xander brought the lights back up, as MacDuff strode onto the stage, sword at his side, his left hand held behind his back. In just a few moments, the play would be over. Xander sighed. Just a few more moments, and then they'd be done. Three performances, and Xander and Dawn could be on their way, curse free.
"Holy SHIT." Mike's eyes were wide. Jane smashed a hand over her mouth. Xander shot to his feet.
On stage, MacDuff was presenting the gory head of Macbeth to the cheering audience. Blood dripped steadily onto the stage and coated MacDuff's sword arm. Many of his fellow actors were turning green beneath the lights. Emma and Dawn were standing as well.
"Jane," Mike's voice was soft, hoarse. "Did you rig a fake head for the final performance without telling me?"
Jane slowly shook her head, then spun and vomited into the wastebasket behind her. Xander knew how she felt. In each of the other performances, Macbeth's "head" was represented with a large cabbage in a black sack. There was no way that anyone could have had time to create the spectacular, grisly head in MacDuff's hand.
This wasn't a job for theater students. This was a job for a veteran slayerette, and the slayer's little sister. And possibly, the police.
Xander switched the lights into a black out, and spun on Mike, who stood staring at the now pitch black stage. "Get the actors and technicians to some place secluded, and get the audience out of here, NOW."
Mike blinked. "We've still got one scene left."
"Now, Mike."
"The show must go on,"
Xander grabbed the younger man by the soldiers. "No, it really doesn't. Get moving."
Mike nodded, then moved a shaking hand to his headset controls. "Angie, get everyone to the studio. Dawn, tell Emma to meet us there, and get the audience out of here. Let them think it's, I don't know, avant garde or something?" Mike glanced at Xander, who nodded.
"All right, what's the fastest way to the back stage without alerting the audience?"
"The catwalks." Jane's voice was a nauseous murmur. "I'll take you." She walked unsteadily past both of them, to the ladder by the booth. Xander turned to follow, but was grabbed by Mike at the last moment.
"Um, Xander?"
"Yeah, Mike?" Xander put his hand on top of the ASM's.
"I think I'm starting to believe in curses."
"Good." He turned away, and started up the ladder, then paused. "It'll be okay, Mike."
The ASM was already gone.
end part three
Roads Less Traveled
by Casix Thistlebane
Story 4: the Scottish Play
Part Three
Dawn looked up as Emma dashed over to her. The director was dressed to kill, wearing a long, red dress, her frizzy hair tied back for once in a neat bun. She'd been flitting about the theater lobby for the last twenty minutes, schmoozing with the guests. Dawn adjusted her headset, and shuffled the programs.
"Tell Mike we'll open the house in five minutes." Emma gasped, then straightened herself up, patting Dawn's shoulder. "Thank you so much for helping out with the house crew. When Mike gives you the signal, close the doors, and come find me in the audience. I'll be in the back, by the booth." She skittered off again, smiling cheerily at an older couple on her way out the side door towards the backstage area. Dawn shrugged, and looked back down at her programs. Theater, she determined, sucked. It was a whole lot of pressure, just for a couple of nights of even more pressure, in front of an audience. The graffitied message by the side of the doors to the stage said it all:
"We do for fun what others fear worse than death."
Dawn smiled at that. The same could be said for her sister, and the entire slayerette crew. Her headset suddenly buzzed on.
"Let's open up the house," Mike's voice was tinny and full of static. "Angela, are the actors about ready?"
Angela, the head of the set crew, responded back. She was a young British woman, and her voice made Dawn miss Giles and the former-potentials. "Just about. We're still waiting on the witches and Macbeth though. I told them not to go kayaking again. We're right in the middle of the bloody Dead Zone."
"Well, get them ready, Ang." Mike sounded annoyed. "I told you, no more movies back stage."
"Shove it, gobshite." The radio went dead for a moment, and Dawn and her fellow house crew member opened the doors. Dawn pushed the small gray button on the side of her headset. "House is open, Mike."
"Great, Dawn."
"What's the Dead Zone?" Dawn couldn't stop herself from asking, and received a few confused looks from the audience for it.
Ang responded. "Think Bermuda Triangle. Now hush up, and let's go."
"Couldn't have said it better myself." Mike's voice fuzzed in. "Jane, sound cue 1, go!"
Dawn couldn't let go of the Dead Zone comment. Bermuda Triangle, on a college campus? Where they were performing a notoriously cursed play. And she and Xander were both recruited to help out. Oh yeah, Buffy was going to ground her for sure.
Twenty minutes later, the lobby was empty, and she and her fellow crew member nodded to each other. Dawn hit the button again. "Audience is in."
"Thanks, doll!" Mike called. "Emma's giving the cue for five minute warning. Ang, we ready back there?"
"Yes. Macbeth and witches are in costume and standing by. The Dead Zone didn't eat the gobshites."
"Good to hear."
Dawn chuckled to herself, and slipped into the darkening theater. As she climbed the stairs to where Emma was seated, she pushed the button one last time. "Hey, Ang, what's a gobshite?"
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\
Xander smiled to himself. The play was almost over, and so far, everything had gone swimmingly. The crack-head scene was handled, and other than Nancy accidentally calling the bereaved MacDuff "Duncan", just after the king was killed, and Banquo managing to boil an entire Shakespearean speech down to "I'm taking my horse", they'd had no problems.
He refused to relax, however. This play was cursed, and unlike Mike and Jane, he knew they had to take that seriously. He found himself enjoying Macbeth, more than he ever had just reading it in high school. Shakespeare knew what he was talking about. All of the witches prophesies were cryptic and impossible sounding, and the way they manipulated the murderous king was spectacular. He remembered Willow complaining that the witches were being portrayed as too evil in tenth grade, when they'd read the play for class.
He was pretty sure she'd have a different take on that now.
MacDuff and Macbeth circled each other on the stage, their prop-swords gleaming in the eery, purple light.
"Stand by light cue 147."
Xander looked down, it was all set. "Standing by."
"Lay on, MacDuff!"
The two battling Scotsman flew from the stage.
"Go, 147!"
Black out. The audience roared, and he could almost feel Emma grinning through the back of the slayer's head. It was as much Emma as anyone else who'd managed to make Shakespeare clear to him, Xander reflected. She'd make an excellent teacher for the girls at the institute. He imagined how the play would be directed if they had real witches and superheros in the roles. He could just picture Buffy chasing Faith off the stage, sword in hand. Of course, they'd have had to make sure that Buffy wasn't really going to cut off Faith's head.
"Go 148,"
Xander brought the lights back up, as MacDuff strode onto the stage, sword at his side, his left hand held behind his back. In just a few moments, the play would be over. Xander sighed. Just a few more moments, and then they'd be done. Three performances, and Xander and Dawn could be on their way, curse free.
"Holy SHIT." Mike's eyes were wide. Jane smashed a hand over her mouth. Xander shot to his feet.
On stage, MacDuff was presenting the gory head of Macbeth to the cheering audience. Blood dripped steadily onto the stage and coated MacDuff's sword arm. Many of his fellow actors were turning green beneath the lights. Emma and Dawn were standing as well.
"Jane," Mike's voice was soft, hoarse. "Did you rig a fake head for the final performance without telling me?"
Jane slowly shook her head, then spun and vomited into the wastebasket behind her. Xander knew how she felt. In each of the other performances, Macbeth's "head" was represented with a large cabbage in a black sack. There was no way that anyone could have had time to create the spectacular, grisly head in MacDuff's hand.
This wasn't a job for theater students. This was a job for a veteran slayerette, and the slayer's little sister. And possibly, the police.
Xander switched the lights into a black out, and spun on Mike, who stood staring at the now pitch black stage. "Get the actors and technicians to some place secluded, and get the audience out of here, NOW."
Mike blinked. "We've still got one scene left."
"Now, Mike."
"The show must go on,"
Xander grabbed the younger man by the soldiers. "No, it really doesn't. Get moving."
Mike nodded, then moved a shaking hand to his headset controls. "Angie, get everyone to the studio. Dawn, tell Emma to meet us there, and get the audience out of here. Let them think it's, I don't know, avant garde or something?" Mike glanced at Xander, who nodded.
"All right, what's the fastest way to the back stage without alerting the audience?"
"The catwalks." Jane's voice was a nauseous murmur. "I'll take you." She walked unsteadily past both of them, to the ladder by the booth. Xander turned to follow, but was grabbed by Mike at the last moment.
"Um, Xander?"
"Yeah, Mike?" Xander put his hand on top of the ASM's.
"I think I'm starting to believe in curses."
"Good." He turned away, and started up the ladder, then paused. "It'll be okay, Mike."
The ASM was already gone.
end part three