A&A&A Boarding School
Authoresses' Note: This is the pre-Phantom chapter. We know you've all been waiting for the next chapter – so this chapter is all about waiting. Fitting, non?
We're glad you understand about Legolas (shut up, Zeggy) There was someone who asked the age question again; the answer's somewhere in the first few chapter callouts, but to summarise the characters are mostly of schoolgoing age, say twelve to twenty, or the corresponding ages for the elves and the fairies.
If anyone was wondering where Artemis was last chapter, EvilExpressions was correct. He was wallflowering. He tends to do that in ensemble scenes.
The sisters wave to Garnetian Dragon, the reincarnated. We did miss you.
Evidently the doughnuts were majorly popular.
We hope you noticed how we're resolving the various conflicts that have been appearing throughout this story, and that you understand what this means. Well, it couldn't go on forever. It was fun while it lasted.
32. Congregation and Consternation
At eight o'clock, the school bell rang insistently.
"Oh, please," groaned Sam, tearing the sheets away from him with wobbly arms, "it's Sunday, don't we get to sleep in or something?"
"There's rehearsal," said Frodo.
"There's what?"
"Rehearsal," repeated Frodo patiently. "For Phantom. It's tonight, remember?"
Sam fought with his pillow. It kept, for no special reason, trying to magnetize him to the bed. "When?"
"Eight thirty," said Frodo helpfully. "We have half an hour for wash-up and breakfast."
"Eight thirty?" exclaimed Merry, hopping past on one foot as he tried to wrestle his sock on. "Is she nuts?"
"Don't say that about the Lady Galadriel," muttered Sam. His hand reached out automatically for the toothbrush, while his feet pushed themselves into slippers and shuffled out of the dorm. Frodo scooped up his clothes and followed.
The bathroom was bedlam. While the boys didn't spend as much time washing up as the girls did (although this was a reference to the majority. Nobody ever asked Jack what he was doing with the eyeliner, and they were still at a loss to explain Legolas) but they nevertheless had to go through the motions of getting ready for the day.
"Damn!" exclaimed Aragorn. "I left my razor in the dorm."
"Take mine?" offered Van Helsing, who had just finished shaving. Aragorn extended a hand. Van Helsing, who was at the other end of the room, simply raised the razor over his shoulder and let fly. The razor executed a parabola and buried itself in the potted plant beside the mirror.
"Please," said Carl in a small voice from near the bathroom tiles, "would you please stop throwing the razor around?"
Aragorn pulled the razor from the potted plant and began to fastidiously wash fake soil off the blade.
Mulch hammered on the cubicle door. "Who's in there?"
"Me," said the unmistakeable tones of Artemis.
"What the hell are you doing in there? You're taking a millenium!"
"Changing," said Artemis, without altering the composure of his tone.
"Changing? Why can't you change out here like the rest of us?"
"Forgive me if I require my privacy," replied Artemis mercilessly.
"Damn it, Fowl, I have constipation!"
The last statement caused sudden consternation among those standing near Mulch. "Artemis, please let him in!" yelled Éomer in something close to panic.
"Or we'll all die in here," added Harry, who then had a brainwave. "If you don't come out – Merry and Pippin will sing you Chinese opera!"
"We don't know how to sing Chinese opera," whispered Merry.
"Oh, we could sing that funny Romanian song!" suggested Pippin, delighted with the idea. The ones who had heard that song before gasped in horror and leapt forward to stop him, but Pippin was already careening off on a styrofoam-scratching key. "Mai-ya-HEEE! Mai-ya-HUUU! Mai-ya-HUUU! Mai-ya-HAA-HAA!"
"All right, I'm out, I'm out!" shouted Artemis, rushing out with his towel clasped over his ears. Mulch dashed past him and shut the door, accompanied by relieved sighs from the bystanders. Pippin, who seemed to be enjoying himself altogether too much, was grabbed around the mouth by Merry and towed off.
At half past eight, rehearsal began.
Galadriel inspected her troops, who were lined up before the apron of the auditorium stage. She valiantly overlooked the fact that they were yawning.
She dangled a pocketwatch in front of them. "This," she said pleasantly, "is a timer. I shall be timing your progress. The first thing I will be timing is how long you take to reach the stage of ready-set-play. Ready? Starting from – now."
With the flick of her wrist, the cast and crew leapt into action, scuttling backstage. There was much crashing as props were wheeled onstage and people shoved into position, while overhead the lights flickered on and off. Finally, in three minutes and thirteen seconds time, Hermione the overall stage manager stuck her head out from behind the curtain and gave Galadriel the thumbs-up.
"Excellent, dears," said Galadriel appraisingly. "Now, we'll run once, break for lunch, run again, and then get ready for the final performance. Now, curtain up in three – two – one."
The curtain went up. The lights went on. The overture started.
Galadriel watched it with major satisfaction, and then released her class for lunch break. So that they didn't have to leave the stage, she had made them packed lunches, which they descended upon with voracious delight.
"Don't get any crumbs backstage," murmured Galadriel, and drifted upstairs to check the lighting.
The first-years sat on the apron and ate their sandwiches, occasionally negotiating with each other for extra pickles. The stagehands had located an antique records-book backstage, and now they were leafing through it.
"Look," said Joly excitedly, "it's got every other play staged in this auditorium before documented in here!"
The plays were mostly previous Orientation Night performances by the first-years of bygone days, or Drama Club productions. "Here's the programme for last year's batch," exclaimed Hermione. "They did 'An Inspector Calls'."
"Fascinating," said Artemis dryly, from where he was trying to manhandle his sandwich without actually touching it with his fingers.
"What's that?" asked Ron, haplessly.
"J. B. Priestley," said Hermione loftily, "I don't suppose you'd have heard of it. I wish we'd done 'An Inspector Calls' instead, it's so much more respected as a literary work."
"Says the girl who's never heard of Gaston Leroux," pointed out Artemis snidely.
Hermione glared at him, and retreated into the backstage with her lunch.
"Play was adapted by Jack Driscoll," read Elizabeth off the credits. "I knew it. Let's look for Ann, she'll be here if he wrote it – yes, she played Sheila Birling. And – Westley played Gerald Croft?"
"That's Sheila's boyfriend?" said Jack. "This is funny."
"Here's a bunch of Drama Club plays," observed Boromir, leafing further back. "After Chemistry – Sing to the Dustbunnies – Alice Thinks Harder – here, there's one called Yesterday My Classmate Got Eaten."
They stared for a while at the production photos of Yesterday My Classmate Got Eaten.
"My," commented Aragorn after some time, "that's gay."
"That's very gay," agreed Achilles.
"This is too funny," supplemented Jack, and fell over laughing hysterically until Will and Aragorn stuffed a carrotstick down his throat.
They went on reading until Gimli dropped a dill pickle on the credits page of some batch play from seven years ago, and Arwen made them put it away before they destroyed any more historical artifacts.
At half past one, Galadriel returned, and the students made ready for their second run.
The last run before an actual performance is often heartstopping, almost as if it is the real performance itself. The stagehands are skittish. The cast is flushed, and a tad too quick with their lines. The director is paranoid, and wants to scream with every little mistake that is made, if it is but the tiniest flaw, ie. Aragorn didn't put his hands in his pockets like I told him to! That chandelier came down two beats too early! Why isn't Jack smiling when he sings?
At the end of it all, the cast and crew congregated on the stage, apprehensive. Galadriel took a deep breath, rose and swept up to them. She cleared her throat and waited for them to arrange themselves around the apron.
"As you realise, this is my last briefing before you play," she said.
Her audience nodded, dismay on their faces as the reality of the fact settled in.
"There are a thousand things I could correct you about," went on the Lady, "a thousand flaws and a thousand ways you could improve, but if I did I would never finish. At any rate, it is too late. You are where you worked to be, and that should be enough."
"Now, I do not want you think about the play itself. I want you to think about what made this play. We have come a very long way, from when you did not know each other, till now, when you all can finally be considered a real class. Cast, you worked hard to memorise your lines and get the chemistry going between each other. Crew, although you will never appear, you have worked as if you would. Indeed, there have been times when all of you were beyond exasperating, but you have come beyond that. You have gone from a rabble to a play, and I am so proud of you."
"What I want you to remember tonight is this: you are not doing this for me. You are not doing this for the audience, or for the orientation, or for the sake of doing it. You are playing for each other, for the class, for all of you as a single entity; and don't make me proud. Make each other proud."
There was a long silence following her unexpected speech. And then Arwen leapt up and threw her arms around her grandmother's neck, while around them the cast and crew burst into thunderous applause. "Three cheers, and three cheers, and three cheers for the Lady Galadriel!" somebody was shouting, and the class responded with: "Hip hip hurray! Hip hip hurray! Hip hip hurray!"
Galadriel kissed Arwen and actually laughed at the sight of her cheering class. "You silly dears," she said, lightly. "All right, you get a break till half past five, by which you must all be back here so you can get your make-up on, and get into character. Is that understood? Well then, run along."
The class 'ran along', to fill water bottles or get more snacks to fortify them through the lengthy production, some humming snatches of what they were due to sing. Galadriel ascended the steps of the auditorium, till she was standing next to Celeborn, who had just emerged from the audio box.
"Oh, dear," she said quietly, "it always is so sweet. I could cry."
"Don't," said Celeborn, alarmed.
Galadriel sighed. "The darlings. I love them so much."
At half past five, the class reconvened upon the boards of the stage. They gathered around Galadriel, who was briskly directing them to their respective dressing rooms. "Find your costumes. Get changed. Wait there till I come by – those who know how, start applying make-up first. Off you go."
They scattered, boys to the boys' dressing room and girls to the girls'. Arwen brought out the stack of Hannibal costumes, which no one had ever liked because of their especially stringy nature, and the girls commenced the struggle of getting into them. This was made difficult by the fact that there were no actual cubicles to change inside, and the girls desiring extra privacy (the majority of them) had to use the oddest spaces, like the broom cupboard, which wasn't even two feet wide, and only two metres tall after all the shelves had been removed.
Currently, Anna was in the broom cupboard, Hermione in the second closet and Holly in the mysterious small space beneath the make-up drawers. The girls waiting in line were seated about the room, twiddling with the various tassels that made up their costumes, when the door opened and Draco Malfoy walked in matter-of-factly.
The girls nearest the door leapt from their chairs with outraged gasps. Elizabeth glanced up in horror and shrieked, "Boy in the room! Don't come out!"
"Do you realise," Éowyn was saying frostily as she towered over Malfoy, "that you can't just walk into a girls' changing room without knocking? What if we hadn't been decent?"
Malfoy peered around her. "I don't see anyone – not decent."
"They're all in the cupboards, you idiot," snapped Eponine.
This point was emphasised by several muffled thumps against the broom cupboard door, accompanied by much hissed profanity.
Malfoy raised an eyebrow. "How do they all fit?"
"That is beside the point," declared Arwen, unfolding herself and bearing down on Malfoy with such imposing magnificence that he involuntarily backed up against the door. "What do you want?"
"Galadriel wants main cast in the dressing room next to the stage exit as soon as possible," muttered Malfoy sullenly.
"We'll be right along," said Arwen sternly. "And the next boy who comes through that door without knocking will be nailed to it by his earlobe. You can tell them that."
Eponine opened the door and poked Malfoy through it, slamming it on him with some viciousness.
The girls maintained their expressions of severity for a few more seconds, and then they dissolved into manic laughter.
"Did you see his face!" giggled Elizabeth. "Especially when you started poking him. Oh, glorious."
Hermione crawled out of the closet in costume. "If he comes back," she said, somewhat wistfully, "can I be the one who does the nailing?"
"All right," said Arwen, collecting herself and raising her voice, "main cast, you heard the message. Elizabeth, Andromache, Briseis, come on."
They headed down to the dressing room in question. The boys were already in it. Jack, skilfully touched-up, had been ordered to stand in the corner far away from the make-up boxes.
Galadriel seized on Elizabeth, and began to do her eyeshadow. Arwen, dutiful granddaughter, picked up the blush and summoned Pippin over. Pippin, glad to be near anyone with a brush who wasn't Jack, scuttled over obediently.
At six, the boys sent another representative to the girls' dressing room. This time, they sent Frodo, who nobody would have the heart to nail to a door and who was better liked amidst that particular circle. The purpose of the message was to plead for help with make-up. The girls found it amusing, but they acceded, partly because it must have taken a lot for the boys to voluntarily plead such a favour.
The girls with cosmetic ability, after ensuring the presentability of their own friends, took the make-up boxes and went over. Those without cosmetic ability stayed behind at first, but later got bored by themselves and followed.
Even now, the tension was running high. To allay this, someone had devised Truth or Truth – dares might ruin the make-up – and they were spinning an empty hairspray bottle. The rules were becoming quite repressive; there are only so many embarrassing questions that one can ask.
"So," said Grantaire, "who in this room would you shoot, shag, or marry?"
"This is pointless," retorted Artemis. "This is the seventh time that question has been asked, and out of those seven times no one has given a straight answer. I do not intend to be the first, thank you very much."
"Give it up, Artemis is asexual," called Holly from where she was seated atop a table, watching Eponine choose Gavroche's foundation. "Couldn't we dare him?"
"Too risky," said Hector. "Just ask him another question. A more straightforward one."
"Do you have a crush on Jean Grey?" inquired Ron.
"No," said Artemis impassively. "Our relationship is entirely senior-junior, with a side of mentor thrown in, perhaps. Wholly platonic."
"Then why do you keep talking to her?"
"That's one too many questions," answered Artemis. He leaned over and gave the bottle a prod with his toe. It spun lethargically, and they spent some minutes trying to decide who exactly it was pointing at.
"Anna!" exclaimed Grantaire. "Anna, who in this room would you shoot, shag or marry?"
"No, Grantaire, not again," muttered Enjolras behind him.
Anna stared at him for a long time. Finally she said, "Can I shoot all three?"
At half past six, the main cast, lacking the benefit of inane truth games, were 'getting into character'. Currently they were achieving this by asking each other questions.
"Madame Giry," Aragorn was saying, "what would you like most in the world?"
Andromache considered this. Some of the others had been trick questions.
"I want Meg to be Empress of France."
"Very good," said Arwen approvingly. "Managers, what do you hate?"
"Letters," said Pippin.
"Ghosts," supplemented Merry.
"Falling scenery."
"Empty matinées."
"Divas."
"Chandeliers."
"Rhyming meter."
"Do you hate everything?" asked Elizabeth.
"Why not?" shrugged Merry. "They're all out to get us."
Arwen graciously changed the topic. "Phantom, tell us something about Raoul."
Jack had to think about this. "The Vicomte is a fop, has bad taste in capes, and can't fence. And he don't deserve Christine," he added, dutiful to canon.
"Doesn't, not don't," corrected Arwen absent-mindedly. "Carlotta, what would you say to Christine if you got the chance to speak to her face-to-face?"
Elizabeth didn't even have to think. "You're an upstart of an ingenue who seduced your way into my role – which you're not doing justice to, by the way – and I can't see why the Vicomte even likes you, because you sing like a chicken, you're skinnier than Madame Giry's cane, and you're flatter than an airport runway!"
There was a pause. Then Arwen said, in a somewhat strangled voice, "Well. Thank you."
"Don't let her get to you, love," Jack told her soothingly. "She's lying, savvy? For one, you're not flatter than an airport runway. Matter o' fact, you're not flat at all. Oh darn, that sounds wrong…"
"You stop there, Sparrow," said Aragorn warningly. "You stop right there."
"I think we're pretty much in character now," decided Arwen. "Is this the part where we start meditating?"
At seven, the audience began arriving.
The curtain was down by now, but in the tradition of pre-preformance nerves, the cast and crew were taking turns peering through the slits to see who was filling up the seats.
Holly, eye pressed to the edge of the curtain, was giving a hushed commentary. "Commander Root's just arrived – he looks bored, not a surprise – and a bunch of…second-years, I think…behind him. There's Gandalf. And McGonagall. I think every teacher is here."
"Firenze isn't," pointed out Éowyn.
"Who expects him to be? Look, the prefects get their own row. I can see Jean Grey."
"Look," said Haldir to Legolas, "it's your father!"
Legolas blanched. "What's he doing here? I didn't even mention the play. I'm not even in the cast!"
"I suppose Adar told him," mused Arwen. "Elizabeth, there are our seniors."
Elizabeth found a slit and peered through it. "Christian, Satine, and the marquis. Oh god, the pressure!"
"Is that Velma in the sixth row?" Arwen wondered aloud. "Because she's making out with the d'Artagnan fellow from Fencing. Oh, we'd better not tell Jack."
"I actually don't think it'll affect him very much," said Elizabeth heartlessly.
"Rusty's eating a taco," moaned Pippin. "I want a taco."
"We just had dinner," Elizabeth told him sternly.
"It was sandwiches! I want a taco. Two, maybe."
"Eat lightly before performances," muttered Arwen absent-mindedly, and wandered away.
When they got tired of watching new arrivals, they retired to the dressing rooms again. The cast was silent. The strain of the upcoming performance was very telling. Briseis kept muttering her lines fretfully under her breath, over and over again. Jack was flipping his hat, until it flew out of range and caught on the edge of a mirror, causing Andromache to snap at him; even she looked shocked at the vehemence in her own voice. Even the hobbits were quiet.
"The play will begin in ten minutes," they heard Galadriel's voice echo in the auditorium outside, amidst the buzz of the audience.
Arwen got up. "Let's pray," she said.
Her fellow cast members stared at her in confusion. "Pray what?" said Jack, nonplussed.
Arwen shrugged. "Just pray. Come on, stand in a circle and hold hands."
The cast was still puzzled, but obeyed.
Arwen began. "Dear Valar."
"Dear Apollo," added Briseis.
"Dear God," finished Elizabeth. Arwen took up the thread again.
"Please let this performance go well. Please bless it. Please bless me, that I may not drop the harmony, and that I may hit all the notes in my aria."
"Please let me come onstage on the right cue," continued Aragorn.
"Please help me to remember all my lines," pleaded Briseis.
"Please don't let me swear," said Andromache fervently.
The prayers went round the circle, as each actor prayed for something that, whether trivial or not, became hallowed in the energy of prayer emanating from all of them. The prayers went round, finishing at Jack.
"Dear God," said Jack with all sincerity, "sometimes I don't believe in you, sometimes I forget, but to be honest, I seriously need you now. Maybe I'm no good son of yours, but some of these people here do believe in you, so if not for my sake, then for theirs, bless this play and its actors and its crew, because this play is powered by class spirit, and I swear myself to it, so help me God."
"And I," said Arwen.
"And I," echoed the others.
Then finally, finally they released each others' hands, and opened their eyes.
"Don't cry, Briseis," said Andromache, trying to be stern but merely achieving tearful. "You'll smudge the eyeliner."
"I feel sad," sniffed Briseis. "This is so sad."
"No, it's not, love," Jack told her encouragingly. "The first scene's a comic one, savvy? C'mon, mates, group hug."
They did so, and then accomplished several individual ones.
"The play will begin in two minutes," came Galadriel's voice.
"Right," said Aragorn, "let's do this. I think there's a relevant phrase with 'rock' in it somewhere, but never mind."
They left the dressing room. The crew was waiting for them. There were many whispered words of good luck, handshakes, hugs – and then they were taking their positions on the stage.
"The play will begin in thirty seconds," said the voice – this time a different voice, Celeborn's. Galadriel had arrived backstage; she was standing in the wings. She was smiling, the most beautiful smile they had ever yet seen upon her face.
"The play will begin now," said the voice. "Please turn off all mobile handphones and beeping devices. We hope you enjoy tonight's performance. And now, the first-year batch of A&A&A Boarding School presents...The Phantom of the Opera."
The applause started up.
The lights came on.
And the curtain went up.
End of ChapterNext chapter coming…The Phantom of the Opera