Chapter One
The interference was becoming a problem. Crackling had taken over the company's earpieces, reducing commands and reports to spoken conundrums. Some of this information was unimportant, but much of it was crucial to their performance. Performing correctly became hard with directions lost in the static.
With no one able to determine its origin, the interference could not be stopped. It would fade every so often, lending clarity to the director as he asked, "Is everything running smoothly in the wings?" Before he received a reply, however, another wave would ripple through the headsets; he would be lucky to get an answer then.
Still, the situation was being contained. The company was not in danger of failing, at least, not yet. A bleeder had been successfully helped, thanks to someone's quick deciphering. Another assistant spoke around the bursts, timing his words so perfectly that each one could be heard. His report, that he'd successfully adjusted a safety curtain, inspired many others to speak as slowly as they could.
Dagny, however, just turned the earpiece down. The majority of its messages, garbled or otherwise, were directed to the backstage crew. As an usher, she had little use for these words; she had even less tonight with the static giving her a headache.
It wasn't the only thing, to be honest.
As shows went, tonight's wasn't bad. They were about sixty people short of capacity, but the Lapis was a big theater and this was one of its busier nights. Though Noah would get a pat on the back for publicity, everyone knew the play sold itself. That tended to happen, when Pulitzer authors gave their work to back-alley troupes. The critics had been talking for months; to be picked over the big names, this director had to be some kind of visionary.
Dagny didn't disagree with that: Marcus was a mad genius, a risk taker, and one of her closest friends. Gardians of the Realm was his masterpiece, an even mixture of well-paced humor, snappy dialogue, and gripping character dynamics. For a play about viking mythology, it even managed to stay relevant.
But that helmet, and that accent, and that Loki. They were painful to watch.
The helmet was the easiest to forgive: at least Marcus knew it was atrocious. Costuming had been a nightmare this season and, after four resignations by five designers, there was little time to be picky. Dagny understood this and was grateful, at least, for what had come out right. Still, as Odin mapped out battle plans onstage, she couldn't keep her eyes off his forehead. How could the scene be dramatic with that thing on display? Whoever had given it goat horns deserved to be strangled.
Thor's accent was even worse; she would've gladly strangled him, if she thought it would help. She'd spent months researching vocal patterns, sounding out words in dilapidated textbooks and repeating them until her lips were sore. After dozens of interviews and hours of tape recordings, she'd presented her concept to the cast. Everyone else caught on, but Thor -main character, Thor - just couldn't get the hang of it. After weeks of trying, she'd suggested a shift to Middle English; he'd been better at that, but only slightly. Kyle was a great actor and a great guy, but Ben Stein would've made a better Thor.
Then there was Loki: intriguing, charismatic, and constantly traipsing between good and evil. His character was paramount to Browning's book and bringing him to life became an obsession for Marcus. During the drafting process, his research queries were frequent and exhausting; by the time they'd finished, Dagny was just as excited to see the character onstage. Her enthusiasm lasted until try-outs, when Marcus gave the part to Jacob Rommel.
Dagny had done shows with Jacob before and she knew his game. He made the rotation, bouncing between theaters, and landed himself in the Lapis every three or four shows. Marcus adored him - something about his "positive energy" - but he put her on edge. There was charming and mischievous, then there were duplicitous assholes who never stopped licking their lips.
"He's not the right choice." She'd said it to Marcus repeatedly during callbacks. "He's not the guy."
"I think with the right direction, he could be great. He's got that 'bad boy' vibe."
"Collin Farrell has a 'bad boy' vibe. What he has is -"
Marcus would give her a look then, like he'd had enough; by her twelfth attempt at dissuasion, halfway through the third week of practice, he probably had.
"Marcus, look," she'd say, almost pleading. "Don't pick him. He's too skinny."
"He can gain weight."
"He's got a spray tan!"
"It'll fade."
Finally, she'd push her bangs out of her eyes and look right at Marcus, deploring him with every bit of anguish she could muster. "Please, sir," she'd say, widening her eyes. "He's not our Loki."
He would smile and, for just a moment, she would think she'd won. Then he'd say, "I keep you here as dramaturge so you can uncover my characters. If you don't think Jacob's Loki, fine. Uncover the Loki in him."
So she had. Bit by bit, she turned her attention on Jacob, uncovering as much of the character as she could. He was naturally petulant, she gave him that, and the smiles he gave her were pure evil. To further this, she advised him on entering, suggesting that he "glide" rather than "prance"; she gave him feedback on his laughter too, clarifying the difference between "devilish" and "devious." She spent so much time with him that Marcus asked if she'd developed a crush. The idea made her want to gag, especially since Jacob refused her direction.
During Tech Week, Marcus praised her success; that, at least, was something. Clearly, he saw greatness in Jacob and, if a petty grudge made her blind to it, that was alright, as long as the audience saw it too. By the end of the first act, they definitely seemed to.
Intermission came with a flood of voices, each clamoring for attention in Dagny's earpiece. A goblet was missing, some netting had been torn, and Njord was having trouble with his microphone. The most insistent voice, however, was the static's; it came louder and more frequently now, keeping up with the rush of reports. At least, with the actors offstage, Dagny had no problems of her own. She pulled out her earpiece and slid it into her pocket; it buzzed angrily against her thigh as she exited the room.
The vivacious speaker was a whisper, compared with the lobby's volume. Audience members formed clusters, discussing the show and laughing loudly about their own unrelated affairs. As she directed a reporter to the restroom, Dagny heard someone call Jacob a "beefcake"; maneuvering past her, she wasn't sure whether to giggle or cry.
"How do you think it's going?"
The voice belonged to Claire, another of the Lapis' ushers. She was the same age as Dagny, but almost a head shorter, giving her a certain aptitude for surprise appearances. Peals of her delighted laughter rang out after each one: even after two years, she still made Dagny jump.
The girls smiled at each other.
"I think Marcus will be ecstatic. Have you heard all the compliments he's getting?"
"Only about a thousand," Claire giggled. "It's too bad about the Brownings, though."
"The Brownings?"
James Browning, author of The Gardians of the Realm, had been set to attend for nearly three months. He'd refused to accept free tickets, purchasing them himself, the day they became available. His three front-row seats had been causing anxiety for weeks; everyone, Marcus especially, wanted to hear his reaction. Had he already said something? Had it been bad?
Claire gestured to her earpiece. "Didn't you hear? Marley just reported it. I guess they never showed up."
"Oh." Dagny touched the bulge in her pocket, breathing a sigh of relief. "No. I took my earpiece out."
"I don't blame you," her friend replied. "The static's a nightmare."
"So is Browning not showing up. Everyone wanted to know what he thought."
Claire shrugged. "I guess he'll read about it in the papers. His loss."
"His loss," Dagny echoed. Part of her - a very small part that wasn't concerned with Marcus' feelings - was glad that Browning hadn't come. At least, he wouldn't see that helmet.
But she still had to. The clusters were beginning to migrate, squeezing their way towards the doors for Act Two.
"Time to go," Claire observed, patting Dagny on the shoulder before she disappeared. Moments later, her dark braids popped up by Door A.
Feeling rather like a shepherd, Dagny pushed herself into the crowd. She wove her way through the throng, avoiding those who were moving and informing those who weren't that the show was about to resume. A young couple needed help finding their seats and, by the time she'd shut Door C, the house lights were fading. The act's opening line came from Loki.
During the previous scene, the god had tricked Odin into giving him refuge. The curtains rose on the All Father's throne; Loki sprawled across it, eating grapes from the hand of a minor goddess. His expression was pure arrogance, the inflated confidence of someone with exactly what he wanted.
It was the one scene Jacob did right.
"It is hard work, this godliness," he proclaimed, inspiring raucous laughter from the audience. Seconds later, Odin and his goat helm would enter; Dagny looked away before they did.
Instead, she scanned the crowd, playing a game she'd grown good at in the past two years. "Spot the Critic" was a long-standing competition between her and Claire: they compared observations after every show. While some were easy to locate, jotting things down on their notepads and smart phones, others were more difficult. Was the man with the mustache leaning forward to hear better, or was he trying to remember a specific quote? Was the woman with the scarf contemplating character motive, or was she searching for an appropriate adjective? Since there was no way to check, each girl claimed herself as the champion. Dagny had a feeling, though, that she was in the lead.
Her eyes skimmed the crowd, resting on a man in a tailcoat, then a woman with diamond earrings. Though she wasn't watching the show anymore, she could have repeated any line, word for word, without looking up. She'd heard them all that often.
"Who wrote this rubbish?"
Well, that was new.
