A/N: A note, that Ryoma is currently unaware he is trying out for the part of Julio in a modern version of Romeo and Juliet. Review please?
Disclaimer: Don't own Romeo and Juliet. As well, a few lines of dialogue that appear here belong to Shakespeare himself, I suppose.
--
The thought of sincerely asking himself whether he wanted to be an actor never crossed Ryoma's mind. The thought was something more like: quick, something, anything.
His left hand instinctively reached for the microphone, but doing so resulted in a loud scratchy sound. Everyone in the theater winced. Ayano held the clipboard to her ear and forced a polite smile. "Echizen-kun?" she repeated, "Are you ready?"
Of course he was. He coughed to show just how he was prepared, that he was only taking his time. He took a breath.
And another one.
Ideas came and went. The most reasonable thing to do, he finally decided, was to talk about tennis but to replace the word 'tennis' with 'acting'.
So it goes. And he ended up sounding a little like this:
"I have always wanted to become a great actor. It is, er, part of my family's. . .tradition, so to speak, so I have always been exposed to it. My father"--it hurt him to bring up that pervert's name, but he couldn't think of anything else, not when he was on the spot--"always had the potential but he turned down a great opportunity to lead a, er, humble life. In turn, I wanted to, er, follow in his steps. . ."
"Echizen Ryoma-kun has an actor for a father?" Ayano whispered to the director, "he never wrote that down on his application form."
"Kid probably doesn't want to be in anybody's shadow. No one would," he replied.
"Ah."
"And, uh," Ryoma continued, wondering if he was losing points for stuttering. He used his right for gesturing, a habit that he'd always had when speaking in public. "I have great determination for, uh, te--acting. Acting. Yes. And as a child, I've always dreamed of winning. . ." Quick!--what was the equivalent of Wimbledon for acting?
"Oscar!" he burst out. "To win an Oscar!" Another joyful screech from the microphone followed. Simultaneously, everyone winced. "Oops," said Ryoma. "And, er, that's it."
"Thank you, Echizen-kun, you may sit down now," the assistant quickly said. The spotlight that had been focused on Ryoma was removed. He sighed and walked off the side-steps to return to his seat: burgundy cushions had never felt so comforting.
Number forty-two sneered at him when he sat down, but he wasn't sneering so much an hour later when he saw that he had been dropped from the continuing list of contenders.
"Mada mada dane," Ryoma retorted as he pushed past the glass door for the second challenge. Fifty men continued on.
The remaining fifty were allowed to break for twenty minutes, after which, the director said, he would be testing each and every one of them in actual acting skills.
Ryoma didn't think of how he had made it--despite stuttering and not really knowing why he was here in the first place, he had somehow expected to be cleared. But the idea of having his acting skills tested did irk him slightly, if only because he didn't know how to act.
Or he could just dropout now, and let that tall funny-faced number forty-two take his place.
He grimaced. Even if he wasn't supposed to be here, he didn't want anyone taking his spot. He had earned it. Or somewhat, at least.
When the break was called off, everyone returned to the auditorium. On the stage, there were enough chairs for each of them. Each seat also had a card placed on it.
The director stood up to explain:
"There remains now only fifty men, each of whom are perfectly capable and have proven to me that you are truly sincere"--here, Ryoma hid a smirk--"but this is where true talent will take root. Please, take a seat."
Everyone did. When the attention had returned to the director, he said, "Each of you have been given a index card, and each of these cards will contain on it a small section of dialogue. It's not necessarily a monologue, but interpret it as you will. As well, everyone has something different, so there won't be any cheating. You will be given fifteen minutes. Memorize, improvise, do whatever you want. And when the time's up, you'll all be doing it one at a time--on stage, with everyone watching. Now go!"
The large space of the auditorium was efficiently used. Most contenders took to a small corner for themselves, muttering, whispering. Still others made makeshift groups and began practicing together.
Ryoma did not know anyone, so he went to the side of the room to look over his lines. As it turned out, each person had been given some lines from Romeo and Juliet. He frowned, wondering why it was that particular play. Actors, he decided, had an inexplicable fondness for Shakespeare.
Shrugging, he looked it over, where it read:
Within the infant rind of this small flower
Poison hath residence and medicine power.
For this, being smelt, with that part cheers each part;
Being tasted, stays all senses with the heart.
Two such opposed kings encamp them still,
In man as well as herbs--grace and rude will.
So it went.
Thinking it over, the first few minutes of his time were silent. Basically, he thought, it was saying that the flower held powers of both good and evil--it was at once poison and medicine. He paused. It was the same thing for men, then: there was both good and evil instilled within them.
Still, what was he supposed to do? Was he to memorize and to wave his arms around like a madmen in the hopes that it would be considered acting? Wasn't that what play actors did anyhow? An overhead PA system cheerfully announced that eleven minutes were remaining.
Well. He really was in trouble, and he didn't know how he was supposed to get out of this one. Maybe his only choice was to give up now. Maybe it'd really be best to fold his cards and go home and kick Momoshiro's ass in tennis, like he always did.
No.
Hadn't he come this far already? And did he really expect himself--the Prince of Tennis--to give up? It was laughable. It'd bring only humiliation if he backed out now, even if his talent lay in tennis and not acting.
He took another breath, sat down on the ground, and began to rehearse his lines.
Sometime in those remaining tense eleven minutes, Atobe Keigo had made his entrance and been utterly displeased by the lack of attention showered upon him. It was only that plain-looking girl who saw him and, waving at him, said, "Over here, Atobe-kun."
He pretended not to notice her, and instead sauntered his way over to the contenders. And frowned. Here he was--gracing these proletarians with the gift of his presence, and he was given nothing! They--each and everyone of them--seemed to be concentrating on some card. But how important could that be compared to his arrival?
It made not sense whatsoever to Atobe.
And it was then that he spotted a man--one in particular who lacked the same handsome attributes that had been given to Atobe-- reading his lines, eyes glowing with determination. He seemed to be in early forties, or if he wasn't, he gave the appearance of one.
Atobe was not happy.
The director was going to allow such a--to put it bluntly--ugly man to co-star with him, Atobe Keigo himself? And if he thought that he was going to get away with it, well, he was wrong. Atobe was fuming. He stood up to his full height, glaring down at the unfortunate man.
"Hey, you." An ominous shadow towered over the seated man, who now looked up.
Where he saw the famous idol, Atobe Keigo. He did what any man would have done, he jumped up and bowed. "How do you do, Atobe-san?" he blurted out with his head still directed at the ground.
Atobe gave a semi-satisfied grin. Finally, the ugly hag had taken notice. "Why are you here." It was not a question.
"W-well, why am I here?" the man stuttered. Two aisles over, Ryoma looked over interestingly. "I-I am here. . .because. . .acting. . ."
He obviously was unable to finish his sentence, his respect for the younger man becoming apparent. Ayano, watching the scene, was reminded once again how Atobe was the very definition for star power.
Turning impatiently, Atobe gave not another word. He headed over to the director, and demanded, in a voice that was not bothered to be muted, "Since he seems to be incapable of explaining, I'll ask you. Why is he here?"
"He's a contestant. That's why he's here," the director said, keeping his eyes on his newspaper. "Seven minutes everyone!"
As everyone hastened to turn to their own lines, Atobe kept to the director. "Tell me, you old man," he put his hands on his hips, "why is someone like him here? I thought we'd agreed that the part would require someone to be between the ages of twenty-one and twenty-eight. Which he"--pointing at the still bowing man--"obviously doesn't fulfill."
The director now stood up. "What do you expect me to do?" he said, not giving in to Atobe. "He's gotten this far. I can't just send him home. Someone messed up on the necessary requirements section on the advertising then. So what?"
"So what?" Atobe mocked, his eyes further narrowing. "You expect me to pursue a man twenty years older than me? Blasphemy! I refuse!"
The attention had now been centered on the growing feud, with Atobe obviously trying to influence the director, and the director trying very hard to not cave in.
"Tell you what," Atobe continued, "have all the men line up. If I don't like them, they're out. If I like them, they can continue. Besides, it's only right that I get to choose my co-star. I'm the one that has to fall in love him anyhow." He rolled his eyes; several of the men blushed and looked at the ground.
Ryoma stared. Fall in love? What he was talking about, Ryoma did not know; as well, who would want to fall in love with him in the first place?
But another matter now became of sudden importance: that is, the older men becoming more worried of their prospective of making it, and the younger ones trying to fix their hair up, wiping away sweat, anything to make them look nicer.
The verdict was made, and the director, having been defeated once again, sighed.
"Line up, everyone, on the stage," he said in a weary tone. Atobe stood by him, triumphant.
A beauty contest it had evolved into. This put some men more at favor than at others, and the ones lacking in physical beauty were immediately out. Atobe didn't bother to spare them. "You, you, and you," he pointed, and off they left.
He stood up on the stage, pausing to check a contender every now and then: looking at his hair, his skin, his way of dressing. All of this was important to Atobe.
After the first round of elimination, over half the men were gone.
Twenty-three remained, and each of them knew how important everything was from this point on.
A lanky boy near Ryoma was given the boot for having too much of a curve on his nose.
The director covered his eyes with his hand in despair.
Finally, Atobe came to Ryoma. He let his gaze linger on his face for a second too much. Then he turned and continued down the line: the next five men were soon gone.
And then there were five remaining men, or rather, boys. Each looked to be in his early twenties, which was what Atobe had been apparently looking for. Ryoma stood to the side; again, the idea of how he made it so far never crossed his mind.
"You are the last five standing," the director said in a tired manner, "as the last test, we will be talking to you one at a time, individually. Atobe wishes to talk to you each so he knows who he will be working with. We shall commence."
A nervous-looking man was the first to enter. The four others sat outside the office, back facing away from the inside. None of them bothered to instigate a conversation: nerves had prevented the ability, or, in Ryoma's case, apathy.
He was out a few minutes later, almost tear-ridden: something had happened inside. He turned away, quickly, towards the exit. From inside, the director called out, "Next!"
Now no one dared to go in. Who knew what had happened? What if they ended up like that poor boy who'd just left?
"I'll go," said one, who was trying to put on a front of bravery. It was a good attempt; inwardly, they were all applauding him.
But it wasn't so good ten minutes later when the office escalated in noise: yelling from the director, yelling from Atobe, and yelling from the boy who only wanted to get a movie part. He stormed out just as Atobe slammed the door shut. The remaining three boys outside froze.
It wasn't until a few minutes later that a pleasant-sounding, "Next!" rang out, and the three each looked at the one sitting next to him.
Ryoma looked at the two. Were they all going to be scared or something? As for himself, the seat was getting uncomfortable, so he stood up and muttered, "I'll go."
The office was exquisitely decorated, every object inside seemed to have its purpose. Meticulous, neat, and outrageously expensive. He closed the door after him and sat across from a desk, behind which Atobe and the director were seated.
"Echizen, right?" said the director.
"Yes."
"Okay then, Atobe," the director cocked his head towards the sitting boy. "Talk to him."
With a flamboyant shrug, Atobe threw him a look. He flipped through a report, presumably Ryoma's application form, and began, "So, you're trying out for a movie part, right?"
He hesitated, then said, "I guess."
"Guess?" Atobe demanded. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"Um," said Ryoma, "yeah. I meant that."
He rolled his eyes. "Have you had any prior acting experience?"
"No."
"Any acting lessons before?"
"No."
"Drama? Worked in a theater?"
"No. And no."
"You aspire. . ." Atobe skimmed through the paragraphs, "to win awards? Like the Academy Award?"
"Er." Ryoma paused: was he supposed to say yes? "Not as much as Wimbledon."
"Wimbledon?" the director said, enraged. Atobe silenced him with an outreached arm.
"Do you have any desire to do this?" he said.
"Maybe no--yes--yes." He closed his eyes, and thought. Then he opened them again. "Yes."
Atobe smirked, and asked, "Do you know who I am? Could you handle me?"
"What?" said Ryoma, confused. "And no."
"Can't handle me?"
"Oh, I was referring to the first question. I guess I could," Ryoma managed, "handle you. . .?" Whatever that meant.
Now it was the director holding back Atobe. "Don't know who I am?" he cried. "What type of brat are you?"
"Well," said Ryoma in a calm tone, "I could say that you're pretty arrogant yourself."
"You dare say that to my face?"
"Well, yes. Why not? Come to think of it, you kind of look like a king."
Atobe calmed down. "That's better."
"A Monkey King, to be exact."
"Why--you brat!"
"You're the one whose the Monkey King."
"Brat!"
"Monkey King!"
"STOP!" said the director, holding out his arms in terms of peace. When the two had stopped and placed their attention on the older man, he continued, "Well, that's settled then, right, Atobe?"
"What's settled, you old man? I want this brat out now--"
"Not so fast," he cut in, "why, you've found your perfect co-star. I dare say that there's no one else quite like him. Everyone else is absolutely petrified of you. He"--pointing to Ryoma--"is the only one who's stood up to you so far. Wonderful! Perfect!"
"Co-star?" Atobe demanded. "This isn't funny, old man. I'll have you--"
"Echizen Ryoma," he interrupted, holding out his hand for Ryoma to shake, "pleased to meet you. I'd like you to take the part for Julio. Will you accept?"
Atobe fumed behind him. Ryoma fidgeted.
"Um," he said, taking an uncertain look at Atobe, before deciding that he'd do it, if only to rub it in even further. And possibly because he actually wanted to act. "Um. Yeah. Yes."
"Good!" the director proclaimed, "and there we have it! The two stars of Romeo and Julio! Atobe Keigo, and, introducing, Echizen Ryoma! I see it now--we'll sweep the awards!"
"What's he talking about?" Ryoma, now confused, whispered to Atobe. "Isn't it supposed to be Romeo and Juliet?"
"You brat," he shot back, "you come through a talent search and you didn't even know what you were trying out for?"
"What?"
"Romeo and Julio, a modern adaptation of Shakespeare's play," Atobe said, hands on hips. He pointed at himself, "Romeo"--then pointed at Ryoma--"Julio." He grinned. "Are you going to fall for me now? Better not: complications always suck. The paparazzi's going to swarm you. Oh, you poor, little innocent boy."
And Ryoma felt his mouth gape wide open, so wide that he felt it hit the ground and stay there. And he didn't know what to think, only that they weren't really expecting him to fall in love with a Monkey King, right? Because that was just gross, what type of sick movie was this? Who would want to fall in love with him? Who would pay perfectly good money (he imagined new racquets and grip tape) to see a movie like this?
And then he realized (too late) that all the contestants had been male. That was the reason why! Never had he seen a female taking part in the auditions, there was only that girl who was the assistant or something. Oh--why hadn't he noticed earlier? Why, why?
This was all Momoshiro's fault. He'd done it as some big, big prank, and he, Ryoma, had fallen hard for it. But boy, Momoshiro was going to pay for this, he was going to pay for this dearly. He had known that this acting business would bring only trouble from day one; this was why he should have acted like a complete imbecile and gotten kicked out the moment he stepped in the studio.
Then he froze, his thoughts turning to another matter. After all, didn't they--in Romeo and Juliet, that is--well, do it, and now, they really didn't expect him to do that, not least with, with. . .
This could not be real.
Overcome with these thoughts, emotions, Ryoma fell and a darkness welcomed him.
