LONDON, 1620
A deafening "boo" of discontent was thundering from the pit of spectators down below. It was, Elsa hoped, the result of the play itself and not the performance quality of the unfortunate actors caught in the onslaught onstage. In the din, a rotten tomato hit the wall behind her, missing her head by inches. Startled, she inched toward the curtain and the safety of the darkened backstage, but was encumbered mightily by the large wooden ox costume she was at the moment suited up in. Kristoff, leading man as usual, was still heralding his lengthy monologue with bravado, despite the audience's obvious dissatisfaction.
Elsa continued to slowly back out of the scene, content to quit the show right then and there. She was a metre away from glorious withdrawal when Kristoff was hit squarely in the face with another rancid fruit, stopping the actor in his dramatic tracks. A roar of laughter rose from the crowd as they watched the mess slowly slip down his face and land with a wet plop on the stage. Cheeks burning, he turned on his heel and stormed off, straight past Elsa without a backward glance. Left alone onstage, she nervously glanced at the audience, eyes full of murderous intent. She quickly sucked in a breath and let out her last and final bray as the ox, and took her leave as well. Once safely behind the curtain, she came upon Kristoff shouting at their troupe manager, Sven. She watched the proceedings as she began to shed her burdensome costume.
"We cannot perform this rubbish for the King if the general public cannot even stand it," Kristoff said heatedly, hardly audible over the sheer volume of the scorn that could still be heard from the house. His face still had angry streaks of fruit dripping from it.
"Kristoff," Sven said, pacifying his lead. "We have nothing else rehearsed and ready. It is not horrible, this lot would not know a joke if it was cooked into their suppers."
"I agree with Kristoff," Elsa piped up, hopping on one foot to remove a wooden shoe in the shape of a hoof. "Do not make us, please." At this, she gestured with the shoe she held to the rest of the company, all of whom sat dejectedly about the backstage area.
"Calm down, all of you," snapped the manager. "How often are troupes other than the King's Men invited to a private performance for the Court?" Twelve pairs of eyes stared at him blankly, lacking any trace of enthusiasm.
"Exactly!" he said as though they'd all agreed with him. He straightened his doublet and smoothed out his beard before braving the stage to inform the uncooperative crowd that the show was at an end and to bid them goodnight. More cries of outrage followed this announcement, as the fools were but twenty minutes later, the pit was deserted and the nobleman and their wives were taking their time climbing down from their perched seats in the gallery. Sven was engaging them in small talk and big apology as they exited the theatre, never for a moment dropping his sleazy demeanor.
Elsa and the rest of the company were meandering lazily throughout the house, dousing the candles and lamps that illuminated the stage. None of the them were looking forward to the following day in which they were to present the abysmal play to the King's Court. It was, without question, not an event any of them (save Sven) were ready for.
Once the last of the gallery had gone, Sven forbade the company from going out to the pub as they usually did after a show, with the argument that they needed their rest for the day ahead. After saying goodnight to their manager, most of the thespians sneaked out to drink nonetheless. Kristoff, on the other hand, was too ashamed of their failure to face anyone and Elsa was obligated to return him to his bed.
He moaned pitifully about the show's shortcomings as they walked and Elsa allowed her mind to drift to more pleasant thoughts, nodding at intervals to fein her attention. It was from this state that Elsa was distracted by a woman walking on the opposite side of the road, in the other direction. She wore a gallery bodice and neck ruff, her red hair was braided into an elaborate hairstyle that was piled tightly atop her head. The most abnormal part of this sight was that the woman was alone, no escort took her arm. The streets were dark and pickpockets abounded, yet the woman strode purposefully down the road, head high and eyes anchored before her.
The woman didn't look over and Kristoff continued rambled, so Elsa averted her gaze and had soon forgotten about seeing the woman at all. Elsa helped her friend to his door before patting his arm comfortingly and heading home herself. She collapsed carelessly onto her bed, not even bothering to undress.
The next morning passed in a haze of distress and anxiety. Wondering blandly how she had even gotten herself into this situation, she met the rest of the troupe at the theatre to collect the costumes and properties so they could transport them to the castle. It took another actor in addition to Elsa herself to carry her ox outfit because of its weight. Sven was flitting around them all, giving orders that went unheeded. Kristoff had uncharacteristically taken a vow of silence, breaking it only to explain to Elsa that he needed full mental synchronization in order to be in character that day. Elsa left him to it.
Finally, the company was assembled and they set off, burdened by their articles of theatricality. The short excursion was laced with regret and longing to renounce the quest they hadn't even chosen to join in the first place. Their arrival at and admittance into the castle went without trouble and in no time the troupe was morosely setting up the play in the large, shining chamber in which the King held Court. Beginning to encase herself once more in her ox costume, Elsa tried not to dwell on the intimidating throne at the far end of the hall.
Presently, the ensemble was ordered to line up as the King and Court filed in, necklines high, bodices tight, breeches flared. Elsa's view was slightly obstructed by her costume, which was just as well, as she had no desire to look upon her audience in the least. With a pang of panic, she felt herself begin to perspire in her wooden prison.
After a quick introductory speech by Sven, the play was underway.
"Thou art he whom morality and vicissitudes..."
Elsa could already feel the stifling boredom thickening in the chamber at the first soliloquy. Kristoff seemed to be the only cast member who was taking the performance to heart and Elsa was proud of his fortitude despite herself. The Court, a more reserved audience than those they've had before, sat stoically through the crippling dullness of the play. To Elsa's amazement, she even drew a chuckle from them during her big braying exit.
At the conclusion of Kristoff's final monologue, they politely applauded and immediately stood to depart; the King was the first gone without a backward glance. Sighing with relief, the company packed up and left. There was now only one thing the spent troupe had yet to do; become incredibly drunk. The time it took to return the costumes and properties to the theatre didn't even compare to that which it took to bring it to the castle; not with the promise of a pitcher of ale spurring them on.
They haphazardly deposited the articles at the theatre and were arriving at their favorite pub before Sven could reprimand them for their carelessness.
Elsa, in high spirits, bought Kristoff a pint, congratulating him. Three ales later, he bought her a pint and the rowdy thespians roared with laughter at the fair-haired actor, who was entirely convinced he was doing Elsa a kindness instead of merely repaying her. In drowsy intoxicated affection, she grabbed his face and kissed his cheek in thanks, holding up her fourth ale in triumph before chugging it back as the pub exploded in cheers. Elsa grinned lazily, sitting down on Kristoff's lap as he touched his cheek in confusion.
Several hours and innumerable ales later, Elsa and Kristoff stumbled raggedly out of the pub, intent on going home but incapable of deciding which way home was. Elsa giggled uncontrollably as Kristoff pointed down the street over her head, slouching to rest his body weight upon her head.
"It must be yonder," he drawled and Elsa shoved his arm away. "Sure," she responded, but pulled him in the direction nonetheless.
They walked unsteadily for a time, hiccuping and chuckling randomly, dizzy. Eventually, Elsa perceived (even in her drunken state), once more a figure making its way down the opposite end of the street. Elsa lurched to a stop and Kristoff, who was hanging onto her arm for balance, almost fell over. She thought groggily for a moment before shoving Kristoff to the ground where he immediately leaned against a building and closed his eyes with a loopy smile. Without another thought, Elsa strode across the road, intercepting the woman as she passed. Dark red eyebrows raised in suspicion as the same woman from the night before came to a halt, Elsa blocking her path.
"Excuse me, ma'am," Elsa said slurring slightly. "I wondered why a finely dressed woman as yourself was wandering the unforgiving London streets at this hour, by her lonesome."
Elsa tried to look into the woman's face, but it persisted in shifting in and out of focus.
"You are familiar," was all the redhead said.
Elsa reached up to grab the messy braid that was slung over the actor's shoulder, using the tug on her hair to keep her upright and conscious.
"Can't imagine how," Elsa said.
"Wait." The woman cocked her head to one side, eyes suddenly glowing. "You were in the play today - the one about the loquacious herdsman and his ox - the one performed at Court."
Taken aback, but grinning all the same, Elsa felt herself redden. "I was the ox," Elsa said sheepishly. The blush on her pale cheeks deepened when she realized, "You were there?"
"I was," the woman said, amused by Elsa's countenance. "My husband holds a place at Court."
Elsa nodded, eyes dropping in sudden reverence. The redhead added, "You have a splendid bray," and laughed kindly.
"Th-thank you," the actor stammered, looking back into the woman's face. The eyes she found were kindled with mirth.
"I thought it a lovely diversion, so much so, in fact, that I entreated my husband at once to allow me to attend the next performance on the morrow."
Elsa sobered abruptly at this statement, beaming with a new-found pride of her profession.
"Yes," the woman went on, "express to your manager that Lady Anna approves of his comedy very much."
She winked slyly at Elsa and the actor felt her stomach drop inexplicably.
"In the meantime, you had best attend to your friend over there - he must have the ability to perform, you see. Remember, I will be in attendance, and I will not tolerate disappointment."
With that, Lady Anna swept past Elsa and was swallowed by the night. The actor swayed on the spot, extremely happy, until she came to her senses. Shaking her head, hoping to clear it, she went over to kick her friend awake and haul him up from the grime of the road. Some time later, they finally stumbled back to Kristoff's home and she made sure he was snoring heavily in his bed before returning to hers. It wasn't until Elsa collapsed into her own bed (again, fully clothed) did it occur to her that the Lady Anna had not disclosed why she had been out alone so late, or why she had stooped to converse with a lowly actor, of all people.
A/N: No agonizing cliffhanger this time (you're welcome). Came out slightly more comical than I intended, hope it works.