Finally, it was time. Sofia could barely hear the ending of Belle's song, which sounded lovely, at least through the door. Then a voice sounded - "Do we look like Enchancian Idol, dear? That's lovely, but now is neither the time nor the place." Oh, poor girl.

A moment, then, "Next, please!" called a different voice, still from the other side of the door. "Dialogue first, so both of you, come on out."

Sofia and Greylock grinned at each other and gripped the other's hands, then let them go and went through the door.

On stage, they introduced themselves to the judges - and some students who had either stayed behind after their own auditions, or had come specifically to watch.

Tizzy sat near the judges, but off to one side. She waved at them excitedly. Her great-aunt, Headmistress Willendorf, was less amused. Then there were a few professors, including the Literature professor, who directed the play each autumn.

There was a moment of pregnant silence as the two geared themselves up, then Sofia said loudly, enunciating as well as she could, "We shall be doing a scene from the classic play, Pygmalion." She turned to Greylock, and without further ado, began.

Sofia put on a look of abject terror. "I ain't done nothing wrong by speaking to the gentleman." Her accent was very different than how she usually spoke, incredibly common, but it didn't sound forced. "I've a right to sell flowers if I keep off the curb." Her voice rose in pitch, and became somewhat hysterical. "I'm a respectable girl: so help me, I never spoke to him except to ask him to buy a flower off me." She turned to an invisible third entity and pleaded, "Oh, sir, don't let him charge me. You dunno what it means to me. They'll take away my character and drive me on the streets for speaking to gentlemen. They—"

Greylock cut her off expertly. "There, there, there, there! Who's hurting you, you silly girl? What do you take me for?" His tone was a bit harsher than usual, with perhaps less of his general laid-back flavor, though that was hard to quantify or even qualify, as opposed to Sofia's distinct accent and dialect.

He then held up a hand, fingers bent at a right angle to his palm, the thumb coming up underneath - looking rather like a beak, pointing at Sofia. Out of the side of his mouth, Greylock said, in a lower tone of voice and more prim than the voice she'd just been using, "It's all right: he's a gentleman: look at his boots." Greylock turned the hand to face himself. "She thought you was a copper's nark, sir."

Sofia, still hysterical, said, "I take my Bible oath I never said a word—"

"Oh, shut up, shut up," Greylock said, rolling his eyes and with a rather mean tone, but half-smiling. "Do I look like a policeman?

They went on like this for a little while, doing hand-mouths and slightly different voices where necessary, which was perhaps a bit more often than was really advisable when the intention was to do a dialogue - Sofia hoped it came off as extra enthusiasm for the theatre, rather than as an overbearing show of pride or being superior, or… any number of things.

Not to mention, the choice of roles. Sofia had put work into doing a good Eliza, both this year and when she'd been doing what little community theatre there was available in Dunwiddee. She wondered, however, if anyone - no, how many people, really - thought that she was only good at Eliza because of her origins.

Well, at least she'd get to show them otherwise.

Not right away, though. While she was a bundle of nerves and wanted through with the whole ordeal, honestly, she also appreciated the chance to let her voice rest while Greylock did his monologue bit. He didn't have to put on an accent, so they'd agreed ahead of time this would be the way to do it… Still, Sofia hadn't anticipated this much anxiety.

"Ladies, gentlemen, and other folk," Greylock said from center stage once Sofia had made it to the wings, "I shall present a bit from the farcical tragedy, Cyrano de Bergerac."

Greylock waited a beat, then launched right into his monologue. "What the hell was he going to do? What the hell was he going to do, in that galley?" A sigh. "Philosopher," he ticked out his index finger, "metaphysician," and his middle, making two, "rhymer, brawler, and musician," and counted each in turn on his hand. "Famed for his lunar expedition, and the unnumbered duels he fought,- and lover also,-by interposition!- here lies Hercule Savinien de Cyrano de Bergerac, who was everything, yet - was naught."

With a sad smile and a shake of his head, he continued, "I cry you pardon, but I may not stay; see, the moon-ray that comes to call me hence!" Here, he stumbles over to the side of the stage, and leans his back against the edge, and slides down to sitting. His hand goes out, as if to touch something above his now-seated head. "Your veil…" he clarifies. "I would not bid you mourn less faithfully that good, brave Christian." He nods slowly, gravely. "I would only ask - that when my body shall be cold in clay you wear those sable mourning weeds for two, and mourn awhile for me, in mourning him."

Greylock shivered violently, looked around, and seemed to notice the wall behind him. "Not there! What, sitting? No!" He swats the air around him, "Let no one hold me up! Only-" He sags, and puts his hand against the wall again, "the tree."

He breathes heavily for a moment. "It comes," he said, low, barely a stage whisper, "even now, my feet have turned to stone, my hands - are gloved with lead." He looks at the wall, and pushes himself off. "But since Death comes," he says, louder, "I meet him still afoot, and sword in hand!" Greylock had no such sword, but drew his wand in a close approximation.

"Why, I well believe, he dares to mock my nose? Ha! Insolent!" Greylock raised his wand. "What say you? It is useless? Aye, I know. But who fights, ever hoping for success? You there, who are you! - You are thousands!" Greylock smiles suddenly, 'sword'-wand still out. "Ah! I know you now, old enemies of mine! Falsehood!" He strikes in air with his sword. "Have at you! Ha! and Compromise! Prejudice, Treachery!" For each word, he thrusts. "Surrender, I? Parley? No, never! You too, Folly,-you? I know that you will lay me low at last; Let be! Yet I fall fighting, fighting still!" Greylock swipes his wand through the air a few more times, slowly making his way near the edge of the stage again; then stops, breathing heavily, his chest visibly rising and falling with each labored breath, and lowers his wand-sword. "You strip from me the laurel and the rose! Take all! Despite you, there is yet one thing I hold against you all." He narrowed his eyes, and raises his shaking wand-hand. "And when, tonight, I enter His fair courts, and, lowly bowed, sweep with doffed cask the heavens' threshold blue… One thing is left, that, void of stain or smutch, I bear away despite you."

Greylock thrusts again, suddenly, but seizes and drops the wand, letting it to clatter on the wooden stage, and falls back to lean against the wall. "Roxane…" He raises a hand, as if to cup the invisible Roxane's cheek. "'Tis my panache." With that, he crumpled to the floor.

The audience - students, anyway, the judges remained impartial - actually clapped. They certainly hadn't done that for the dialogue, though Sofia couldn't be sure if they'd done any such thing for the students ahead of Greylock and herself in line. So technically, it was possible that Sofia had just been that bad in the dialogue, that she was the exception and not Greylock - but no, there wasn't any use in thinking that way. She would, she had done her best. That's all she could do. If they didn't like her, that was… all right. It was okay. It-

Sofia's train of thought was interrupted by Greylock, who, after doing his bows, went to the wing where she was and gently nudged her out. Well, here goes nothing…

"Hi, I'm, I'm Sofia Balthazar. And I'll be reciting a speech from Romeo and Juliet."

She cleared her throat, and waited a moment. The judges' and the students' eyes were all on her.

"Rebellious subjects, enemies to peace!" Sofia's voice was surprisingly powerful, though still higher than one might expect of the Prince. "Profaners of this neighbour-stained steel, will they not hear? What, ho!" Sofia's nose wrinkled in disgust. "You men, you beasts, that quench the fire of your pernicious rage with purple fountains issuing from your veins." Sofia glared at the judges. "On pain of torture, from those bloody hands, throw your mistempered weapons to the ground, and hear the sentence of your moved prince."

Sofia released the judges from her glare, and sniffed a mirthless laugh. "Three civil brawls, bred of an…" Sofia shrugged, frowning, "airy word, by thee, old Capulet, and Montague, have thrice disturbed the quiet of our streets, and made Verona's ancient citizens cast by their grave beseeming ornaments, to wield old partisans, in hands as old, cankered with peace, to part your cankered hate." Sofia took a deep breath, perhaps too deep, perhaps breaking character; but she had no more air to speak.

When she spoke again, her voice was low, even, entirely controlled, and again turned her gaze to the judges. "If ever you disturb our streets again, your lives shall pay the forfeit of the peace." Sofia looked up, casting a sweeping, disapproving glance over the audience. "For this time, all the rest depart away: you Capulet;" she pointed at nothing on stage, "shall go along with me: and, Montague," and she pointed to a different nothing, "come you this afternoon, to know our further pleasure in this case, to old free town, our common judgment place." She nodded to each nothing, then returned her gaze to the audience.

Loudly, she said, "Once more, on pain of death, all men depart!"

Sofia quickly bowed and ran off stage, straight into Greylock, knocking the air out of him by the suddenness of her hug. She couldn't even tell whether or not there was applause this time, the ringing in her ears was too loud.

Once he recovered his breath Greylock said softly, "Shh, shh. You did great, Sofia," the words reverberating through her head due to contact.

"Thanks," she said into his neck, hoping it wasn't too muffled. She wasn't tearing up, it wasn't that bad, but it was taking an effort not to. At least the students' judgemental eyes couldn't see this.

For once, the one flinging open Cedric's dorm room was not, in fact, Greylock. Cedric was puzzled for a moment how Sofia had even got there, but then well, she was still followed by him. Of course. They had their own life. He didn't need to intru-

Rather suddenly, Sofia was very much in his personal space, bending slightly while standing to be level with his seated face. Her face was inches from his, her somewhat shiny blue eyes too large and too… just too much. "I'm sorry, Cedric. I really am sorry." She reached to grab his hands, but thought better of it, blinked, and seemed to realize her general mistake, too, and backed off.

Cedric swallowed, glancing about in the late afternoon light as if he'd find something to say. On his perch, Wormwood shrugged at his human's gaze. Useless bird. "It's, well, it's irritating to be blown off like that, yes, but I don't see that you needed to come to my quarters about it. Just make sure to warn me, next time." He had to admit it was sweet, though. Well. To himself. Not aloud, of course, never. He was already seen as 'unmanly' enough as it was.

"But I don't want you to stay mad at me. It sucks when you are." She made an over exaggerated pout - or was that redundant? - by sticking out her bottom lip comically far, and using more movement than necessary to cross her arms over her chest, which Cedric pointedly did not look at... though he wasn't sure whether it was the shape or the amulet hidden in the layers of cloth there. Oh, Nephys' Nectarines. ...was probably an accurate comparison…

Not staring. Not. "That isn't going to work on me, princess."

The giggle broke her pouting look. "No fair, calling you 'raven' doesn't work so well. Maybe 'old crow'?" She started to laugh, but saw his face remained unchanged. "Sorry, thought that might lighten the mood. And I know just that won't work, I just wanted to show you how sad I am. I truly don't like it when you're upset... So." Oh dear. Her pouting he could handle, if...only barely... but she looked altogether too conniving for his comfort right now. He closed his eyes and steeled himself-

...That smelled smelled like sugary deliciousness. Cautiously, Cedric opened one eye to see Sofia holding a scone under his nose. He regarded it, and her, for a moment.

"Sorry it's kind of dry and smushed. Well, they're all dry, that's what you get with free snacks I guess." Sofia's smile was faltering, and her hand was starting to recede. "And the squish, well-"

Before she could go too far, Cedric grinned and leaned forward, taking the pastry with his teeth, causing Sofia to jump slightly.

As it turned out, though, this was not the best considered move Cedric had ever taken. He leaned back and the scone slipped out of Sofia's hand, broke off where he held it with his teeth, and landed about a million crumbs in his lap and several large pieces, though a few also fell to the floor. Sofia didn't seem distracted, but she also didn't say anything. Just rather stared at him, biting her lip. Hmph.

"Aww, why don't you ever take my gifts like that, Candystick." Greylock chuckled from the other side of the room.

Both Sofia and Cedric jumped at that. Cedric answered first, even through swallowing the small bite he had in his teeth, cheeks pale as ever but probably still clearly embarrassed. Ugh. "Well, it was just. It was right there. I-" He couldn't think how to continue, so just stopped.

Sofia's face did have more color than usual, so at least he wasn't alone. She had opened her mouth, jaw hanging a bit slack and soft-looking lips round in a slightly squashed 'o', but decided not to answer after all, for whatever reason.

It appeared Clover was out and about. He picked up one of the fallen pieces of scone, oddly reverently, and started eating on it. Not as Cedric had seen Clover eat a few times before, with gusto and general enjoyment, but seemed to be savoring the sensations, going slowly and, just. Oddly. Less as if he were eating it and more as if he were-

Sofia's leg unceremoniously shoved Clover to the side, and her already pink face managed to get even pinker as she laughed nervously.

Greylock smiled and raised an eyebrow, but went back to the book he'd apparently started reading.

"Yes. Well. Thank you, Sofia. What flavor is that?" Cedric had picked up a large piece of the sweet from his lap, in his hand this time, and was trying to knock the crumbs off his robe onto the floor with the other hand.

"I think that one's apple cinnamon, though we spirited a few away with us. A few different flavors should be here." Sofia revealed a canvas sack with an unreasonable amount of pastries within. Behind it, Cedric could see that Clover seemed to have stopped the odd thing with the pastry, finally.

Cedric raised an eyebrow at first Sofia, then angled it over to Greylock on the far side of the room. Greylock said, "What? People were mostly gone, auditions had been over for a while and all. They were going to be thrown away, can't have something like that go to waste. Especially not with a sweet tooth like yours."

Cedric bit his lip and looked in the sack again. "So… what, ah, is the percentage claim here? Do - do I have a share, or is this to be saved for more forgiveness bribery?" He was smiling as he said it, so he hoped they would know it had in fact worked, but still. Good to acknowledge, yes, yes we're all hedonists here. And despots, and whatever else.

Sofia pulled the drawstring of the bag and put it on the bed next to Cedric. "All yours! With minor carrying charges every now and then from Greylock and me, of course." She winked. Oh dear. Was it worth it to accept the pastries?

...Of course it was, who was he kidding. "Well. I, uh." This was awkward. He wasn't used to saying… "Th-thank you. For thinking of me. I do appreciate it."

Sofia started rocking on her heels. "Oh good. I was afraid I'd hurt you bad enough that you'd be moody for a while. So, um, while you're in good spirits, I thought I'd ask…" Oh Ma'at's Melons, this was going to be just fantastic.

After taking a moment to catch her breath, Sofia smiled again and said, "Would you like to get dinner with me at the café?"

Cedric squinted, and his heart started to go a little faster despite his internal insistence that it stop, right now, this instant. ...Okay maybe not stop, but at least act normal. Wormwood shifted on his perch and made a small noise of discontent.

Sofia held her grin, but blinked. Her eyebrows were dropping a bit, that probably wasn't good.

"Sofia, that sounds suspiciously like a date." Greylock huffed a laugh from the other side of the room.

"Nooo," Sofia said, faux-innocently. "It can't be a 'date'. To make it a date, we'd have to put it on the calendar, to be planning for it. To set the date. Let's go right now, I'm hungry and you've got sweets but they aren't getting any staler."

Cedric crossed his arms and chewed his lips as he thought. He looked over to Greylock for some kind of answer, but the other boy seemed to be not paying attention. Not that Greylock actually wasn't paying attention, Cedric felt he knew Greylock too well to think that, but he was doing a good job of pretending like it. Enough that Cedric… did have serious doubts.

He looked back into Sofia's open, honest, caring face. One of the few who'd cared for him unequivocally, with Greylock as perhaps the only other. Finally, Cedric smiled a bit, put his fingers in hers, and said, "Help me up?"

Sofia's smile renewed, and she grasped his fingers and pulled up and back. He was pulled up off the bed, got his feet, ...continued moving forward, ploughed into her, and they both crashed onto the floor.

As Cedric was realizing what sort of position they were in - he was on top of Sofia on the floor oh dear Merlin no, what would she think, what would others think if they saw… As he was thinking that, trying to scramble off her, trying not to put a hand anywhere it shouldn't while scrambling, Greylock snickered from behind his book.

"You two just slay me."