Post by hawksandfeathers on Dec 17, 2012 14:44:25 GMT 10
Title: Alas, Dramatic Fate
Rating: PG
Prompt: #9, Starry Night
Summary: Neal has a production gone wrong.
Notes: For Katty, 'cause I was in a Roger mood, and I know you love our Duke. Enjoy!
Alas, Dramatic Fate
"What are you doing?" the man snapped. He stood in the middle of the dressing room, prowling. "I can't wear that."
"Listen, Ramon," the tall man said, about to lose reign on his temper. "You wear what the seamstresses say you do." His nose stuck out obstinately and he bit his lip. "And what I say you do." He looked intently at the actor opposite, his hair flopping into his eyes.
"I don't appreciate that, Queenscove. Or should I say, director."
"I prefer Bard. Now leave me alone. We have a play to present." The man turned on his heel authoritatively and left the tent.
"Oh, really. I come all the way up from the Devious Realm just to have fun, and you, Queenscove, make me wear something I abhor," Ramon muttered. "You will regret this."
The Queenscove whose fate was so horribly at stake was currently running around the stage, panting. "No, no, no. You can't put the table over there, I expressly went over this with you yesterday. My parents are attending this."
"The weather better be good, Master Bard," a frizzy-haired man said ominously from behind him.
"Don't tempt the gods," Neal almost yelled, exasperated. "It's wonderfully starry tonight, and I want it to stay that way."
The stage was perfectly built - Neal had Stefan do it for him. In return, Neal had given him the extra chickens Yuki was so keen to get rid of.
Green eyes scanned everything in a moment. "Is everything in order?" Neal shouted. "If you see the tent drooping, secure it!"
"Alright, Master Bard," the troupe mumbled.
Behind the tent's doors, Ramon swished in the red robe, thinking This isn't too bad, after all. He turned in the mirror, hemming and hawing. "But I do love me some revenge. And I'm going to get it."
The production was well underway, and his best actor had just given the most touching soliloquy. It almost brought Neal to tears. His audience was taking it in beautifully. I knew they'd understand it, he thought proudly. I trust my viewers in the utmost solemnity.
Ramon walked on stage from left, taking command instantly. "Hello." He opened his blue, blue eyes. That moment, the audience was stricken with reality. Neal was stricken with reality - it was like lightning. His widow's peak now resembled the grass in the practice courts.
The man opened his lips. "I am Duke Roger of Conte. And I do not enjoy crimson."
Duke. Duke Roger - in his production. Dead - dead for years. Dead twice. "No," Neal breathed, clutching his temples. No…" He fainted in a gangly heap.
"There goes our playwright," Duke Roger said silkily. "I'm sorry he can't be here for the starry, starry night he so desired."
Rating: PG
Prompt: #9, Starry Night
Summary: Neal has a production gone wrong.
Notes: For Katty, 'cause I was in a Roger mood, and I know you love our Duke. Enjoy!
Alas, Dramatic Fate
"What are you doing?" the man snapped. He stood in the middle of the dressing room, prowling. "I can't wear that."
"Listen, Ramon," the tall man said, about to lose reign on his temper. "You wear what the seamstresses say you do." His nose stuck out obstinately and he bit his lip. "And what I say you do." He looked intently at the actor opposite, his hair flopping into his eyes.
"I don't appreciate that, Queenscove. Or should I say, director."
"I prefer Bard. Now leave me alone. We have a play to present." The man turned on his heel authoritatively and left the tent.
"Oh, really. I come all the way up from the Devious Realm just to have fun, and you, Queenscove, make me wear something I abhor," Ramon muttered. "You will regret this."
The Queenscove whose fate was so horribly at stake was currently running around the stage, panting. "No, no, no. You can't put the table over there, I expressly went over this with you yesterday. My parents are attending this."
"The weather better be good, Master Bard," a frizzy-haired man said ominously from behind him.
"Don't tempt the gods," Neal almost yelled, exasperated. "It's wonderfully starry tonight, and I want it to stay that way."
The stage was perfectly built - Neal had Stefan do it for him. In return, Neal had given him the extra chickens Yuki was so keen to get rid of.
Green eyes scanned everything in a moment. "Is everything in order?" Neal shouted. "If you see the tent drooping, secure it!"
"Alright, Master Bard," the troupe mumbled.
Behind the tent's doors, Ramon swished in the red robe, thinking This isn't too bad, after all. He turned in the mirror, hemming and hawing. "But I do love me some revenge. And I'm going to get it."
The production was well underway, and his best actor had just given the most touching soliloquy. It almost brought Neal to tears. His audience was taking it in beautifully. I knew they'd understand it, he thought proudly. I trust my viewers in the utmost solemnity.
Ramon walked on stage from left, taking command instantly. "Hello." He opened his blue, blue eyes. That moment, the audience was stricken with reality. Neal was stricken with reality - it was like lightning. His widow's peak now resembled the grass in the practice courts.
The man opened his lips. "I am Duke Roger of Conte. And I do not enjoy crimson."
Duke. Duke Roger - in his production. Dead - dead for years. Dead twice. "No," Neal breathed, clutching his temples. No…" He fainted in a gangly heap.
"There goes our playwright," Duke Roger said silkily. "I'm sorry he can't be here for the starry, starry night he so desired."