PM to join [Riverfall Amphitheater] Measure by Measure (Rosela)

[Marion Kay]

Riverfall Amphitheater
20 Winter 514 AV
12th Bell

Marion was late, she knew, but the only urgency in her gait stemmed from an acute desire to shield herself from the wintry air. Her boots crunched on dead grass as she wound her way down the terraced side of the amphitheater, the air growing warmer as she went. The slope of the seating area blocked much of the wind and, below, Marion could see where the actors had arranged a small, carefully contained fire. They stood around it, huddled in their winter clothes and clutching copies of the most recent script.

A momentary vision danced across Marion's mind as she drew closer, of the fire suddenly bursting upwards and setting the papers ablaze. A lightly amused breath, almost a chuckle, escaped her lips and left a light trail of fog in its wake.

The acoustics of the theater were designed to carry even the faintest words from the stage. That fact, coupled with the actors' natural projection, made it easy for Marion to tell what scene they were rehearsing. Or, at least, she knew what was happening in the scene. She hadn't studied the script enough herself to actually pinpoint the part of the play they were practicing.

Eventually, weaving between trees, Marion had made her way down to the group, who weren't at all surprised by her presence. They had been able to watch her long approach, no doubt. Rehearsal didn't pause simply because she'd arrived, though Marion wasn't entirely sure whether or not she had been expecting it to. A few eyes flashed her way with smiles of acknowledgement before returning to their scripts, while others never left the paper. And still others must've memorized their lines already, for their eyes never even strayed to peek at their lines. Marion took these as cues to the different actors' abilities as she watched.

The scene was an intricate one, centering around two main characters -- the female protagonist and the male antagonist -- while others constantly flitted in and out. It was fast-paced, words flying through the air at a dizzying rate, and Marion found she was having a difficult time keeping up with it. Theater was not something that came naturally to her; the vast majority of her acting experience was acquired through deception, not drama.

At her first meet with the group, Marion had been assigned the role of understudy for the female antagonist. And, while she hadn't exactly been taking her position seriously enough to have actually read through her potential lines and scenes, she did quickly notice that the character she was understudying wasn't present in this scene. A moment later, and she realized that the woman who played the same role -- a Jenna something --wasn't present among the faces in the circle. Sick perhaps? It didn't matter, really, but a strange and unwelcome sense of... hope? found its way into her mind. If the regular actress of the part was absent, then Marion would get to rehearse the part. And Marion was more excited about that fact than she would have ever liked to admit.

She had wormed her way into the circle as the scene progressed, slipping between two Akalak (after so many days spent in the city, she did eventually come to learn the term for the strange race of colorful men), one of which was busy throwing lines back and forth with a girl across the circle. The other didn't seem to have many appearances in this particular scene, and turned to mouth a silent but friendly "hi", which Marion returned. She was the new girl, but one might not know it by looking at her. If Marion felt at all out of place, she didn't show it. Her feet were positioned shoulder-width apart, shoulders back, chin tilted upwards as her attention floated from one individual to another in accordance with the dialogue. Her body betrayed a sense of relaxed confidence that was typically only had in the company of long-time acquaintances. It might have been natural, if she hadn't just met these people a few short days ago.

The scene came to an abrupt end, the constant character-chatter falling silent all too suddenly. There was a small expectant pause from all involved before a kindly-looking elderly lady (Marion couldn't remember her name, but remembered the woman very distinctly from her audition those couple of a days ago) spoke up, her voice surprisingly sure and strong despite her rather frail disposition. "Well, I think that was a good run." A warm smile settled onto her face as if it had been there forever.

Nods and various sounds of agreement spread through the small group. Then, before anyone could add their own assessment, she turned to peer at Marion from across the fire. "You're late."

There was no accusation in her voice, only a statement of fact and perhaps a bit of a question. Suddenly all attention was on Marion and she had to consciously bite her tongue to keep from quipping back a wry 'I sure am.' This acting group was to be her sole source of income for the foreseeable future. Her livelihood would depend on these people and, while such a work environment was new to her, she reasoned that it was probably best to save her flippant remarks if she was going to stay in this group's good graces.

"Sorry," Marion offered simply, with a shrug and a falsely coy smile. She withdrew a hand from her coat pocket to rest it on her hip and, as the bitter air pricked at the bare skin, she was instantly reminded of the peculiar circumstances those few nights ago that had led to the deliberate loss of her glove. She had seen no sign of the man Hirem since then, and was beginning to regret leaving the piece of clothing behind for him to find. Cold hands were an unbelievable nuisance.

Either way, her evasive apology didn't seem to mollify the crowd's silent curiosity, so she added, offhandedly, "I got lost on my way." This seemed to satisfy them, though they did seem a bit disappointed that she didn't have a more interesting excuse.

"Oh, I could walk you next time if you'd like," offered the akalak to her right, who played the male antagonist in their current production. As he spoke, the purple man on his left raised an eyebrow with an expression that defied Marion's attempts to read it. I suppose actors would have a way of keeping their thoughts from parading around outwardly, Marion mused, momentarily distracting herself. They wouldn't be very good at their job otherwise, would they? Marion wasn't certain how she felt about the other fellow's offer. On one hand, she really could use the extra help navigating the city, not only to keep from getting lost but also to point out places she otherwise would have either forgotten or never noticed. On the other, the idea of finding herself dependent on someone for something as simple as navigation left a bad taste in her mouth.

But why should she have to make a decision now? No one could force her to give them an answer. And, if she gave an unexpected response, it may help her fit in. Fit in? Marion smiled wryly to herself at the idea -- it'd been a while since she had actively tried to fit in anywhere. Once Ssena had taken her into her fold, Marion had had little use for fitting in. now the thought caught her off guard and might have threatened to conjure unpleasant memories if she weren't struck by the irony of it.

"Maybe save the flirting for after the rehearsal?" Marion teased wryly, not actually caring if he was flirting or if he was simply being nice. A short blonde-haired woman snorted in amusement. "Yeah, listen to the new girl, Dirian," she huffed good-naturedly.

Dirian threw up his hands in a gesture of surrender, claiming something about not being able to help himself, and his foolish grin sent a few giggles through the circle.

"Whatever, let's get back to work," suggested the same woman who, upon closer inspection, sported the same strange aquatic features that Marion had noticed on some other women in the city.

The elderly woman nodded her agreement. "Let's move on to --" she paused, leafing through pages of the script " -- scene three... act four."

"Jenna's not here," pointed out the purple akalak to Marion's left.

Marion raised her eyebrows expectantly. "I'm here."

"True," said the elderly woman simply, and Marion couldn't tell which of them she was addressing, until she turned to give Marion a tight-lipped smile that seemed almost consolatory. "But you can't read today."

The woman probably would have expanded on that sentence if Marion hadn't interrupted: "Then why am I even... ?" She pursed her lips in incredulity. Marion might not have known much about theater, but she was pretty sure it was her job to study how the character was played by the main cast member. If she wasn't here, Marion was supposed to step in. If neither of those things were going to happen, what was she doing here?

"Relax, honey," breezed the older woman, a laugh in her eyes that Marion found irritating. "You need to be able to leave in any moment -- we've got to get you fitted today, and Rosela should be here soon."

[Rosela]

It was cold.

The observation seemed to consume Rosela's mind as she trudged down the cold street. She didn't get paid nearly enough for this. A delicate flower such as herself should be sheltered inside, not traipsing about in the snow. Duty called, however, and the Amphitheater was in need of some fittings. According to the rumor mill, they'd gotten some new talent lately and therein lay the need for her. There was more to the story, something about understudies and who was going on when, but the gabbing woman had been full of theatre-folk jargon and Rosela'd had no inclination to try and decipher it.

The Amphitheater loomed ahead, looking so much like a great stone fortress rising up from the blanket of white snow. A small gust of wind picked up, and five hands clutched her cloak desperately from the inside, the small box of her fitting accoutrements tucked against her in her sixth. In low, miserable Arumenic, she cursed the wind, the snow, the cold, and even the Amphitheater as she made her final descent towards the group huddled around a fire at the center. The wind was blocked on the inside, and she begrudgingly removed it from her list of curses.

As she drew closer, she recognized the older woman who she'd dealt with in the past and approached her immediately, ignoring the rest of the group. "I'm Rosela? Fitting? I quite hope you've got some place indoors for this; I'm in a delicate state and shouldn't be out too long." By way of explanation, she flashed open her cloak, revealing a warm wool dress hugging a very pregnant belly. It was only open long enough to get the point across before she hurriedly bundled back up again.

"Who is it getting the fitting then?" She cast her eyes over the group, recognizing several faces, but not all. For a brief time, the Amphitheater had gotten its own seamstress for costuming and Rosela always assumed unfamiliar faces had joined during that time. As petty and unreasonable as it was, a small ember of resentment still glowed in the back of her mind for her temporary replacement.

[Marion Kay]

Almost as if Grams's words had summoned her (and Marion would not have been surprised if they had -- the older woman carried with her an air of absolute knowingness that suggested preternatural abilities), a woman caught the corner of Marion's vision, bundled in a cloak that looked as if it were far warmer and far more expensive than the limp cotton coat she herself wore. Despite the fire, a chill found its way down her spine as if in agreement, and Marion tugged the fabric tighter around her body with a frown. As much as she resented the idea of missing anything about Alvadas, she could not deny the fact that she was bred for warmer climes.

Of course, she had to question the troupe's overall sanity when they insisted on rehearsing outside at this time of year. But they would be performing in these very same conditions -- and often colder, as evenings were -- and in costume to boot, which consisted of far fewer layers than any of them would have liked. Giving in to comfort would only leave them that much more unprepared when the time came.

The woman that approached must've either been of a very singular mind or just as eager as Marion was to get this done and get out of here; she wove her way immediately to Grams, not once making eye contact with anyone else, and through that action or lack of action alone Marion drew the conclusion that she would not enjoy this experience. The woman had too noble a bearing -- muted, perhaps by some unseen forces that Marion couldn't discern in her mannerisms alone, but noticeable enough to someone who had spent the past year or so in its absence.

"Of course, dear!" Grams fixed the apparent seamstress with a warm and knowing, always knowing, smile before turning and beckoning Marion over with a flick of her fingers. She obliged, hands tucked in her pockets, lips curled in what she hoped was a polite grin rather than her more common smirk. Snow crunched lightly under her boots as she made her way around the circle and presented herself before the pair. The other actors, having lost interest in what must've been a fairly common occurrence, turned their attentions back to one another, using the break to discuss particulars of certain lines and whether or not some words would be better substituted for others. "This is our young Miss Marion," the older woman continued. She placed a tender but firm hand on her shoulder at that, practically pushing Marion forward.

"Newest addition and brightest rising star." Marion clarified the introduction with a quirked laugh, almost extending her hand in greeting but thinking better of it before it left her pocket. She still wasn't entirely certain how Riviarian greetings were expected to go; she'd had so few of them since her arrival, but no one had expected her to shake their hand yet. "Depending on who you ask."

"By that she means only if you ask her," Grams breezed easily without missing a beat, the sentence punctuated by a curt chuckle and reassuring pat on Marion arm. The younger actress offered a sportively rueful grin. "Anyway, she can show you to our backstage. Entrance is just behind either of those pillars there," she waved her hand further down the clearing. At the back edge of the semicircle rose two broad stone columns, one on each side of the theater, set inward enough to be seen clearly from every terrace, but far back enough that the stairs carved along their hidden face were concealed. They each served as a kind of platform for performers, but also hid the wide trapdoor entrances to the underground preparation area.

Marion turned to lead the way with a flourish of her hand and a bounce of blonde curls, regretting leaving the glow of the makeshift hearth but eager to take shelter from the elements. "So," she began idly as they made their way across the field, muscles tensed against the cold that began to settle in her bones anew. Her mind conjured an image she'd managed to glimpse chimes earlier of the seamstress's swollen belly and its obvious implications. She tried not to let the distasteful look that threatened her features come to fruition. Marion certainly didn't like children, but pregnancy was another beast altogether -- and a decidedly nightmarish one at that. The thought of harboring another living being inside her body feeding off of her, like a parasite, until it was ready to burst forth into this world... the mental imagery alone was enough to churn even Marion's stomach. But the character she presented to the world, the public face of Marion, with the sly laugh and the genial greetings, apparently liked children. She had to. Only monsters hated babies. "Have you decided on a name?"

oocSo sorry this fell by the wayside! You can assume they enter the backstage area in your post if you'd like.

[Rosela]

Rosela’s eyes swept over the young woman, Marion, apparently, before snaking one ice cold hand out of her cloak to clasp in greeting. ”Charmed,” she said flatly, sounding anything but. She couldn’t blame the girl for hesitating in revealing any skin to the elements but propriety was always needed. Any comment on the young woman's apparent ambition was kept firmly behind her teeth, though inwardly, she appreciated a woman with a strong drive.

Her eyes followed the old woman’s direction, narrowing on the far door that suddenly seemed like a passage to another, warmer, world. As she followed Marion down to said passage, she mentally ran through the measurements she needed. Bust, waist, hip, high hip…

”Name?” For a brief moment, Rosela was thrown completely off guard. Name, what name? ”Oh! My…no, no name yet. I’m not due until the summer, so there’s plenty of time yet.” Uncomfortable talking about herself, certainly about that, she attempted to change the topic back to Marion. ”You must be new to the city? I don’t think I’ve seen you around.” She was a pretty girl, pretty enough Rosela felt certain she'd remember if she'd seen her before.

They finally passed into the backstage area and she breathed a sigh of relief into the marginally warmer air. ”Is there a side room, somewhere out of the way? Ah, here we go." Knocking discreetly then quickly poking her head into a door off of the main stretch, she hummed in satisfaction as she pulled out a flint and lit the candle. "Well, this will have to do. Cloaks off, and shoes off for you; we’ll try to make this quick and painless. You should be able to put your shoes back on as soon as I do your inseam.” The warmth in her voice became more natural as the icy chill released its grip. With an abbreviated flourish, she swung off her cloak and hung it on the edge of a cabinet, revealing a long dress of thick, black wool, accented by various pieces of gold jewelry.

A wide, white-painted box she’d kept under her cloak was quickly unpacked and set painstakingly on the floor, one hand on her stomach as she knelt slowly down. ”Hop up on that, would you? And it’s Marion…M-A-R-I…A-N?” The instruments from the box were shifted from hand to hand until she was comfortable with the arrangement: a tape measure unrolled between two hands and another hand began writing Marion’s name in Arumenic script on the top of a sheet of folded parchment.

OOCNo worries, it happens! Sorry I'm kindof hurrying things along, just trying to get down to business