Completed [The Amphitheater] A Lonely Stage

[Alia Beaudouin]

90th of Fall, 513 Seventh Bell "This morning a bird woke me up. It was a Magpie, or a Copperin. Something like that. So I said hello to it, and it vanished! Flew away, the very moment I opened my mouth. So you know what I did? I looked for it! I searched for it, night and day, for that wondrous bird made of rainbow colors, and I searched and searched, until the day I grew old. My last day I lay in bed, unable to search for the impossible bird. Instead, I hugged myself until my arms turned blue, then closed my eyes and cried and cried until I could taste the tears. I love to taste my tears. And I swear, that moment that I opened my eyes, I heard the most amazing tune, one that sung of sorrow and wonder, of hiding and searching, and I knew, I knew that impossible bird had come back. That impossible bird, that wondrous, awesome, impossible bird." Alia bowed, holding her script behind her back before looking the stage master in the eye. He was not clapping, though she was sure he was impressed. "Good, good. A nice start." He nodded, adjusting his papers. "I see you have potential, real potential. Alia beamed, he had liked it? "Although, there is quite a few things that could be built on. Her smile faded, but Alia still stood tall. "Would you like me to list?" Alia nodded briskly, wondering how long of a list it was. "For one, eye contact. Always look at the audience. Always. Another thing, is projection. How are people going to hear you way back in the final rows of the Amphitheater if you speak quiet as a mouse?" He paused as if waiting for an answer. "They're not, thats how. You must throw your voice, loud and clear!" The stage master's voice rose, and Alia could hear it bouncing around the Amphitheater, echoing off the walls and making him sound loud and impossible. "Now, I am aware you started acting later than most of the others, but that just means you shall have to work hard. understood?" Alia nodded again. She seemed to have been doing more nodding than talking over the past few days. "Good. Now, again. And with power!" The stage master's voice bounced around the Amphitheater, even louder than before. Sighing, Alia began again. "This morning a bird woke me.."

[Alia Beaudouin]

90th of Fall, 513 Eighth Bell Nearly a bell later, the stage master waved her off the stage. She had just finished reciting the monologue for the seventh time, and although her throat felt dry and rough, the stage master still had her speak her lines several more times before a break was allowed. I had no idea acting required so much... Talking. I would much rather sing the lines, but how would that help? Alia smiled for a second, imagining the stage master’s face. The stage master would throw me out for sure. Alia jumped down off the stage and sat on a nearby bench. Finally sitting after so many chimes standing on the stage was a relief. Rummaging through the small knapsack she had brought, Finally shoved aside a packet of dried fruit and her water skin, finally clasping her hands around what she had been looking for, a small, intricately designed book inlaid with an eagle on the cover. Humming quietly, Alia took the book out of her bag and opened it slowly. She hadn’t looked in it since just before her ride from Wind Reach to Riverfall. The book had been the only non-essential belonging Alia had brought. The book had been in her family for a while, her father had gotten it from his father and them from their father and so on. The book was a collection of pages stuck in over the generations. It would be passed down to the first child born into the family, who, as Alia’s father had said, was always a boy. Of course, Alia had never met her extended family on her father’s side. I wonder how they would have reacted to the news that my father had married an Inartan.. Alia momentarily allowed herself to daydream their reactions before being snapped back to the present when the stage master began yelling for her to come back over. Quickly flipping the aged pages until she found the one she was looking for, Alia waved her hand at the stage master. Can’t he wait two seconds? The stage master just yelled louder. Carefully closing the book again, Alia shook her head. I guess not. Alia had found the page she was looking for, anyway. An unfinished draft of a play script that she had been working on for a while. Writing plays is nearly as hard as acting in one. They have to be long, but interesting, serious, but entertaining. Action-packed, adventurous, fun, sophisticated. I have no idea how the stage master comes up with so many so easily. Am I supposed to write my own all the time? If I do, I’m petched. Carefully placing the book back in her knapsack, Alia finally shuffled over to the stage master, who was scowling at her disapprovingly. Sighing Alia picked up the small bundle of papers she had left on the stage. Flipping to the Wonderful Bird script, Alia began again. Her voice was tired, and she was really sick of the same words, same sentences, same script, over and over and over again. Her voice stumbled over a line in the beginning of the monolog, but gradually as her words dragged on, she got more confident. ”This morning a bird woke me up. It was a Magpie, or a Copperin. Something like that. So I said hello to it, and it vanished!” Sneaking a look back at the script, Alia continued. “Flew away! The moment I opened my mouth!” The stage master seemed unimpressed, so Alia tried to really become the person she was acting as. I have to become a strange girl who is absolutely obsessed with a bird she saw as a child. Wonderful.

[Alia Beaudouin]

90th of Fall, 513 Ninth Bell Once the stage master was somewhat happy with her performance, he handed Alia the script for the upcoming play. It was quite an easy one, nothing too special about it. Man hides a box full of the treasures of the universe, other man wants it. They fight, the female part stops them, over and over again. Alia laughed quietly at that. It seemed that every play had that sort of plot. Someone wants something that someone else has. They fight, bad guy dies, good guy gets the goods and sometimes, the girl. Alia had gone through several old scripts the stage master had given her to study. All of them were either sappy romances, where one or both partners died, or they were extended fight scenes where one person had what someone else wanted. Swords, bows, poison, death. It got repetitive, eventually. Then again, if you did the same thing enough, anything would get repetitive. The stage master returned to his perch, hastily scribbling notes onto a already-filled piece of parchment. Alia sighed, Probably making notes of the millions of things I have to work on. It was a discouraging thought, although, logically, since she had only been working as an actor for a day, she wasn’t supposed to be perfect. Maybe perfection is the only way to make the stage master happy. It sure seemed that way. Every line had to be perfected, her voice had to be clear, crisp, amazing in all aspects. It could not be off for the play, obviously. Alia imitated how the stage master would scold, this simply would not do! Every time she made a mistake. It was hard work, acting. Now that Alia had actually started the job, she realized how true that was. Everything had to be perfect, or at least look perfect. No missed lines, no stumbled words, nothing. That was how the stage master liked it. Perfect. Alia walked away from the stage after the stage master waved her off, obvious he didn’t want her preforming her lines anymore. Apparently, that was it. ”Come back tomorrow! We have no time to lose!” Alia could hear the stage master listing out what she must work on behind her. Intonation! Articulation! Projecting your voice! Memorizing the lines! One thing after another. Perfection, only. Returning to her book as the stage master stalked away, Alia flipped through several pages, trying to find a script she could use to practice. Practice, practice, practice. If practice makes perfect, why am I not perfect yet? I’ve practiced so much already. Alia bit her tongue. Maybe I’m not supposed to be perfect. Ever. Is perfection even achievable..? Doubts flashed around her mind. What if she petched up the performance? Would the stage master kick her out? What would happen if she couldn’t memorize the lines in time? The play is on the 91st! I don’t have much time… Something clicked inside her mind. Today is the 90th. Petch. I don't have any time.

[Alia Beaudouin]

90th of Fall, 513 Ninth Bell Everything had been going so well - not quite perfectly, but it hadn’t been terrible. Now, of course, Alia had auditioned for an acting part two days before the play, and didn’t even stop and think for more than a tick to think about that small problem. Dropping her half-open book, Alia returned to her script. Memorization is key. This shouldn’t be too hard, there was still plenty of bells left in the day. No problem.. Just have to read quickly. No problem at all. In the script, Alia played the farmer’s wife, a pacifist in contrast to her husband, who made enemies with other plantation, stealing slaves, poisoning crops, always attempting to come out on top. Of course, this led to bloodshed. Man has what man wants, always ends in violence. Then of course, female part stops them. The plot wasn’t complicated, and Alia only had a few lines. There was only really two main parts, farmer A and farmer B. Even a simple act had purpose though, you had to get the magic space in between too complicated and too boring. It was like shooting an arrow at a target. You either hit the bullseye, or you miss. There wasn’t much space in between. Returning to her place on the stage, Alia began her lines again at the fifth scene, farmer steals farmer’s crops, caught red handed.. Fighting begins, punches are thrown, fake ones, of course. Fight acting. After that, Alia’s character, the wife, would come onstage. She began her lines, ”This frivolous fighting must come to an end. It would be best for the all of us if the troubles were put aside and the enemies joined hands! We all be human here, why can’t we all just get along?” Alia did several exaggerated swings of her hands. The female parts in the script were very dramatic, lots of hand waving and expression scrunching. Every emotion, feeling and thought had to be conveyed to the audience. Projection of character was almost as important of projection of voice. Everything had to be thoughtful and loud. At least it wasn’t boring. Lots of things were worse than rehearsing for a play, and acting was a job Alia enjoyed. It was easy to lose her troubles and worries in the character of a play, which also made acting the part just a little bit easier. The scene would end with the farmers squabbling, more fake punches being thrown, and more than one shriek of terror. Dramatics were key, and Alia was pretty good at being overly dramatic. Unfortunately, it seemed like the weather was being dramatic, too. The sky couldn't seem to decide if it wanted to be blue or grey, with so many clouds the sun was gone one minute and shining bright the next. A gust of wind nearly stole the pages of Alia’s script several times, and the parchment bounced back and fourth as she read her part. It seemed as if the wind was trying to nab the thin pages away from Alia like the leaves it so often stole. Several clumps of red hair obscured her vision as she continued reading, but Alia swatted the strands away in order to continue her performance to the invisible audience. ”Lay down your swords and join hands, my brothers. No more blood shall be spilt this day!” Dramatic pause. ”You heard me, weapons down, brethren! Yesterday we were enemies, but today, we are friends! Turning her head back and forth as the script instructed, listening to the imaginary quarrels of imaginary actors, Alia waited several ticks until she guessed the other lines would have ended, then stepped foreword, to the edge of the stage, raising her arms in a dramatic gesture. ”Today my friends, today the fighting ends! Look up to Syna and feel free of the old feud that divides us. However much Alia disliked the play, she disliked her character even more. Too many words, not enough action. Also, the woman Alia played was a coward when it came to actual action. Luckily, the woman died halfway through the play. Unfortunately this meant Alia had to sit out on a lot of scenes, but it wasn’t as if she would miss playing the character. Giving one last swoop of her arms, Alia turned back to her imaginary partners, the last of her lines for the scene finished. Next was the only part of the play Alia actually enjoyed - Her ‘Death’. It was apparent that the men in the play didn’t want to stop fighting, so Alia’s character’s peace speeches were met with a sword. Mimicking surprise as her invisible partner turned a sword on her, Alia fell to the ground and ‘Died’.