"Speech" | 4th of Spring, 517 AV | Thoughts
Anthere smiled as she entered the playhouse. As she'd set foot outside her door this morning, the city had dumped her right next to her destination, so she'd only had to cross the street to enter the building. It was at moments like these that she anticipated a good day.
The Nuit was greeted by a stout older woman, by the name of Ida, who, despite her lack of height, always found a way to look down on people. She had a habit of standing on chairs whenever she felt the need to say something important. And shouting. Ida had a loud, husky voice, and quite enjoyed using it to shout. "You're early," smiled Ida. Anthere found that she'd managed to please the woman, an act that was viewed as impossible by some. "The streets favored me today," responded Anthere with a smile.
"Lucky you," muttered Ida offhandedly, who had since become engrossed in the script at hand. It was the third day of a new performance, and Ida, playing the lead role, had put herself in a place of authority, though she wasn't the director.
The musicians were each practicing their own parts, with no rhyme or reason, simply becoming familiar with the notes they were given. The lack of melody wasn't exactly pleasant to the ears, but it was something familiar at the beginning of rehearsals.
The door swung open an hour into their practice. A young man, no older than sixteen, stumbled in. "S-sorry I'm late," he muttered shyly, a violin clutched in one hand. Anthere didn't recognize him, meaning this performance was his first. He closed the door behind him, rather loud, and trudged to his seat amongst the other musicians. Ida's expression had soured, the rare positive demeanor she'd had that morning gone without a trace. "If you're gonna be late, don't make a show of it. You're a musician, not one of the actors," she snapped.
Anthere felt a pang of sympathy, but let out a soft chuckle at Ida's snide comment. Ida sharply directed the actors' attention to the scene at hand, and they quickly complied.
The newcomer began to play, an atrocious sound that was more screeching than music. The musicians paused to glance at him, but returned to their work, too sympathetic to correct or criticise him. Anthere winced, unable to focus on the script at hand. But she kept quiet, trying her best to focus.
Ida shot a glare at the boy at every earsplitting shriek, though she kept quiet at first. After a few minutes, and no progress from the actors, she hoisted herself up on the nearest stool and cleared her throat. "Would you stop that incessant shrieking?"
The Nuit was greeted by a stout older woman, by the name of Ida, who, despite her lack of height, always found a way to look down on people. She had a habit of standing on chairs whenever she felt the need to say something important. And shouting. Ida had a loud, husky voice, and quite enjoyed using it to shout. "You're early," smiled Ida. Anthere found that she'd managed to please the woman, an act that was viewed as impossible by some. "The streets favored me today," responded Anthere with a smile.
"Lucky you," muttered Ida offhandedly, who had since become engrossed in the script at hand. It was the third day of a new performance, and Ida, playing the lead role, had put herself in a place of authority, though she wasn't the director.
The musicians were each practicing their own parts, with no rhyme or reason, simply becoming familiar with the notes they were given. The lack of melody wasn't exactly pleasant to the ears, but it was something familiar at the beginning of rehearsals.
The door swung open an hour into their practice. A young man, no older than sixteen, stumbled in. "S-sorry I'm late," he muttered shyly, a violin clutched in one hand. Anthere didn't recognize him, meaning this performance was his first. He closed the door behind him, rather loud, and trudged to his seat amongst the other musicians. Ida's expression had soured, the rare positive demeanor she'd had that morning gone without a trace. "If you're gonna be late, don't make a show of it. You're a musician, not one of the actors," she snapped.
Anthere felt a pang of sympathy, but let out a soft chuckle at Ida's snide comment. Ida sharply directed the actors' attention to the scene at hand, and they quickly complied.
The newcomer began to play, an atrocious sound that was more screeching than music. The musicians paused to glance at him, but returned to their work, too sympathetic to correct or criticise him. Anthere winced, unable to focus on the script at hand. But she kept quiet, trying her best to focus.
Ida shot a glare at the boy at every earsplitting shriek, though she kept quiet at first. After a few minutes, and no progress from the actors, she hoisted herself up on the nearest stool and cleared her throat. "Would you stop that incessant shrieking?"
