Thread: [Closed] You Can Call it What You Want (dearestdarling and dmm4kes)

It's still not working, a static-ridden and youthful male voice whined in a clearly-irritated high pitch through the earpiece nuzzled in Ray 's ear. The 29-year old hadn't gotten into the theatre scene in order to flex his technical knowhow over a bunch of kids five and ten years younger than he, yet he was the sort of type-A who couldn't quite handle seeing things done wrong or half-assed. Stepping in to correct the mass hysteria brought on by one of the tech crew not thinking to check wireless units' frequencies had been the tip of the spear. Now Ray, having volunteered in a purely artistic capacity, found himself scarcely able to contribute to any of his own projects in excess of ten minutes before some other variety of disaster emerged. By this point, he reluctantly wore an earpiece that kept him plugged in to the rest of the technical crew's goings-on, and that over-extending gesture was quickly unraveling the cool and calm he'd hoped to convey when he got himself into this extracurricular activity at the school. The whole thing was decidedly outside of his comfort zone, but it was a growing experience. That -- getting outside his comfort zone -- had been one of the many list items the young professional had scrawled and taped to the guest bathroom mirror so that he was forced to reread it every morning while getting ready. Hang on, Ray remarked in a tone that was short without being terse. Anyone who knew the guy could tell he was getting aggravated, yet he managed not to come off as overtly annoyed. Rather, he gave one final swipe of the burgundy-smeared brush across a full sheet of plywood propped up before him. The school's program wasn't quite strong enough to support a great deal more than painted backdrops and a couple well-worn mobile platforms on which to place heavier set components. That meant he was doing a lot of this sort of thing, and with little to no help, the constant interruptions were frustrating. Unlike most of these kids, Ray had a full time job on top of courses, homework, and all the other nonsense. He just kept reciting that bulleted list from the mirror. It was committed to memory by now. A quiet thunk rang out as he tossed the brush down, letting it slide to a rest upon his drop cloth. It was still fairly early in the evening around 800 or so, and actors as well as actresses had been present on stage for much of the two hours and change that he had been present. The production itself was still in its younger stages, but people were starting to get a feel for their roles. There were minimal scripts in-hand at this point, and that meant that it was time for the technical guys to start tightening up their own game. This kind of shit was exactly the sort of thing they needed to figure out on their own, yet Ray knew good and well he'd probably find a spot among the upcoming engineers and IT personnel once the production actually began. After all, there weren't many things that could break mid-production in terms of his contributions at least not the kinds of things he could fix. Average height and somewhat stocky in his build, Ray didn't stand out tremendously among his significantly younger peers. He had a baby's face and a neutral smile the sort of expression that typically got him carded for alcohol unless he took the time to grow a beard. He was pale in complexion with a confident stride and compelling cerulean eyes that complemented short reddish brown hair that matched the fiery stubble on his cheeks and chin. He often showed up for classes in khakis and dress shirts, but his time on set meant a change was required. Tonight, like on many evenings, Ray wore a pair of crisp and dark denim jeans along with a plain black v-neck t-shirt. He emerged from the curtains with pep in his step, unwilling to concede that he'd accomplish no more than he already had before needing to leave around 930. His trajectory carried him to the edge of the stage, and his gaze was fixed to the wide set of windows housing the tech guys' workroom. After a few moments of silence in that earpiece, his arms slowly climbed in an over-gestured shrug. Your mic's muted... A delightedly frustrated grin surfaced in Ray's expression as the voice returned, and then his head twisted sideways as the squeaky voice returned. Through its owner's direction, Ray's attention was diverted to a duo shifted off to stage left and engaged in a conversation clearly not related to the production or at least it didn't sound like it. The painter gave a nod and thumbs up to the face hidden away in the tech room, and he headed over to the young woman and her counterpart. He'd seen her before, but Ray didn't know the first thing about her. Whose mic is messing up? The question came without a demanding tone. Rather, Ray did his very best to sound pleasant. Assuming the best about people -- immature kids included -- was another item on his list.