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

RE You Can Call it What You Want dearestdarling and dmm4kes They were at it again, the damned bedroom scene. Gratuitous to a fault, poorly written, and halfway-poorly acted. Tessa had begged for a rewrite, but this was Sam's baby. His final farewell to the university theatre scene before he graduated and took an internship somewhere out in the Midwest, where they wouldn't know a good piece of theatre if it bit them in the ass. He wasn't going to budge on a line, least of all one that might shave off a scantily-clad minute. The costume added insult to injury, some over-the-top lacy number that put Christine Daa to shame. At least she had a robe, even if it was sheer. Tessa had always wondered how professional actors could handle being so close and so unclothed around a perfect stranger, but it was nothing like she had imagined. The other lead, Lance, always smelled like an auto shop and his teeth were weirdly... Slimy. The hot lights above them made him sweat like a pig and a stray costumer was always having to mop him up between scenes. There weren't enough showers in the world that could rid of her of his sweat on her body. Nothing about that scene was sexy, yet somehow she had to convince the audience that it was. Sam wanted tears and bated breath, and by God, she would give it to him. Line? Lance called out, and the assistant stage manager called out, in an extremely bored tone, Bernadette, if I might never raise my head up from your delicious bosom, I should die a happy man. Riiiight. Oh Bernadette, if I may never lift my head up from your bosom, I would die a happy man. Tessa rolled her eyes, taking Lance's hands as he pulled her tightly into his body. She could hear Sam whining over the botched line, even from his seat halfway through the house. 'Mon cher, vous allez crier mon nom alors que nous baisons,' he hissed into her ear, and she could smell the double bacon cheeseburger he had for lunch. Lovely. That wasn't a line in the script, either. Was he ad-libbing, or was that an open invitation that she couldn't decline soon enough? she tossed his hands away melodramatically, just as they had blocked, and crossed to stage right. Not a minute too soon. As she moved, she subtly fidgeted with the mic settings, screwing it up on purpose. If Sam wouldn't give it a rest, she would force his hand. How the hell did Lance land this role, that puffed-up douche who couldn't act his way out of a wet paper bag, and she had gone through five rounds of callbacks for this pathetic role. 'Oh Armando , must you leave for war? We can abscond to France, make love beneath the Arc de Triomph, live out our days in a humble chteau along the Riviera... Without the boost of the mic, her voice couldn't be heard by Sam or his mousy stage manager, Carson. As she hoped, he noticed immediately and frowned, gesturing for her and Lance to step off-stage to fix whatever Tessa had done. Lance needed to be blotted anyway. As soon as they reached the safety of the wings, Tessa rounded on Lance. Look, stick to the script, alright? I don't care if Sam encourages you to take liberties, that doesn't extend to me . She ignored the unfortunate costumer who had been assigned to sweat duty, hovering awkwardly around them with a box of tissue and patting Lance dry. He scoffed, folding his arms over his bare chest. We need to work on our chemistry, ma petite collation... Actually, I was thinking we could practice over at my place after rehearsal... You know you can't get enough of me. He fingered a strawberry blond curl, and Tessa stepped back quickly. I'd rather gargle thumbtacks. Learn your fucking lines and keep your atrocious French accent and your wandering hands to yourself. Out of the corner of her vision, she saw a techie dressed in the customary black, reddish paint smeared across the thigh of his jeans approaching them. Her savior. Whose mic is messing up? he asked, and Tessa stepped forward a little too eagerly, raising her hand in a half-wave. He seemed a little harassed, but then, weren't they all? She brought her hands between her breasts, where the nude-colored mic was clipped to the cream corset she wore, a gesture that felt weirdly intimate as she met his piercing gaze. I don't know what's wrong with it, she lied, her voice low, but if you don't mind taking forever to fix it, that would be great. A mischievous smile turned the corners of her full lips, as she quickly tossed a pointed gaze in Lance's direction. I'm not exactly in a hurry to get back to... That.