"All About Arvalyn"
Act II
The Golden Peacock, 12 Frost 121
Act II
The Golden Peacock, 12 Frost 121
“Well, look at this guy!” Borys exclaimed, “Is that Phaedryn Sol’Aværys himself resurrected from the grave?” The director stepped over to get a closer look at Arry’s wig and makeup experiment as he made his way into the rehearsal room. The elf was on the floor doing stretches as Borys approached and leaned down to appraise his efforts.
“I wish we could do something about the eyes…” The human grimaced, taking Arry’s chin between his thumb and forefinger to move his ashen-painted face to different angles. “But maybe it makes sense for the character, since he was as much Hytori as Siltori, I just… Hm.” He reached up to tug the wig down a bit so the raven coloured bangs would lay over the golden eyes, obscuring them somewhat. “There we go! All right!” He turned back to open himself up to the room, and clapped his hands.
“We’re kicking off today with our first stumble through of all the blocking. We probably won’t get through the whole show today, which is fine, we’ll pick up wherever we leave off tomorrow and work through the remainder. The Zalkyrion puppet is still being constructed in the shop, so we’ll mark through that scene as best we can. This is going to be a stop/start rehearsal, so be prepared to sit around- This would be a great time for those of you struggling with lines to work on getting off book. Remember this is the last week I’ll be allowing scripts in hand. I know it’s fast, but the real work can’t really start until you’re all memorised, so…” He made his way over to the table and claimed his designated middle seat, opening his heavily notated copy of the script to the prologue.
“Let’s all get situated for top-of-show.” The actors promptly got up from lounging, stretching and pacing to head to their places marks. Arry took up his copy of the script and sat on the floor with his back against the wall.
“All right, curtain rises and…” Borys gestured, “Kaz, take it away.”
“O mount of fiery vengeance stand aloof…”
Arry followed along in the script as the play proceeded, and mouthed the lines others spoke. With his face buried in the book, he envisioned himself in the leading role. He tuned out the rich baritone of Wylan Royce, and supplanted it with his own breathier voice. He imagined the play as it would be in performance- Lit and elevated by magic, grandiose and epic… Only in his mind, he was at centre stage bemoaning the death of his firstborn and invoking elder powers to mete out revenge against those who’d oppressed his people… Aværys’ people, and Arry’s. Not Wylan Royce’s.
Naturally, rehearsal was over well before Arry’s entrance, but it felt like it was over in a flash, lost as he was in the text and his fantasy life. Sighing, he gathered up his things.
“Hey, Arvalyn?” He glanced up to find Wylan Royce jogging over. “I was wondering, if you’d um… If you’d want to have dinner? On me? I just… Well, you’re from Hytori nobility, right? I was hoping to pick your brain about a few things for the character.”
“Oh…” Arry pursed his lips, “Um. I’m not sure how helpful I’d be. Re’hyaeans aren’t actually Hytori and they left Sol’Valen millennia ago, so their culture took sort of a divergent path from ours…”
“Right, right. I get that. I do, but still… Even just to get a better sense of what it feels like to be an elf would be super helpful. And you just, I mean… You seem like the elfiest member of the cast, so I thought…”
Arry blinked, uncertain whether he should be offended at the reduction or flattered that his ruse was so effective.
“Sure, Wylan, fine.” At least he was promised a free meal for his troubles. “I’ll meet you at the bistro across the way at, say, seven?” The bistro wasn’t cheap, after all.
“Ahhh sure.” Wylan replied, a bit reluctantly. Arry smirked and made his way out.
