In this world, Magic is Everything. All people, all races, are granted with the power to perform mystical and magical feats via grimories, mystical tomes granted to each and every child on their 15th birthday. Those blessed by the mana can have their names written down in legend.
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A famous playwright is planning on putting on a stunner! The theatrical write-up of Jomeo and Ruliet, however, requires a good actor to play the main roles. Magic Knights are requested for the roles.
“Did my heart love till now? Forswear it, sight! For I ne'er saw true beauty till this night.”
Dramatically did his arm raise to his side, presenting to the audience before him the other half of the stage which milled with extras. Spotlight glare and a lifted gaze prevented him from sighting the many heads of the attendees, but it mattered not what he saw compared to what they saw. Opening night was just as nerve wracking for each and one of them, but dry runs were aplenty prior to keep them practiced and perfected.
The current scene an extravagant dinner, Mor’s fitting was not too different from what he would've usually donned for a similar scenario, spare than the costume’s fashion accents were much more exaggerated and built from much cheaper materials. An equally gaudy chandelier hung above the long table prop decorated with silverware secured onto the surface with glue.
On his scripted cue, the other actors of a faux dinner crowd parted itself to present the watchers with the target of romanticized words: Ruliet.
He knew what face and what gown to expect from their previous dress rehearsals; a wig of blond that matched truer locks underneath and– humorously– a stature taller than his own. When the roster was finalized weeks ago, a number of designers quipped how backwards the two's appearances were (especially with Mor’s longer mane), but the Magic Knight was able to persuade all in keeping his role with ease. Who else was there to give the lead male other than a mage from a revered squadron?
The other players proceeded with their own lines, informing poor Jomeo of who it was that enraptured his heart. During it, the actor had a pique of curiosity towards his leading partner’s appearance.
How would 'Ruliet' fare on 'her' first night before the crowds?
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Last Edit: Oct 4, 2020 21:38:33 GMT -5 by Mor Nokev
[attr="class","lonelyscroll"]He should have never agreed to this. [break][break] But it was already too late. Already far too deep into it, already down this incorrigible rabbit hole that in one way or another, he’d been sucked into. He was beginning to think he never should allow himself in the Town of Silva ever again. After the incident with the fashion designer, he’d believed there wouldn’t be such a situation that forced his hand in such a questionable delivery. [break][break] But the fashion designer apparently had a friend. And said friend was looking for a muse, for a play. [break][break] As to why they couldn’t have searched for the redhead, and instead, somehow had found him was all some sort of questionable series of intent. As if seeing him half-naked hadn’t been enough… Yet the persona of ‘Vincent’ had been a whispered name among the busy-bodying crowd in Silva. Pretty face, lithe grace, appearing once like a ghost in the wind. Only to be found once again for a very different kind of job. [break][break] He’d been told long ago that his mother once aspired to be a playwright. He’d seen the unfinished drafts in his father’s study. Yet of all things, theatre and its romances had never attracted him. [break][break] Of course, Vaile realized such irony in the fact that he himself was a terribly good liar. [break][break] Acting wasn’t so different. [break][break] The stage was set and for one reason or another, he’d been paired to play the lead to this play with a Magic Knight. But for this story, the script called for unrequited love and a mistress to match. [break][break] “Did my heart love till now? Forswear it, sight! For I ne'er saw true beauty till this night.” [break][break] ‘Her’ cue. The stage was set, and actors were meant to play their part, even if somewhere, some part of him thought that this young Knight was playing his part all too well. But such thoughts had to be cast aside for the moment, on that opening night. [break][break] At least, the gown was pretty. A dark crimson red, elegantly in couture, with a lined décolletage, and rather constricted bodice that betrayed the eye to present a more feminine figure. There was the matter of the wig, blonde, and then the addition of the makeup meant to soften his features even further. [break][break] There was no time to falter. Lines were said and said with convincing clarity. The response wasn’t to be to him directly, no, Lady Ruliet was more coy than such. [break][break] “Young Jomeo is it?” [break][break] Lips curled to the perfect smile, the audience enraptured by the beauty that was those simple words and the actor who said them. He had his role to play, the ‘Ruliet’ to his ‘Jomeo.’ [break][break] That villian Jomeo.
She is beauty, she is grace. She had an amount of paint too crude for Mor’s tastes on her face.
But he wasn’t the one ‘she’ was to be wooing, and undeniable were the excited murmurs from the crowd at Ruliet’s appearance. Was this the reputation that quite a few of the stage hands had rumored around them prior? Fair maiden marveled by this lavish town, but too updone for Mor to be stricken?
His expression was exactly that, however: love stricken. Despite how indifferent he could be off stage, they were on stage, and he would not have another better his performance, previously experienced with the audience or not. Thus, Jomeo had never seen anyone more, and such showed on the actor’s face. The emotion of it all, wordless bafflement and desire until a dramatic hesitance had hung long enough for the man to continue and eagerly step his way across the stage.
The first strides held an energy of desperation while the rest were spent regaining his posture, a poor soul swooned too hard to control itself yet hoping to present composure to please the newfound apple of his eye. Finally before the female lead, the son of Montague stared up into the rouge gaze with a vividness visible to even the furthest spectator, wholly entranced.
As if after a moment of self-debate, Jomeo bowed forward manneredly at the 'lady' and offered forward a gloved hand palm up. “If I profane with my unworthiest hand this holy shrine, the gentle fine is this: my lips, two blushing pilgrims, ready stand to smooth that rough touch with a tender kiss.”
Expectant and hopeful was the look the enamored craned towards the taller stature.
[attr="class","lonelyscroll"]It was enough to cause the ever so subtle twitch of his lips. [break][break] Yet the flinch of movement would hardly be caught in the eyes of the idle audience. No, they weren’t looking for mistakes, caught in the gaze of beauty and pretty things, they only saw perfection. [break][break] A glance to the off-stage saw the encouraging motions of a playwright absolutely ecstatic about how his opening night was going. A flash of papers and the quiet gesture of ‘thumbs-up,’ at least someone was living out their dreams that night. [break][break] It was in his best interest to keep it up. Oh right, her, the Lady Ruliet. [break][break] He still would have had other choice words to say about this particular casting decision, but regardless, he’d set himself up for it hadn’t he? A grave he’d dug and now was forced to lie in, perhaps some greater cosmic and comical power was turning in their own tomb. [break][break] And now, he was playing toe to toe with a Knight. Nothing but some kid who really was letting the spotlight go to his head. He’d been able to tell just exactly what kind of one-dimensional, narrow-minded little brat this young Lion was. Not that it was so different from every other Crimson Caped Knight who decided to take up the mantle. [break][break] The hand was offered as the script said to do so. At least, the kid was a rather good actor in his own right. Oh yes, it was that scene. [break][break] If Vaile could have had the time to criticize the absurdity of the plot of this play, he would have said so much out loud. In the end, it was just about two hormonal teenagers who ran into so many misunderstandings that lady luck was rolling in her own grave. And then they both died because of their blind-sided feelings. [break][break] This wasn’t about love. It was a satirical parody of romance, at best. It was an insulting infatuation with the idea of love. [break][break]
“Is that what you really think?”
[break] Of course, a ghost wouldn’t have anything better to say. For the moment so infinitely small, crimson eyes wandered, seeing things that weren’t there. When her silver hair and pale skin shined in the spotlight, he remembered that she was romantic herself… [break][break] But in truth, who was he to criticize such an ideal? Was it like he knew what love was? Did he? [break][break] He could pretend. He could pretend to know. That was all an actor like him needed to do. [break][break] “Ay, pilgrim, lips that they must use in prayer.” [break][break] Lady Ruliet responded without hesitation, ‘her’ words as hinting as they needed to be. Despite the difference in stature, heads could still easily tilt towards each other. Rehearsed as it was, the brushing of lips to lips still required a certain finesse. It was the first kiss between young, enamored, dumbstruck lovers, that was what this connection required itself to be. It was the ruse that everyone in that audience needed it to be, to fall in love with the idea of sinful love. [break][break] Playing pretend was all it truly was.
Longer hands taken within his own, he couldn’t help but to rest his other atop, enclosing the delicacy between his grasp. For oh, a magnificent woman like her to entertain his unbidden attention, it was a gift he’d treasure and make the most of. And Jomoe dared to greed just a bit more, pulling the clasped hand closer towards his bosom, his heart.
From such, she would be the one first to act with the dip of her head met by an equally willing lift of Mor’s own. It was both careful and clumsy, the kiss, as if each of them were to be so stupidly enamored. It barely lasted, but with his response laced so amorously, so breathlessly, “You encourage crime with your sweetness...” And he would make himself a criminal of two transgressions then.
Mor lifted himself once more to angle another kiss against the ‘maiden’s’ lips, so lusting for more than what was acceptable for budding youth. Beauty beyond his years, captivating his whole self cruelly.
But his heaven was short lived by an interruption from the rest of the world. He had almost forgotten that a flurry of other diners– actors– milled around them. The host of the words that intruded were that of a nurse's, asking for his dear Ruliet’s audience. Still but a stranger to the two, Jomeo could only innocently inquire more about the duo only to find that, “My life is in the hands of my enemy...” The words barely muttered to himself– though still loud enough for the crowd to hear– it was a revelation that seeped just a bit of trepidation into his blood.
He was the son of Montague, and she was the daughter of Capulet. Their families were warred. “I’m afraid I’m in more trouble than ever,” and with that final muse to himself, to the audience, Mor bid himself a quick departure from the stage, leaving those who were scripted to stay for the remainder of the scene.
===
Backstage was havoc, as to be expected. Helping hands were running left and right to meet their tasks and prepare for the next. Having just mere minutes before he would be stepping back out into the spotlight, Mor was already stripping his fancied dinner costume the moment curtain shadows hid his appearance. Easily was the mage down to his breeches when stylists were pushing the next outfit into his expecting hands.
Demands of the profession didn’t allow for dressing shames, and their chosen male lead would meet those demands with poise. There was work to be done.
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Last Edit: Oct 8, 2020 10:22:17 GMT -5 by Mor Nokev
[attr="class","lonelyscroll"] There was something so crudely ironic about this kind of acting wasn’t there? About how he was supposed to be the fair, virgin maiden, who never once knew love until, of course, she’d laid her doting eyes on the fair villain Jomeo. He could only think of how blissfully stupid it was to be a Ruliet. [break][break] To love, to fall in love with the idea of love, to be blinded by it, to be so willfully enamored that the rest of the world simply didn’t exist. And when reality came crashing down, it only meant to take everything away. [break][break] “You encourage crime with your sweetness.”[ [break][break] Crime, perhaps that was a word for it. In the poetic sense, the sinful exchange was exactly that. Star-crossed lovers and all. Lips met one another again, all for the audience to be taken by the pretty lady and her prince. [break][break] “You kiss by th' book.” [break][break] As if such lines had any meaning. [break][break] The moment lingered far longer than he would have desired. While lines said aloud were as fake as any actor uttered them, while he had to separate himself from the Lady Ruliet he played, while there were too many witnesses to this garish display of young love, he still had to wonder. [break][break] When was the last time anyone else had brushed against his lips? [break][break] But he was not allowed time to think, there was a play to be done. The next scene to attend, actors and their stage only had one job, personal reminiscing was not one of them. [break][break] Though, it was time for muses to recall that their love was not one to be. Jomeo would call out his woes, Lady Ruliet’s utterings were faint, yet dazzled. [break][break] “My only love sprung from my only hate!” [break][break] The nurse called ‘her’ and the scene was to move on to the next. [break][break] [break] Backstage was a flurry of activity, the next act was to commence, and by far, it was the likely the most recognizable scene that even those of less novice expertise of the theatre would know it. The Balcony. [break][break] Vaile made little fuss of the ordeal that was the most basic of costume changes, at least with a wig it was easy to switch out the style. As crimson eyes wandered, he knew that the play’s ‘Jomeo’ was already in prep. As was the chorus summerizing the said difficulties a pair of lovers could have when their noble families hated each other as so. [break][break] How awful for them.
Legs swiftly stepped themselves into the casual pair of trousers and arms fluidly slipped on the tunic of similar design. Hands spared themselves a few seconds to smooth out any wrinkles while stylists busied themselves with adorning any necessary accessories to look the part.
Those who lingered longer on stage wrapped up their scene and were off towards the curtain's shadows. Just as quickly as he bared himself, the actors along with his tall counter-lead were readying themselves for their later– or immediate– return to the spotlight. Although a part of him had the curiosity, Mor didn’t indulge the time to watch the intimate addition of costume changes to their run.
He was here on mission, not to gaze and judge upon the beauty of others.
Wooden floorboards were loud as workers cloaked in black manipulated props and backdrops to their proper placements before limelight gave the audience something to look at again, and it would be him that they would look upon once more.
His reverence.
And that was the cycle that would repeat itself for scene after scene, playing out all the tidbits and details of the romantic story named 'Jomeo and Ruliet'.
Mor wasn’t too certain about the play's abundant reputation in romance considering the tragic ending for the two adolescents; nor was he ever much interested in chasing such endeavors, unless it came with a number of benefits to better his social standings. He was one to optimize profits, afterall.
But for tonight, he was oh so avid for love, for lust. Nothing of this world could stop dear Jomeo from persisting after the one who enamored him so easily, so quickly with a single look. Love at first sight.
Overhead lights dimmed themselves once again to allow the clunky positioning of a carefully crafted balcony. When the fictional sun return, the male strode himself out so gallantly before striking a stance so passionate towards the exquisite who stood upon the constructed and decorated contraption.
“It is my lady, O, it is my love! O, that she knew she were! See, how she leans her cheek upon her hand! O, that I were a glove upon that hand, that I might touch that cheek!”
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Last Edit: Oct 13, 2020 19:25:15 GMT -5 by Mor Nokev
[attr="class","lonelyscroll"] The change of clothes, some quick flutter of fabric and the like, the illusion of a more delicate figure, all done with the help of a rather form-fitting attire. Ah, but he was done being embarrassed about it, wasn’t he? [break][break] Vaile could still catch sight of a mirror, he could still see the folds of the dress fall ever so slightly, the catch of fake locks of hair. When his eyes saw ‘her’ there was an unmistakable resemblance. His ghost was there… in the flesh. [break][break] He couldn’t help but think, she would have looked lovely in a dress such as this. It would have been all the more flattering, all the more fitting. She loved theatre, romance, the spectacle of it all, as did their mother, as did their father. So where had he gone so wrong to stray from the path of love and fantasy? [break][break] It was because reality had been so cruel to shatter, so cruel to take her away. And his visceral hatred for it all would have to be buried down deep. [break][break] A moment more, and the show would go on. [break][break] [break] He was precariously placed on a balcony above, stagehands and stage magic made it all the more convincing. That time of the story where the playwright decided that romance was to be taken to its most blissful sense. Perhaps the only happy moment between young lovers, so taken by each other. [break][break] But first, they had to be blissfully ignorant of each other. [break][break] 'Her' hand lay so on her cheek, a laced glove, the same that the Montague so desired to be. [break][break] “O Jomeo, Jomeo! Wherefore art thou Jomeo?” [break][break] Iconic lines so elegantly said. ‘She’ would continue on, her lines unaware of the boy who was below. ‘Her’ monologue centered on him, but not just the infatuation but the bitter situation that befell them both. Because Ruliet’s Jomeo was more than just the object of affection, he was the son of the Capulet’s most hated enemy. And because of that, star-crossed lovers could never quite live happily ever after. [break][break] But such was the point of the play itself. And such were the next lines. Another iconic set that even the most noice of the theatre would know them almost by heart. Because if and only if, ‘her’ rose had been born with another name… [break][break] “What’s in a name? That which we call a rose[break] By any other word would smell as sweet.” [break][break] Wouldn’t love by any other word be just as wretched.
“She speaks: O, speak again, bright angel!” he exclaimed with a fevered excitement. The apple of his eye, here. He could not look anywhere but upwards at the beauty poised upon the balcony.
And so their tandem monologues went, speaking to themselves before noticing each other's presence and continuing to speak for the adolescent would not pass a chance to converse with each other, to proclaim their desperate love despite their pedigree.
They gushed over each other.
As scene after scene passed, tiredness was slowly finding itself into Mor’s body. Outsiders seemed to always underestimate the demand, the athleticism of performance, to upkeep austere appearances for hours. The socialite kept up appearance a lot, but to exaggerate it before an audience still taxed. He had to thank his Magic Knight training later for his current stamina levels.
The exhaustion was also kept at bay by his eagerness for to the play’s ending. It was an ending known by all considering how famous the script was, but just as entertaining to participate in.
Oh, the drama of it!
Throughout the previous acts, Jomeo said his words, fought his battles, and rendered a number of deaths. His would be next, hinted not by the plot's development. Behind his back, Ruliet schemed without his knowledge, and even though the intentions were pure, were for their future together, it was secrecy that became the pair’s demise.
This set was much more elaborate than the rest they’ve milled through, throwing emphasis on the moment’s iconicness. Mor had just ‘slain’ the one named Paris and found himself before his heart’s greatest tragedy when opening a tomb he presumed to be for the dead man.
In the bed laid the fair Ruliet, hair ever bright and outfit ever elegant, but it was her appearance of having left the living world that started his sorrowful serenade. “Death, that hath suck'd the honey of thy breath.” He couldn't believe his eyes, he didn't want to believe them.
Knelt beside two corpses, he raised a crystalline vial above his head for all to see, it’s contents a vivid, translucent violet. “For fear of that, I still will stay with thee; And never from this palace of dim night depart again: here, here will I remain.”
“Here's to my love!” The glass uncorked, Mor lifted the rim to his lips and knocked the poison back, tasteless and thin: water and food dye. He downed all of the contents without pause and haphazardly tossed the prop aside once finished. “O true apothecary! Thy drugs are quick. Thus with a kiss I die.”
Toxins finding their way quickly into his blood streams, the performer slumped himself onto the ground as motionless as the rest. A trio of bodies now.
It wasn’t hard to stay still, other than needing to keep his breathing shallow for the deceased did not have chests that rose and sank with inhales and exhales. His body was weary enough, weeks of practice and a destined night of presenting his art draining his reserves. His role now formally over, the adrenaline took its time in ebbing away, though he staved the complete loss of it, work still to be done after the show.
But for the moment, all that was left was for the rest of the cast to give their last lines.
[attr="class","lonelyscroll"] It was love, fake love, but love nonetheless. Two actors set the stage, playing their part of two lovers who were so enamored in his star-crossed romance. Such a predicament, after all, would only end in tragedy. Because that was how this story was written to end. [break][break] That was how actors were meant to play their roles. And again, he would play the game because that was all he was supposed to do. [break][break] Nothing else to it. [break][break] [break]And then on, to the final act, for this wasn’t a mere romance, it was a tragedy. The night had worn on, a performance of several hours nigh was coming to its end. Opening night would lead to raving reviews the next morning because he, along with the other star of the play, would have assured an audience mesmerized. But certainly, on the other end, the night had taken its toll. [break][break] He would be glad for it to be over. [break][break] Of course, it was a way to get there. Which included some convoluted plan to end up together and then to run away, but not without some noted ‘hiccups’ along the way. [break][break] A message that was conveniently never received. A dual that ended too swiftly. The site of his lover, still as a corpse. In the end, it proved too much for the hormone-filled Jomeo. [break][break] And then, his sleeping Ruliet would wake to a body at her side. It was time to feign the heartbreak that came with losing someone that one loved. Of course, with such a loss, there was only one answer in return. [break][break] ‘Lady’ Ruliet took the blade, raising the steel to glint in the spotlight. ‘Her’ tears ran red with her blood. [break][break]
“Yea, noise? Then I’ll be brief. O happy dagger,[break] This is thy sheath. There rust and let me die.” [break][break] Die. [break][break] The knife would plunge, the wound so fake, red seeped from ‘her’ corset. And then ‘she’ would lay, her body beside her beloved. A tragic end to the tragic tale. Finally, he could rest, despite how uncomfortable a corset could be. [break][break] The scene could wrap up, the ending scene could play out. And as the scene did change and behind curtains, corpses could walk to life. Not wasting a moment, the Lady Ruliet rose from her grave. A rather tired look strayed onto his face. [break][break] Vaile glanced over to his other main actor. The Knight who was lucky enough to play Jomeo, if incessant whining and insistence actually got anyone everything they wanted. [break][break] “How sweet of you to die for me, Sir Jomeo.” Words were said in slight, but it was all he would comment. The moments would whisk them away again and it was time for the standing bow and ovation…
There they lay, still as the dead when the rest of the cast relevant stepped their way back into the limelight to gaze upon the pair of corpses. Each had their own comment to make, for who wouldn’t? Those dear or remotely close to the couple who had just taken their own lives were left in loss.
It was once their faux Prince declared ”There never was a story of more woe, than this of Juliet and her Romeo,” that curtains pulled themselves closed and the two deceased rose from the grave.
But the end wasn’t just here yet, despite how close it seemed. As hastily as the other, Mor sat himself up and moved smoothly to stand. Everyone else was just as busy around them but before he offered himself to help, he heard the short quip from Valentine, for all that was left of Ruliet was the dressed appearance and nothing more. Their performance was over, but Mor didn’t seem to let go of his own just yet.
The time he ever stopped acting was rare.
He turned to the taller, a gentle smile unwavering. “Who wouldn’t die for you, Ruliet? The stagehands weren’t lying when they spoke of your beauty. And it’s another thing to see rumours confirmed with my own eyes. You're remarkable~” he lilted. No words more were given, and the bluenette turned away to aid the rest of the cast in clearing the stage for applause.
Their separation was not long as after the props were gone, Mor stood at the center once more beside his partnering lead with the rest of the artists arced behind them ranked by importance. The curtains lifted for one last time, and Mor stepped towards the audience with an energy like he’s never done anything more merry, like he hadn't been running around the evening's scene for hours straight.
He gave his bow then waited for ‘Ruliet’ to give hers. Afterwards, he looked at the blond and offered his hand as he had many times during that night. While they were no longer demanded to stay in character, there was still a compatibility he wished to present for the crowd. Once fingers clasped between them, he raised them and took a second bow. Two amongst many.
Each row of actors were given their own time to accept the audience’s applause when the stage was offered to them, and once all the players had been rotated through, everyone organized into a straight line for one final bow in unison.
He felt as ecstatic as the crowd.
Red velveteen dropped from the sky again, and it was then when the company finally had the mercy to relax within the shadows. The play had now formally ended, and their own celebrations or revered rest was all that was left to do. Mor didn’t deem everything quite complete, yet.
He turned back towards his performance partner with an aristocratic smile, looking up as if it were the most natural thing to do. “It’s been a pleasure, this past month! Meeting and working with you, Valentine, along with the rest of the company. I would’ve never known participating in a production would be so enticing– once we all get past the fatigue of all those practices, that is,” he chuckled.
“But I must thank you for your time and cooperation. And dare I say that I suggest you keep yourself employed in this field? I’m sure you’ve heard the town talk of how much you enrapture the people in petticoats and painted lips~”
Not a shred of harm or hostility found itself into the tone of his words.
[attr="class","lonelyscroll"] “Who wouldn’t die for you, Ruliet? [break][break] Vaile narrowed his crimson eyes, the slight smirk on his own face suggested he was entertained by what the other man was prompting. But the ways and wills of words were all simply that, pretty things to be said in jest, pretty masks to wear that actors all knew how to stride in style. [break][break] Acting was deceit, perhaps that was why he amused himself at being good at it. The world was only filled with liars after all. [break][break] Beauty and grace. Such remarkable concepts were to be uttered from the young Lion’s mouth. Not that Vaile cared for it, he didn’t have to entertain the fallacy much longer. [break][break] Bows were given to roaring applause, flowers flew onto the stage, and the lead actors were there to give their main adieu. Under the guise of Ruliet and Jomeo, hands touched, arms raised, and the final curtain was set. Eyes never once left the sight that was the Magic Knight. He was perhaps better suited for this life, one where petty lies and vain egos were celebrated like the facetious fabrication it was. The self-fulfilling vanity was the only thought that filled that man’s head. [break][break] He was a magic knight in name only, that was all Vaile needed to know about him. [break][break] Yet when the glances occurred, when those cerulean gems looked at him with the false impression of sweet, shameless venom, it irked him. It stirred something inside of him, a darker obsession lurked underneath. [break][break] He wanted something, but he didn’t dare finish his thoughts. [break][break] It was better that way, for both of them. [break][break] As the stage came to close, he was given another chance to exchange some words with the bluenette. Perhaps it wasn’t in his desire to hear another uttering of the supposedly innocent jests and other amusing remarks. Somehow, he’d played into the subservient role, into listening what others told him, and then doing what was demanded of him. It was for the sake of helping others, perhaps Valentine still had some generosity left within him. [break][break] Perhaps he didn’t. [break][break] “I’m sure you’ve heard the town talk of how much you enrapture the people in petticoats and painted lips~” [break][break] The smile matched with careless chuckles. The expression of Vaile himself was left exceptionally nuetral. In the end, maybe he was just thinking too much about things. The kid was just a kid. [break][break] But Vaile Valentine was far from innocent. [break][break] “What if this Ruliet is only meant for Jomeo?” [break][break] Words whispered lowly, just enough to escape parted lips. Vaile lowered his head, the space between them compressed. Crimson orbs would meet cerulean for a meer moment, before unpainted lips met another. [break][break] Vaile backed away without another word. He would not be tempted, so he quelled what little vexation stirred him with that. It was better that way, to only have a taste of something that one could never have. Because it was dangerous to take any more steps further. [break][break] “As for a career, I already have another.” Vaile said as he went for the door, throwing his coat over his shoulder. He’d already said his goodbyes to the director, though likely the playwright was far too busy receiving praise from his critics to receive a farewell from his main actor. [break][break] “Good luck with your own, Sir Knight.” [break][break]
Sure, it might’ve been bold of him to jest like so. Not a single muscle on his face was off from the pure look of innocence as if he meant no harm. Which he didn't– or not directly, at least. It was the subterfuge of his preferred line of work seeping in. Keep a face and let others know nothing else you plot over. (Not that he had much in mind for the silverette other than to push some buttons whilst giving a farewell.)
But all looks of amiability froze on Mor's face. The man was stunned by a reaction he had not expected nor would've ever envisioned. A husky whisper followed by a chaste kiss left the shorter gazing into the other's bold rouge with an unreadable expression, his taunting tongue silenced. Eyes followed every small movement the other made, though their final words went in one ear and out the other.
What had he expected? Rage? Resilience against insult? Something else? Something that wasn't the intimacy shown from the blue. So why the sudden peck? Surely, Valentine had to know that the play was over. That there was no more need for the two of them to act the amicable couple. Mor himself had left that responsibility the moment the curtains closed for the last time that night. Did his performance partner not think the same?
He could only watch the man of mystery make their way straight to the exit with no other intentions for the rest of the crew. He was still as silent, still as motionless as if not yet ready to move. His eyes were confused yet curious as they trailed after.
Vaile Valentine.
Who was this man again?
The topic of his thoughts was long gone through the door when Mor's statue-like state was broken with a slight turn of his head, thinking. The name was no name important to the circles he knew and heard of, the circles he was striving to stick a foot into. Thus, no matter what name and fame the guy had, he didn't have time for them. The play was over, and he needed to focus on those who would benefit him.
As if released from a frozen frame in time, the actor was animated once more, headed towards the crowds and crew with a beaming smile and searching for conversation as if nothing more had happened just a minute earlier. For those who wanted a moment with their night's dashing Jomeo, he'd give it to them.
A shame if dear Valentine had fallen for his beauty within the month they worked. Mor had met many individuals over his years, be it for long term business or one time errands. And if he had to point out one thing that remained the same, he'd forget those insignificant soon enough.
