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ofhelens · 4 years

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HELEN WORTHINGTON: AUDITIONING FOR THE ROLE OF LADY MACBETH

oh boy. okay, so without rambling too much..........originally, i wasn’t going to have helen audition for anyone. why would she? with the possible exception of lady macduff, macbeth is full of characters who are totally unlike helen & anyone she’s played up-to-date. plus, the subject of the play is just a little too on the nose for her - and given her self denial at the moment, that isn’t a can of worms she’s looking to open. however, as i was writing this, it became clearer and clearer to me that helen playing lady macbeth would go really well alongside her general trajectory in the roleplay (downhill, like a damn roller coaster) and i could definitely see the “out damn spot” monologue playing well alongside some juicy orson reveal stuff :) also poetically...seeing “the ingenue” go from basically being the embodiment of an angel to playing one of shakespeare’s darkest heroines is...chefs kiss.

it’s strange to say that my character surprised me...(because im writing them?!) but yeah...helen surprised me!! she’s absolutely terrified by the idea of playing someone who is a little darker, a little stranger - but that’s exactly why she should do it!! i also genuinely think it’ll help her grow as an actor, which is something i really want to see happen. helen is pretty mediocre - but she doesn’t have to be!!! the only way we can grow as individuals is by challenging ourselves - something i’m keen to see heidi make happen.

having said that, i am not ride-or-die for lady macbeth and do not expect her to be cast as her at all!! if orson was casting, helen would be lady macduff without a question (we stan a self aware queen!) - and now that she’s made that point explicit to heidi, i feel like the latter will be way more inclined to cast her as anyone-but-that. if not lady macbeth, i could definitely see her playing one of the witches. essentially, i just need helen to play someone with a little more meat, someone who is darker; meaning that as she tries to nail their characterisation, she’s forced to confront some ugly things about herself and almost deal with the darkness in a therapeutic way.

“Helen Worthington.” She had expected stepping out onto the stage to feel more poetic. There was supposed to be sorrow in finality, grief in endings. And this was it. This was the final time she would audition for a play as an Alderidge student - perhaps her final audition all together. Whilst her peers clamoured for the limelight, she would have been perfectly comfortable making this her swan song. A moment passed. “I’ll be auditioning with Cleopatra, Act 5, Scene 2.” She could still hear Zahra’s words of encouragement in the back of her mind, quelling any doubts.

A brief look of surprise crossed Heidi’s face, she glanced down at her paper, as if trying to match the person she saw before her with words on a page. Then, slowly, she nodded. “Alright...am I to assume you’ll be auditioning for Lady MacBeth then?”

It took a moment for Helen’s mind to make the connection. She shook her head firmly. “No - no...no. I could never play Lady MacBeth...she’s...” Too monstrous. Too big a part. Too much like everything I never want to be. Settling on diplomacy, Helen sighed. “I could never do her justice.”

This seemed to interest Heidi. “Why not? Looking at your previous roles - “ She shuffled the papers in her hand “- you seem to have done a standout job with Celia. Lady MacBeth isn’t such a jump. Lines wise, at least.”

Helen shook her head, adamant that Heidi see what she did. “Playing Celia isn’t hard. She’s soft. Dreamy. And a character in a comedy.”

Heidi frowned. “So it’s Shakespeare’s tragedies you’re opposed to? Or being challenged?”

She was so unlike Orson that Helen had to blink twice, just to be sure her senses weren’t tricking her. “No. I don’t like tragedies. Everyone dies. I love theatre because it’s an escape - because it’s a chance to live out someone else’s stories. But why would I want to live like...like Lady MacBeth? She’s a terrible person. She’s a monster. I’d hate to even feel an inch of who she is.” Because what if I’m good at it? What if it’s easy to become her? What does that say about me? About what I’ve done?

“And being challenged?” A dog with a bone, Heidi continued to tug at the remaining loose thread. “Is it a fear of letting people down? Are you afraid that you’re not talented enough?”

Back against the wall, Helen was forced to confront some uncomfortable truths. The purest of which was this: she never had been challenged. Any malevolent thoughts were packed in dusty boxes at the back of her mind, never to be opened. She was practically adored by her peers. Orson had never dragged her out of her comfort zone. She had no idea what being challenged was like. All she knew was that she didn’t want it. “I don’t know.” She conceded, sighing. “I’ve only ever played Celias.”

“And you want things to stay that way?”

Helen closed her eyes. Her mind was awash with a thousand memories - hanging out with Chandler in between As You Like It auditions, kissing Jonah backstage, laughing with Harry, cooking with Julian...she didn’t want things to ever change. That was why she poisoned Orson, wasn’t it? So that they could stay in a glorious summer, where no one ever got hurt. “Yes. Why fix what isn’t broken?”

Heidi shot her a thoughtful glance and opened her mouth as if she was about to ask another question, before shutting it abruptly. “Alright Helen -” She said slowly, nodding. “The stage is yours.”

Now nervous about her audition piece, about what it said about her and about whether she’d be able to deliver; Helen closed her eyes. She had never been to Egypt, never even left the country - but conjured the sensation of balmy evenings, a heart full of love and a crown weighing you down. “Give me my robe, put on my crown; I have immortal longings in me - “ Perhaps she and Cleopatra weren’t so different. She understood what it was to long for immortality of another kind. You could have even said she was desire itself. It was those parts of Cleopatra Helen chose to emphasise.

Pretending to shuffle on a robe, Helen stared out into the audience. Cleopatra saw a kingdom.

“now no more the juice of Egypt's grape shall moist this lip: Yare, yare, good Iras; quick. Methinks I hear Antony call; I see him rouse himself to praise my noble act; I hear him mock the luck of Caesar, which the gods give men to excuse their after wrath: husband, I come: now to that name my courage prove my title!” The love between Antony and Cleopatra, Helen had decided, was ugly. It was brutal. It should not be celebrated. But she also thought she understood it - the sensation of being bound to someone, of loving them so intensely you would do unspeakable, regrettable, things in their name. If someone dared lay a finger on Antony, would Cleopatra burn them to the ground? Helen was sure she would. As she came to understand Shakespeare’s heroine, she began to lose herself in Cleopatra’s skin in a way she never had before.

Opposite her, but unseen by Helen, Heidi sat up a little straighter.

“I am fire and air; my other elements I give to baser life. So; have you done? Come then, and take the last warmth of my lips. Farewell, kind Charmian; Iras, long farewell.” Her kiss brings death. It was a terrifying kind of beautiful. Against her better judgement, Helen’s mind began to wonder...to remember. A wine glass. A toast. Poison. A deceitful smile concealing burning hatred. Who was she to judge Shakespeare’s characters...when she had wrought such destruction...

Lips trembling, Helen paused - momentarily unable to continue with her performance. See, this was why she hated Shakespeare’s dark and decrepit creatures. They drew something carnal out of her...they overwhelmed her, threatening to seize her voice and take it as their own. To be on stage was to be exposed...and this was one reflection she refused to peer into.

Why did Zahra encourage her to use this piece? Did she know something? Or did she just want to see her falter?

Ten seconds later, she regained her composure. Her break did not go unnoticed by Heidi.

Kneeling on the floor, Helen took Iras’ imaginary body into her arms, cradling him as he took his last breaths. Childish and impulsive she may be, but Cleopatra had heart. She wasn’t wholly wicked. Maybe in her performance, Helen could find her a kind of redemption; a thousand years too late.

“Have I the aspic in my lips? Dost fall? If thou and nature can so gently part, the stroke of death is as a lover's pinch, which hurts, and is desired. Dost thou lie still? If thus thou vanishest, thou tell'st the world. It is not worth leave-taking.” Was Cleopatra brave to watch Iras take his last breaths? Was she a coward for letting Orson die alone? Panic’s familiar sensation threatened to take a hold of her. Breath quickening, her last sentence was slightly slurred as she raced towards the end, to the moment she could be done with Cleopatra, toss her aside and never wear her face again.

Her story was not Cleopatra’s. She and Jonah were not Antony and Cleopatra. She was just a role. It was all make believe.

“See -” Helen began, gentle, but sad. “There’s a reason I don’t get cast as the Lady MacBeth’s of the world.”

Wearing an expression equal parts confusion and sympathy, Heidi returned her smile. “It’s not your fault you’ve never had an opportunity to dig deeper with your characters. Now that isn’t to say that his comedic characters don’t have depth - but it’s like the other side of a coin. If you want to excel as an actor, it’s important you learn how to play both kinds. Life can’t always be sunshine and rainbows.”

Why not? Knowing better than to vocalise her disagreement, Helen swallowed her words. Idealism never...carried well with people. They thought she was a child, head in the clouds, living in a world of fantasy. Had she been a crueller person, she would have asked them why they were so adamant to continue living in a world of grey. So instead, she nodded politely. “Thank you for letting me audition.”

"Thank you for coming in Helen. And props for choosing something we wouldn’t expect.” Glancing down at her sheet, she tapped her nails against the paper. “You still haven’t told me who you’re auditioning for.”

Her first instinct was to steadfastly refuse to audition for any of them - and let the chips fall where they may. Or even to ask to be moved down a year, to the third year’s comedy. “Orson would probably cast me as Lady MacDuff.” It was the only character she ever could have volunteered herself for. Domestic bliss, it was something she embodied easily.

“Well - “ Heidi said, inclining her head, “I’m not Orson.”

No, Helen thought, you’re not. May that be a blessing, and not my curse.

“Would you toss your hat into the ring for Lady MacBeth?”

No, Helen thought. Not a chance in hell. But then, betrayed by her mouth, she nodded. “I’d consider it.”

As she exited the stage, Helen couldn’t help but wonder what the hell she’d gotten herself into.

#this is literally the first thing i have ever...designed myself #em did all the thinking on the main graphics #ensembletask

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knightmathias · 4 years

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task 01: spring play audition ( macbeth ) !

notes: don’t give him macbeth thank u i want him to go batshit LMAO im kidding but rlly dont give him macbeth

i also couldn’t figure out how to put this in organically but mathias def knows that a LOT of the others are gunning for macbeth too!!! but he’s never been worried bc he knows for sure he’s always going to get the lead roles so he never really thinks about anyone else, i think it’ll be great for him to not only NOT get macbeth but not even a really big role full stop ? i don’t think it makes sense for heidi to give him a SMALL role maybe bc he IS technically really fuckin good but i also dont think heidi think it’s Best to give him a huge role anyway like she can see the Laziness in him and “acting for the wrong reasons” / not improving as an actor bc he’s never been in the spot to need to!!!!!!

Calling it a problem sounded so serious, you think derisively. Your hands are brushing over the small packet of coke you’ve placed on the desk, eyebrows furrowed. You’ve got ten minutes until your audition, and whilst Heidi doesn’t seem to be the type of person to appreciate tardiness, you’re not used to bending yourself to follow the rules. So you’ll be late. Big deal.

Calling it a problem, you continue thinking, getting your thoughts back on track. Calling it a problem was silly. An addiction would come in the form of your sister Ana, who could never stop herself. And even then, she’s fine. High every time you see her these days, maybe, but she’s fine -- Bad things don’t happen to the Knights. Only good things. Only good things.

Still, you sweep the bag into your desk drawer instead, out of sight. You don’t need it right now, the temptation was just a little too much when you have the bag in front of you; you’re certainly not nervous about this audition at all. Sure, you haven’t really worked on practising much -- but you never do, right? And sure, you’ve been more distracted as of late -- falling in and out of [the statue’s] bed, preoccupied by Orson’s death. But you either have the star quality or you don’t, it’s what your parents have always taught you. Working hard is good, but it’s for the ones that don’t have it, who want what you have. You’ve run through your lines a few times, you know it’s going to be good.

( And sure, you’ve taken to drinking more and smoking more and done a few more lines lately than would be considered smart. But you don’t talk about that. You don’t even think about that. What’s too much? What’s too far? When is enough enough when you’ve been like this, been around this, your whole life? It’s the glamourous life of theatre, baby, it’s just show biz. )

You take your phone out of your pocket to check the time. 4 minutes. Plenty of time then.

There’s a glass filled halfway of vodka and Coke on your bed stand, not quite finished from the night before. You pick it up and down it, even though it’s gone flat by now. The alcohol to take the edge off, but you won’t admit there’s an edge to you anyway. Liquid luck instead, maybe, but when have you ever needed luck? For the enjoyment, then, is what you reason. Why waste perfectly good alcohol?

By the time you arrive, Heidi’s voice cuts to you, unimpressed. “You’re twelve minutes late.”

“Had to make sure my hair was pretty,” you say charmingly, the cheek usually endearing to others. Orson would’ve loved your response, would’ve grinned and joked back, would’ve said something about the importance of appearance on stage. Orson would’ve ---

But it’s not Orson. It’s Heidi, and she doesn’t seem to think you’re being funny at all.

“I think it’s best if you just start, since you’re running late.”

But you’ve already made your way onto the stage.

"Mathias Knight,” you say, stage voice on. Your teeth glint white in the light as you flash a professional smile, but Heidi doesn’t seem to return it. “I’m auditioning for the role of Macbeth. I’ve chosen to do Macbeth’s speech from Act 2 Scene 1 -- Enjoy.”

There’s no surprise on Heidi’s face at your announcement of choice, but you don’t let it deter you. Of course it’s predictable, to go for Macbeth and to do this scene, but does it matter what you audition with, when your talent will showcase either way? You want Macbeth and you’re going to get it, you always do. There was no point putting in more work than its worth, when performing Macbeth’s most famous soliloquy did the same job.

Heidi nods, so you take a deep breath and settle into your role effortlessly. You’ve heard the others talk about needing to have an emotional connection to the role they’re playing, and you’ve never quite understood it -- you’ve played characters you could hardly even fathom being similar to, but you’ve played them excellently nonetheless. Acting, for you, is not about the emotion, or the personal, or the leaving of your body behind. It’s about the skill and the technique and the way you perform it -- because that’s what it is, isn’t it? It’s a performance. It’s a performance and you’re conscious of that fact every moment you are on that stage, your own kingdom. You connect with the characters because you need to, but it’s always been on that surface level, knowing you are playing them. You are not Macbeth. That much is clear. But you’re a damn good actor.

“Is this a dagger which I see before me, / The handle toward my hand? Come, let me clutch thee...”

You’ve never known fear, or delusion, like Macbeth in this scene -- but that’s never been why you’re so good. You can push passion and emotion out of your voice so well that no one could ever see the difference, you can bend and contort your face in the same anguish and people will believe it. What is a tragedy to someone who’s never experienced the bad? It’s just: tragedy. It’s a word. It means nothing.

( Tragedy: a play dealing with tragic events and having an unhappy ending, especially one concerning the downfall of the main character. )

( Of course you’re the main character, you’re always the main character. There’s nothing forgettable about the way you hold yourself, the way you speak, the way you move. The downfall of the main character. But you’ve not done anything wrong, have you? You didn’t murder Orson. What’s the worse crime you’ve committed? A few stolen grams of coke? Petty thievery, small crime -- who is hurting from your lack of consequences? No one. You were born indestructible. You’re pretty sure you’re going to die that way too. )

( An unhappy ending. Darling, your story is hardly far from over yet. )

When you finish the soliloquy, that powerful feeling that settles in your bones every time you perform, you half-expect an applause. You were objectively good and there’s no other way that that could be twisted. Instead, you look out and only meet Heidi’s eyes, facial expression unreadable. For a moment, you’d forgotten, waiting for Orson to tell you how brilliant you were.

But Orson wasn’t here. Isn’t it funny it only hits you in the gut every time you want something from him? His approval felt like an applause from an adoring crowd. His approval confirmed everything you’ve ever known about yourself, and you didn’t realise you craved it so badly until you were faced with the absence of it.

Several beats of silence. You’re waiting for her to say something, but when she doesn’t, you say, “So?”

Finally, Heidi shrugs. “It was an impressive performance. Truthfully, one of the best I’ve seen today.”

At that, you square your shoulders, basking in the compliment. What’s the best part of acting for you? You’ve heard others say things like slipping out of their own body and mind, into someone else’s. No, for you, you bleed yourself out on stage for this: the roaring approval.

But Heidi isn’t done talking. She adds, “I just don’t know if it’s enough.”

You blink. “Pardon me, but what?”

“What do you think about when you’re acting on stage, Mathias?”

The question takes you by surprise. “I think -- I think about the role I’m playing.”

Heidi shakes her head. “The thing is -- I just don’t think you do. I think you’re thinking about the praise you’ll get.”

“Is that such a bad thing?” You don’t have a bad temper, you’ve never been forced to. But irritation ignites within you, an uncomfortable and unfamiliar feeling.

She considers you for a moment, and you’ve never felt self-conscious in your life, least of all on a stage. She considers you for a moment, and you feel suddenly very naked, like she’s looking at something deep within you and she’s not liking what she sees.

“Thank you for your time, Mathias,” she says abruptly.

“No,” falls out of your mouth first, because you’re not used to being dismissed, not used to failing. She said it was one of the best performances she’s seen today, but suddenly it doesn’t feel enough.

Her eyebrows raise.

“You said it yourself that I’m good,” you say hurriedly. “I’m the best, and you know it. You can dislike me all you like --”

“Mathias, I don’t dislike you --”

“But I know I’m good,” you continue, as if uninterrupted. “When I’m on that stage, it doesn’t matter who likes me as Mathias and who doesn’t; all that matters is that the audience does. I’ve been playing the lead my whole life for a reason, and they’ll all call it arrogance, but there’s nothing wrong in knowing that I’m good. That I’m the best. Who cares if I’m connecting emotionally to the characters? I’m one of the best actors on this program and it’s for a reason, and I’m sorry it’s not the reason you want it to be, but talent is a reason in itself. That’s what Orson told me. Orson said I have what it takes. Orson said I was going to do big things. Orson said --”

“Mathias,” Heidi cuts off neatly, and there’s something in her voice that you can’t place. Pity, maybe? But you’ve never been pitied before. What is there to pity in you? You’re the star. You’re always the fucking star. “I’m not Orson.”

The sentence guts you in a way it shouldn’t, and you blink at the aftermath of your outburst.

“Thank you for your time, Mathias,” she says again, firmer.

This time, you move off the stage, towards the door. The only thing you can think about is how badly you need a drink.

#no editing we post first drafts like men #ensembletask #god im reading it thru and it's so choppy and weird but im going to post anyway enjoy xoxo #( self para ! )

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aldysfool · 4 years

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nate’s social media — twitter

believe it or not, nate’s got a pretty consistent thing going with twitter. his first love, nate spends a good amount of time retweeting memes, news articles, and hot takes on pop culture. while he isn’t really sure where all his followers came from, people seem to be having a good time and playing nice in the comments. (even if a few thousand of them are bots.) there’s something about spewing dumb shit in one moment and truth in the next that nate really connects with. if his classmates finally agree to that orgy, he realllllllllly hopes they’ll let him live tweet the whole thing. that should definitely get him 100k by graduation.

#ensembletask #( socials. )

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ofmadsle · 4 years

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A LOOK INTO MADS’ SOCIAL MEDIA: TINDER EDITION

Yes she’s seen almost everyone from the cast on tinder and yes, she’s swiped on all of them. Some of them were a joke, some weren’t. She keeps her bio minimal and used it primarily for free drinks/food/hookups before finally matching with Harry. She messaged Harry first with just the eyes emoji and “so I took your advice about my style,” recalling their conversation during the Halloween party. The rest is history.

#ensembletask #hc #social #tinder #OK this was the last one #but tada~#my edit

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chandlerrosen · 4 years

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the hollow crown and dagger of the mind

when: auditions

where: the alderidge auditorium

who: chandler rosen, center stage, all alone

ooc: chandler is auditioning for macbeth! i don’t expect her to get the role, though i do think she’d be a strong contender! additionally, i think it’d be interesting if she played lady macbeth, as she never played a female role before and heidi seems to like to shake things up, plus the guilt tears lady macbeth apart, and though chandler didn’t kill anyone, she still feels incredibly guilty for a number of reasons. also, i think it’d be saucy if she was macduff, whose morality and thirst for justice could translate well to the plot, considering chandler wants to find out who kills orson! extra spicy if macbeth/lady macbeth killed orson, though that is up to heidi of course.

“To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow, / Creeps in this petty pace from day to day,”

the infamous words from the equally infamous play rang through chandler’s head as she anticipated her call to action, the beginning of the end. well acquainted with the ceremony of the audition, chandler held in her hand an iced coffee the size of her head, the condensation dripping down her thigh as she silently buzzed with adrenaline and caffeine. soon she would be called into the auditorium, prepared to bare her heart, her soul, the very blood in her veins, and leave it on the stage. just as orson taught her. of course, he wouldn’t be there, beaming up at her performance that she created for his eyes only. god, those eyes. how she missed the way they sparkled and glinted, their familiar warmth soothing her nerves as she uttered her first word, thus beginning her descent, spiralling deeper and deeper into the character she sculpted with the hands of her passion.

and then she was called, by a voice unfamiliar though not unkind. nerves before an audition are normal - though some may disagree, they are liars. but her nerves were compounded with the fear that heidi knew, and would judge her for her fleshly sins - though sweet, they stung. the sun was beginning to sink as she took one last look out the window and entered the auditorium, the blinding stage lights a familiar comfort amidst the chaos.

“hello, my name is chandler rosen and i’m auditioning for the role of macbeth,” she said confidently. a bold choice, but this would be her final time gracing the stage at alderidge, and such a tremendous goodbye must go out with an equally devastating bang. could she do it, though? before her audition she considered not auditioning, or simply doing an overdone speech from macbeth. but she couldn’t afford to be cast in a small role, quite literally. as well, it would simply prove everyone right when they swear she only got the lead in henry viii because of who she chose to give her heart to. rumors flew around chandler, beating her over and over again with words that stained and burned into her core. she chose to embrace those scars with her performance. if it is a murderer they want, it will be a murderer she will give.

but could she do it? could she show,

show,

SHOW!

as the three witches demand? could she unfurl the scrolls inside her veins that contained her deepest fears of cowardice and regret, confront the monstrous creature that lived inside of her, that was capable of hurting those she loved? capable of becoming her mother? could she show the world the most depraved parts of her she tries so desperately to hide? she must, she simply has no other choice.

“i will be performing richard ii’s monologue from act three, scene three.” heidi nodded as she jotted down notes on her pad, and met chandler with friendly eyes. perhaps heidi wasn’t so bad after all. she was no orson, that was for certain, but no one could match up to him. and if she turned out to be the villain in this tragedy, so be it. more fuel for her fire.

her body sunk with despair as she prepared her descent. voice lowered effortlessly as she did, she began, “what must the king do now? must he submit? the king shall do it: must he be deposed? the king shall be contented: must he lose the name of king?” she paused, a pained expression on her face as she imagined herself, a despot at his prime, seeing the fruits of his labor and body slipping before his eyes as he was faced with mutiny. “o' God's name, let it go:” moaning on go, they, chandler and richard intertwined, begged for release from their suffering. the words she spake became a river that flowed out from her lips as she became that tired egoist. “i'll give my jewels for a set of beads, my gorgeous palace for a hermitage, my gay apparel for an almsman's gown, my figured goblets for a dish of wood, my sceptre for a palmer's walking staff, my subjects for a pair of carved saints,” they pleaded with their audience, envisioned a world of simplicity, where outside pressures and pleasures were eliminated, their self effaced and transformed into a small cog in a divined machine. “and my large kingdom for a little grave,” pausing, a look of ecstasy and pain, of the utmost catharsis, spread across her face, she waited a beat for the words to sink in and resound across the space. a little grave, the same one orson was lying in, alone. the same one she would call eternity one day.

the thought of orson in his grave made her heart sink deeper. her eyes glazed over as her voice turned bitter and dreamlike, “a little little grave, an obscure grave; or i'll be buried in the king's highway, some way of common trade, where subjects' feet may hourly trample on their sovereign's head; for on my heart they tread now whilst I live; and buried once, why not upon my head?” voice filled with spite and heartbreak, chandler couldn’t tell who she was more mad at - those who betrayed her, or she, who betrayed herself. betrayal - the thought never crossed her mind until that minute as she reveled in the pitiful richard, who saw his subjects as his children, and their committing patricide on their divinely anointed king. chandler didn’t see herself as the king of alderidge - far from it, honestly. though she understood his words, his desire with every fiber of his being to be anonymous, the burden of others and their bitter betrayal eased off his shoulders. their shoulders. the disappointment she saw in the eyes of those she once called friends, the sadness in the eyes of the one she called my love. breaking grace’s heart destroyed her own, and chandler would give anything to feel that sorrow and anger and betrayal that grace must feel. if only that could mean grace was happy.

tears began to prick her eyes at the most opportune time as she turns to the fabricated cousin of richard and continues, “aumerle, thou weep'st, my tender-hearted cousin! we'll make foul weather with despised tears; our sighs and they shall lodge the summer corn, and make a dearth in this revolting land.” weeping joy fills her voice as she, as richard, gives a rousing speech to his woebegone cousin. misery loves company, after all, though chandler felt herself entirely alone lately. she had helen, but her best friend’s light was too bright to be dulled by the darkness of her own depravity. and thus she questioned who her own aumerle would be. who would be alongside her as she brought the storm down upon herself and her peers, who she digs her grave alongside? who would be brought down with her as she plummeted to the rocky bottom of her metaphorical grave? until finally she realized the answer. no one.

alas, no time to dwell on her own misery upon the sordid stage! for it was richard who required her undivided attention! she quickened the pace, asking her next question with morbid, restrained glee, pontificating on their shared sorrow, “or shall we play the wantons with our woes, and make some pretty match with shedding tears? as thus, to drop them still upon one place, till they have fretted us a pair of graves within the earth; and, therein laid,—there lies two kinsmen digg'd their graves with weeping eyes.” and oh, how her eyes wept. her stream of tears slowed and stilled, her voice traversing the terrain from woe to bitterness, and dropping into melancholic anguish, popping the p’s like orson taught her, stressing the beauty of shakespeare’s words. all emotions dulled by the composure that dignified a king who had naught but his own dignity left.

she turns to face heidi, her lone audience member. perhaps her new director was just as alone as she was. perhaps they could find common ground, perhaps she could soften the blow of orson’s death. the foolish thoughts of a child filled her head before she realized the obvious - nothing, and no one, could soften this lethal blow. and again, anger bubbled in her - anger at herself, at her own helplessness. a helplessness that she felt within richard, who could do nothing but stand there and talk, concede his kingdom and pray for his life. she spoke with a self-righteous flair, eager to hold onto the scraps of richard’s pride, “would not this ill do well? well, well, i see i talk but idly, and you laugh at me. most mighty prince, my lord northumberland, what says king bolingbroke? will his majesty give richard leave to live till richard die?” they laughed at him. all of them, laughing at a man on the brink of losing his lifeblood, faced with an impossble choice, and one completely out of his hands: to die a king, to live forever in infamy? or to die shrouded in anonymity, to live in peace? to be or not to be, though that question found its home in a different play far from chandler’s mind.

contempt filled her voice as she straightened up, her final stand against those who dare deny her her love, her friends, her passion, who dare denied richard his hollow crown. she snarled her lip and began her solitary revolution, “you make a leg, and bolingbroke says ay.”

it was the cowardice in those who deposed richard - they flatter him, only to mindlessly follow the next man with victory written in his blood. they praise him as they once praised richard. as they once praised orson. perhaps, at the denouement of her descent, she realized that she was not richard; orson was. or perhaps it was an amalgam of the two of them - three of them? after the time they spent together, chandler couldn’t help but wonder how much of orson’s soul intertwined with hers, how much blood he left stained on her fingertips, her throat, her heart. she once thought that she would be lucky to have an ounce of orson’s passion and intelligence, but now she worries - for a brief second before she violently effaces it from her mind’s eye - that he left too much of his own darkness. how selfish of him, to break her life and leave her to pick up the pieces. and yet, when they were together, she felt as though the cracks she accumulated throughout her life were plastered with solid gold. beauty cannot exist without terror, after all.

she took a second to decompress from the emotions of her monologue. taking a breath, she perked up, smiling at heidi who, surprisingly, returned the gesture. “thank you, chandler.” she says before returning to her notepad. “thank you,” chandler said with a sincerity that startled her. adrenaline pumping through her veins, she floated out of the door, confronted by the hazy darkness of dusk. the thoughts and emotions that came up during her monologue, those unexplored territories that chandler feared venturing, were simply something she would have to ponder tomorrow.

#ensembletask #{ presume not that i am the thing i was | headcanon }#this isnt rly a hc but i'll change the tag later

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saffijackson · 4 years

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SAFFI JACKSON’S TWO INSTAGRAMS: post edition

#pour one out for me not having photoshop or like any skill and just using these generators #im sorry this is UGLIE its not my fault im dumb #musing #i'm a fine art major not a graphic designer and if this is not proof that they're very different idk what is #ensembletask

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hudscnwilliams · 4 years

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hudson williams - instagram

hudson’s instagram is just as messy as his life, honestly. he doesn’t have any sort of specific aesthetic, it’s just a mix of things things that he’s doing and things he thinks are interesting. selfies are few and far between - he’s probably only posted about twenty in total. most of his following is made up of kids he went to high school with, some people from alderidge, and people who hope he posts pictures of The Real Influencers of Alderidge™. oh, and the people who are morbidly curious about orson’s death, of course.

top row, first picture: he said he would never be this person, but hudson did in fact post announcement about getting macbeth. as a result, his follower count increased a little. not all of the comments were positive, but hudson’s avoided looking at it since he posted it.

top row, second picture: a picture taken and posted during the winter masque. it was one of the few moments that night that he was actually relaxed, and in an effort to sell his innocence, hudson took a quick pic of himself and some friends cheers-ing.

top row, third picture: taken on his drive back to campus after spending winter break at his friend’s house. the roads were icy and the snow looked nice.

bottom row, first picture: this was taken before orson’s death. one random night in the fall, some of the fourth years had a bonfire and hudson felt a bit nostalgic considering it was their last autumn together. so he took a picture of them all having fun.

bottom row, second picture: one of hudson’s favorite places in birnam is the second hand book store. one day, as he was going to get some more stuff to read, he snapped a quick picture.

bottom row, third picture: an action shot taken by julian during one of their nights’ out. hudson was a little drunk and having fun, so he rolled with it and posted the picture.

#ensembletask #{ hudson | social media }#{ hudson | instagram }#it's boring sorry

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pvlmer · 4 years

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location: fab (fine arts building) time & date: macbeth auditions notes: i think i went a little overboard with this self para but i really think this explores the parallels between the monologue and how jason is feeling about Everything that’s happened. also i decided to put a little bit about his tenuous relationship with god and i think i’m going to make that like an official headcanon because why not trigger warnings: mentions of death, murder, religion

Jason had spent far too long teetering back and forth between what he wanted to do at his audition. With Orson gone, there was a chance to start over, a new slate, maybe someone who could finally see him in the way that Orson refused to. But it wasn’t like Heidi wouldn’t know about his past -- him almost getting kicked out, how his brother would surely outshine him. It felt like even with Orson gone, the feeling of just being someone to fill up space and never getting to carve one out of his own would always follow him around. But he knew he deserved space. Despite his low self esteem and optimism, there was something inside of him that was begging for someone to see him. Maybe Heidi would be that person, he told himself. One of his goals for the semester was to be more positive, something others had been telling him to do for years, and this was a goal he was trying to reach, unlike the forgotten New Year’s resolutions of promising himself to finish that play or finally opening up to Nate.

After studying the texts for so long and feeling like he knew both his monologue and Macbeth inside out, Jason couldn’t shake the feeling that he should go out for the role of Macbeth. He had always wanted a bigger role and he felt like he could channel everything he had been feeling about Orson’s death into his acting. He had never been one to outwardly express his feelings to people in a direct way, which was probably a problem but he pretends it isn’t, and he had been feeling so conflicted over the death ever since the winter masque. It felt kind of right that he was auditioning for Macbeth, both ambitious and willing to kill for it. Well, Jason didn’t technically kill Orson but he wasn’t sure how the cops would see that excuse.

Opening the door to the theatre, the thought this is it rode through his mind over and over again as he approached the stage. This was one of his final attempts to prove to Alderidge that he was more, more than just a background character, more than just the quiet theatre kid that no one ever really noticed, more than just Nate’s brother, more than just a prop, pardon the pun. After practicing and speaking with Julian, he got a little more confident. He took a deep breath as he stepped towards the middle of the stage.

“My name is Jason Palmer and I’ll be auditioning for the role of Macbeth.” The sentence felt odd for Jason to say, yet it was oddly freeing. In the beginning of his career at Alderidge, he would audition for the lead and have Orson laugh right in his face. So he started to go out for smaller roles, because he figured it would hurt less. Now with no laughter, it didn’t hurt as much. If Heidi is surprised, she doesn’t show it much as she just nods as she writes down some notes and tells Jason to start whenever he’s ready.

And in a way, Jason has been ready. If four years at Alderidge have been anything, they’ve been training him for this moment. All of the times that he stayed up memorizing the lines of parts that he didn’t have, all of the extra time he put in over school breaks, all of the time spent looking at all of the other actors. Even though he would be reluctant to admit this, Orson was training him as well -- despite Orson’s faults, Jason figures that Orson gave him thicker skin and determination. If Orson had just given Jason the lead, Jason would have never put his nose down and tried to prove him wrong. Although it didn’t excuse the professor’s horrid behavior towards him and other students and Jason would never admit it, there was a small part of him that maybe benefited from Orson. A very small part of him.

The other part of him, the one that was much bigger was determined to take Orson’s death as an opportunity, as twisted as it sounds, to start fresh and to be seen. Jason tried to push these thoughts away, he wanted to be a good person. But it was like, no matter what he did, the thoughts slipped into his mind, seeping like a dark cloud. Jason knew that it was wrong to be glad someone was dead, but that didn’t stop him from thinking it. Just as Jason knew it was wrong to resent Nate, but that didn’t stop him from doing it. The whole thing made Jason think that maybe he wasn’t as good of a person as he pretended to be. Because the dark thoughts he, they weren’t new for him, they had just been amplified. Maybe the darkness had been inside of him all along.

“I will be performing King Claudius’s monologue from Hamlet, Act III Scene III.” Jason had also teetered back and forth between doing a monologue from a Macbeth scene or this one, but there was something about this one that stuck out to him. Maybe it was because both Claudius and Jason were struggling with recent deaths. Or maybe it was because they both had tenuous relationships with religion, Claudius not being able to get down on his knees and pray, while Jason struggling with his relationship with God ever since he can remember.

“O, my offense is rank. It smells all the way to heaven.”

Jason is thinking about the guilt he carries for helping to kill Orson. If he believed in heaven, which he’s not sure that he does, he’s not sure if he belongs there anymore. It’s quite tragic, really, which is fitting. Never feeling like you belong anywhere on earth and not even belonging somewhere once you’ve left the earth. Jason continues on with his performance, having memorized the monologue ages ago and recently gone over it so many times that he was muttering it in his sleep. He knew it like the back of his hand.

“My stronger guilt defeats my strong intent.”

Claudius at this moment, Jason thinks, is reckoning with the moral ambiguity of his actions. Watching him and everyone else be accused of killing Orson was very similar to when Claudius saw the play which reenacted his brother’s death. It was like seeing a ghost. Through Jason’s voice, you hear a little tremble -- it’s almost as if his voice is coming to terms with the struggle between his guilt and his intentions.

Jason loses himself in the monologue, as he often does. He almost forgets Heidi is even there for most of it. He moves around, taking full opportunity of the space he’s given. Something he hasn’t had the luxury of doing before. He is completely immersed in the character of Claudius, one that he coincidentally tried to go out for in high school but instead, he got the role of Cornelius, with a whole one line. But this production was going to be different. He could feel it.

“But oh, what form of prayer. Can serve my turn, “Forgive me my foul murder”?”

This line echoes throughout the stage. It comes out as almost a cry, begging to be forgiven. Jason stumbles for a moment, due to the fact that his voice cracked a bit. Maybe it was because he pushed too much or it was just all too real for him. He takes a deep breath and continues the scene. If there’s anything he’s learned from his failures, it’s that stopping to apologize just ruins the pacing of the scene, even though it is in his nature to do so. Not just when he messes up, but it is in his nature to apologize for taking up space. Maybe he should stop apologizing for things he shouldn’t feel sorry for.

“Try what repentance can. What can it not? Yet what can it when one can not repent?”

Jason isn’t really sure where Claudius ends and he begins at this point. He’s pulling everything he can from his real life, even though he figures he repents Orson’s death less than Claudius does his brother’s. For some of this monologue, Jason had to channel something other than Orson’s death. He had to imagine himself killing his brother which was one of the most conflicting things he had ever done. But he was sure that Nate would understand, it was all for the craft. And it did help, he could feel the genuine repentance Claudius would feel, rather than the ambiguous guilt he felt over Orson.

“Help, angels. Make assay. Bow, stubborn knees, and, heart with strings of steel, Be soft as sinews of the newborn babe.”

Jason starts to try to kneel. This part is too real. His knees almost hit the ground but never quite getting there. He has never felt like he’s had a God that was truly on his side. Praying had never come easy to him because every time he prayed, it felt like it was just a big joke. Or maybe he was the joke. His brother was great at telling them, but Jason was good at being one.

“Be soft as sinews of the newborn babe. All may be well.”

Instead of kneeling gracefully, Jason practically falls to his knees. Like the ground is the only thing that will be able to catch him. He puts his hands together and stares at the ceiling, or God, he’s not quite sure. He bites his lip before standing up and doing a small bow to indicate that he’s done with his performance.

Heidi thanks him for his audition and he walks out of the theater doors. It was probably his best performance to date, but if he were being honest, that wasn’t saying that much. You couldn’t really get a chance to put on a performance of a lifetime with limited lines. But despite that, for some reason, Jason was always determined to put everything he had into a performance. Even if that performance were as fleeting as the feeling of belonging. But as he exited the stage, there was a certain feeling of levity, contrasted with the heavy emotions he just displayed on the stage.

He somehow felt lighter and heaver at the same time. Like some sort of paradox -- he was lighter because he just gave the best performance of his life and was able to channel so many emotions into the monologue. But there was a certain heaviness to it, the fact that he was still coming to terms with everything he had said and felt in the monologue. And it seemed right, that he felt this way. Somewhere in between, he sometimes felt like his existence was a paradox. After exiting the building, he decided to text his brother that he just finished and to wish him good luck.

“Just finished my audition. Good luck on yours. Love you.”

#ensembletask #( self para. )

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teddynewell · 4 years

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𝚝𝚎𝚍𝚍𝚢'𝚜 𝚜𝚙𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚙𝚕𝚊𝚢 𝚊𝚞𝚍𝚒𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗 ; 𝚊 𝚜𝚎𝚕𝚏-𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚊 .

𝐓𝐖: murder mentions.

𝐎𝐎𝐂.

Evie wants Macbeth, but Teddy wants Macduff. I did mention Macbeth on my app so it was my to go option when the task was announced. But then I realized that realistically, Teddy wouldn’t go for Macbeth. For a number of reasons you’ll find in the self para. But I did made him get a lil “Macbethian” through his audition, it just sort of happened, hehe. Will Heidi be able to notice? 👀 As I said on my app, I still think if he were to get Macbeth it’d be hella ironic and honestly a lot of fun to play. The development he’d go through by preparing for the role, especially regarding his mental stability would just be delicious to play out. But Macduff?? The raw emotions? The pain from losing his family? The anger? The duel with Macbeth at the end? HOT. I feel like it also speaks to Teddy on a level he doesn’t understand *yet*.

Honestly, I feel like a lot of how Teddy will develop as a character moving forward would be defined by who his role is in the spring play, whether it’d be my choice (Macbeth) or his (Macduff). And either way, I’d be really excited to find out and play him out!

𝐒𝐄𝐋𝐅-𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐀.

“Be patient till the last. Romans, countrymen, and lovers!”

Audition mornings used to be exciting, sometimes excruciating, sometimes bright and promising. But for the first time since he arrived at Alderidge, Teddy doesn’t feel absolutely nothing as he makes his way towards the Fine Arts Building and into the theatre. Orson’s gone and Teddy should he be happy to still have a chance at the lead, shouldn’t he? Maybe. If it weren’t for the fact.. Well. We all know the fact already.

Truth of the matter is Teddy has had a hard time trying to choose a character to audition for and a monologue to prepare. Maybe he could’ve tried to go for one of the leads, it’s his last play at Alderidge so why not go out with a bang? In the public’s eye, Teddy is still one of Orson’s favorites. It would be the logical thing to do. But Teddy’s life is already a Macbethian tale of nightmares and visions. Why would he want to go through the exact same thing on stage?

Besides, and most importantly, playing one of the leads might bring him unwanted attention from the weird Orson cult, or worse, the police. Teddy doesn’t need people looking at him. And Macduff, the rightful warrior who acted for the good of Scotland, that’s a big enough role that will look good on his resumé. And in the meantime, Teddy can go through the rest of the semester unnoticed. It’s an infallible plan.

Oh Teddy darling… you innocent, idiotic, little fool.

Teddy is calm when he walks into the stage for his audition. It’s the sort of calmness that fills someone when they have simply stopped caring about something, it’s indifference. Although to a stranger's eyes, it might read as an almost arrogant confidence.

“Good morning, my name is Teddy Newell-Smith, I’m auditioning for the role of Macduff and today I’ll be reading from Brutus’ monologue in Julius Caesar, Act III, Scene 2.”

Teddy is reading Brutus but he has his Romeo smile on when he greets Heidi and the rest of her committee. He feels at home under the warm lights of the stage, standing firmly before his audience. Heidi gives him his cue to start and Teddy stands firmly in place, legs slightly parted, back straight, shoulders broad. Suddenly, he is no longer himself. He is a young roman, hopeful for the future of his country. “Hear me for my cause, and be silent, that you may hear…” His voice is firm, loud, as if he was speaking in front of thousands and not an almost empty theatre.

“Believe me for mine honour, and have respect to mine honour, that you may believe: censure me in your wisdom, and awake your senses, that you may the better judge.”

Teddy choosing to read Brutus was not a random decision. There’s a similarity between him and Macduff; brave warriors fighting for the good of their people, they went above and beyond for what they believed was right. But most importantly, there’s something about the young Roman who betrayed his mentor for the good of their nation that makes Teddy feel understood. You see, for the past few months, Teddy has been trying to make sense of his actions, to make sense of what happened that night and what it meant for him and for his classmates. Thinking of Orson as the tyrant Julius Caesar might just be exactly what he needs to clear himself out of any guilt, it might be just exactly what he needs to speak his lines with raw emotion, to deliver the speech almost perfectly.

“If then that friend demand why Brutus rose against Caesar, this is my answer,” he carries on, looking straight at his audience. For a moment, it almost feels like Orson’s eyes are on him, as if he was out there watching. It fills Teddy with bravery as he takes a step forward, looking down to the floor for a second before he looks back up. There’s a hint of vulnerability in his eyes and in his words when he speaks again: “Not that I loved Caesar less, but that I loved Rome more.”

Teddy loved Orson, that’s for sure. And he can feel it in every single of his words. He admired him, he looked up to him. From the moment they met, and till the very last moment, Teddy wanted nothing more than to be worthy in Orson’s eyes, he craved his admiration, his respect. And for the past four years, Teddy did everything in order to get it. But instead, the very last words that Orson ever spoke to him were “you disgust me.” And now Teddy has to live with the memory of blood and a skull cracking against a rock for the rest of his life. It will follow him everywhere. It makes his own blood boil with anger, but this time, there’s no one he can fight. There’s nothing left to do but to let the anger consume him from inside, like the most fatal poison.

“Had you rather Caesar were living and die all slaves, than that Caesar were dead, to live all free men?”

For a moment, Teddy truly believes he has done Alderidge a favor. “Look at me, I saved us. I have saved future generations from becoming little chess pieces in his foul game of tyranny and egocentrism,” Teddy thinks as his voice raises with Brutus’ question to the Romans, his closed fist hitting his chest, once twice. He feels strong, indestructible, just like Brutus did back then, standing on the righteousness of his actions.

But deep down, Brutus and Teddy know… it was treason, the way they murdered the one person they called a friend for one and a mentor for the other.

Then a pause. And Teddy’s voice is soft again, vulnerable. “As Caesar loved me, I weep for him;” he brings his eyes to the floor, his hands running through his hair in anguish. Because deep down, Teddy still hopes Orson felt at least a small flicker of admiration or respect for him, he saw something good in Teddy, didn’t he? The same way Julius Caesar did for Brutus. “As he was fortunate, I rejoice at it; as he was valiant, I honour him”, the smallest hint of a smile is on his lips as he looks up at his audience again. Because just as Julius Caesar had a few good things going on about him, so did Orson. He remains still the smartest man Teddy has ever crossed paths with. He taught him the art of making his heart beat to the sound of Shakespeare’s words. “But, as he was ambitious, I slew him.” Teddy’s whole demeanour has shifted with his last words, there’s a threatening look in his eyes and just the smallest hint of a smile, it’s almost sinister, almost on the brink of madness. Because in the end, nothing was enough. Julius Caesar wanted the world. And so did Orson. Teddy could’ve bled dry on stage and it still would be mediocre at best.

A second too long has passed, Teddy looks down, brings his hands together in front of him. He takes one deep breath to regain his composure. Then he carries on, standing tall and confident once again, the righteous warrior speaks to his people with heroism. Brutus is valiant and fair, after all, he is the most honorable roman of them all. “I have done no more to Caesar than you shall do to Brutus,” he finally tells his people. An ominous promise lies in between his words. Another tragic omen for the young actor and the valiant warrior alike.

At last, he takes a step back, looking down to the floor to break character. When he finally looks up, Teddy is smiling one last of his Romeo smiles to Heidi and his audience. “Thank you.” He leaves the stage with the sensation of Orson’s ghost following closely behind, laughing maniacally as if Teddy’s destiny had been long decided anyways. Nothing new about that.

“With this I depart,—that, as I slew my best lover for the good of Rome, I have the same dagger for myself, when it shall please my country to need my death.”

#ensembletask #– character development .#*drops it and runs away*#this is so fucking long i apologize

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