A Request is what you want read. A Fill is the fictional realization of that request.
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((Sorry for all the weird time skips. Trying to write a whole play being put together as a one shot is not easy!))
“THERE IS NO WAY!!” The shout echoed down the hallway followed by the clatter of expensive heels. Teacher and student alike ducked into classrooms as the queen bee of Hillwood High made her anger known. Rhonda Wellington-Lloyd marched herself through the arts wing and pounded on the director’s door.
“Madame DuPrau!” she cried. The door swung open to reveal one very harried looking woman.
“What is it, Rhonda?” she asked, straightening her wire rimmed glasses. The teenager in front of her seethed.
“I have a very important question about the cast list.” She said, attempting to remain calm and failing utterly. The director took the piece of paper out of Rhonda’s hand and studied it, despite knowing all the parts by heart, having just posted them a quarter hour ago.
“Why, Rhonda, you’ve gotten the role of Belle. She’s the lead character. Whyever are you so upset?”
Rhonda leaned over and stabbed at the paper with one manicured finger at the second name on the list.
“There must be some mistake. You’ve cast Harold Berman as the Beast!” “Of course. He auditioned very well. Besides, he’ll fit the costume better than anyone else in the school!” Madame DuPrau chuckled to herself. Harold had produced a stunning audition and did fit the body type very well.
“I don’t see anything funny about this, Madame. I simply cannot act opposite Harold!”
“I’m sorry to hear that, Miss Lloyd. Perhaps you would prefer his understudy, Mr. Gammelthorpe?”
Rhonda blanched. Madame DuPrau noted this, and continued. “Very well then. I’ll see you at the read-through tomorrow evening. Good day, Miss Lloyd.” And she left Rhonda standing in the hallway, clutching her script.
***
That evening, Rhonda sat on her four poster bed, cell phone propped between her cheek and shoulder as she polished her toenails.
“I simply don’t understand, Nadine. How could they cast Harold?”
“I thought he did well at auditions. Didn’t you see him?” Rhonda had not seen Harold’s audition. She had breezed out of the theater as soon as the Belle readings were finished.
“That’s not the point, Nadine. The point is that Harold is going to make an utter fool of himself on stage and of me too!” she tried to shove the brush back into the bottle of nail polish and missed, painting a wide swath of silver sparkles down her foot. She crawled out of bed to get a tissue.
“Honestly, Rhonda, let it go. Look, I know you had a thing for him in elementary school. And I know he embarrassed you when he dropped you in the fountain at the Freshman Winter Formal. But Harold is a nice guy and he’s going to do really well at the part. And you of all people should know that an actor should never let personal prejudices in the way of performing a role well!”
Rhonda stopped dead in her tracks. Nadine was right. And she had no less of a reason to be angry that someone had gotten a part that they didn’t think was suited to- Nadine had practiced her dancing for months to try out for Babette, but was beat out by Lila. Grabbing her tissue Rhonda scrubbed hastily at her foot.
“Just, give him a chance, Rhonda.”
After that the conversation veered to the horrible shoes Sheena had been wearing that day, but all the while Rhonda still boiled with inner turmoil.
***
“Alright, everyone, crack those scripts and let’s get started.” Rhonda sat in a rickety wooden folding chair. An assortment of chairs were scattered across the bare stage in a rough approximation of a circle. Madame DuPrau sat next to Rhonda, with Helga on her left as the head stage manager to take notes. Rhonda had arrived at the read through early, hoping to find a seat away from Harold, but was instead the first one there. Of course, when Harold arrived last, every other seat had been taken but the one to her right. She sighed. Harold had changed a lot over the years, all that fat he had as an elementary school kid solidifying into muscle after he joined the football team. His voice had bottomed out at some point too, loosing that nasal quality and achieving a very convincing rumble as he read his Beast lines.
Arnold and Iggy were squabbling their way through the first big Lumiere/Cogsworth scene when Harold shifted in his seat, his leg accidentally brushing against Rhonda’s. A tingle went through her as their skin touched and she jerked away, trying to glare at him at the same time.
“Watch it, Harold.”
He met her stare evenly, not backing down until she finally buried her head in her script. This was not going to be easy.
At the end of the read-through, Rhonda snatched up her bag and bolted for the door. Before she could make it far, though, a strong grip grabbed her wrist, and she turned to see Harold latched onto her arm.
“What do you want?” she snarled. He blinked, and frowned.
“Look, Rhonda, I’m not any happier about this casting choice than you are, but if we have to do this, would you mind being a little less antagonistic?”
She scoffed. “Can you even spell antagonistic, Harold? I don’t need coaching from you. Let’s make a deal, shall we? We do our scenes, and otherwise, you leave me alone.” She jerked her arm out of his grasp and stalked away. She thought she heard a sad sigh as the door slammed behind her.
***
The next week found her wrapped in Harold’s cumbersome embrace as Madame DuPrau attempted to walk them through the choreography for the big ballroom scene. Rhonda’s feet, crammed into brand new character shoes that were not yet broken in, ached from the number of times Harold had trod on them. Her long black hair was escaping from her high ponytail and she had to keep blowing it out of her face. Shortly, though, the sweat running down her forehead from the hot stage lights was enough to keep it in damp, straggly place.
“Johanssen! Watch where you are pointing that spotlight!” Madame DuPrau shouted. An echo that might have been Gerald drifted down from the catwalk. “Alright you two. This is not a complicated dance.” She walked them through the steps again. Although less than graceful, it all flowed until the twirl. Harold either forgot let go of Rhonda’s back, or stood on her foot, or dropped her hand. After half an hour, Rhonda was ready to scream. Suddenly a tinkling sound made her look up, and there was a shout.
“Look out!”
One of the big can lights dropped from the rails above. Harold wrapped both arms around Rhonda and dove to one side as Madame DuPrau jumped backwards. There was a thunderous crash as the light shattered on the stage.
“Johannsen!” roared the director, walking towards the carnage and staring upwards at her lighting director.
Meanwhile, Rhonda was blinking back stars. Everything she saw was ringed with odd colors. “Are you alright?” Harold asked. He pulled her up into a sitting position and glanced at her arms, looking for cuts or bruises.
“I’m fine, Harold,” Rhonda said, though not with the usual venom, batting his hands away. He frowned, then pulled her to her feet. Madame DuPrau was poking at the shattered light with the toe of one foot as the actors and crew came forward to see what all the noise was about.
“Alright, everyone, go ahead and go home. We can’t block anything with all this glass around and I need to have a word with my lighting director.” She directed that last bit at Gerald, who was sheepishly clambering down the ladder from the catwalk. “Harold, Rhonda, I need the two of you to practice that dance. You know the steps, you just need practice. Here.” She handed Rhonda a CD. “That’s just the music, no singing.” She turned away, attention fully on Gerald.
Harold looked down at Rhonda, who was staring at the CD. Finally she sighed.
“Come on, then. We’ll go to my place. No way you have anywhere to practice ballroom dancing at your house.”
Once they arrived at her townhouse, Rhonda pushed aside a couple of coffee tables and rolled up a large rug in her living room. There was a large sofa that stood in the way as well, but when she pushed against it, it refused to move.
“Okay, I guess we’re going to have to work around-" she paused as Harold gave the couch one mighty shove and slammed it against the wall. “-or do that.” He grinned at her. For a moment Rhonda was taken aback, an odd fluttery feeling in her stomach. To avoid thinking about whatever that meant, she busied herself queuing up the music in the big stereo above the television. As the opening strains of the title song began to filter through the speakers, she turned and calmly walked toward Harold. She placed one hand on his shoulder and held one up for him to grip.
“Yeesh, Rhonda, lighten up.” Harold complained as Rhonda’s fingernails bit into his shoulder. Her mouth tightened into a thin line as she tried to pull away. Instead, he gripped her hand tighter and pulled her closer to him. “What is your deal?”
“My deal?” she countered, sweeping one foot back. “I have no deal. I’m the one having to act opposite some buffoon who can’t even get a simple dance right!” He shifted his grip on her hand and they glided sideways as the music swelled. He gave a scathing burst of laughter.
“Ha. You think I’m going to buy that? You’ve been at my throat since we started rehearsals!” They spun around, Harold’s feet missing Rhonda’s.
“Oh, like you don’t hate me just as much as I hate you!” she countered as he dipped her. Then came the big turn, the one Harold could never get quite right. He lifted his arm effortlessly and twirled her beneath it, bringing her to rest against his chest.
“Wha- you think I hate you?” suddenly he dropped her hands and she stumbled a bit as she fell away.
“Well, don’t you?”
“No, never. I-” suddenly the six foot five half-back was gone, and replaced by a shy thirteen year old. “I’d always sorta hoped that you – you know, liked me. But after the freshman dance, and you said all that stuff-"
“You dropped me in a fountain!”
“Yeah, well, you broke my heart!” and the music shut off, leaving them both in a very awkward silence. Rhonda covered her mouth in shock. Harold couldn’t meet her gaze, and hurriedly grabbed his backpack and hightailed it out the door. Rhonda reached behind her and popped the cd out of the stereo.
***
Harold did not come back to rehearsals for a week. Rhonda wondered if Madame DuPrau had contrived this, as Curly was now pulling double duty as both the Beast and his real role, Gaston, and was in tenth heaven. Rhonda had barricaded herself in the girl’s dressing room to avoid her overeager swain who was currently throwing himself at the door and singing snippets of the opening song about making Rhonda his wife.
There was a scuffling bang from the hallway and Rhonda opened the door a crack. All she could see was a large shadow and Curly retreating to the costume shop, his Gaston costume ripped at the collar. “Rhonda?” she opened the door fully. Harold was in the hallway wearing the royal blue jacket from the ballroom scene. Forgetting the madness from their private dance rehearsal, she threw herself at him and hugged him. “What the-" he stuttered.
“Curly has been playing your part. I am so glad to see you back.” She dropped to the floor and took a step back to admire his costume. “You look, erm, really good.” He shuffled his feet awkwardly, staring at a point somewhere behind her left shoulder.
“Thanks. They’re working on the fittings. You should probably go.” Rhonda thanked him and headed towards the costume shop. When she arrived, Sheena cornered her and threw the infamous yellow dress over her head. A muffled grunt startled her as she realized that Curly was in the corner having his collar stitched back on by Nadine.
“You alright, Rhonda?” Sheen asked, pinning the hem of the dress. For a moment Rhonda didn’t know what to say. She’d thought a lot the past week over what Harold had said, about how she had treated him since the fateful dance, and how much he had changed. She opened her mouth to reply, but was abruptly cut off as Helga came storming into the shop, followed by a frantic Phoebe in her Mrs. Potts costume.
“-Don’t care if it’s just a play, Pheebs, that trollop is going to pay! Ain’t no way in heck I’m gonna let her get away with acting that way around MY man!”
“Helga, please, Babette and Lumiere have several scenes together it doesn’t mean anything! Helga-!” Helga had snatched up the feather duster that went with Lila’s costume and had rushed back out, screeching about slutty feather dusters and unfaithful candlesticks, Phoebe dutifully racing after her.
“Ah, theatre.” Sheena said, patting Rhonda’s shoulder. “You’re all done.”
***
Opening Night. Rhonda stood backstage in her blue village dress as the rest of the cast milled about. She smiled at Nadine, who was waving from her perch with Sheena and Gloria, the other two Silly Girls. Suddenly, someone tapped her on the shoulder. She turned to see Harold, all done up in his rather frightening Beast getup.
“Wow.” She said, admiring the makeup. He grinned and she noticed that they had even given him fangs. “Listen, Rhonda, about that stuff I said-” she shushed him.
“Later, Harold. Let’s try to get through the show first. His shoulders slumped but he nodded. From behind his back he produced a long white box and handed it to her. Then, from out of nowhere, Madame DuPrau appeared.
“Alright, everyone, places! Curtain in five!”
A chorus of ‘thank you, five’ rang out as everyone scurried to their positions. Rhonda looked down at the white box in her hands and curiously peeped inside. Then, with a small smile, she ripped the lid off. It contained, what else? A single red rose. As she smiled at the flower the opening strains of the overture reached her ears, and she snatched up her basket and walked on stage.
The show was a whirlwind of color and music. Suddenly they were at the very final scene, where the Beast has his transformation. Rhonda kneeled on the stage, both hands buried in the folds of Harold’s cape. A thin fog rolled on to mask the trapdoor he was about to fall through to split out of his costume and re-emerge as the prince. Her last few lines lay between her and the end curtain.
Harold reached up one hand to tangle it in her hair. In his best Beast-like rumble, he said “At least- at least I got to see you one last time.” Then his hand slid down the side of her face and landed on the stage with a thud.
Rhonda, falling fully into the emotion of the scene, began to weep. She laid her head on his chest and said the pivotal line- “I love you.” Before he could fall through the trap, though, she moved her head and whispered in his ear. “I really do. I’m so sorry, Harold.” His eyes snapped open and met hers as he dropped through the door. A quick change later he was back onstage in his human form, the same look of disbelief in his eyes. He stepped out of the shadows, and she could sense the audience holding their breath. Then he swept her up in the big kiss, and the whole theater rose to their feet in applause. Oddly enough, Rhonda didn’t care.
His hand never left hers until the curtain fell. Then, as they came back onstage for the curtain call, he dipped her for one more big kiss. The already wildly applauding audience roared. As they made their bows, he squeezed her hand.
“Think we can try again?” he asked her under his breath as they bowed.
“Only if you don’t drop me in any more fountains.” She replied.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
fic_me_arnold) wrote2012-07-16 05:45 pm
FILL: Tale as Old as Time
(Anonymous) 2012-07-23 07:12 am (UTC)(link)“THERE IS NO WAY!!” The shout echoed down the hallway followed by the clatter of expensive heels. Teacher and student alike ducked into classrooms as the queen bee of Hillwood High made her anger known. Rhonda Wellington-Lloyd marched herself through the arts wing and pounded on the director’s door.
“Madame DuPrau!” she cried. The door swung open to reveal one very harried looking woman.
“What is it, Rhonda?” she asked, straightening her wire rimmed glasses. The teenager in front of her seethed.
“I have a very important question about the cast list.” She said, attempting to remain calm and failing utterly. The director took the piece of paper out of Rhonda’s hand and studied it, despite knowing all the parts by heart, having just posted them a quarter hour ago.
“Why, Rhonda, you’ve gotten the role of Belle. She’s the lead character. Whyever are you so upset?”
Rhonda leaned over and stabbed at the paper with one manicured finger at the second name on the list.
“There must be some mistake. You’ve cast Harold Berman as the Beast!”
“Of course. He auditioned very well. Besides, he’ll fit the costume better than anyone else in the school!” Madame DuPrau chuckled to herself. Harold had produced a stunning audition and did fit the body type very well.
“I don’t see anything funny about this, Madame. I simply cannot act opposite Harold!”
“I’m sorry to hear that, Miss Lloyd. Perhaps you would prefer his understudy, Mr. Gammelthorpe?”
Rhonda blanched. Madame DuPrau noted this, and continued. “Very well then. I’ll see you at the read-through tomorrow evening. Good day, Miss Lloyd.” And she left Rhonda standing in the hallway, clutching her script.
***
That evening, Rhonda sat on her four poster bed, cell phone propped between her cheek and shoulder as she polished her toenails.
“I simply don’t understand, Nadine. How could they cast Harold?”
“I thought he did well at auditions. Didn’t you see him?” Rhonda had not seen Harold’s audition. She had breezed out of the theater as soon as the Belle readings were finished.
“That’s not the point, Nadine. The point is that Harold is going to make an utter fool of himself on stage and of me too!” she tried to shove the brush back into the bottle of nail polish and missed, painting a wide swath of silver sparkles down her foot. She crawled out of bed to get a tissue.
“Honestly, Rhonda, let it go. Look, I know you had a thing for him in elementary school. And I know he embarrassed you when he dropped you in the fountain at the Freshman Winter Formal. But Harold is a nice guy and he’s going to do really well at the part. And you of all people should know that an actor should never let personal prejudices in the way of performing a role well!”
Rhonda stopped dead in her tracks. Nadine was right. And she had no less of a reason to be angry that someone had gotten a part that they didn’t think was suited to- Nadine had practiced her dancing for months to try out for Babette, but was beat out by Lila. Grabbing her tissue Rhonda scrubbed hastily at her foot.
“Just, give him a chance, Rhonda.”
After that the conversation veered to the horrible shoes Sheena had been wearing that day, but all the while Rhonda still boiled with inner turmoil.
***
“Alright, everyone, crack those scripts and let’s get started.”
Rhonda sat in a rickety wooden folding chair. An assortment of chairs were scattered across the bare stage in a rough approximation of a circle. Madame DuPrau sat next to Rhonda, with Helga on her left as the head stage manager to take notes. Rhonda had arrived at the read through early, hoping to find a seat away from Harold, but was instead the first one there. Of course, when Harold arrived last, every other seat had been taken but the one to her right. She sighed. Harold had changed a lot over the years, all that fat he had as an elementary school kid solidifying into muscle after he joined the football team. His voice had bottomed out at some point too, loosing that nasal quality and achieving a very convincing rumble as he read his Beast lines.
Arnold and Iggy were squabbling their way through the first big Lumiere/Cogsworth scene when Harold shifted in his seat, his leg accidentally brushing against Rhonda’s. A tingle went through her as their skin touched and she jerked away, trying to glare at him at the same time.
“Watch it, Harold.”
He met her stare evenly, not backing down until she finally buried her head in her script. This was not going to be easy.
At the end of the read-through, Rhonda snatched up her bag and bolted for the door. Before she could make it far, though, a strong grip grabbed her wrist, and she turned to see Harold latched onto her arm.
“What do you want?” she snarled. He blinked, and frowned.
“Look, Rhonda, I’m not any happier about this casting choice than you are, but if we have to do this, would you mind being a little less antagonistic?”
She scoffed. “Can you even spell antagonistic, Harold? I don’t need coaching from you. Let’s make a deal, shall we? We do our scenes, and otherwise, you leave me alone.” She jerked her arm out of his grasp and stalked away. She thought she heard a sad sigh as the door slammed behind her.
***
The next week found her wrapped in Harold’s cumbersome embrace as Madame DuPrau attempted to walk them through the choreography for the big ballroom scene. Rhonda’s feet, crammed into brand new character shoes that were not yet broken in, ached from the number of times Harold had trod on them. Her long black hair was escaping from her high ponytail and she had to keep blowing it out of her face. Shortly, though, the sweat running down her forehead from the hot stage lights was enough to keep it in damp, straggly place.
“Johanssen! Watch where you are pointing that spotlight!” Madame DuPrau shouted. An echo that might have been Gerald drifted down from the catwalk. “Alright you two. This is not a complicated dance.” She walked them through the steps again. Although less than graceful, it all flowed until the twirl. Harold either forgot let go of Rhonda’s back, or stood on her foot, or dropped her hand. After half an hour, Rhonda was ready to scream. Suddenly a tinkling sound made her look up, and there was a shout.
“Look out!”
One of the big can lights dropped from the rails above. Harold wrapped both arms around Rhonda and dove to one side as Madame DuPrau jumped backwards. There was a thunderous crash as the light shattered on the stage.
“Johannsen!” roared the director, walking towards the carnage and staring upwards at her lighting director.
Meanwhile, Rhonda was blinking back stars. Everything she saw was ringed with odd colors.
“Are you alright?” Harold asked. He pulled her up into a sitting position and glanced at her arms, looking for cuts or bruises.
“I’m fine, Harold,” Rhonda said, though not with the usual venom, batting his hands away. He frowned, then pulled her to her feet. Madame DuPrau was poking at the shattered light with the toe of one foot as the actors and crew came forward to see what all the noise was about.
“Alright, everyone, go ahead and go home. We can’t block anything with all this glass around and I need to have a word with my lighting director.” She directed that last bit at Gerald, who was sheepishly clambering down the ladder from the catwalk. “Harold, Rhonda, I need the two of you to practice that dance. You know the steps, you just need practice. Here.” She handed Rhonda a CD. “That’s just the music, no singing.” She turned away, attention fully on Gerald.
Harold looked down at Rhonda, who was staring at the CD. Finally she sighed.
“Come on, then. We’ll go to my place. No way you have anywhere to practice ballroom dancing at your house.”
Once they arrived at her townhouse, Rhonda pushed aside a couple of coffee tables and rolled up a large rug in her living room. There was a large sofa that stood in the way as well, but when she pushed against it, it refused to move.
“Okay, I guess we’re going to have to work around-" she paused as Harold gave the couch one mighty shove and slammed it against the wall. “-or do that.” He grinned at her. For a moment Rhonda was taken aback, an odd fluttery feeling in her stomach. To avoid thinking about whatever that meant, she busied herself queuing up the music in the big stereo above the television. As the opening strains of the title song began to filter through the speakers, she turned and calmly walked toward Harold. She placed one hand on his shoulder and held one up for him to grip.
“Yeesh, Rhonda, lighten up.” Harold complained as Rhonda’s fingernails bit into his shoulder. Her mouth tightened into a thin line as she tried to pull away. Instead, he gripped her hand tighter and pulled her closer to him. “What is your deal?”
“My deal?” she countered, sweeping one foot back. “I have no deal. I’m the one having to act opposite some buffoon who can’t even get a simple dance right!” He shifted his grip on her hand and they glided sideways as the music swelled. He gave a scathing burst of laughter.
“Ha. You think I’m going to buy that? You’ve been at my throat since we started rehearsals!” They spun around, Harold’s feet missing Rhonda’s.
“Oh, like you don’t hate me just as much as I hate you!” she countered as he dipped her. Then came the big turn, the one Harold could never get quite right. He lifted his arm effortlessly and twirled her beneath it, bringing her to rest against his chest.
“Wha- you think I hate you?” suddenly he dropped her hands and she stumbled a bit as she fell away.
“Well, don’t you?”
“No, never. I-” suddenly the six foot five half-back was gone, and replaced by a shy thirteen year old. “I’d always sorta hoped that you – you know, liked me. But after the freshman dance, and you said all that stuff-"
“You dropped me in a fountain!”
“Yeah, well, you broke my heart!” and the music shut off, leaving them both in a very awkward silence. Rhonda covered her mouth in shock. Harold couldn’t meet her gaze, and hurriedly grabbed his backpack and hightailed it out the door. Rhonda reached behind her and popped the cd out of the stereo.
***
Harold did not come back to rehearsals for a week. Rhonda wondered if Madame DuPrau had contrived this, as Curly was now pulling double duty as both the Beast and his real role, Gaston, and was in tenth heaven. Rhonda had barricaded herself in the girl’s dressing room to avoid her overeager swain who was currently throwing himself at the door and singing snippets of the opening song about making Rhonda his wife.
There was a scuffling bang from the hallway and Rhonda opened the door a crack. All she could see was a large shadow and Curly retreating to the costume shop, his Gaston costume ripped at the collar.
“Rhonda?” she opened the door fully. Harold was in the hallway wearing the royal blue jacket from the ballroom scene. Forgetting the madness from their private dance rehearsal, she threw herself at him and hugged him. “What the-" he stuttered.
“Curly has been playing your part. I am so glad to see you back.” She dropped to the floor and took a step back to admire his costume. “You look, erm, really good.” He shuffled his feet awkwardly, staring at a point somewhere behind her left shoulder.
“Thanks. They’re working on the fittings. You should probably go.” Rhonda thanked him and headed towards the costume shop. When she arrived, Sheena cornered her and threw the infamous yellow dress over her head. A muffled grunt startled her as she realized that Curly was in the corner having his collar stitched back on by Nadine.
“You alright, Rhonda?” Sheen asked, pinning the hem of the dress. For a moment Rhonda didn’t know what to say. She’d thought a lot the past week over what Harold had said, about how she had treated him since the fateful dance, and how much he had changed. She opened her mouth to reply, but was abruptly cut off as Helga came storming into the shop, followed by a frantic Phoebe in her Mrs. Potts costume.
“-Don’t care if it’s just a play, Pheebs, that trollop is going to pay! Ain’t no way in heck I’m gonna let her get away with acting that way around MY man!”
“Helga, please, Babette and Lumiere have several scenes together it doesn’t mean anything! Helga-!” Helga had snatched up the feather duster that went with Lila’s costume and had rushed back out, screeching about slutty feather dusters and unfaithful candlesticks, Phoebe dutifully racing after her.
“Ah, theatre.” Sheena said, patting Rhonda’s shoulder. “You’re all done.”
***
Opening Night. Rhonda stood backstage in her blue village dress as the rest of the cast milled about. She smiled at Nadine, who was waving from her perch with Sheena and Gloria, the other two Silly Girls. Suddenly, someone tapped her on the shoulder. She turned to see Harold, all done up in his rather frightening Beast getup.
“Wow.” She said, admiring the makeup. He grinned and she noticed that they had even given him fangs.
“Listen, Rhonda, about that stuff I said-” she shushed him.
“Later, Harold. Let’s try to get through the show first. His shoulders slumped but he nodded. From behind his back he produced a long white box and handed it to her. Then, from out of nowhere, Madame DuPrau appeared.
“Alright, everyone, places! Curtain in five!”
A chorus of ‘thank you, five’ rang out as everyone scurried to their positions. Rhonda looked down at the white box in her hands and curiously peeped inside. Then, with a small smile, she ripped the lid off. It contained, what else? A single red rose. As she smiled at the flower the opening strains of the overture reached her ears, and she snatched up her basket and walked on stage.
The show was a whirlwind of color and music. Suddenly they were at the very final scene, where the Beast has his transformation. Rhonda kneeled on the stage, both hands buried in the folds of Harold’s cape. A thin fog rolled on to mask the trapdoor he was about to fall through to split out of his costume and re-emerge as the prince. Her last few lines lay between her and the end curtain.
Harold reached up one hand to tangle it in her hair. In his best Beast-like rumble, he said
“At least- at least I got to see you one last time.” Then his hand slid down the side of her face and landed on the stage with a thud.
Rhonda, falling fully into the emotion of the scene, began to weep.
She laid her head on his chest and said the pivotal line- “I love you.” Before he could fall through the trap, though, she moved her head and whispered in his ear. “I really do. I’m so sorry, Harold.”
His eyes snapped open and met hers as he dropped through the door. A quick change later he was back onstage in his human form, the same look of disbelief in his eyes. He stepped out of the shadows, and she could sense the audience holding their breath. Then he swept her up in the big kiss, and the whole theater rose to their feet in applause. Oddly enough, Rhonda didn’t care.
His hand never left hers until the curtain fell. Then, as they came back onstage for the curtain call, he dipped her for one more big kiss. The already wildly applauding audience roared.
As they made their bows, he squeezed her hand.
“Think we can try again?” he asked her under his breath as they bowed.
“Only if you don’t drop me in any more fountains.” She replied.
And the curtain fell.
Re: FILL: Tale as Old as Time
(Anonymous) 2012-07-23 08:31 am (UTC)(link)Re: FILL: Tale as Old as Time
(Anonymous) 2012-07-23 05:36 pm (UTC)(link)Thank you SO much for this fill! I love it, everything about it is just PERFECT! Again, thank you SO much for this!
Re: FILL: Tale as Old as Time
Perfect. The two of them and all the humorous side bits with the other characters. Omg it all rang so perfectly true to the show. ADORABLE.