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tanarillSo today we did the backstage tour of the theatre. Some really amazing Things:
For every second of onstage fighting or song-and-dance, there's an hour of choreographing.
There are seven people working to support every actor onstage.
The stage weapons armory, because it contains real weapons, has to go through regular inspection.
Old costumes are put into storage.
And then we drove home. Glad to be back.
Title: Maru-Raba
Fandom: Taming of the Shrew
Rating: G
Warnings: Snipyness
Two days later, which was Thursday, they went riding. Petruchio rode a tough dun pony-tough because Katharina was riding Stallion, and only the tough ones could keep up when he was at a light trot.
Stallion was huge and gray and ugly, one of the last few real destriers and the prize of the Minola stables. Katharina was the only person who ever rode him, bad-tempered brute that he was. He couldn't be said to submit to her; they had, instead, reached an understanding some years back.
The ride was fairly placid, with Stallion chomping at his bit, until the party had ridden shortly outside the city walls. Then Katharina gave him his head and called back to Petruchio, laughing, "Catch me afore we reach the villa, and I may reward you," skirts billowing out behind her as she swung her leg over and hung on for the ride.
She was at the villa an hour before the rest of the party, drinking chilled fruit juices and reading the little notes in her daybook. Stallion was terrifying the stable hands.
"Dear lady," announced Petruchio, when he entered the room, "your servant is unworthy."
She looked up at him.
"And I would like to remark that you are the finest rider, on the finest horse, I have ever seen. Would you introduce us?"
"And have you steel the only man I have ever liked?"
"I am in competition with a horse!"
"No; you are far behind dear Stallion."
"Would that I were your stallion, and you my filly!"
"Would that you were an ass, and confined to work in the field."
"Work for your pleasure, aye; but a field is a cold mattress indeed."
"Hah!"
"And a comfortless one. I would fetch you fine silks from India, would it please you."
"It would please me if you went to India."
"Only to return, I assure you. To but lavish you in silk and spice-"
Katharina realized, to her own surprise, that she was really enjoying herself.
"Oh, truly? And not to return a penniless beggar, having run coward from all the pagans of Araby?"
"Braved, my dear, and brave ten thousand more to return to your side."
"What about a journey to Mantua?"
"I am not so fond of that city as I may once have been, true, but only because dead Kate is here."
"And also because, signor Petruchio, there is a price there on your head."
That stopped him, before he collected himself. "I rather think you overstate the case, my lady. A personal feud is no death warrant, signed and sealed."
"You were born," she turned a page in her daybook, "Juliano of Mantua. The circumstances around your rise to power involve a petty war, a certain dead man, a large sum of ducats, and a number of highwaymen." She turned another page. "And now you are looking to marry for a crest."
He was gaping now. "Rumors are very interesting things, don't you agree?" she asked, sweet as arsenic. "People stop spreading the tales but don't actually forget them, and a little coin can set happy tongues to wagging."
"My Lady-"
"Your liege, certainly."
"My Lady, I know not what to say, but this: what would your father think of your glassworks in Venice, did he know of them?"
Silence. Fell.
Their gazes remained locked like that for a while, Katharina looking at him over the cover of her daybook, horrified, and he standing and looking at her in something almost entirely devoid of joy. His smirk was gone, too.
Finally, Petruchio broke the hush. "We are neither one of us without our secrets," he said. "But here I make my true offer for you. I will mind to my friends in Verona and the dull affairs of men, and become very, very rich because there can be no wife can be so bold, so beautiful, nor so cunning as my Kate."
It was a tempting offer. It was a very tempting, very attractive offer, especially as it meant an audience to the times when she won a thousand ducats at a stroke. He would know, and unlike her father that feared her for it, he'd congratulate her for such a masterful ploy.
"And we will play chess," said Katharina.
"We will play to the falls of merchant kings and the rise of our riches. And chess, if you like." He was smiling now. "Please, Katharina."
She didn't have to accept it. She could easily have Petruchio hanged with what she knew.
"I'll be wed to Juliano of Mantua, soldier of no city and pretender to mean fortune, and that man only, come Sunday."
The language got all flowery that time around. Cudos to those who spot the unsubtle innuendo. Anyway. This is fun, although the quips make my head hurt. Maybe we'll get to the wedding soon.
For every second of onstage fighting or song-and-dance, there's an hour of choreographing.
There are seven people working to support every actor onstage.
The stage weapons armory, because it contains real weapons, has to go through regular inspection.
Old costumes are put into storage.
And then we drove home. Glad to be back.
Title: Maru-Raba
Fandom: Taming of the Shrew
Rating: G
Warnings: Snipyness
Two days later, which was Thursday, they went riding. Petruchio rode a tough dun pony-tough because Katharina was riding Stallion, and only the tough ones could keep up when he was at a light trot.
Stallion was huge and gray and ugly, one of the last few real destriers and the prize of the Minola stables. Katharina was the only person who ever rode him, bad-tempered brute that he was. He couldn't be said to submit to her; they had, instead, reached an understanding some years back.
The ride was fairly placid, with Stallion chomping at his bit, until the party had ridden shortly outside the city walls. Then Katharina gave him his head and called back to Petruchio, laughing, "Catch me afore we reach the villa, and I may reward you," skirts billowing out behind her as she swung her leg over and hung on for the ride.
She was at the villa an hour before the rest of the party, drinking chilled fruit juices and reading the little notes in her daybook. Stallion was terrifying the stable hands.
"Dear lady," announced Petruchio, when he entered the room, "your servant is unworthy."
She looked up at him.
"And I would like to remark that you are the finest rider, on the finest horse, I have ever seen. Would you introduce us?"
"And have you steel the only man I have ever liked?"
"I am in competition with a horse!"
"No; you are far behind dear Stallion."
"Would that I were your stallion, and you my filly!"
"Would that you were an ass, and confined to work in the field."
"Work for your pleasure, aye; but a field is a cold mattress indeed."
"Hah!"
"And a comfortless one. I would fetch you fine silks from India, would it please you."
"It would please me if you went to India."
"Only to return, I assure you. To but lavish you in silk and spice-"
Katharina realized, to her own surprise, that she was really enjoying herself.
"Oh, truly? And not to return a penniless beggar, having run coward from all the pagans of Araby?"
"Braved, my dear, and brave ten thousand more to return to your side."
"What about a journey to Mantua?"
"I am not so fond of that city as I may once have been, true, but only because dead Kate is here."
"And also because, signor Petruchio, there is a price there on your head."
That stopped him, before he collected himself. "I rather think you overstate the case, my lady. A personal feud is no death warrant, signed and sealed."
"You were born," she turned a page in her daybook, "Juliano of Mantua. The circumstances around your rise to power involve a petty war, a certain dead man, a large sum of ducats, and a number of highwaymen." She turned another page. "And now you are looking to marry for a crest."
He was gaping now. "Rumors are very interesting things, don't you agree?" she asked, sweet as arsenic. "People stop spreading the tales but don't actually forget them, and a little coin can set happy tongues to wagging."
"My Lady-"
"Your liege, certainly."
"My Lady, I know not what to say, but this: what would your father think of your glassworks in Venice, did he know of them?"
Silence. Fell.
Their gazes remained locked like that for a while, Katharina looking at him over the cover of her daybook, horrified, and he standing and looking at her in something almost entirely devoid of joy. His smirk was gone, too.
Finally, Petruchio broke the hush. "We are neither one of us without our secrets," he said. "But here I make my true offer for you. I will mind to my friends in Verona and the dull affairs of men, and become very, very rich because there can be no wife can be so bold, so beautiful, nor so cunning as my Kate."
It was a tempting offer. It was a very tempting, very attractive offer, especially as it meant an audience to the times when she won a thousand ducats at a stroke. He would know, and unlike her father that feared her for it, he'd congratulate her for such a masterful ploy.
"And we will play chess," said Katharina.
"We will play to the falls of merchant kings and the rise of our riches. And chess, if you like." He was smiling now. "Please, Katharina."
She didn't have to accept it. She could easily have Petruchio hanged with what she knew.
"I'll be wed to Juliano of Mantua, soldier of no city and pretender to mean fortune, and that man only, come Sunday."
The language got all flowery that time around. Cudos to those who spot the unsubtle innuendo. Anyway. This is fun, although the quips make my head hurt. Maybe we'll get to the wedding soon.
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no subject
Date: 2008-07-12 04:53 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-07-12 08:44 am (UTC)Choreographing is hell. Well, stage combat can end up being pretty fun, but singing and dancing... *shrugs* I didn't like it.
Re: Fanfiction
I haven't commented for a long time (for a myriad of reasons), but this is exraordinary. I've never found any really good fanfic of anything Shakespearian (unless Gargoyles counts, in its odd way XD ), and this is awesome. I give you kudos out the wazoo.
It's a good thing.
no subject
Date: 2008-07-12 02:51 pm (UTC)Gargoyles rocks, of course, but I'm not sure randomly co-opting the mythos and fucking with it counts as fanfiction. Mind, that's what I'm doing too . . . :D