The Boards - Richard III, CLOSING NIGHT - Thursday evening

[magdaofslovenia.livejournal.com]

Now was the winter of their discontent... The last night of Richard III was starting very soon. Still no sign of their errant Director, but Tony seemed to have everything well in hand. Sophie had counted up receipts from Tuesday, and they were doing quite well. The students had certainly given it their all on Tuesday night.

And Geoffrey may have cast them, encouraged them, and directed them, but everyone in the theater tonight had their own reasons for wanting this last evening of the play to go well.

"Thirty minutes, everyone. Our Stage Manager says places in thirty."

[OCD on its way up!]

Comments

Re: The Performance

[magdaofslovenia.livejournal.com]

She had, hadn't she? And Margaret could pity this new Queen, and the mother of the monster, and yet still glory that she had seen the obvious when they had been preening themselves at their good fortune, which had cost her everything she loved.

I call'd thee then vain flourish of my fortune;
I call'd thee then poor shadow, painted queen;
The presentation of but what I was;
The flattering index of a direful pageant;
One heaved a-high, to be hurl'd down below;
A mother only mock'd with two sweet babes;
A dream of what thou wert, a breath, a bubble,
A sign of dignity, a garish flag,
To be the aim of every dangerous shot,
A queen in jest, only to fill the scene.

Look how clear-sighted she'd been, to know that time might do to Elizabeth what it had done to Margaret.

Where is thy husband now? where be thy brothers?
Where are thy children? wherein dost thou, joy?

Sophie let her voice become slower, harder, and full of satisfaction and rage, pointing one finger claw-like at Emma. Twenty years older, and the mirror of what Elizabeth might become if she let herself do so. She let her own awareness of passing time color her gaze as she looked at Emma.

Look at the inevitable, young woman. This waits for you too.

Who sues to thee and cries 'God save the queen'?
Where be the bending peers that flatter'd thee?
Where be the thronging troops that follow'd thee?

Gone. Dead. Fled.

Where they were ever going to end up, as
Decline all this, and see what now thou art:
For happy wife, a most distressed widow;
For joyful mother, one that wails the name;
For queen, a very caitiff crown'd with care;
For one being sued to, one that humbly sues;
For one that scorn'd at me, now scorn'd of me;
For one being fear'd of all, now fearing one;
For one commanding all, obey'd of none.

Savage glee in her voice, heating up the ice.

Thus hath the course of justice wheel'd about,
And left thee but a very prey to time;
Having no more but thought of what thou wert,
To torture thee the more, being what thou art.

Bitterness now, at her own lot, at how little she could have changed anything.

Thou didst usurp my place, and dost thou not
Usurp the just proportion of my sorrow?
Now thy proud neck bears half my burthen'd yoke;
From which even here I slip my weary neck,
And leave the burthen of it all on thee.

Enough. It was enough. Time to leave the stage to those who still had something to lose.

Farewell, York's wife, and queen of sad mischance:
These English woes will make me smile in France.

Re: The Performance

[icecoldfrost]

Bitch. Coward. How easy for Margaret to run away, with nothing to protect and no weapons or allies with which to strike at Richard.

O thou well skill'd in curses, stay awhile,
And teach me how to curse mine enemies!

She coaxed, tempting the harpy with her hate for Richard. At the very least, she might yet make herself useful.

Re: The Performance

[magdaofslovenia.livejournal.com]

Easy as living after everything was gone. Hate could help you survive.

One last flash of pity, and advice she wished someone had given her, still bitter as wine gone bad a long time ago. Margaret had nothing else to give.

Forbear to sleep the nights, and fast the days;
Compare dead happiness with living woe;
Think that thy babes were fairer than they were,
And he that slew them fouler than he is:
Bettering thy loss makes the bad causer worse:
Revolving this will teach thee how to curse.

Re: The Performance

[icecoldfrost]

My words are dull; she demurred. O, quicken them with thine!

Re: The Performance

[magdaofslovenia.livejournal.com]

Thy woes will make them sharp, and pierce like mine.

Elizabeth didn't need her words. And she'd learn well enough. Or die.

Margaret gave a low, mocking curtsy, then rose to the height of the queen she once was, and swept off-stage.

Re: The Performance

[glacial_queen]

Karla had just kept darting glances between them, even now, not fully understanding the full measure of their hatred, unmuddied by the memory of a mother's love for even so vile a son.

Why should calamity be full of words?

Re: The Performance

[icecoldfrost]

Windy attorneys to their client woes,
Airy succeeders of intestate joys,
Poor breathing orators of miseries!
Let them have scope: though what they do impart
Help not all, yet do they ease the heart.

Emma sighed, giving Karla a sideways, crooked smile. She had never been trained to wield a sword, but by God, she was a Queen. Manipulating politics and words had ever been the weapon of her sex.

Re: The Performance

[glacial_queen]

Karla nodded briefly, realizing that she needed to come to a decision. She could either continue to hold those few, brief memories of love for her deformed and defective son, or she could stand with the others that he had hurt, demanding justice and vengeance for their shades.

She rose, extending a hand to Emma.

If so, then be not tongue-tied: go with me.
And in the breath of bitter words let's smother
My damned son, which thy two sweet sons smother'd.
I hear his drum: be copious in exclaims.

Re: The Performance

[icecoldfrost]

There was nothing she could do but place her hand in Karla's and rise, slowly, turning to face where Sam would enter. Wait to see how Richard would fare against two mothers looking to avenge the ghosts of their lost children.