fandomtownies | The Boards, Thursday Evening

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The Boards, Thursday Evening

Lizzie Bennet was exhausted. She'd spent most of today flying cross-country, and now had lost three time zones along the way. So it was later than it should be, which meant she'd have to force herself to go to bed while it was still what-felt-like-early. Except they had had to get up ridiculously early to fly out of LAX anyway, so maybe that was moot.

Hopefully whatever hotel she ended up at tonight would have extremely fluffy towels. And a huge king-sized bed.

But first, the actual work part of her trip. The cabdriver had left her off on a tiny strip of land connecting the mainland to the island; luckily, Black Swan Drive was close, and she found it without any major fuss.

The Boards, Fandom Island, Maryland. She was here. Now, to find a Mr. Starsmore and tell him about the mistaken mailing address for some other mysterious Elizabeth Bennet.

And, her scruples reminded her, to hand in that signing bonus. She hoped he wouldn't begrudge her enough money to swing a plane ticket back.

(Just for Jono, please!)

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It was a Thursday night, yes. And normally on a Thursday night, Jono was hard at work trying to work out a lesson plan for tomorrow's class. But he'd been putting off some paperwork regarding his payments on the building for some time, and tonight, he figured, he was going to finally hunker down at just do it.

With a cat sprawled out across them, because Joni was helpful that way.

He filled a few more numbers into the appropriate spaces, and then sighed. He really, really needed to get around to hiring that assistant, sometime soon.

Yeah, about that ...

Lizzie found an open office with a ... silvery-blue-colored guy sitting behind it, doing what looked to be an awful lot of paperwork. It was amazing he hadn't taken his stage make-up off first. It really couldn't be good to get body paint on financial forms, could it?

She wondered idly what kind of sci-fi production the Boards happened to be putting on.

She straightened her shoulders, smoothed her hair into place, and rapped her knuckles on the open door. "Excuse me? I'm looking for a Mr. Starsmore."

Just because this wasn't really a job interview didn't mean she hadn't dressed nicely. Never hurt to give off a good first impression.

"Well, you've found him. That would be me." Jono glanced up from the forms he'd been filling out, or at least the ones that he could get at around the cat, and raised an eyebrow thoughtfully. No, he didn't know this one. Clearly she didn't know him. So...? "Can I help you with anything, luv?"

And now, Lizzie was in full job interview mode. Maybe what Jane had said about seizing opportunity was getting to her. Or maybe it was just a need to feel professional right now. That might make the whole situation less weird.

"Yes," she said, approaching the desk and offering him her hand. "I'm Elizabeth Bennet? I got your letter, and I think there may have been some kind of a ... misunderstanding."

Small one. Very minor. Especially since she hadn't spent any of the money.

"My letter, hm?" Jono... hadn't sent any letters. He'd put up a want ad, only to find that the website he'd been posting two was having technical difficulties of some sort and the site had come down that same night. The last letter he remembered sending was years ago. All of his outgoing mail otherwise seemed to be bills. "I don't suppose you've got that letter with you, Ms. Bennet?"

He smiled reassuringly as he gave her a careful but firm handshake, his hand easily engulfing hers. Because, really, he needed to see this.

Okay, it was unprofessional, but she'd taken a discreet look at her hand after he let go of it. Huh. No body paint. Whatever stuff he was using didn't rub off on contact. They must have gone for something professional-grade.

Focus, Lizzie.

"Of course," she said, digging into her purse and hoping the letter hadn't evaporated over Kansas. Nope, still here, and she'd even kept the envelope. And the relocation bonus check. Uncashed, Mr. Starsmore. Ethics.

She held them out triumphantly. "I, uh, I used the plane tickets to get here," she explained. "I know they probably weren't for me, but I didn't get this until yesterday and you didn't have a phone number listed. So it seemed like ..."

Like she should just ... hop a plane and talk to him in person? It sounded a little flimsy. Or maybe it was just the nerves she always had mid-job interview.

Not that this was a job interview.

Wow, her palms were sweaty. That body paint had to be industrial grade.

Jono didn't say a word as he took the letter, looking more amused than anything. Plane tickets? He was going to have to check with the bank as soon as this was sorted out, see if something like that had been charged to the Boards without his knowing.

Still and all, this was interesting. He remained quiet as he read the letter over, once. Twice. And then he nodded a little, glancing up at the young woman standing before him.

"Have you got any theatre experience, Ms. Bennet?"

Look, she was here, whether he'd been the one to contact her or not. He was hardly about to pass up serendipity when it presented itself, even if serendipity went by the name 'Fandom.'

"Do you mind if I --" Lizzie gestured to the chair facing his desk, and was relieved at his return nod. She dropped into the seat quickly and set her duffel bag and purse on the floor next to her. Okay, much better.

She twisted her hands in her lap. "Not any professional theater," she admitted. "I'm still working on my Master's. I've participated in productions both at my University and a local community theater group, but the latter was strictly on a volunteer basis. I've taken a number of theater classes -- like improv, movement, and stagecraft? I've been cast some of the time and crew the rest. I've never directed, but I've been a stage manager twice."

And she did some basic costume theater on her vlog, which she was not going to bring up right now. Because that was not a selling point, Lizzie.

She suddenly realized she was letting the not-an-interview get away from her.

"Uh, whatever is on my resume? Is not ... accurate, because ... it's not mine. I mean, I didn't send one. I didn't ... actually ... apply for this job."

Edited 2012-11-16 01:55 (UTC)

"Right, I haven't actually seen a resume," Jono agreed easily, and then steamrolled right past her other point, that she hadn't applied, because he had no intention of letting a little thing like that stop him when he was on a roll. "No matter, we can work without. You're working on your Master's, you said? Master's in what?"

It seemed a little odd to be going for that sort of degree in theatre if you'd never been involved in anything on a professional level, after all.

"Mass Communications," Lizzie replied easily. "You know, publishing, TV, advertising, studying how information is disseminated through mass media, and being doomed to a lifetime of asking if people want fries with that."

At least she had a realistic view of her occupational prospects. Or lack thereof.

"I'm working on my senior project, which is a weblog diary I'm keeping on YouTube -- long story -- but other than that, I'm free until the end of summer."

... he kept getting her off-topic. Dammit.

The end of summer? Which begged the question of what the date was, back where she was from. And how much time she'd have, if she were to accept the job once he was finished interviewing her like the pushy bastard he was.

"So, how long would that give you before you head back to finish your Master's, might I ask?"

If nothing else, maybe they'd get a few weeks in while he searched for a replacement for her.

"Oh, my school has a late start," Lizzie said. "Mid-October. Call it two and a half months?"

Which ... was a moot point. Wasn't it?

"Who exactly ... did you mean to hire?" she asked. "Or did you ... find me through the school, or ..."

Jono just cracked a grin, fleeting, but sincere enough.

"Actually, I didn't send this letter," he replied. "I was about to go and put a want-ad into the paper, since the website I attempted first went down the night I put it up. But if you're here, well, I wouldn't want you to have made the trip for nothing, really."

He'd ended up here once at the whims of the island. He wouldn't doubt for an instant that this was what this was, too.

"If I were to tell you that we're not just a theatre, that we've also got a recording booth, some meeting rooms, and a smaller stage in the basement, what would you think to do with that space, say, in a theatre's off season, in order to keep people coming in?"

"So you're ... hiring an assistant manager, but you never said you were, and I got this letter from ..."

Oh, her head was starting to hurt.

"Is there someone else that owns the place, or helps run it, or -- maybe signed your name to it instead of theirs as kind of a joke?"

She wasn't ready to rule out "malevolent prankster" here.

"Look, I -- I shouldn't be answering interview questions if I'm not staying. And I can't stay, because I don't have any money and I'm in a crazy amount of debt. I mean, I still live at home. And --"

Dammit. He'd asked a question that was actually intriguing, and now she had to derail long enough to answer.

"Theater workshops," she said. "Acting classes for the community. Get together an improv troupe. You could host an open mike night -- cover charge, or you can just set it up and serve refreshments, charge for those. It could be music acts, or beat poetry, or stand up comedy. Those could be different nights, even."

She was on a roll now. "The recording booth? I've seen some at theme parks where they play karaoke of the latest annoying top 40 radio song, and charge someone a few bucks to get a CD of them singing it. Be a Star! or something like that. You'd have to pay licensing, but those would be a real treat at special events for teenagers. There's a high school here, right?"

There was just so much potential here. "The smaller stage would make for good rehearsal space for dance troupes or choirs or garage bands, if it's soundproofed properly. And you could do some kind of behind-the-scenes features with local actors and directors. Or gatherings after some of the heavier plays, in case people wanted to talk out the thematic difficulties and issues. You know, some works need a little digestion."

Lizzie kind of loved the theater. Ever since she'd forced her sisters and Charlotte to put on plays in the back yard. It wasn't just theater; it was storytelling, in all its forms. Maybe that was why her vlogs were so popular; she had turned it into a narrative without meaning to.

So help him. So help him, Jonothon was grinning, now.

"One more question, then. If you're in a 'crazy amount of debt,' and living at home is really what's keeping you from accepting a job here even for the next couple of months, I don't suppose you have any aversions to having, say, a flatmate? Somebody who owns the apartment - a four-bedroom, by the way - who is willing to pay you in a nice, even split between paycheques and room and board?"

Because those ideas had all been fantastic, and he was letting her leave now over his dead body. Or at least with a frown on his face.

The scary thing was how tempting this all sounded. She shouldn't have let him barrel through with questions. Because now she kind of wanted to work here.

It was also weird being interviewed by a guy dressed up as a cyberpunk ~~meta for~~ Tin Man, but she figured he'd look fairly normal without all the make-up. Theater people had their eccentricities.

"I'd miss Jane," she said, "and Charlotte. But it might be nice to ... have an adventure. I didn't bring much of my stuff, I'd have to have some of it shipped out. What kind of terms are we talking about?"

Wait, more practical questions abounded. "How big is the bedroom, would you mind me doing some webcam filming in the apartment, do you have any weird habits I should know about, can I keep the relocation bonus, and how do I know you're not a serial killer?"

She'd start with the easy ones.

"The bedroom is a decent size," Jono replied, answering first things first. "If there isn't enough room in it for what you need, you can be set up with a second room for your... webcam filming? We're in an entire theatre building, luv. You get run of the place if you accept the job. My weird habits are mine to worry about, and they won't bother you any, unless you have some aversion to me sitting in the living room watching infomercials late at night when I can't sleep."

Because... quality television broadcasting, right there. He'd almost cracked and ordered a Snuggie once. Almost. He decided he liked himself a little more than that.

"The relocation bonus is all yours if you accept the job," because he couldn't remember actually sending her the money, and if somebody else or the island wanted to provide, they were more than welcome. "And last I checked, I'd kicked the serial killing habit. Well enough to pass muster at the high school in town where I teach on Fridays, at least."

"My webcam series is just a confessional-style video diary," she explained. "So long as I have a wall that won't pick up too much glare, I don't need much. And I never sleep, either." Grad student. "So long as you don't wake me at 4 am to go grocery shopping, I'll deal."

To buy green beans in cranberry gelatin. Her mother was insane.

Somehow, the theater guy being a high school teacher made it less likely that he was going to stab her in the middle of the night. Maybe she just respected authority figures, even ones that didn't have authority over her.

"There's wifi, right?" she asked. Because that one could actually be a dealbreaker.

The relocation bonus would go a long way towards keeping her head above water. And more importantly, it could be sent home to her parents, who were in deeper water than she was, if all those meetings with the bank meant anything. Mortgage meetings. They weren't really in danger of losing the house, right?

... right. Okay.

"Why infomercials?" she asked. "Usually there's cheesy horror on at 3 am. Oh, and you're not a hipster, right?"

She'd had her quota, of late.

"Do I look like a hipster?" Jono raised an eyebrow at that question, yes. "I'm fairly certain my music collection would make most hipsters weep."

But he reserved the right to remain a vinyl snob until the day he died.

"We have wireless internet set up down here, and the signal carries well enough to the upstairs. And... infomercials because the theory was that I might be able to at least bore myself to sleep."

It really didn't work.

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The Boards, Thursday Evening

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