fandomtownies | Improv Class, The Boards, Thursday Evening

"Good evening, class," Jono greeted, giving the people assembled for tonight's improv class a nod. "Today, we're going to be playing a game called In-A, With-A, While-A, which is, essentially, what happens when you take three ridiculous prompts and you piece them together to create a scenario. It's fairly straightforward make-believe from there."

He nodded down to a trio of top hats that he'd pulled from the props room. They were going to need them for Being Frank anyway, he figured he might as well use them here, too.

"One hat has your setting," he explained, pulling out a strip of paper. "In this particular case, in a hotel room. The next has whatever imaginary object is there with you - a tuba, now. And the last, playing hopscotch, is the activity that you're doing while you're there. It's up to you and your partner to figure out some way the three things can be turned into as coherent a scene as you can make it."

He kind of liked this one for as absolutely random as it could get.

"So, pair off, and go be ridiculous."

[Open!]

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"The moon," Jono echoed, amused. "Fantastic. I was hoping to get some stargazing in. It'll be much clearer with no pesky atmosphere in the way."

He reached into the With-A hat, and pulled out a scrap of paper, himself.

"And look," he mused, "we've got our trusty hockey equipment with us."

Which was, what, a stick, some padding? Jono wasn't much of a hockey person.

"Conveniently, I have hyperdeveloped lungs that mean I don't need a spacesuit," Lizzie announced. "So let's see what activity is going to complicate our low-gravity game of hockey."

And the slip of paper said:

"... Performing ballet."

Excuse her while she put her hands over her head and attempted a horrifying sort of plié.

"Ah, of course," Jono replied, breaking into a bit of a grin at the sight of that plié. "That would be the ballet about the hockey player. You know the one. He shoots, he scores?"

Jono raised his arms, miming a slapshot, but he followed through with a pirouette, coming to rest beside Lizzie and putting his hands on her hips.

They were on the moon. So it only made sense, really, when he was able to pick her up effortlessly and lift her over his head.

Plus also he was huge. That too.

Lizzie was trying to recover her breath -- the sudden giggles didn't help. Nor did being lifted as easily as a sack of potatoes.

Her hands had covered his, in a panic, but now she posed them in the air again. Her left was holding a puck, see? And her right had a hockey stick held up defiantly.

"For Canada, eh?" she called out.

Yes, ballets were supposed to be silent, but she'd felt inspired.

"In the name of the disembodied space-head of the great Wayne Gretzky," Jono announced, making a big show of taking big strides across the stage, as slow-motion as he could possibly manage, "I shall charm the Hockey Princess and return the Cup to the rightful heir to the space hockey throne."

In Space Canada, naturally.

Lizzie did her best to look like a princess, although she couldn't pirouette worth a damn.

"In the name of the disembodied space-head of the great Wayne Gretzky," she intoned, "I vow that I shall not marry until Space-Canada wins the playoffs."

There! Conflict!

Space Russia didn't stand a chance with these two on the job. Jono took one more step, and if that step came with a little hum as his feet left the stage completely, leaving him floating back down again much more slowly than anyone should, well, so what?

"To the playoffs!" A beat, and then he was setting Lizzie back on the floor in one grand gesture. "In space."

This might be a theme today.

Lizzie was not going to freak out. See how well she was doing, at not freaking out?

Dude, he totally just floated. Or maybe he'd had his feet on the ground and was just miming it? Okay, she was going to convince herself of that one. It was saner.

She cleared her throat and tried not to drop character.

"Oh, my space darling," she said, arcing her hands in a circle over her head. "If we lose the playoffs, what will become of our love?"

Now, everyone watch Lizzie attempt to walk on her tippie-tippie-toes! Hint: it will not end well.

Jono would never deny being a brat if anyone accused him of it to his face.

"If we lose the playoffs, I'm afraid we'll have to put off all further romance... until next hockey season." The horror. "All there is for it is to spend all of our time training."

A beat.

"In space."

Lizzie was going to do her best to make this flail in Jono's direction look like a swoon, and not like she possibly just keeled over from failing to walk on her tippie-tippie-toes.

"Damn space-hockey!" she cried. "Damn the playoffs! And damn the omniscient disembodied space-head of Wayne Gretzky, under whose all-seeing eye we must toil, day and night!"

Edited 2013-02-08 01:10 (UTC)

Well, for what it was worth, Jono was going to take that as a cue to catch her again, picking her up with one arm and lifting her up to carry her on one shoulder.

Yes, a bit like a sack of potatoes.

"This is the price we pay... for space-hockey."

It was a difficult life, really.

Lizzie posed, and tried to act natural. He picked her up one-handed? Okay, then. Her roommate must be even beefier than she'd realized.

"Sometimes, my space-darling," she sighed, "sometimes, I dream of running away."

She was going to kick her legs in a way that mimed running away. Slow-motion.

"From space."

Really, she hadn't seen him shirtless, yet. Jono wasn't in the habit of hanging around the apartment with his top off, but if he was, she probably wouldn't be half as surprised.

"But... where would you run? What world would you run to, where hockey could no longer impede our love?"

He turned in a slow circle as she kicked her legs. Because... that seemed appropriately ballet-ish.

Lizzie frowned, racking her brain.

"Space-Ecuador?" she suggested. "Warm climates probably make for crappy hockey teams."

And then she did some fluttery things with her arms. Elegant, okay.

Oh, totally the most elegant.

"I hear Space-Ecuador is very nice this time of year," Jono replied, up on one foot and kicking his other leg out to the side.

That he could get it that high was pretty impressive.

That he could hold it there to the count of ten was pretty impressive, too.

"I'm afraid I don't know any Space-Spanish, though."

"Would we be happy in Space-Ecuador?" Lizzie sighed. She was now making swooping movements with her arms, and trying not to jostle herself badly enough that she'd fall down.

"We wouldn't have space-hockey to keep our nights aglow. I am the Space Princess, I have a duty to my space citizens! And to the Sacred Puck!"

"And I am but a humble Space Marine," Jono replied, hanging his head in shame as one again he set Lizzie down, lowering himself to one knee. "I am sworn to protect you and the Sacred Puck, wherever you might be."

Improv Class, The Boards, Thursday Evening

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