6 September 2012
I sniff the air, ears pricked up in alarm. Emris sits on the chair in the corner, head in hands, muttering to himself. He reeks of worry. "You've got to stop doing this, Arwen. Stop... Transforming. It's... Not right. Not normal. Why can't you be like everyone else?" I growl at him, teeth bared and hackles raised. I am normal. Just... In a different way to everyone else. Emris' scent shifts to fear for a moment, then to pure anger. His grey eyes lose their gentle facade and he yells, voice cracking as his shouts fade to tears. "Please... I can't keep doing this, we've been to so many doctors, just... Stop. Please? If you can do anything to be... Normal, just do it, please?" I pad past him, taking care to bump into his leg, a howl lodging itself in my throat. I don't want to be normal. Emris is amazing, but so ignorant, blind to the world outside his 'normal' human existence in the theatre. I bound down the stairs, taking them two at a time, my wolf form easily jumping the pile of costumes at the bottom of the staircase. Upstairs, Emris shouts for me to return, but I block him out, making my way over to the storage cupboard. Inside, it's cool and dark, the scent of lavender hanging in the air. I bite on the handle and drag the door towards me until it closes with a familiar 'click'. Finally, I'm alone. This is the only place Emris wouldn't think to look, so I'm safe here. Who cares about 'Rhyme Time'? I don't want to sit and sing to a bunch of hyperactive toddlers. Emris will just have to find someone else. Someone ‘normal’. I growl softly and wrap myself up in the pile of fabric on the floor, letting Emris' shouts send me softly to sleep. Oh, god. I sit up abruptly, eyes wide in panic. Not good. For some reason, when I transform, my underwear kind of... dissolves into my fur, so, when I turn back, it's still there. Unfortunately, my clothes don't do the same. Half-naked and locked in a storage cupboard. Mmm... Got to add that one onto my list of awkward situations. I fumble around in the darkness for some clothes, anything that'll fit. By now, the toddlers will have cleared out, so I should be able to run straight up to my room to change, completely unseen. My heart rate quickens as I hear footsteps drawing closer. God, god, god. My fingers close around something, and I pull it on, it's a dress. I think. The fabric is soft against my skin and fits perfectly, the hem brushing the floor as I walk. Now. To make my escape. I push open the door, closing my eyes and holding my breath unknowingly. I mentally shout at myself, a stern voice echoing throughout my thoughts. For goodness sake, Arwen, it's not like anyone's going to see you like this and... "Hey! Arwen! I didn't know you were going to be our Juliet replacement! Great outfit, by the way." Not good. I stare down at myself. An old-fashioned plum Edwardian dress looks back, mocking me with its perfectness. Charlie stands in front of me, an inquiring look etched into his face. Utterly confused, I nod gently. At this, he pushes me backstage, sits me on a stool and sets a crowd of make-up artists loose on my hair. We have make-up artists?! I really need to learn more about this place. I glare at him, and then push the artists away, getting up to leave. "I am NOT Juliet. End of." The artists stare at me and I move to walk out in a huff. Charlie grabs my arm before I have a chance and pulls me back onto the stool, eyebrows raised. "Of course you are, no need to let nerves stop you! Talk to Emlyn after they're done-" He gestures towards the artists, "And she'll run through the script with you. It'll be fine. Oh yeah, and you're on in about... Ten minutes. See you then!" I open my mouth to protest but my voice is overwhelmed by the cheer as he enters on to the stage. Grrr. Like vultures to a carcass, the artists swoop down on my hair and literally attack it. I don't think I've never felt so scared in my whole life. Three mad women circling me, pulling strands of hair into a tight bun, spraying so much hairspray it feels like my lungs are going to explode. I cough, and having had enough, shove one forlorn-looking make-up artist out of my way, and stumble blindly out of the room.
Right onto the stage.
Midnight Part 4 • Opuss № I