Donmar Welcome Event 16th Jan 2024
Also went to a member's welcome event that the Donmar had, which was basically an hour where they served something to drink and told us a bit more about the theatre and the upcoming shows.
The invitation did say they'd have an exclusive tour of the place - on and off the stage - which I'd been quite excited about - but that didn't actually happen :(
Still, it was rather interesting! Learned a few things about Macbeth as well :)
Apparently, the stage stains very easily - which is why I'm baffled at how easy it apparently is to clean, but guess they must have some really lovely red dye that isn't as stainful as pretty much anything else that's dyed red. It also scratches easily - the movement on the stage can easily create little creases where the blood can get stuck.
I'd only seen the bloodbath on the floor once, so hadn't noticed, but was told that it comes up through the floor - probably why it differs so wildly each night how and where David is covered in it!
(As an aside to that - on the first night there wasn't a bloodbath - he was struck with the knife and there was a bit of blood on his shirt instead - now there's no blood at the wound)
Someone asked them about filming productions (not specifically about Macbeth - and they didn't say anything about it) and they told us about the process of deciding whether to record a production or not as it's a very costly affair to do so - which is why it's not something they just automatically do for everything.
They said that either the NT will ask them if they record a show - which means they do everything, and therefore is obviously the much cheaper option for themselves. The NT will let them know what benefits there might be in it for them - but as far as I understood they won't really earn much if anything from it.
So, the second option is for themselves to invest in filming a production by bringing in a third-party filming company that they pay for themselves. It's obviously a much more expensive way of doing it - but they'd also get more money back from it if it sells well in cinemas or online. Obviously, they have gone with the second option - so hopefully that's because they think it has really good marketing potential!
They mentioned that they are always very aware of the fact that not as many people get to see their performances as would probably like to see them - so it's always part of their considerations whether to film it or not when they create a new production.
One of them joked that they could probably keep up a production like Macbeth for three years and still sell-out - but that the theatre is known for putting on about 6 productions each year, so there's a limit to how long their runs can be - plus there's also the availability of actors to consider.
Someone asked if actors (I assume meaning, big name actors) takes a pay-cut to work with them - and yes, they do. Everyone is paid the theatre-standard no matter who they are. The only extra benefit they might offer big names is a taxi to get to the theatre and to escape back home afterwards.
Ah, yeah, think that was about it - everything else was more or less just about the upcoming productions, memberships, and other general things :)
Edit: Oh, forgot to mention that their focus will always be on the production as it's on, then on any potential transfers and then on releasing it for cinema/online - so if they filmed something it wouldn't be released until the live show is done - and sounded like they wouldn't necessarily say anything about it having been recorded (or not) until then as well. So don't think we will hear anything about the plan for it until the show is over.
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Pac wakes to the sound of someone stumbling into the room. Fit, just the other side of the bed, is awake but not moving; he follows his lead.
"Fuck!" it's Mike, it's only Mike, but he sounds terrible. "Fucking shit!"
There's the sound of Mike kicking the box he just walked into, and that's when Pac acts. He leaves Fit's arms, rolling over and flicking on the light.
"Mike?" he asks, rubbing sleep from an eye. "What's wrong?"
He's drunk. Pac can easily see that Mike is drunk, from the way he sways slightly and the slur in his voice. Richarlyson pops up beside him - Pac gestures for his son to go put himself to bed.
Richarlyson doesn't move immediately, but Mike does.
"Pac?" Mike asks. "Are you-?"
Despite the alcohol, there's a break in Mike's voice; Pac stands, and walks over, and pulls him into a hug.
"You're fucking drunk, bro," Pac says. "What's wrong?"
"He killed me," Mike replies, drunken rage quickly shifting to alcohol-fueled sobs. "He killed me!"
Pac clutches Mike a bit tighter, tugs him over to the bed. Fit has sat up, now, making room for them both.
"Who killed you?" Pac asks, even as he sits and forces Mike to curl at is side. "Mike, who hurt you?"
"Naked Slenderman," Mike hiccups, pulling more wine from his inventory; Pac is tempted to steal it, but knows already how that ends. "We were trying to banish him, but he locked us all in the Freddy Restaurant. Took people out one by one until it was just me, then he put this skull down and then this red axe-"
The shaking and tears take over. Pac himself is shaking too, clutching Mike a bit closer. Fit looks over from his comms, probably reading a surely mangled translation, and raises an eyebrow.
Pac shakes his head - not now.
Fit nods and quietly adds, "you're safe here, Mike; I'll just put Richas to bed."
The boy is not thrilled to be sent away with one dad still sobbing, but Fit herds him out anyway. There's a sign left behind, one reading 'Chayanne got back in and got him up. Ramon and I looked after him.'
Pac makes a note to thank the children in the morning; for now it's better they sleep.
He can't fix this - he can't. He doesn't understand the naked slenderman, for all it stalks and terrified him too. In the lamplight, in the night...
Pac hopes Fit is back soon, because he is definitely also scared.
"I think it's the guard I killed," Mike whispers. "I tried to give him back his badge, and he just sealed me in the sewer."
"The sewer?" Pac asks, before he remembers the teenage mutant ninja turtles area of the lower backrooms.
Mike nods, and whimpers, "once I lined up the photos the exit came back."
"Fuck," Pac replies, because what else can he say. "I won't let him get you Mike."
"I don't think you have a choice," Mike replies. "He's powerful. He's so powerful, Pac, he just dragged us around and not even Dapper's ritual could stop him! Dapper told me to start praying and I did and he killed me!"
"Does it still hurt?" Pac asks, because sometimes it does. He wants to help, to comfort, but his brain feels filled with fog.
A nod against his ribs; Pac pulls the blankets up to hide Mike, and holds him even closer.
"We can try new enchantments on your armour," Pac suggests. "Maybe...?"
Mike shakes his head - still drunk, still inconsolable, "one hit Pac! All my armour shattered and he killed me! We can't win. We can't win. He's going to take us!"
The hopelessness is in Pac's soul too - he pulls the blankets even higher, hiding himself as well.
"Even if he hurts us, we'll come back," Pac promises instead. "We always come back, always get out - no escape is impossible, remember? We just have to work it out."
Mike cries and trembles, and Pac continues to console him. While Mike stays hidden Pac's eyes flicker out, searching every corner of the room. He doesn't see it - there's no white, nothing like that, not again, but he can't help it! Even as he promises Mike they'll be okay his own heart rate picks up, searching out the creature - ghost perhaps - with a vendetta against him and his friend.
The door opens, and Pac shrieks.
Mike's sobs grow more desperate, clinging tighter as he does.
"Calm, calm," Fit uses a few of the Portuguese words he knows. "Just me. Richarlyson is asleep."
"Thank you, Fit," Pac replies on instinct, as he remembers how to breathe.
"You good?" is the reply.
Pac... Pac switches to English, because he wants Fit to understand. "Naked Slenderman is after Mike. It kidnapped him and killed him and kidnapped him again. I've seen it too - at the museum. We think it's after us."
He half expects teasing, but Fit's face turns serious.
"Let's push the bed against the wall. Pac? You go the far side. Mike in the middle. I'll guard the outside - the wall should guard your back."
It's better then just pretending to be a pile of blankets; Pac nods, and quickly translates the plan for Mike. Mike's English is just as good as his, but scared out of his mind... It's better, to be sure; Pac's struggling enough himself, and he's not the one who was stabbed.
It takes less convincing than Pac expected to convince Mike into pajamas. It's only as Pac remembers that, of course, Mike's armour was ruined and so he's just as vulnerable in all states.
Pac slips a few diamonds and enchantment books into Mike's backpack, just to be sure he'll be able to replace it in the morning. It might not be the best as Etoiles would define it, but it'll make something as good as is reasonable.
It is as Mike is being helped into something more comfortable - still clinging to Pac with every opportunity even if he is quieter now - that Fit shoves the bed to the wall, and Pac notices the new scar on Mike's chest.
A giant cleave, from the hollow of his shoulder all the way to his thigh and, damn, that's a painful way to die.
A painful way to die, and a horrific injury to survive.
Pac can imagine Mike on the floor, bleeding and in agony, screaming and calling for help in a sealed up room, pain blinding his senses until only a child can make it through a slowly widening hole to save him, anyone else too large - Mike screaming for Chayanne to get to safety instead, more willing to die than let a child be harmed... As soon as he thinks Mike will let him, Pac pulls him into the tightest hug he can manage, and onto the bed.
Mike stinks of cheap wine and other alcohol, but he's still Mike - he's Mike, he's Mike, he's /always/ Mike.
Fit leaves on the light as he comes to bed, pulling the blankets up over all three of them. Rolling onto his side he reaches across Mike to rest his hand on Pac's shoulder, and curls his body protectively around Mike's back.
Mike's safe now, or as safe as he can be - Pac shields his front and Fit his behind. They both hold him tight, secure he can't be taken.
"I've got you," Pac whispers the promise in soft Portuguese. "He won't take you from me."
Mike just nods against his chest.
"Good night Pac, good night Mike," offers Fit. "Sleep well."
Pac appreciates the sentiment, but doubts either of them will ever sleep again.
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His own breath ragged, Ambrosius leaned in again, just close enough for his lips to graze against Ballister's.
“Let me take care of you.”
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Ballister loses track of the time and gets caught in the rain. Ambrosius rises to the occasion.
Rating: Explicit
Relationships: Ballister Blackheart | Ballister Boldheart/Ambrosius Goldenloin
Chapters: 1/1
Chapter Word Count: ~5k
Additional Tags: Domestic Fluff, Light Angst, Pre-Canon, Service Top Ambrosius, Ballister Acts Like a Sad Wet Cat, Explicit Sexual Content
Inspired by @sefarlen's art here (NSFW), and a very happy Valentine's Day to you as well 😉😉😉 haha what do you mean it's apri
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Closing the door behind him with a soft click, Ambrosius slipped off his running shoes before stepping inside the apartment. His heart still raced with exertion as he pulled down the hood of his rain-slicked jacket, sweat cooling on the back of his neck and face. The rain had brought down the temperature to a crisp, sublime briskness, and it had been perfect for his evening run (even if his hair could do without the humidity).
Hanging his jacket on the coat rack, chin bobbing to the beat of his music, his eyes passed over the row of shoes, lingering on the leftmost shelf. He paused. The black boots that usually occupied the space were still absent, the same as they were when Ambrosius had first gotten home.
It wasn’t often Ambrosius beat Ballister back at the end of the day, with Ballister usually having long since buried himself in his academy reports. Even rarer for Ambrosius to finish his run and still see that shelf empty. Perhaps he’d gotten carried away with his research project in the archives. Still, why not give Ambrosius a heads-up?
Ambrosius pushed down his growing anxiety. It’s not as if Ballister has never been this late coming home before, especially with their development reports due soon. Ambrosius would just need to call, that was all. Nothing to worry about.
But first, Ambrosius desperately needed a drink. Bending down to open the refrigerator, he retrieved his water bottle and took a slow sip, eyes surveying the inside of the fridge. His fingers tapped to the beat of his music against the fridge door. They haven’t already eaten through all of those strawberries, have they …?
Through his earbuds, he heard a muffled thud behind him. He glanced over just in time to see Ballister shuffle into the main room, his gait sluggish as he dragged his hand down his face. He didn’t seem to notice Ambrosius as he let out a tired sigh, running his hand through his hair.
Ambrosius straightened, letting the fridge door close, and Ballister’s eyes snapped upwards. When their gazes met, Ballister faltered. For a fleeting moment, Ambrosius could see him attempt to mask the fatigue in his eyes, but Ambrosius’ concern must have been obvious as he quickly gave up the charade. He raised a hand, a weary smile tugging his lips. “Sorry I didn’t call.”
[Continue on AO3]
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