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knuffled · 4 years

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just practice - chapter ten

chapter ten is here, yay! hope you all enjoy it! somewhat important update in the notes at the end of the chapter on ao3 for those interested. thanks in advance!

ao3 link here

Holding the premier of the school play on the Wednesday before Thanksgiving was a bold move in Annabeth’s opinion, so it was surprising that the school’s parking lot was nearly filled, although that almost certainly had to do with the fact that Piper was playing Viola in the school’s production of Twelfth Night. Her performances in the school plays had turned into something of local legend after all. It had all started when she landed the role of Ophelia as a freshman, a feat in and of itself, but it was the way that she had sent audiences home in tears each night of the production that had catapulted her to near mythic status among the student body. It had gotten to the point where even many members of the football team could be found patiently waiting in line to watch a Shakespearean play.

Ever prepared, Annabeth had come fairly early to help secure seats for herself and the rest of her friends. The moment the doors opened, she made a beeline for the rows close to the stage and found some center seats, but when the auditorium began to fill its seats quicker than she anticipated and none of her friends had yet to arrive, she was forced to concede all of the seats she’d reserved except for two, one on either side of her. As more and more of the seats began to get filled, She came close to sending a text in the group chat as her sense of worry grew. Fortunately, that was when Jason showed up, a grateful smile on his face as he sank into the seat next to her. He took off his jacket, draping it on the seatback, and rubbed at the dark bags beneath his eyes.

“You look like a panda,” Annabeth said, smirking.

Jason ran his fingers through his hair and scowled. “Very funny. I’ve been neck deep in planning for the stupid after-party, and it has been a total nightmare.”

“So I take it that working with Drew Tanaka isn’t a good time then?”

Jason rolled his eyes and said, “There’s just something about event planning that turns her into a demon. At one point, I legitimately thought she was going to skin me alive.”

“Very dramatic,” Annabeth teased, squeezing his shoulder. “At least the worst is over now.”

“I sure hope so,” Jason muttered. “Otherwise, I might not live to see another day.”

Annabeth was about to say something when her phone vibrated in her pocket. She fished it out and looked at the caller ID, which immediately sent a frisson of irritation running through her. That was probably the seventeenth time this random number had called her over the past two weeks. She didn’t recognize the number at all, but whoever it was happened to be incredibly persistent about calling her.

“That number again?” Jason asked.

Annabeth sighed and nodded. “It’s starting to get really fucking annoying.”

“You should just block ‘em and save yourself the trouble,” Jason said, shrugging.

“Yeah, you’re right,” Annabeth said, sighing. “I’ll do it after the show.”

Jason nodded and pulled out his phone to shoot some texts, presumably to the group organizing the after-party. Annabeth spent her time scrolling mindlessly through Twitter, waiting for Percy to show up, but he was still missing two minutes before the show was due to begin. It was only once the lights began to dim that Annabeth heard the familiar cadence of his footsteps behind her. Percy squeezed past the people who were already seated, murmuring apologies as he passed by, before he sank into the seat beside her. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat and winced as he probed his upper back muscles.

Annabeth looked at him with concern and said, “Are you okay?”

“I’ve been better,” Percy said, grimacing.

“I swear your coach has been extending practices by an hour every month now since the start of the school year.”

Percy huffed a laugh. “You’re probably right. I swear, he’s trying to kill me. Literally every part of my body hurts right now.”

Annabeth frowned in the dark. In all his years on the team, she had never heard Percy complain about his body hurting after practices. His coach must have been pushing him even harder over this past month than normal. She wasn’t sure how to feel about that.

She leaned in to him to whisper to him and found her face heating up at the distracting scent of body wash and chlorine clinging to his skin, evidence of the post-practice shower he must have taken before coming here.

It took her a moment to collect her thoughts and mumble, “If you feel that bad, you should have just gone home. Piper would understand.”

“I’m not missing the premier just because I’m a little sore,” Percy said, shaking his head.

Annabeth paused before giving him a tentative nod and turning back to the stage, but she still felt lingering traces of embarrassment. That scent was beyond familiar to her and it had been for years, so she was troubled by how she had suddenly become so conscious of it.

Fortunately, the start of the play gave her a way to stop treading down that creepy train of thought. She had read Twelfth Night once during middle school, but it hadn’t made much of an impression on her. Seeing it performed now, the play was a lot better than she had remembered, but then again Piper had always insisted that there was a huge difference between reading a play versus seeing one live. For a high school play, Annabeth couldn’t help being impressed by the level of care and effort that had gone into every element of the production, from the set design to the lighting and wardrobe. Of course, the actors were great as well, but Piper stole the show as Annabeth had expected.

It took her a while to realize that Percy was mouthing lines beside her, nearly verbatim. At first, she’d thought she was hearing things, but when she stole a sidelong glance at Percy, she noticed that he was leaning forward in his seat, staring intently at the stage and whispering the lines to himself.

“But, indeed, words are very rascals, since bonds disgraced them,” Percy mouthed.

On stage, Piper said, “Thy reason, man?”

Percy whispered, "Troth, sir, I can yield you none without words, and words are grown so false, I am loathe to prove reason with them.”

Annabeth shook her head in amazement before knocking elbows with him to get his attention. He froze in his seat, face turning a gentle shade of vermilion in response to being caught, before turning to face her.

“You know all the lines?” Annabeth whispered incredulously.

Percy ducked his chin. “Not all of them, just the scenes where Piper has lines. Must have helped her rehearse them like a hundred times.”

“And let me guess, she didn’t ask for your help: you volunteered,” she said, sighing.

Annabeth found herself shaking her head again when he rubbed the back in his neck and looked away with a sheepish smile. It was amazing that Percy had managed to memorize all those lines, but it was even more impressive that he had done so while juggling all his other responsibilities. Her heart welled up inside her chest looking at him while he tried to not-so-subtly divert her attention back to the play, still blushing profusely, as if he didn’t realize he was more amazing in her eyes than anything Shakespeare could’ve ever written.

Before she knew it, the play was over, and Annabeth found herself waiting backstage with her friends for Piper to finish changing into her normal clothes. Leo and Frank spoke quietly to one another while Hazel was noodling with her phone. Jason drummed his fingers against his pants and rocked on his heels and kept looking down the hallway to the changing rooms with poorly suppressed excitement, practically embodying the spirit of a golden retriever. Percy stood beside her, leaning against a wall with his eyes closed, close enough for their elbows to touch.

When Piper showed up with an exhausted smile on her face, Jason rushed in and pulled her into a fierce hug.

“You were amazing,” he said.

Piper laughed tiredly and whispered, “Thanks, Jace.”

Jason stepped away suddenly and rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly embarrassed by such a public display of affection. Piper rolled her eyes and poked him with her elbow before turning to address the rest of them.

“Thank you all for coming tonight. I really appreciate it.”

“Jason is right,” Frank said. “You were really great out there tonight.”

Everyone chimed in with words of agreement, which flustered Piper a little, much to Annabeth’s delight. Piper rarely ever got flustered except when she got bombarded by compliments that she had rightfully earned. Percy was the only one who didn’t say anything, but he watched the entire scene with a soft smile on his face. Once she’d given everyone else a hug, Piper met Percy’s eyes, her eyes shining with gratitude, and a wordless understanding passed between them.

“So, after-party everyone?” Jason asked.

Piper leaned against him and nodded tiredly. “I could certainly use a drink right now.”

Jason smiled before turning to the group and saying, “It’s at Drew’s place. I texted the address to our group chat in case anyone didn’t remember it.”

With that, they dispersed and made their way to the parking lot. It was dark outside even though it wasn’t all that late, but it was nothing unexpected considering December was on its way. Annabeth buried her hands in the front pocket of her sweatshirt, but she still couldn’t help shivering as the wind howled past them.

Percy smoothed his wind-tousled hair with a scowl before he gave her a sidelong glance. “So I’m guessing your parents didn’t change their mind about the after-party then?”

Annabeth nodded. “They are still insisting that I spend some quality ‘family time’ with them for Thanksgiving. Whatever the fuck that means.”

“Maybe it’s a good sign,” Percy said.

Annabeth snorted and said, “Knowing Helen, I highly doubt that. It’s probably just going to be a miserable meal with passive aggressive comments for dessert.”

Percy stopped and gave her forearm a gentle squeeze, forcing her to meet his eyes, which shone with concern.

“If it gets bad and you ever need to get out of the house, give me a call, okay?”

Annabeth tried for a laugh, but it sounded hollow even to her ears. “Come on, Jackson. You don’t think I can survive one measly dinner?”

“I know you can,” Percy said, firmly but not unkindly. “But there’s a big difference between surviving something and not having to suffer because of it.”

She didn’t really know how to respond to that, so she just remained silent. Percy looked at her and waited for a short while before he sighed and dropped her arm. Annabeth could tell by the downturn of his lips and the furrow of his brow that he still wasn’t entirely convinced, but she didn’t plan on changing her mind. No matter what happened at tonight’s dinner, she was determined not to call Percy. A nameless fear had begun to take root inside her. She couldn’t say what it was, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that something terrible would happen if she continued to rely on Percy as heavily as she had. Maybe she was completely off-base or maybe she was simply imagining the whole thing. And yet it grated on her like an itch she couldn't scratch, telling her, compelling her to at least do something.

Percy scuffed his converses against his ankle and nodded again. “Well, I guess I'll see you when you come over on Friday then?”

Annabeth nodded and watched him leave before she made her way back to her car. She didn’t remember much of the drive back home. The spam caller called again at some point, but apart from that the only thing that stuck out was how the pit in the center of her stomach grew the closer she got to her house. When she wasn't eating outside the house, Annabeth usually holed herself in her bedroom until the rest of the family finished dinner before she went downstairs to microwave the leftovers and bring them back upstairs with her. Tonight, unfortunately she had no such avenue of escape.

Once she parked in the driveway, Annabeth continued to sit there in the dark, her hands wrapped around the steering wheel so tightly the cheap stitching on the faux leather dug into her palms. She couldn’t help thinking at that moment that silence wore many different faces. When she was with Percy, silence was companionable and radiated a warmth that felt like trust. When she went for a run, silence was open and peaceful, almost like a physical space where she could leave reality behind for a short while. When she watched Percy give his mother a hug before he left the house, silence was wistful and forlorn, wrapping around her heart like tendrils of smoke. But now, as she sat in the car outside her own house, silence was unforgiving and violent, like a shark sensing blood in the water, waiting for her to tear herself to shreds.

But eventually, Annabeth screwed her eyes shut and forced herself to take a deep breath before she finally made her way inside. She slipped past the door and quietly took her shoes off before heading to the dining room. The rest of her family was already seated and had started eating.

“Ah, Annabeth, we weren’t sure if you would make it, so we got started a little early,” Helen said, voice dripping with faux sincerity.

Annabeth pursed her lips and nodded sharply before she pulled out a chair for herself and sat down. She didn’t put much on her plate — barely enough mashed potatoes to make a mound drizzled with gravy, a small piece of grilled chicken, and some buttered vegetables — and tried to finish her food as quickly as she could so she could retreat to her room.

Of course, it didn’t take long for Helen to take issue with that. “Someone certainly seems to be in a rush today.”

Annabeth looked up from her plate and tried to quell the fire in her eyes, but it was difficult when Helen looked at her with that smile of hers like poisoned honey, while the coldness in her eyes communicated her utter and absolute disdain for Annabeth in a way words never could. Briefly, she looked to her father to see if he might intervene, but like always, she was disappointed. He was staring absentmindedly at the wall behind her, probably thinking about his research.

"I'm just really tired," Annabeth lied.

"And yet you had just enough energy to go to your friend's play," Helen said.

"It's almost like human beings have less energy over the course of a day."

She had tried very hard to keep the sarcasm out of her voice, but it didn't seem to matter judging by the tick of Helen's jaw. Annabeth couldn't help deriving a twisted sense of pleasure at the momentary collapse in Helen's composure.

Helen sighed with mock affectation. "Children your age are so disrespectful these days."

Annabeth shrugged nonchalantly. "Must be because we’re on our phones all the time."

A gleam passed in Helen's eyes. "Or maybe it's because you associate with the wrong kinds of people."

Annabeth furrowed her brow and deliberately set her fork aside. "And what is that supposed to mean?"

Helen raised her wineglass and took a sip before she spoke, and when she did her tone was feather-light. "Oh, it's nothing. As your mother, I'm just concerned when a girl your age spends all her time unsupervised, doing lord knows what, with someone like that Jackson boy."

Annabeth balled her hands into fists. “‘Someone like him’? You don’t even know him.”

Helen looked at her imperiously over the rim of her wine glass. “I don’t need to know him to know that he’s of the wrong sort.”

It took Annabeth a second to decipher what Helen had meant, but once she did the pit in her stomach burned with hellfire.

Annabeth barked a harsh laugh and crossed her arms over her chest. “So he’s the ‘wrong sort’ just because he isn’t white?”

“That wasn’t what I said,” Helen said mildly.

“No, but it's what you meant.”

For the first time that night, her father spoke, voice low yet firm.

“Annabeth,” he warned.

Annabeth bit her tongue and wrestled with the urge to scream. At that moment, her phone vibrated again in her pocket, so Annabeth decided to run with it. Anything to give her an excuse to leave.

Her chair emitted an unholy screech as she stood up. “I have to take an important call.”

Annabeth didn’t wait for Helen’s permission and left the dining room quickly, only just noticing the irritation in her eyes. She went upstairs to her bedroom and slammed the door behind her before pulling her phone out of her pocket.

When she looked at the caller ID and noticed it was that same spam number again, Annabeth clenched her jaw and made to reject the call before an idea occurred to her. If she couldn’t show any emotion around her family, well then this stubborn asshole who clearly couldn’t tell she wasn’t going to answer the phone would give her a good opportunity to vent.

“Hello?” Annabeth snapped, answering the phone.

The voice on the other end of the line sounded male. “Oh, um, hello. Am I speaking with Ms. Annabeth Chase?”

“Yes,” Annabeth spat. “And who are you?”

There was a pause — the speaker was clearly taken aback by Annabeth’s open hostility, but it didn’t take long for them to recover.

“I apologize if this is a bad time, but my name is Rick Waters. I’m the coach of the women’s cross country team here at the University of California, Berkeley. I just wanted to reach out to you regarding the offer of admission we sent you a month or so ago.”

A panicked flurry of thoughts blew through Annabeth's mind. “Oh, sorry, I thought you were a telemarketer. Did you say that you sent me an offer of admission a month ago?”

“Yes, we sent a letter in early October to be precise.”

“I never got anything in the mail,” Annabeth said, frowning.

“Oh, well I suppose that certainly explains things. Perhaps there was a mistake made somewhere along the way, but no harm done. I could inform you of our offer over the phone now, if you'd like."

Annabeth pressed a hand to her forehead and shut her eyes. "Um, yes, please do."

"Well, we've been scouting all over the country for new runners for the incoming freshman class, and we were very interested in you. You are clearly a very talented distance runner, and I think you would be a wonderful asset and a great fit with our team here at Cal. All our facilities are state-of-the-art, and we have some former Olympians on our coaching staff in addition to a team of dietitians, physical therapists, and psychologists. I’ll pause here if you have any questions.”

“No, not at the moment, sorry. I’m just a little overwhelmed,” Annabeth said, mind reeling.

“I understand,” he said. “The reason I have been trying so hard to reach you, though, is because we need to know your decision before the 30th, which is in four days.”

Only four days? How the fuck was she supposed to write all those supplementary essays in only four days? It had taken her months to just finish the essays for the Common App.

“What is the process if I decide to commit to Berkeley?” Annabeth asked. “Like, am I required to send an application and include essays?”

“No, we wouldn’t need anything supplementary. We do, however, require a transcript, but we’ve already been in contact with your high school regarding that, and it was more than satisfactory. In fact, we were highly impressed with your academic performance.”

“Oh, um, thank you,” Annabeth said, feeling relieved.

“Of course,” the coach said. “One final thing I wanted to mention is that we would be willing to offer you a fairly sizable athletic scholarship should you decide to attend in the fall. It would cover a majority of your tuition and room and board fees.”

Annabeth leaned against her door and sank down to the floor, smiling so widely it hurt. The one fear she had had was how she would afford going to Berkeley, so she was beyond relieved that they were willing to give her a scholarship. For once in her life, it seemed that all her hard work had actually amounted to something. For once, her accomplishments actually mattered.

“Thank you so much,” Annabeth said quietly.

“Take some time to think about it, but please do get back to us by the 30th so that we can secure your admission. To be perfectly honest, the deadline for athletic recruitment ended in October, but I’ve been adamant with the Admissions Office that you were special and that the deadline be extended on your behalf.”

Annabeth's throat constricted and her heart squeezed in her chest. “I really don't know what to say. Just thank you so much. I really do appreciate it. I’ll be sure to get back to you by the 30th.”

“Wonderful,” he said. “I look forward to hearing from you.”

With that, the phone call ended, and Annabeth knocked the back of her head against the door and stared up at the ceiling, not sure whether to cry or laugh. As the coach had said, recruitment was usually finished by October, so the fact that she hadn’t received any offers from schools had been depressing. She had assured herself that her application was strong enough on its own to brave the conventional admissions process, but this was an immense weight off her shoulders. Of course, that meant that all those hours she’d spent on writing her stupid Common App essay had been pretty much useless, but she couldn’t bring herself to care.

The only thing that soured her mood was the knowledge that she still needed to go back downstairs to deal with her step-mother now that the call was over. Annabeth sat there and looked up at her popcorn ceiling, trying to muster the strength to get up, but it still took her the better part of ten minutes before she finally rose to her feet and closed the door behind her.

:::

Friday at the Jackson household was often a rambunctious affair, but it was quieter than normal when Annabeth came to visit the day after Thanksgiving. But that was largely due to the fact that Paul happened to be away at a teacher’s conference, Estelle at a playdate at a friend’s house, and Sally was upstairs, working on her writing, which left Annabeth alone with Percy downstairs.

He had been the one to suggest that they bake something together, much to her relief. She had wanted to do something where she could turn her brain off, and there was just something about baking in particular that tended to calm her down. As Annabeth sat on the countertop, swinging her legs, and watched Percy riffle through the pantry in search of ingredients, it occurred to her that that was probably why he’d suggested the activity to begin with. The domesticity of Percy humming a tuneless melody under his breath while moving about the kitchen in his pajamas made warmth blossom in her chest.

"Are you gonna help out or are you just continue checking me out, Chase?" Percy asked, looking inside a cupboard for vanilla extract.

Annabeth felt heat rush to her face as she hopped off the counter. She tried to keep her tone light and asked, "What am I not allowed to check out my fake-boyfriend?"

Percy looked at her over his shoulder and raised an eyebrow. "Then surely you wouldn't mind if I were to check out my fake-girlfriend then."

Annabeth's heart fluttered in her chest. "It almost sounds like you're asking for permission."

It was hard to tell if the look in Percy’s eyes was teasing or challenging. "And if I am?"

Her throat had suddenly become completely dry. She wasn't sure if the move here was to say yes and double down or if she should play it off and change the topic.

She settled for the former and said, "And what would you do if I said yes?"

Percy's eyes darkened and his eyes darted to her lips for an instant before he cleared his throat conspicuously and turned away. “Good job. That should work when you get a real boyfriend.”

With that, the tension in the room dissipated into thin air, leaving Annabeth with a vague sense of dissatisfaction, although she couldn’t explain where it came from. Annabeth tried her best to put the interaction behind her and started helping Percy find the remaining ingredients, but she found her eyes wandering towards him without her permission. It was definitely because of the previous exchange, Annabeth reasoned, that she suddenly began paying attention to the way his back muscles strained against the fabric of his thin t-shirt when he reached up to get some nutmeg or the hard line of his jaw when she caught a glimpse of his profile as he turned away.

Her face began to heat up again, but this time it was because she was actually guilty of the crime she'd been accused of. She shook her head in an effort to dispel those thoughts, but she couldn't erase the images taking center stage in her mind's eye.

This was really fucking weird. She'd seen Percy practically every day for the last ten years, and his body had never distracted her like this, so it felt creepy and wrong. Yet, her eyes continued to wander towards him whenever she wasn’t vigilant, much to her embarrassment, as they started making the cookies.

They were nearly ready to put the chocolate chip cookie batter into the oven when Percy stopped and suddenly groaned.

"What?" she asked.

"I forgot the blue food coloring," he grumbled. "Mom and I ran out last time we made cookies."

Annabeth knew better than to ask him if it was really that important for the cookies to be blue, so she nodded and said, "Should we go to the grocery store?"

"Yeah, just let me get changed," Percy said, leaving the kitchen.

Sally made her way down the stairs and smiled as Percy went past her. She stepped into the kitchen and surveyed it for a moment before looking to her with a mischievous glint in her eye.

"Well, at least you both don't make nearly as big a mess as you used to."

"Sorry," Annabeth said, her face heating up.

"Relax, dear," Sally said, laughing. "I'm just pulling your leg."

Annabeth managed a smile and said, "How was your book tour?"

Sally leaned against the counter-top and sighed. "Exhausting, but overall, pretty good. Each time I have to do one of them, they just keep adding more and more cities. I know that it's a sign my books are reaching a wider audience, but it still wears out an old woman like me."

"You're not old at all, Sally," Annabeth said genuinely.

A warm smile crossed Sally's face. "You're sweet, dear. How have things been with you?"

Percy came downstairs, now that he'd changed, and jangled his car keys. "Ready to go?"

Annabeth looked to Sally and felt a surge of gratitude when Sally told Percy, "You go on ahead. Annabeth and I are going to have some girl time."

Percy looked between the two of them for a moment before he shrugged and left the kitchen. Annabeth waited until she heard the sound of the garage door closing before she spoke again.

"How did you know?" Annabeth asked.

"Hmm, know what?" Sally asked.

"Know that I wanted to talk to you.”

"I've known you since you were seven, dear," Sally said, giving her a significant look.

Annabeth couldn't help the fact that that brought a smile to her face. "Percy told me that he got recruited by USC."

"Mhmm."

“I’m happy for him and everything, but- I don’t know. It’s just that college actually feels real now and not like something imaginary in the far off future,” Annabeth said, twirling a strand of hair around her finger.

"It’s a big change," Sally admitted. "But I'm sure you both can handle it when the time comes."

"I know,” Annabeth said. “I’m just worried about being apart from Percy and stuff.”

"Well, if you’re that worried, what if you found a college close by LA?" Sally asked.

Annabeth shook her head. "A recruiter from Berkeley reached out to me Wednesday night about joining the cross country team there. He said the university would even be willing to give me a pretty big scholarship, so I'm thinking of accepting."

"Annabeth, that's fantastic," Sally beamed. "Your parents must be so proud of you."

"They just asked how I was going to pay for it," Annabeth said, smiling thinly.

Sally's eyes softened and she pulled her into a warm hug. Annabeth didn't expect a lump to form in her throat, but it didn't surprise her when it happened. She knew from prior experience that Sally Jackson's hugs did tend to have that sort of effect.

"Well, for what it's worth, I'm so incredibly proud of you and everything you’ve accomplished," Sally said. "Lord knows how hard you've worked these past few years."

"Thank you," Annabeth said, trying not to let her voice quiver.

Sally pulled away and framed Annabeth's face in her hands, smiling softly. "You've grown into such a wonderful young woman. It’s almost hard to believe that bossy little seven year old would grow up like this."

Annabeth wiped at her nose as a watery laugh escaped her. "Well, one thing hasn't changed: I'm still pretty bossy."

"Well, no one's perfect, after all," Sally said, a twinkle in her eye. "I really don’t think you have anything to worry about, dear. Berkeley and LA are in the same state."

"It's a five hour and forty-two minute drive," Annabeth said. "I, um, checked on Google Maps."

"That’s not that bad," Sally said. “You and Percy can deal with that.”

Annabeth shifted on her heels. "No, it's not that. I know we'll be okay, but I'm just worried it'll change things."

"Well, I know that the way you two feel about each other won't change and that's the most important thing," Sally said firmly.

"Of course, things will be different, but that doesn't mean it has to get worse. This is just another stage you have to pass through in your life, just like Percy does. But despite all that change, you will still be Annabeth and Percy will still be Percy, and that is enough for me to believe you both will be fine."

Annabeth considered her words before nodding. "I still haven't told him."

"He'll be happy to hear it."

"I know he will," Annabeth said. "I just want to be less of a wreck when I tell him. I don't want him to worry."

Sally smiled and said, "That boy will worry about you regardless of what you do."

"He shouldn't have to though," Annabeth said desperately. I’m not worth it.

"No, perhaps he shouldn't," Sally admitted. "But he chooses to anyways, and who are we to say he's wrong for it."

There was a pause before Annabeth quietly said, "Sometimes, it feels like he loves so hard, so honestly, so naturally that it's impossible for me to catch up."

"That's just the way he is," Sally said, a sad smile on her face. "His name means 'To Destroy', but there's no one more protective, more loving than my boy. Been that way all his life, even when he shouldn't have had to. Because of that, I’m afraid that I've hurt him without knowing, hurt him in ways that can't be fixed."

"You mean with Gabe?" Annabeth asked.

Sally's eyes turned hard. "He started trying to protect me from him ever since he was six and I don’t think he has ever stopped. Even now, I can see he still doesn't completely feel comfortable around Paul, but he bears it for my sake. He has always been willing to cause himself pain if it means alleviating someone else’s suffering. Sometimes, I worry that he feels the need to be responsible for how other people feel.”

Sally’s words immediately made Annabeth think about her conversation with Kara and how she had said something similar:

I just remember being so fucking stunned. Like, your girlfriend is telling you she’s breaking up with you after cheating on you, and your response is to go be someone else’s fucking therapist?

Annabeth balled her hands into fists and tried to swallow the lump in her throat. She wasn’t sure what to say. She had never been good with words or emotions, but she wasn’t even sure if this was something that could be fixed with just words. If she were like Percy, maybe she could think of the right combination of words to say in order to make this better, but she wasn’t.

She hated this. All her life, Annabeth had been praised for being intelligent. Most of her identity was built around that fact. Whenever her life went to shit, the one thing she could count on was the fact that she was smart: it was the one thing that made her feel like she was worth anything. But lately, Annabeth couldn’t help questioning if she’d built her entire sense of self around a lie. She couldn’t recall the last time she’d been able to use her intelligence to solve a problem, or at least not any problem that mattered. It seemed pointless to have all this purported intelligence when life only sent her problems that couldn’t be solved just by thinking really hard.

Sally must have sensed Annabeth’s frustration because she put her hand on Annabeth’s shoulder and gave it a gentle squeeze. Although she felt a bit better, it did nothing to dispel the underlying sensation of weight, like someone was sitting on her chest.

The garage door opened and Percy popped into the kitchen with an exuberant smile, holding a bottle of blue food coloring in his hand.

“Managed to get the last one!” he beamed before his smile fell and he looked between the two of them. “What happened here?”

Sally gave Annabeth’s shoulder another squeeze before making her way to the staircase. “Oh, nothing. Just girl stuff.”

Percy nodded but clearly looked unconvinced. Once Sally was gone, he turned to her with a question in his eyes.

“Girl stuff?” he asked.

Annabeth found herself settling for a half-truth yet again. It seemed like that was all she did these days when she spoke to Percy.

“A recruiter contacted me from Berkeley,” she said, looking at her feet. “They’re giving me a big scholarship if I go there to join the cross country team.”

Percy blinked before breaking into a smile and rushing to her with open arms. “Holy shit, Annabeth, that’s insane! I’m so happy for you!”

Annabeth returned his hug and smiled into his shoulder — Sally had been so spot on about his reaction that, despite her heavy mood, it was kind of hilarious.

“Thanks.”

Percy looked at her with a searching gaze. “Then why do we seem so sad?”

Annabeth rolled her eyes. “I’m not sad. I was just getting emotional with your mom about how much I’ve matured.”

“Hmm, you don’t look all that mature to me,” Percy said, appraising her.

“Asshole,” Annabeth grumbled. “I don’t seem to recall that being your opinion back when you were trying to get permission to check me out.”

Percy’s face flushed at the accusation, and his voice jumped an octave as he stammered, “T-That was to help you practice.”

“Yeah, sure,” Annabeth drawled. “Very convincing.”

“Now who’s being an asshole?”

“Couldn’t be me,” Annabeth said lightly.

“Of course not,” Percy said, rolling his eyes. “Now should we start making these cookies or not? I’m starving.”

Annabeth followed him to the batter and watched as he drenched it in blue food coloring, tongue poking out the corner of his mouth, and found herself desperately wishing they had more time. There was a delicate, almost exquisite pain that came with the awareness that this couldn’t last, but watching Percy roll misshapen balls of blue cookie dough made it easier for her to ignore it. At least for a while.

#just practice #percabeth fluff #percabeth fic #percabeth fake dating au #fake dating au #im so bad at endings fml #please reblog if you can it would mean a lot #ill love u forever and always

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fxrtescue · 5 years

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have you been re-introduced to ALICE FORTESCUE? last we heard, the PUREBLOOD was most familiar with TIMELINE THREE. I don’t recall if they were always a SLYTHERIN, but I’ve heard the SEVENTH YEAR is still OPEN-MINDED, AMBITIOUS, EMPATHETIC and CONTROLLING, ESCAPIST, COMPARTMENTALIZING so that’s familiar. at least SHE/THEY remember their way around the castle.

PINTEREST | PLAYLIST | STATS | BIOGRAPHY

CHARACTER INSPIRATIONS: allison argent ( teen wolf ), parker (leverage ), trish walker (jessica jones ), clara oswald ( doctor who ), clarke griffin ( the 100, s1&2 of the 100 not any further thx ), margaery tyrell ( asoiaf & got ), sutton braddy ( the bold type ), gaby teller (tmfu ), carol danvers ( captain marvel )

plant mum to mr. jenkins. droobles blowing gum champion. lover of popcorn, jewelry, strawberry bubblegum ice cream, divination, collector of sunglasses & happy memories.

AESTHETIC: gym mats, sweat, the smell of grass in the early hours of the morning, sunshine that lights but also burns, flowers put in doc martens, a legacy to protect, changing your hair when shit gets weird, idealism that haunts you, smiling more than you feel happy, smoke & mirrors, records, badly sewn flower patches on jeans, wand & dagger thigh holsters, craving power, a different pair of sunglasses for every day, stacked rings, long pendants, glitter eyeshadow, being the sword and the shield, music being an escape that you didn’t realize you needed, a lion’s heart but chameleon’s adaptability, using people’s perceptions of you against them.

HISTORY:

childhood started off as a dream. being close with both of her parents, gervais& lucille, spending most of her time learning trades from them, she felt like she floating on cloud nine. growing up in galway, ireland, with all the life around her, the world was hers to explore, hospitality was in no short supply in her neighborhood. alice was so effervescent, that people were drawn to her light, to her kindness, to her free-spirited nature. alice had always been particularly close with her dad who brought back souvenirs from his missions as an auror, the unknown was something she wanted to discover as each trinket from every which corner of the world was collected. When her was dad away on missions, her mom would instill these ideals in her on how to be a kid, lifeskills, just fun things about magic, playing in her expansive garden, things for the soul – stories about home. when her dad came back her mom stepped back while he taught alice how to do savate, self defense, how to hold a wand properly, wand formations, about history, everything she could & very well should know. thanks to gervais’ influence, alice started asking question after question until she was absolutely convinced that being an auror was now her calling as well – all at the age of five. alice was a naturally kind child, drawn to the profession of being an Auror is because it was driving some sort of darkness away. she wasn’t alone in her goal as she knew other people wanted to be aurors as well. her heart swelled at the idea of being part of something bigger than herself, being part of a group of people who were as passionate about saving the world & helping people as much she was.

after lucille’s stillborn child was when alice had to learn to have the emotional & mental capacity to learn to take care of herself, to deal with her emotions, feeling obliged to take care of her mother. alice was their only surviving child, who was spoiled rotten, and never had to go through anything relatively traumatic until the one thing that felt like it broke her family. she had a choice, to soothe herself or fall apart. alice would not fall apart, so she internalized it all, the ugly, the grief, the despair, the anger feeling like she had to shoulder all of the burden of balancing out the household. while she had always been close with her uncle florean, aunt ophelia and cousin atlas it wasn’t until after the trauma that she was left more so with them when her dad was on missions and her mom retreated into herself. alice was able to escape from her home quite often into the shop, spending time with atlas in particular helped Alice to move on from the loss her family had endured. fortescue’s was the respite she needed from navigating her parents, florean being a role model and an especially influential figure in alice’s life during a time that she felt like she was suffocating. without him & atlas, alice would’ve collapsed into herself, would’ve surely lost sight of who she was going to be & what she wanted due to the pressure. florean reminded her that she was allowed to be a kid, she was allowed to let loose, those days were spent thinking of whimsical ice cream flavors and helping fix his various motorcycles & bikes while listened to pink floyd, the beatles, the supremes. florean & ophelia picked up on the spiritual education that she’d been lacking in since her mother had pulled away, something that was sorely needed after what felt like losing her mother entirely.

getting to hogwarts, there was a part of her that was surprised that she was sorted into slytherin even if alice did fit into the house like a glove. now in her last year at hogwarts, alice is prepared to face the outside world, prepared to graduate and become the auror she’s always meant to be. she feels a pull, a connection and feels as if she has to carry bloodlines in being an auror. alice needs power, she craves it, especially as the years pass & her mother has further retreated into herself. she was sorted into slytherin for many reasons – one of them being because of her subconscious and burning need for the power over people’s feelings like her mother’s she wished she had, and the power over her own she she wishes she could master. the more power she can have as an auror, the more good she can do with her influence by having access to the training & information she needs to take down dark wizards. not only that, but the more she can learn how their minds operate so she can get the better of the death eater movement. alice is singleminded in her pursuit, willing to do whatever it takes & push herself as far as she needs to get to her goals &to help make this world a better place.

REACTION:

there’s a new legacy that alice wants to plant for her family, one that her father started, one she intends to finish as the years go by. despite a war having been brewing, alice knows she can be a soldier, she knows she is going to be part of the order when the time does come while also having high hopes to be an auror as she has since she was child can be conflicting, but it’s her path, she knows it. war is always a necessary evil, alice knowing her whole life fighting was never something she could avoid. so, she excelled in it. with how she was raised, with how her father &uncle left nazi occupied france, alice sees the death eaters as very similar to nazis. both groups advocate for genocide, using violence, brainwashing, manipulation, indoctrinating kids from the time they could use the silver spoon in their mouths to feed themselves. alice is aware she has privilege as well, as a white womxn, as very well off, as a pureblood, she’s aware that if she doesn’t stand up & fight as hard and as smart as she possibly can, she’ll just be part of the complicit. while she is a queer womxn, a known blood traitor with a pretty big target on her back related to her father, her privileges have enabled her to have a life that wouldn’t be possible for many other people. it’s her duty to fight, to stand up, to do something, to put her ass on the line. With several universes coming together – her objective, her goals do not change. in a way, this change has brought out the side of alice usually reserved for when she’s smoking a joint or indulging in the occasional psychedelic, the dreamer, the person who’s so curious that she could spend all her time just exploring the world if she could. new universes, alternate realities means more information, more opportunity to learn about the world around her and use that information to make the world a better place.

DIFFERENT TIMELINES:

TIMELINE ONE: Some mornings, she misses her runs. Alice lets go in this verse, she lets herself fully indulge in the side of her that’s always been there and lets loose. The most fun at parties, the best person to take you on an adventure, in this verse Alice loves traveling and travels as often as possible. Becoming an Auror gets put on hold, Alice has so much more life to live before she dedicates herself and her time to the academy and the Ministry. Gervais Fortescue is alive and well, as is Alice’s mother who was able to cope and move on from the grief of losing her second child. Alice is extremely close to both of her parents and loves her extended family just the same. Teamed up with Frank Longbottom, they throw some of Hogwarts most memorable & exciting parties, a duo and now recent couple for the ages.

TIMELINE TWO: When Gervais Fortescue is murdered just after Florean & Ophelia, Alice feels devastated. Alice and Atlas only have each other and though they are the same age, Alice feels protective over Atlas in the way someone would a older sister does over their younger brother. She’s not crumbled after tragedy before, she won’t do so now, Alice joins the underground Order the summer before her seventh year hoping to pick up where her father left off or do his legacy proud in some way even though they barely trust her to do patrols. As long as she’s doing something, she’s fine, as long as she’s protecting Atlas and keeping busy, pushing herself past exhaustion, she’s great. Because the Order won’t take her as seriously as they did her father ( she’s just a kid after all ), she decides it’s time that the students at Hogwarts have a chance to fight back, to do something, to let the world know there is still hope -- no matter how mangled it may be.

#diversions.i #I DID IT!!!#copy and pasted my app and added timeline stuff!!

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starlingari-a · 5 years

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!! a bit’of’a thang with @vaguerdoubts !!

“ARI-” Mother came around the corner so fast, Arienette hardly had time to pretend she was still toying with the guitar laid out across her lap. Those doe-eyes were met with a frantic stare from the elder, who only aimed a solid point right at her face. “Ari, Shakespeare, yes?”

... she worried it was a trick, but seeing as how Mother was still on the phone, Arienette only confirmed with a curt nod.

“O... O fellia, O delia, O-”

“Phelia?” Voice comes softly, hoping less to correct than to assist. “Ophelia? As in Hamlet?”

“Yes-” Mother SNAPPED and went to nodding in confirmation. “Yes, Ophelia, some classic cra-- critique-- you know the story? Those lines? Hers?”

“I- I do, why?”

“She does,” and suddenly, it wasn’t about her anymore, and Mother had whisked herself from the room whilst mumbling assurances before Arienette even had a proper opportunity to ask for clarification... no matter, though... she knew she’d be let into the loop eventually... when she was needed...

“Oh, isn’t she just marvelous indeed?”

Mother had nearly drug Arienette right out the door after the first read-through. Some emergency had gone on: a friend had called, BEGGED her to judge how well her darling little girl could memorize lines in a crunch. The role itself hadn’t rung any bells, but when the Director explained it was a play, one of those Classics... she knew it’d be worth a check, and by God her baby girl pulled through just as she knew she would...

But now it was Intermission, about two weeks later, and Mother knew she had heard someone in front of her talking about that Ophelia. It was complimentary in what she’d heard, even if she hadn’t quite caught the whole opinion-- “The most darling Darling up there, don’t you think? Pure passion: she just loves the theater!”

No reason to point out how Mother never supported all that theater. No money in it: no real coverage: a waste of time and energy, really...

Except for times like this. When she was finally here in the audience, watching silly Arienette put on a performance much like the ones she’d show when she was little and wearing frilled nightgowns, all passionate and such. LOOK AT THE GIRL GO!

And now that she was grown, sincerely, her time in the spotlight actually touching on a topic that has her heart :: DAMN NEAR DEVASTATING :: as if she’d known every syllable of every word longer than she’s known herself :: but Arienette eases through Shakespeare and does precisely as she’s intended to -- becoming part of the story, merely all, never more. As should be expected, that seam between soul and poetry is torn: and the girl on stage manages to portray said perilous plots and emotions in a manner that makes most arm rests CREAK upon being CLENCHED.......

“Her name’s Ari, Ari Starling,” an arm came out from Virginia’s way, to point and aim direction right at the last corner of the stage her daughter had been at before the curtain fell. “She’s brilliant, it’s her second show today and you can feel her melancholy--” a sigh, before a roaring laugh finally cut the sincerity...

“I’m Ginny, her Mother, Virginia-” and she rolls her shoulder back, PROUDLY, as if it were some true accomplishment. “Do you come to shows often, Sir? Your name?” Virginia isn’t a veteran of such herself, but she dresses like one with her black velvet, and even has a second jacket paired over the one draped on her seat. “We find the theater just: intoxicating. Ari’s called it a devastating decadence, but you know how those drama types are-” and she very literally has never been so PROUD to claim such a thing for her daughter as she is now, at this moment.

“THAT GIRL-” there’d been the slightest twitch at the corner of the curtain. Could have been a whisp of wind, a stage hand pulling sets, or absolutely ANYTHING reasonable: but Virginia blamed it on Arienette taking a peek at the audience and it doesn’t much matter that she’s very correct, because it’s still a rash assumption. “Something to be said about someone who loves an audience...”

She says. To the audience she’s imposed herself on.

#!! i've never had to name Mother until this thread but now her name is Virginia ; you can call her Ginny #!! this is really only so long to SET the SCENE i'm sorry lol #!! Thinking Newton could be who Virginia / Ari's Mother is talking at??#vaguerdoubts

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kaldwinenterprise-sydicate · 6 years

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Interview | Dante and Delia

"Armani, Rubinacci, Hugo Boss...Mr Kaldwin, I'm afraid I don't know anything about these brands." Maybe she wasn't right for this job after all. Dante Kaldwin seemed to be fashionably inclined but with the handicap of not wanting to pick out his own clothes. Oz also cared about clothes and brands, but he didn't waste his breath trying to explain men's tailoring to Cordelia. Just women's, on occasion. "Do people wear ties anymore?"

"It isn't so much about the brands," Dante said, flipping through a magazine, his legs folded dramatically on his chair's arm. "As its about how it looks on me." Looking good was apart of the underground boss job description. "General rule of thumb- fur, yes. Royal purple, yes. Yellow? Burn it." Unless, of course, it was gold. Dante was born to be gilded. The longer the redhead worked for him, the faster she'd get used to his wardrobe choices. And the more influence he could have on hers! The poor girl dressed like his grandmother.

Cordelia glanced down at her yellow cardigan apprehensively. She always thought yellow was a good color for her complexion... "Okay, so...fur, purple...blue, probably. Dark blue. That would bring out your eyes?" Did people like matching their eyes? "You wouldn't prefer clothing from brands that are more...ethical, let's say?"

"Anything that makes me glow. I like red in the mornings. Only put me in black if everyone else will be wearing color." What was important was standing out. "Oh, lord. Ethical sounds too much like ugly." Dante shook his head. "Pour us a glass of scotch," he ordered, "and then join me. I've been perusing Armani's spring collection, there are some do and dont patterns I can show you." Clothes and booze, nothing went together better.

Suppressing a sigh, Delia went over to the fancy minibar and poured two glasses of scotch. The stuff was insanely strong, but she was certainly not about to argue with Dante Kaldwin. At least, not today. "Here you go," she said, standing beside his chair and glancing over his shoulder at the magazine in his lap. The models in these catalogues didn't look like real people. They were almost vampiric in that way. These were certainly the men that her Maker followed for hairstyle inspiration. "Besides fashion, is there anything else you need me to be proficient in, Mr Kaldwin?" Apparently her fast typing and dictation abilities were not enough. She was already memorizing drinks and colors...Delia took a small sip of her drink and to look thoughtful rather than feeling like she'd just swallowed nail polish remover.

"My Maker once said that my fashion sense would make the saints cry."

"I can't speak for the saints," Nor would he ever want to. "But your fashion sense could certainly make me cry. Don't fret, button, I'll dress you up when we go out. " Dante tossed the magazine away. It would be more fun dressing up Delia than it was himself; he was so used to his own frame, the best colors and patterns. She'd be his new pet project. He walked away from his sitting area and toward his desk, thumbing through a few files. "You're going to memorize a list of my friends, their faces, names, jobs. When we go out to parties tell me who they are, what they do." Dante saw no point in remembering the information himself. "Pay attention to their lives, any gossip. I only convalesce with the best."(edited)

"Surely you exaggerating a little...Mr Kaldwin," she added, remembering herself. Cordelia liked to be comfortable. She and her sisters hadn't been raised with fashion as a forefront in their rearing, as much as books and manners were important. Still, she knew Rosalind, Ophelia, and Viola were all out there somewhere, looking far more put together than she. Of course, they were still human too. Always having to outdo her. "Wait---parties? You want me to go with you to parties?" The only party Cordelia had ever been to, besides birthday parties, was one for her graduation. She'd had two glasses of champagne and thrown up in a sink. And she assumed the sorts of parties Mr Kaldwin was talking about would be far more ritzy than those. She'd heard of the all out, glitzy, red-carpet affairs that rich people threw (especially when their venues were an actual casino). "I can memorize all of that but I can't dance or...or mingle." Please, don't let it involve dancing. "I think, in my professional opinion, that perhaps it would look far more impressive if you escorted a model or actress with you? I could stay here and man the fort, as they say."

"Dont worry, button! No dancing! No socializing." He didn't need her there to impress anyone; just to help him keep his bearings. "Well of course there will be models!"He looked at her, aghast. Dante believed that Ozzy's progeny would have a bit more.. confidence to her. "You're a vampire, darling. Your pores alone are enough to make a human woman sob." He downed his drink. "But there is work to be done here." Dante hated paperwork. He hated busy work. Anything that wasn't worthy of his time. "I have accountants, security- Oz to run this place. You know all of that. But someone needs to keep them all on the same page, and it sure as hell isn't going to be me." If Delia wanted to be his personal assistant (and be paid her weight in gold) she'd start taking notes now.(edited)March 1, 2018

"Mister Kaldwin, I assure you, I believe in my skills or I wouldn't have bothered signing up for this job. I believe in my intelligence, my strength of character, and my ability to be upfront and concise. For me, these are the things that matter. Not...pores. I can keep your business running fluidly, remember the names of those you deem mundane, and keep everything in order so that you may continue to run Kaldwin Enterprises to live up to it's impressive name. If that's what you want in a personal assistant, then you'll find no better. If you want someone to sit around and tell you how stunning your suit is and how immaculate your hair looks, then I'm afraid this arrangement will not work out. I was a school teacher, Mister Kaldwin. I can keep your security and your dealers, performers, caterers, bartenders, and even you in line, so help me."

Dante wandered over to his minibar, listening to Cordelia's pitch. He liked this better than the woman who wasn't meeting his eye earlier. Confidence was truly the only way into a Kaldwin's heart. "Good." He said simply when she finished, refilling his glass. "However you'll have to tell me I'm stunning every once in awhile or I'm afraid my ego may shatter." Moving back to his desk, Dante reached out and plucked the scotch from Delia's hand. "And I wont make you drink on the job." He winked, and finished off her glass. "Someone stole from me recently. I've never had you here before; you weren't apart of my staff so I know you weren't involved. I want you to find out who is." Oz was already on the job, but Dante had always thought that two minds were better than one. Unless of course, the one was his own. "Aside from your other duties of course. Tell me what you need. An office? Desk? Make a list and I'll sign the bill."(edited)

By the time she had realized that she'd mouthed off, Dante was already praising her, giving her interesting work, and asking her if she wanted a whole bloody office. She was quiet for a moment, not contemplating what sort of wood she'd like the desk to be but rather wondering if he was about to blow up. But he didn't, and she no longer had a drink in her hands to use as a social prop, so she supposed he was serious and expecting an answer. "Just...a desk, or part of a desk. Somewhere to store my things and whatever paperwork you send my way." Cordelia was also pleased that he was putting her on such an important assignment already, and clearly believing enough in her--well, most likely her vampiric abilities, but it still counted--to take care of something like high-stake theft on her own. Her shoulders finally relaxed slightly. "Looks like we have an accord, Mr Kaldwin. It will be a pleasure working for you, I'm sure."

#delia #interview

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wudddddup · 6 years

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Let’s not forget the purple plant- butterfly leaves. How I cried in the winter because she just would not grow. How many times will the winter kill the things I love. How many times will the soft things I love confuse my own hands for winter, wilt at my could touch?

Let’s not forget her butterfly leaves, opening in the morning and closing with my eyes at night. This plant could carry me away. I carried her over town lines just to see momma smile, and oh, she smiles. Her voice still honey across the universe.

She calls me, says baby- look. Things are hard, I know. But they always will be if you see the plant as dead instead of dormant. Stand up, she says.

Pulls me off my knees. Calls me three months later.

Says the leaves are growing through the bottom of the plastic pot and I don’t even know how that works but it’s one of those things you should try hard not to question. I don’t know how that happened but I know that I used to see this plant as purple and very fragile and afraid of me and the truth is//

I won’t grow if I’m mad at the sun. I won’t fight through the plastic- the pain- if I’m bitter with it. I just don’t know how to be okay yet. I just don’t know yet.

The cigarettes fill up the liquor bottle. I count them. The dog won’t sleep anywhere unless my feet are there too. Are all small things sweet? One day I hope to be big, bigger.

Religion calls to me and I pick up the phone every time. I can’t help it. I see beauty painted in the palms of people’s hands, the ones they press together. I don’t get it all the way but the love tucked into the devotion turns me on. I hear religion and I think sex, I think sin. I don’t know why. I don’t know why. I want to learn about it all

I miss being loved but not like I’ll miss being fucked. I miss being fucked by someone old but not like I love discovering it new.

Let’s talk about the truth like I haven’t in some time.

Being in over my head is starting to feel a bit lack luster. Not the drowning but the water itself, the eeb and flow within my bones. It used to move me. I could breathe through the suffocation and that contradiction just kept pulling me back. Or the tides did. Either way, I was wet with mania.

Now it’s just sort of tiring kicking my legs so much. and the water doesn’t look opal or sparkling or ever lasting. It just looks blue and never ending. What a shame, a bore. Did you think I would wade the water of us for this small eternity? Did you think I wouldn’t buy the ticket? Hunny- honey, you let me down- drown too many times. Lost count. Lost consciousness. Got bored of waiting Starting keeping track of all the ways you aren’t mine.

1. You always have to say Ophelia before you get to Olivia and that’s a mechanism but i know you like hot sauce on your meatballs and if I close my eyes I can see the order of the pictures in the hallway, the paint splattered across the wall. Ryan comes into the bar, asks me of frank ocean and the Nissan rouge and about taking a bath in the creek and at first I drown myself in the beer cause I feel sorry for the way he memorized me, but then I remember how I memorized you and I just feel sorry for the both of us instead. 2. Answer the fucking phone or don’t but don’t put me in the middle. 3. I’m always in the fucking middle. 4. It still feels like you asked to date me because I told you I was leaving the night you fucked the very pretty girl, the one who I still see when I close my eyes. (4). (There’s so many pretty girls and I will never be enough) 5. Sometimes I wish I said yes when you asked, but then I remember Canada, the long way home. I drowned a bus full of strangers in my own tears on that ride back. Salt water crossing the boarder. Another pretty girl. 6. The film strip, but this isn’t about that. It’s about how that has just become black and white instead of the girl inside of it. 7. One day, someone’s gonna love me. And it’s gonna be good and it’s not gonna hurt. Repeat. 8. I was never the kind to take kindly to various forms of social media, the back//forth and private little rooms, but Ashleigh tells me you make me do a lot of things that make my hair look a slightly different color. 9. You’re running out of time and you don’t even know it. 10. I’m running out of time and I don’t even know it.

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rndyounghowze · 7 years

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Hamlet by Aquila Theatre at Stockton College in Galloway, NJ

Something's rotten in the state of Jersey with Aquila Theatre’s touring production of Hamlet by William Shakespeare which stopped at Stockton College for a performance. This production directed by Desiree Sanchez brings something more than Shakespeare but the question of existence itself. Hamlet is the center of a 400 year old story of woe and intrigue. Someone has murdered Hamlet’s father. Gertrude, his mother, has married Claudius, his uncle. What's worse Horatio has seen his father’s ghost has come back from the dead with a message: “I have been murdered and you must avenge my death” Add in the schemings of Polonius who thinks Hamlet is just a lovesick puppy over his daughter Ophelia, the meddling of his parents who use Rosencrantz and Guildenstern to keep tabs on him, and the well wishes of his friend Horatio and you can tell that Hamlet is soon to be torn at the seams by everyone’s expectations of him. How is he going to fulfill every obligation? Does he even want to go on at all? Desiree Sanchez as director worked together with the cast and crew to bring something visceral to the play. When someone watches Hamlet it is easy to watch with your upper brain, the one that wants to dissect it as literature. But through skillful work with actors and long work with designers to shape sound and light she presented a piece that brought us back to the caveman’s campfire. We’re watching Shakespeare in modern dress but we're also talking about the oldest questions of life, family, legacy, and what would we do to preserve each if death were crouching just outside the light in the darkness. I think that she did a wonderful job bringing actors to that dark edge while still making it something that they can do over and over while on national tour. She also seems to curate the whole picture using physical bodies, light, set, and costumes to make the whole experience. Some directors you can tell whether they favor working with actors more or whether they are just putting bodies on stage under pretty lights. Sanchez rides that line down the middle and uses all the resources at hand. That's a perfect skill to have while designing a national tour.

Our cast of eight may as well have been a cast of thousands with the kind of energy they brought to the production. Lewis Brown (Hamlet) gives us a character of struggle. He brings the full body and voice into what he does. I once always thought that Hamlet’s soliloquies were purely verbal and mental but you could tell he was leaning his whole body into it. He turned the iambic pentameter into a physical effort and showed us not only struggle with people but the struggle between the forces in his head. Lauren Drennan’s (Ophelia) did something that I never knew could happen. She made me feel sorry for Ophelia. There is always a sense of naive innocence when you talk about Ophelia and in her voice and her tone she started there but then as things got real and her life started falling apart she turned that innocence into a train wreck. She melded her voice and her body and her energy to become something that made me shiver. During her talk about the flowers I wanted to look away but found I couldn't. I wanted to run onstage, scoop her up, and take her away. Drennan brought her whole acting training to bear to make a character that made me feel guilty for sitting still. Now that was talent! Tyler La Marr (Horatio) served as a Sergeant in the Marine Corps and did two tours in Iraq. What better person to play a man do torn between duty to his country and duty to his prince. Immediately I found a man who was honorbound and struggling with those convictions usually willing to die for them but in his case brave enough to live for them. Kudos! My hat goes off to Guy de Villiers (Claudius) and Rebecca Reaney (Gertrude) who made me feel dirty as the king and queen. But it's also hard to play a king and queen that people hate but they still are captured by and have to take notice of onstage. There were times where I didn't believe their chemistry but I didn't know if that was because their characters literally had none in the story or if their performance was slightly off. I do feel however that it's something that is not as vague in most of their performances of this play. James Lavender played a host of characters from Polonius to the Ghost to the Grave Digger (as well as Osric). I want to focus on the work that he did as Polonius and the Ghost though. Playing both those fathers he brought forth the theme of legacy in the face of mortality. He brought a warmth to Polonius that I haven't seen and a tragic anguish to the Ghost that I've never seen. It really is a touching performance from such a versatile actor.

My hat is also off to Harriet Barrow and Michael Rivers who had to both play the parts of the players and Rosencrantz and Guildenstern. I felt that they did the best that could playing two characters that seemed to have conflicting emotions. And motivations. In fact I don't know if the director made the right choice putting the characters together at all. But I so admire the actors for pulling off the feat this mashup presented. Barrow pulls off a wonderful performance as Marcellus and the priest. I feel that I loved Rivers’ Bernardo far more than I did his Laertes and I'm not sure that's supposed to happen. Rivers was obviously at home in Shakespeare and while one of his characters left something to be desired I truly admired his professional caliber performance.

I also want to give a lot of credit to lighting design by Joel Moritz, sound design by Andy Evan Cohen, projections by Lianne Arnold, and Lara de Bruijn’s work on costumes. Together they took a minimal touring production and made every little element have meaning. Even a shift in costume, a square of light, and a piercing shriek of sound could be a major change in psychology or plot. It's such a breathtaking piece of art that these guys have collaborated on and you must go see it!

When you're directing or producing Shakespeare you’re always wearing two hats. The first hat is the director who must become an advocate and lover of this story and bring together a team of artists on one solid mission to bring it to the stage. The second hat is one of an adaptor who must turn a five act Elizabethan script intended for an ancient stage into a two act piece of modern theatre. Unless you're directing museum theatre you're no longer performing Shakespeare in the way it was originally intended. Director Desiree Sanchez also wore these two hats and I don't envy her that job even while I celebrate her work. To adapt Shakespeare in one sense is to make no one happy. There is half the audience that is having flashbacks from years of English teachers shoving the bard down their throats and half the audience are Shakespeare devotees who have seen or read it several times and will swoon the minute they hear a soliloquy or get outraged the minute they see something they love get cut. But like I said earlier to produce Shakespeare today is to change it. So essentially half the audience won't care and half the audience wants to take you out back after the show and punish you for your “crimes”.

This is what made Sanchez’s adaptation so surprising. I first noticed something was awry when the first act was over and I saw some clamor amongst some audience members around us. The person next to me and my wife asked us “Did you notice that they cut “To Be or Not To Be”? My first reaction was to shrug and go “wait did they?” My wife, who is often far faster on the uptake than me snapped her fingers and went “that's what was missing!” The circle of humanity around us seemed a buzz. As if they were saying, “How dare they cut that one piece?” But I was desperately searching my brain trying to figure out where it was supposed to be. You have to understand that I'm a mixture of these two types of people in the audience. I was force fed Shakespeare in high school and then became a lover or him in college and grad school. I went from saying we should never produce Shakespeare again to saying we should desperately revive him and the old canon. The through line of this is that I've had to read, memorize, and discuss that speech my whole academic life. How could I have been watching Shakespeare so intently that I forget that soliloquy!

Right as the lights were going down for the second act my wife said, “We saw what they did with ‘Murder on the Nile’ I bet they’ll put it somewhere in the second act.” I was dubious but found myself silently rooting for her as the show went on. Then it came to the scene at the graveyard. We know that Claudius and Laertes have hatched a plot to kill him. We have already seen him hold the skull of a dear beloved Yoric in his hands. We see Hamlet and Laertes fight over the body of Ophelia. Most of us know the ending is coming. We know that most of these characters are not long for this world. We know that Hamlet will soon go to a grave of his own.

And then Hamlet comes on stage again with these images of life and death fresh in our minds. He comes onstage at a time where both of these predescribed factions of the audience know the plot and then begins to utter those immortal words. A silent hush fell over the audience. My wife grabbed my arm and I was shocked. Not by the audacity of changing the script but because how much weight those words had in that moment. In a graveyard of dry bones with murder plots abound where we know death is imminent Hamlet doesn't talk about life or death. He talks about existence and whether he wants to be on this or not. The sheer weight and density of that moment became so palpable that it lay like a heavy blanket over the whole audience. Sanchez didn't just awake our visceral selves in this play but got two steps ahead of our brains and played our emotions like an instrument. She made Shakespeare new to people who had seen it a million times. Maybe there were some people left in the torch and pitchfork contingent but the standing ovation at the end of the play tells me there weren't many. I got home home and looked up Hamlet and there it was in Act Three. “To be or not to be that is the question”.originally the lamenting of a young man (what my wife calls an “emo teen”) Sanchez made it into the heavy thoughts of a suffering adult. Hamlet seemed to grow up in this version. I also found a myriad of characters that I had totally forgotten were in the play. Aquila Theatre managed to make an old play, not one of my favorites even, and make it hit me where I live. Not only that it hacked my memory and made me watch the play with my emotions not my theatre degree. And for that rare and special gift I give them thanks.

#Theatre #shakespeare #Hamlet #Aquila Theatre #nyc #nj #southjerseytheatre #gallowaytownship #stockton university #whitehorsepike

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