Who: Tyrith Lannister, Harper Di Frances What: Post-Production wind down Where: The Red Keep, what passes for dressing and staging areas. When: May 5th, Evening Status: Open to others on request. Adoring fans always welcome~! Rating: PG
After a play, the atmosphere normally wasn't this thick, but everyone was waiting the judgment to see who was the winner of this competition. By this time all the sabotage and subterfuge had happened. And there wasn't really much more anyone could do to other companies or each other to change the outcome of the judgment.
Harper would be lying to herself if she said she wasn't nervous. The performance had gone off perfectly. And it was something more exotic than the stock stories that most of the troupes had done. Her writing had seen to that. She had managed a small little alcove to herself to clean up before everything was decided. An older member of her troupe had said that it could take minutes or hours. Either way, she took time wiping off the thick costume make up undergoing the transformation from Tragic Maiden of the Stage back to Harper.
The tension in the air was so thick, even from her closed off little alcove - a luxury for the more talented mummers - she could have cut it with her dagger. It might have been her own nerves. Harper closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She could hear the voice of an old tutor reminding her it would be the will of the gods if it wasn't so. But in that case she'd want to strangle the deciding deities one by one. She had worked very, very hard for this.
Holding the facepaint stained cloth in her hands, Harper sat for a moment. Quelling the butterflies in her stomach wasn't easy, but a moment of just focused quiet should do it.