Ari ♫ ♪ ♬ (gracenotes) wrote in emillion, @ 2014-01-14 20:29:00 |
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Entry tags: | !complete, !log, arielle chiaro, magnolia paget |
Who: Ari & Mag
What: Morning (gasp) coffee
Where: The Roast
When: This morning
Rating: PG
Status: Complete!
Drake had taken to keeping coffee around for her in his threadbare apartment. Sadly, it was instant coffee, and though Ari had knocked back a cup for the purposes of getting her eyes even halfway open, it had failed to satisfy. The idea of taking the entire summer off to play and travel had appealed, but now that rehearsals had started -- the Founders’ Play in the mornings and Romulus and Juliana in the afternoons -- she was beginning to have doubts that her plan was wise, after all. As was often the case with her life, however, it was too late to back out now. All of which was the reason she found herself shambling into the Roast like some strange, brightly attired zombie at half past eight. It was just down the street from Drake’s (he had run off, annoyingly chipper, half an hour prior) and she had to have real coffee before rehearsal started, or she thought she might actually cry. Short as she was, it was hard to miss her when she walked in. The bell above the door chimed, marking the arrival of a new customer. Mag glanced up from her book and couldn’t suppress a grin at the look on Ari’s face—a carbon copy of the way Lavitz looked anytime before nine in the morning (as though he might fall asleep while standing, if he stood in one spot long enough). Coffee was the only cure for that—and judging from the bard’s expression, in industrial quantities. Mag marked her place and closed her book. Her table was close to the bar, and she was reasonably sure Ari could not miss her wave as she trundled off to buy her drink, though Mag knew from experience sleepiness often resulted in tunnel vision. In fact, Ari only noticed Mag as she approached the counter, and even then, most likely because of the bright and distinctive color of her hair. She gave a small, wan wave before focusing instead on the person behind the counter; only with a large cup of coffee and a handful of sugar packets in hand did she turn away from her most immediate concern to join the other woman at her table, sipping from her cup as she went. “What is it,” she said by way of greeting, “about Fighters’ Guild members and their incomprehensible morning… chipperness?” Mag looked wide awake and put together -- basically the antithesis of Ari right this moment. “It almost makes me want to dislike you.” “It warms my heart that you said almost.” The generalisation about Fighters’ Guild members, she assumed, referred to Aspel. Mag smiled. “We just find it terribly amusing to watch everyone else hobble around, groaning and shielding their eyes from the sun, like the living dead.” “So the rest of us are a source of free entertainment, are we?” Another sip of coffee — she was beginning to feel considerably more human — and she even managed a smile. “I suppose that isn’t terribly different from the norm for me, so I can’t complain too loudly.” “So there you go.” Mag grinned and sipped her own coffee. “Why are you up and about before noon, anyway?” Ari grimaced before answering, “Rehearsal. Some directors are mad and expect actors to work at nine in the morning. I’ve always wondered if they not-so-secretly hate us, but one must work if one expects to get paid, I suppose. I am hoping that this”" a nod towards her coffee, “will at least keep me from accidentally reading someone else’s lines. I would be lying if I said that’s never happened before.” Mag gave thanks she hadn’t been taking a sip when Ari spoke. The mental image of Ari reciting someone else’s lines, no doubt with flair and unshakeable conviction, had her laughing out loud. “Well, I’m sure you did a wonderful job of it, even if you got the wrong lines,” she said. “Any other amusing mistakes caused by sleepiness? You’ve gone and piqued my curiosity now.” “Oh,” Ari said, “I’ve rewritten entire scenes. For the better, I’d say, though the authors likely wouldn’t agree. Not to mention the million times I’ve forgotten words —which is where the temptation to substitute my own becomes nigh irresistible.” She smiled —halfway through the cup of coffee she was gulping down as fast as she could manage, she could finally find the energy for amusement. “Do you recall the gala scene I did with Miles Baines?” she asked. “Well, there was one time he literally put me over his shoulder and hauled me off at the end, with me kicking and screaming that I’d been kidnapped.” She shrugged and added, “It was hilarious at the time, though the director didn’t think so. Apparently a proper lady of ninety does not behave in such a manner.” “Perhaps a very energetic lady of ninety,” Mag pointed out. “I’d say being hauled off like a sack of potatoes gives anyone reason to kick and scream.” She shook her head, and joked, “How tragic, to hear creativity and personal initiative is valued so little. For shame.” “Appalling, isn’t it?” Ari asked with a sad shake of the head. “And the common repertoire has a distinct lack of Warrior Queens; really, the Julianas of the world are far more common, who can only scream for aid when they’re being hauled off somewhere. It does inspire one to creative interpretation from time to time, for novelty if no other reason.” There was nothing for Mag to do but agree. “And I’d say kicking out at anyone trying to harm you, rather than fainting in the arms of a drunken fellow bard,” a reference to Fedoro, and a previous conversation, “would be much more enjoyable, and probably sell better if only because of the novelty factor.” She chuckled, already seeing it in her mind’s eye. “Romulus and Juliana, the improved version. In which Juliana flips the bird at her mother for trying to marry her off, tells Paris to go to hell, and generally rolls her eyes at Romulus’ constant drama.” She sipped her coffee. “I’d pay to see it.” At this, Ari laughed, perhaps a bit more heartily than could be expected for such a joke; when she had at last regained her composure, she said, “Sorry, sorry, really — I will be singing Juliana this spring, actually, so your advice is… unexpectedly apt. I’m certain the libretto could be adjusted for your suggestions.” “That’s me,” Mag said, grinning. “I’m a helper.” “Oh yes,” Ari said. “Though, in all seriousness, the score is so lovely, I can almost ignore the story. At last, my unfortunate tendency to look like a twelve-year-old on stage pays off.” “Well, there you have it. You’re looking more cheerful already.” A glance at Ari’s mug showed it was almost empty. “Need another round, or are you feeling ready to go out there and read your own lines?” Finishing off her coffee, Ari sighed and said, “I had better go before I’m late. In any case, Juliana’s a problem for another day; today I get to wave my hands and imagine explosions.” She was already standing from her seat as she added, “Thanks for the company. I’m more awake than I might have been otherwise.” “Thanks for the entertainment,” Mag returned. “Have a good day!” A touch too cheerful for Ari, perhaps, even after one cup of coffee. More than a few of the other patrons were clutching their coffee mugs like lifelines, or rubbing their eyes. Yet Mag couldn’t help feeling that, after such an amusing start, the rest of the day could be nothing but good. |