Catalina Menounos | Nephilim Princess (believe_in_you) wrote in noir_mystere, @ 2012-03-19 10:53:00 |
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Entry tags: | callum bell, catalina menounos |
Who: Catalina and Open
Where: The stage
When: Sunday afternoon
What: Her reciting hamlet before conversing with Character.
Why: She's hiding.
Open: Yes.
Rating: Low.
Note: You can skip over the italics it is simply a soliloquies from Hamlet that Lina is practicing. It take her about ten minutes to recite the whole thing.
Catalina had survived the embarrassment of her underwear being on show for the better part of Thursday. She had to admit she was still a little cranky that no one had told her about it, she’d thought that people were nicer than that, even the people she’d been hanging out with hadn’t said a word. So she was spending her weekend away from them all, she couldn’t stand to be around them when they’d done nothing but let her be publically humiliated there were exceptions for those who hadn’t seen her, hadn’t been around like Brendin and Nacola; even if they had she could never stay mad at them.
So in her effort to avoid everyone she’d left early in the morning after showering and dressing. She'd headed to the drama theatre where she stood on the stage with the lighting directed on her as she recited hamlet into the, what she thought was empty, empty auditorium. She stood in the middle of the stage staring down at the floor and acting out scenes from Hamlet by herself focusing mainly on the soliloquies. “To be, or not to be--that is the question: Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune Or to take arms against a sea of troubles And by opposing end them. To die, to sleep-- No more--and by a sleep to say we end The heartache, and the thousand natural shocks That flesh is heir to. 'Tis a consummation Devoutly to be wished. To die, to sleep-- To sleep--perchance to dream: ay, there's the rub, For in that sleep of death what dreams may come When we have shuffled off this mortal coil, Must give us pause. There's the respect That makes calamity of so long life. For who would bear the whips and scorns of time, Th' oppressor's wrong, the proud man's contumely The pangs of despised love, the law's delay, The insolence of office, and the spurns That patient merit of th' unworthy takes, When he himself might his quietus make With a bare bodkin? Who would fardels bear, To grunt and sweat under a weary life, But that the dread of something after death, The undiscovered country, from whose bourn No traveller returns, puzzles the will, And makes us rather bear those ills we have Than fly to others that we know not of? Thus conscience does make cowards of us all, And thus the native hue of resolution Is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought, And enterprise of great pitch and moment With this regard their currents turn awry And lose the name of action. -- Soft you now, The fair Ophelia! -- Nymph, in thy orisons Be all my sins remembered.”
Catalina had learnt this soliloquies in particular off by heart and as she recited it she swept her arms out and clutched at her heart; She was a decent actress when it came to Shakespearian, she had a love for the classics and threw herself into it whether she played the main character or someone further back. Today she wasn’t practicing for anything in particular it just beat having to deal with lots of other people. She was so into what she was doing she didn’t realize someone watching her until she stopped and looked out for dramatic pause. “Oh… Um… hi!” She called, blushing as she covered her eyes from the lights trying to see who it was.