Gabriel's knees are always (skinned) wrote in repose,
Re: Ren & Ronan
[Ronan takes the offered pages and nods, a little quickly. He's not entirely unfamiliar with the play, as he wrote a paper on both it and A Streetcar Named Desire in college, but it's been a while. He scans the first few lines in an attempt to get his pacing, clears his throat, and then his shoulders drop. His accent is gone, not the quiet clip of Bristol, but not any sort of attempt at Malkovich, either. He holds the script from the bottom edge, propped up in one hand against an eye-line that dips just below Ren's collarbone.
He reads carefully, crisply. Not too slowly. His feet take him over to the far wall in a meandering wander, and he slinks out of his flannel shirt halfway through, tossing it over the back of his chair. He doesn't play it like he's trying to be Tom. In his mind, it's more like an interview. Like he hasn't seen the windows filled with pieces of coloured glass, but he can imagine what it'd look like. He doesn't mime any of the described actions. He crosses the width of the room, back and forth in an unbalanced pace. And when he's near enough at the finish, he reaches out to grab his own discarded flannel from the back of his chair, slinging it over his arm. He doesn't exit the room with the delivery of the final line. Instead, he leans up against the doorframe. His eyes dart from the page to the place where Ren sits.]