InsaneJournal

Subject: Viv's been a naughty girl.
Who: Vivian Thorpe.
Where: The Theatre, on stage.
Warnings: Violence, lots of shouting, I imagine.
Open to: Harry Fisher, Nell Abbot, anyone who'd be attending rehearsals (eventually, and staggered; they won't be coming in just yet, or all at once).

Rehearsals would be starting soon, and this place was still a dump. Vivian sighed as she surveyed the stage from stage right, stepping across the boards, the sound of her boots echoing around the empty theatre. She brought her broom with her, making sure there was nothing about that could potentially trip up any of the boys, brushing any dirt from boots and props off of the front of the stage. She'd clean the front rows later. For now, it didn't matter.

She sang to herself as she worked, in a surprisingly good mood. She was feeling a little better, not so sickly and shivery, and her rather depressed mood had lifted somewhat. She wasn't thinking about Harry today, she was more focused on the things she had to do. She had to do some laundry, and finish the washing up from breakfast, and start lunch, and then she had the luxury of some time to herself; there was another storm, and the rain was as heavy as it had been the other night, so she would have to wait before she could peg the laundry out to dry. She'd use that time to read or something. A nice customer had taught her to read once, he'd been a regular chap. Shame when he died.

She propped the broom against the side and grabbed her mop, fully intending to begin mopping the wings. She wasn't expecting any interruptions.