Big bright accent, catty smile, Oscar Wilde confrontation

[plaguedrat]

"Can I think about it and call you back?" Rat looked at the script in front of him as well as the drafted contract. The casting agency's offer was far more than he'd expected, especially for an 'out-of-towner' and Rat needed the money more than he was actually willing to admit. The city stipend paid his bills bu. Marius but Rat had a little more pride than that.

"Okay, Mr. Nezumi," the casting agent said, looking a little less than pleased with it. Rat felt strange being addressed as a Mister anything, much less a stage name he'd made up because he didn't have a real last name.

Besides all that he liked working. Television was a new prospect and it wasn't the stage, but there were plenty of actresses here. They didn't need to put a dainty man in a dress and hope the audience was forgiving the way they had in the West District. There was only so much call for Shakespeare too. Rat had to either diversify or embrace his niche.

But playing an effete gay secondary character, a drag queen? Rat wasn't sure about the script. On paper, it wasn't much of a part or even much of a show. It was a miniseries, apparently, with hope for renewal as a full time show. Dark stuff, they promised. Very edgy. Rat wasn't impressed, but he was hungry and he needed work.

"I'll call you first thing in the morning with my decision," Rat said, letting himself out through the lobby.

Comments

[oddthatway]

"Any reason for that anger?" I ask, though I'm wondering if this bee god felt anger at the way the humans in Rat's world built their utopia. Perhaps this Elyurias felt that she was acting out nature's vengeance, or something. I don't know. I'm used to humans in positions of power abusing those below them. Not bees.

"I'm glad I wasn't here for that, that's all I'll say," I agree. I've seen and dealt with a lot of things. I'd rather avoid the supernatural bees if I can help it.

Although, I suppose, the challenge in getting rid of them could prove fun.

[plaguedrat]

Rat can think of reasons, but explaining them to a stranger is frankly too personal and none of her business. Instead, he just shrugs and looks skyward, "Do the gods need reason to be angry?" Accepting an actor's stance to distract her, he recites, "As flies to wanton boys are we to th' gods, they kill us for their sport."

It's a phrase he knows well, though he hasn't played Gloucester. Many of the theater attendees had loved the line because of how true it rang.

"Gods, fate. They don't need to have a reason."

[oddthatway]

"No, I suppose they don't," I agree, sensing that there's more to it than what he says, but hey. We've only just met. I'm not as defined by my first faction as I used to be; I don't press for details, nor do I let myself become consumed by not knowing. "I guess that's part of what makes them gods," I muse. I've never been overly religious, myself.

I raise an eyebrow at the recitation. "Poetic," I observe with a wry smile. "I can see why they offered you a part." It's as close as a compliment as I can get with a stranger.

"Here's hoping the gods of Darrow are kinder," I say, though I don't believe my own words. What kind of city just kidnaps people and refuses to let them leave, anyway?