[ He's third cast, meaning he gets dress rehearsal. That's the way they make their favouritism add up, on high; third cast gets one extra performance as a 'sorry' for being prioritized the least in everything else. Is it fair? Not really. Is it pleasant? Fuck no. But it's the Paris Opera Ballet, it's an ancient and sick system, it will probably take death of some sort to restart those old gears. Until then, Claude yells when he gets irritated enough, takes a fight or two over principles sometimes, like picking the scaps and what have you that fits the metaphor. Bloodletting. Minor procedures.
Time will do the rest. He hopes, for those who're going to follow in his footsteps.
It's The Lady of the Camellias this afternoon. They've soldiered through the first two acts with minor issues, Yvette and him, though the first act pas de deux got some corrections in intermission, but now comes the real test of endurance, right? The true battle. Act three. He's gotten through costume change, waiting in the wings now while, behind him, all the Champs Élysées couples are likewise getting ready, chatting in low voices, paired up two and two together. Yvette has found the bench in the middle of the stage as is her quirk, she likes to take two minutes to herself, just sitting there, waiting for the bell to chime the first time. Gets me in the mood, she says. They've got ten minutes till showtime.
A lot of things can happen in ten minutes. André, their artistic director can find him twice over and pick apart his performance, disasters, miracles. The next ten minutes are an open arena.
Claude breathes in long, hard, turns around, meaning to find Caspar, who dances Armand's father, and see if he can't make him laugh before they have to be utterly devastated and destroyed on stage. Caspar laughing is a lovely sound, after all. Since he wasn't really looking, he almost runs head first into someone, stopping himself before they do a frontal collision only thanks to his pretty great reflexes and, he has reviews claiming this, superb motor skills.
It's their head stage technician. Claude has seen him around today, he's a nice change from the guy they're usually stuck with. So he reaches up, clasping the other man's shoulder for a moment, because that's how close they're standing now. When he speaks, it's with a wide smile, though he lets go of him quickly, realizing that touching probably is a bit out of bounds. ]
Sorry. [ His hand drops to his side, the curtain shielding them off from view on one side, the stage opening up on their left. The light's nice. Soft. ] Didn't mean to run you over.
[ Looking around, the Champs Élysées couples muttering in voices that seem to get lower and lower all around them, Claude looks up at the other man, older than him, his beard greying, and he's got kind eyes. That's what Claude notices first.
Yes, very different from that other guy. He returns his attention to him, the one he caught. Who caught him. ]
no subject
Time will do the rest. He hopes, for those who're going to follow in his footsteps.
It's The Lady of the Camellias this afternoon. They've soldiered through the first two acts with minor issues, Yvette and him, though the first act pas de deux got some corrections in intermission, but now comes the real test of endurance, right? The true battle. Act three. He's gotten through costume change, waiting in the wings now while, behind him, all the Champs Élysées couples are likewise getting ready, chatting in low voices, paired up two and two together. Yvette has found the bench in the middle of the stage as is her quirk, she likes to take two minutes to herself, just sitting there, waiting for the bell to chime the first time. Gets me in the mood, she says. They've got ten minutes till showtime.
A lot of things can happen in ten minutes. André, their artistic director can find him twice over and pick apart his performance, disasters, miracles. The next ten minutes are an open arena.
Claude breathes in long, hard, turns around, meaning to find Caspar, who dances Armand's father, and see if he can't make him laugh before they have to be utterly devastated and destroyed on stage. Caspar laughing is a lovely sound, after all. Since he wasn't really looking, he almost runs head first into someone, stopping himself before they do a frontal collision only thanks to his pretty great reflexes and, he has reviews claiming this, superb motor skills.
It's their head stage technician. Claude has seen him around today, he's a nice change from the guy they're usually stuck with. So he reaches up, clasping the other man's shoulder for a moment, because that's how close they're standing now. When he speaks, it's with a wide smile, though he lets go of him quickly, realizing that touching probably is a bit out of bounds. ]
Sorry. [ His hand drops to his side, the curtain shielding them off from view on one side, the stage opening up on their left. The light's nice. Soft. ] Didn't mean to run you over.
[ Looking around, the Champs Élysées couples muttering in voices that seem to get lower and lower all around them, Claude looks up at the other man, older than him, his beard greying, and he's got kind eyes. That's what Claude notices first.
Yes, very different from that other guy. He returns his attention to him, the one he caught. Who caught him. ]
Is everything looking alright out here?