[ 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. ]
[ And, it's a wrap. Production's been hugely successful, a well-known ballet returning with a keen awareness of its own former glory and the production's been praised more than once, though the reviewers haven't really paid any particular attention to the part that belongs to Ed and his crew which is just as well. In certain productions, the light's a main character, a part of the setting to the same degree as the humans drifting through it but in this case, they're mostly background, there to light up something or someone else and allow it to shine. It's fine. Light's a lot of things and Ed's around for all of them, always has been.
For now, they're packing up their equipment at one in the morning while the party's still going inside the theatre. Ed's hanging around on the stairs near the back entrance, watching his guys do what they're paid to do while he smokes his third cig of the night. He needs to speak to the artistic director before he leaves and is currently waiting for the man to message him - hopefully, he's not so busy getting high or whatnot that he forgets.
Ed frowns and blows out a smoke ring. He missed the performance tonight but has seen two throughout the run. It's a nice ballet. Long. Very sad. The theme about missing your chances at happiness, of being too afraid, has sort of made him less inclined towards it; it makes him feel restless in his chair, like he'd rather be elsewhere.
She left the love of her life because he didn't deserve someone as foul as her.
Yeah, Ed absolutely hates that idea.
He shakes his head at Ivan when he asks a question - no, none of this is for storage, next stop is Rotterdam and everything's going - and leans back against the wall. ]
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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?
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For now, they're packing up their equipment at one in the morning while the party's still going inside the theatre. Ed's hanging around on the stairs near the back entrance, watching his guys do what they're paid to do while he smokes his third cig of the night. He needs to speak to the artistic director before he leaves and is currently waiting for the man to message him - hopefully, he's not so busy getting high or whatnot that he forgets.
Ed frowns and blows out a smoke ring. He missed the performance tonight but has seen two throughout the run. It's a nice ballet. Long. Very sad. The theme about missing your chances at happiness, of being too afraid, has sort of made him less inclined towards it; it makes him feel restless in his chair, like he'd rather be elsewhere.
She left the love of her life because he didn't deserve someone as foul as her.
Yeah, Ed absolutely hates that idea.
He shakes his head at Ivan when he asks a question - no, none of this is for storage, next stop is Rotterdam and everything's going - and leans back against the wall. ]
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