NOLA Community Theater

[The Phantom of Paris]

Shelby Wright

"Alphonse?" she asked, knowing in her heart that it was hopeless to even think he would respond but trying anyway. "Alphonse, I'm sorry. I'm sorry I didn't help Cassie, Al, but I was afraid! Don't you see that? Just because you don't let your fear take over you like I do doesn't mean you have to get mad at me because I do it, right? Right? I really miss you. Please come back. Please talk to me again, Al. I love you."

Shelby waited.

And waited.

Nothing.

She gave a quiet little sigh. I knew it. I just knew it. Why do I even bother? He's gone. He's gone, and he's not coming back. Just like when he and Ed burned their house in Risembool and left. They burnt it down so they wouldn't ever have to come back. That's what he's done with me. I won't ever talk to him again, and I just have to deal with it. I'll be fine on my own. I've survived this long, haven't I?

Haven't I?

She was about to say more when she heard footsteps. Immediately she closed her open mouth and turned away, tapping her foot impatiently as she stared up at the theatre. If you're not going to show up, then maybe I don't--

"Sheeeelby Wriiiight," came a voice. Shelby nearly shuddered at the drawn-out, creepy way the stranger had chosen to say her name. How do you know who I am, anyway? She turned to meet this stranger, half-hoping that it was the theatre manager after all.

In keeping with her luck today, it wasn't. She gazed at the newcomer for about a minute before realization dawned. "Clarence. Clarence Morgan," she said without much enthusiasm.

"How long have you been waiting here, anyway?"

Shelby glanced at her ipod, pulling it out to check the time. "About half an hour. Why? What are you doing here?"

"Who's Alphonse?" he countered. Shelby's face reddened with anger and embarrassment. "Nobody."

[More than Music]

Clarence "Ren" Morgan

"Please talk to me again, Al. I love you."

Clarence just couldn't help himself, walking up to her with an ironic little smile. "Sheeeelby Wriiiight..." he said, drawing it out mischievously. Shelby looked at him, less than pleased after a few moments. "Aw, what's that face for?" He smiled teasingly. "What, did you recognize me or something?"

"Clarence. Clarence Morgan." Her tone was as dull as a wooden spoon.

"Well, don't hurt yourself, with all that... excitement." He winked at her. "How long have you been waiting here, anyway?"

She actually checked the time. She was so easy sometimes. "About half an hour. Why? What are you doing here?" But she was also smart. That could either mean victory or certain disaster for Clarence. He decided to assume it was the latter and brave the silence to make a stab.

"Who's Alphonse?" he asked, his eyes shining. 'Come on, girl, spill your guts. You know you want to.'

"Nobody."

He actually laughed, but it wasn't in a joyful way. It's was mocking if anything. "Well, that explains why they're not answering yet, isn't it?" Clarence's hands were in his pockets and he leaned against the doors now that he wasn't next to his car. "So, you're waiting for someone. Seeing as we're outside the theater building..." He looked over at it, then back at her. "Then it would be safe to assume it's theater related." He tilted his head a little. "Which would probably be that musical y'all are doin'."

Clarence met Shelby's eyes, determination starting a fire there. "What's with that, anyway? You want to be a director, right? What kind of musical are you doing?" He rolled his eyes. "I mean, is it like Les Miserables? Or is it more like... Joseph and the Technicolor Dreamcoat?" He shuddered. "Oh, I hate that Joseph musical. Makes my skin crawl. SO." He regained his composure. "What musical is it?"

[The Phantom of Paris]

Shelby Wright

"Clarence. Clarence Morgan." Her tone was disinterested, distant. She knew Clarence, vaguely, and he knew her. He tutored kids at the high school--kids who, like her, hadn't passed and had to make up courses over the summer. Shelby's main difference from these kids was that while she simply hadn't showed up to her classes and exams, they had and had failed them. School didn't come naturally to them, or they just didn't care. Shelby had cared, she just hadn't cared enough to show up. Or at least, that was how she rationalized it with herself. That was how she tried to tell herself that she wasn't like them, that she was different.

But from what she could tell, Clarence didn't think so.

"Well, don't hurt yourself, with all that... excitement. How long have you been waiting here, anyway?" he asked, the very picture of innocence. Falling for it, Shelby checked the time. "About half an hour," she replied, every fiber of her being giving the impression that she would much rather him turn around and leave her alone to wait. "Why? What are you doing here?" Are you following me or something? Did Cassie recruit you into her sick Save Shelby From Herself plan? Or do you have your own stupid ulterior motives in mind?

"Who's Alphonse?" Clarence asked without missing a beat. Shelby's eyes widened, and she muttered some choice words under her breath. He heard me. And now he thinks I'm a nutcase of the highest order, I'm sure, and I'll bet he can't wait to go running along with whatever it was that he's found out and tell everyone...tell Cassie, and the people at school, and the teachers, and everyone...

"Nobody."

He laughed at that, a cold, sardonic laugh that chilled Shelby to the bone. "Well, that explains why they're not answering yet, isn't it?"

Shelby glared at him, wishing her eyes could melt that smug smile right off of his face. "You might say that."

"So, you're waiting for someone," he said arrogantly, seemingly thinking himself clever to have figured it out. Brilliant deduction there, Sherlock. What was your first clue, I wonder? "Seeing as we're outside the theater building...Then it would be safe to assume it's theater related. Which would probably be that musical y'all are doin'." Before Shelby had a chance to ask how he'd found out about her musical--the only person she had told, besides Cassie and the others she had been able to recruit, had been Preston--he plowed straight ahead, saying, "What's with that, anyway? You want to be a director, right?" His gaze never faltered, staring into hers. Like a dragon, she thought childishly.

She snorted with derision. "No, not exactly, Holmes. I would suggest you get your facts right next time. I'm not doing this by choice, it's a project. For film studies. Summer school," she added, lowering her voice a little involuntarily.

What kind of musical are you doing? I mean, is it like Les Miserables? Or is it more like... Joseph and the Technicolor Dreamcoat? Oh, I hate that Joseph musical. Makes my skin crawl." Yeah, you're making my skin crawl right now. Go learn some people skills and then we'll talk. Not that I can really give people crap about their people skills, but we've got a totally different set of problems. I just elect not to speak. When I do, I make it a practice to try not to terrify the person I'm talking to. Just an idea there, Sherlock. "SO. What musical is it?"

Shelby looked away. "Phantom of the Opera," she mumbled, checking the time again. Just. Go. Away.

[More than Music]

OOC: Please don't kill me. *ducks behind wall* Renny has a bad attitude sometimes. !_!
BIC:

Clarence "Ren" Morgan

"Who's Alphonse?"

She looked shocked, then considerably pissed off. Perfect. She was opening up. "Nobody."

Or not. Oh well.

He laughed at her. "Well, that explains why they're not answering yet, isn't it?"

The response he earned with that first showed through Shelby's eyes. The saying 'if looks could kill' came to mind, and Clarence couldn't help the antagonizing smile that brought onto his face. 'Oh, you think you're so scary, don't you? Well, I'm not afraid of you. And a mean look isn't gonna change my mind. You're a funny little kid, that's all. A funny little kid with a messed up life. I've been there too. I got over myself. You should learn how to do that so you'll stop wasting everybody's time and your life. Because, if you don't, I promise I'll be there with a knowing laugh when you lose everything you wish you could keep forever. Just wait. Just watch. You'll see how right I am.' "You might say that."

"So, you're waiting for someone," he pointed out. It was mostly just to tick her off; that much was obvious. At least, to the two of them it was. "Seeing as we're outside the theater building...Then it would be safe to assume it's theater related. Which would probably be that musical y'all are doin'." She looked a little alarmed at that, so he continued with a wider smirk. "What's with that, anyway? You want to be a director, right?"

Shelby seemed less than impressed. 'Hey, a conversation between two people like us isn't bound to be very intelligent sounding, or filled with tack. I like to get right to my point sometimes. And I like to rub things in that I know will hurt. You do it too. I know you do. Of course you do. You're a lot like me, aren't you? You're a backstabber too. You like that, don't you? I'll bet you do.' "No, not exactly, Holmes. I would suggest you get your facts right next time. I'm not doing this by choice, it's a project. For film studies. Summer school."

He smirked again. "Aw, you sound a little ashamed. It's okay," he teased, his tone less than merciful. "Lots of kids have to go to public school. None of the kids that know what's good for them though." He looked away for a moment. "Only the ones that slack off, or waste their time doing extra homework." Clarence looked back. "But, who knows? Something interesting might come out of you screwing over your family to just slack off. I mean, maybe they won't be so disappointed in you if you actually act like a human being, right?"

"What kind of musical are you doing? I mean, is it like Les Miserables? Or is it more like... Joseph and the Technicolor Dreamcoat? Oh, I hate that Joseph musical. Makes my skin crawl." He realized he'd fallen off his point for a moment there. "SO. What musical is it?"

"Phantom of the Opera." That was it. Just, 'Phantom of the Opera'.

Clarence raised an eyebrow. "That's the one about a deformed musical genius who fights with a pansy nobleman over a doe-eyed highschool chick, right?" He smiled. "I remember seeing some stuff about Anthony Barlow in the title role, but never much else." Looking around, Clarence thought. "Have you decided who's gonna be which role yet, as far as the leads go?"

'Because we both know you want to rub it in someone's face that you've got a bunch of pathetic kids in the palm of your hand. Being the director is like being a god for a while; it's a sick, guilty pleasure that some people devote their entire lives to. I bet you like it because of the control. That sounds like you.'

[The Phantom of Paris]

OOC: SO Sorry for the ridiculously long wait... >.> BIC:

Shelby Wright

"I would suggest you get your facts right next time," Shelby said coldly, never taking her icy gaze from Clarence's face. She resisted the urge to check the time again, to look up and down the street to see if the godforsaken manager had decided to show up for their meeting and rescue her already. She couldn't break eye contact with him, not like this. He was testing her, trying to get her to snap, and he aimed to win. Shelby was not going to let him. "I'm not doing this by choice, it's a project. For film studies. Summer school."

"Aw, you sound a little ashamed. It's okay. Lots of kids have to go to public school."

"It's not public school," said Shelby disdainfully, almost cringing as she realized just how much like her mother she was beginning to sound. "It's summer school. There's a difference."

"None of the kids that know what's good for them though," he said, apparently not caring about Shelby's words. Or Shelby. Or anything besides himself and his own twisted agenda, apparently--whatever it might be. As he talked, Shelby imagined a dozen different gruesome scenarios for Clarence Morgan, all of which involved some sort of untimely demise for him. Unfortunately, none of them came true. "Only the ones that slack off, or waste their time doing extra homework. But, who knows? Something interesting might come out of you screwing over your family to just slack off. I mean, maybe they won't be so disappointed in you if you actually act like a human being, right?"

When she didn't respond, he continued. "What kind of musical are you doing? I mean, is it like Les Miserables? Or is it more like... Joseph and the Technicolor Dreamcoat? Oh, I hate that Joseph musical. Makes my skin crawl. SO. What musical is it?"

"Phantom of the Opera," she said, refusing to elaborate.

"That's the one about a deformed musical genius who fights with a pansy nobleman over a doe-eyed highschool chick, right?"

Shelby gave him a look of derision. "In a very shallow nutshell, that would be the premise, yes."

"I remember seeing some stuff about Anthony Barlow in the title role, but never much else."

Shelby let a malicious snicker escape her lips. "And you call yourself a musical theatre fan. There is no such things as Anthony Barlow. There's an Anthony Warlow, but he's never originated any Phantom role anywhere you would know. He's in the role in the Australian production. Maybe you ought to brush up on your Broadway trivia before you harrass me for no reason." That should shut him up.

"Have you decided who's gonna be which role yet, as far as the leads go?"

"Yes, and no, there are none available. So sorry."