~The Show Goes On~ (Tempus plot)

Benson Sharpe D3M [Tom]
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OowoO

~The Show Goes On~ (Tempus plot) Aug 9, 2013 22:44:41 GMT -5

Post by Benson Sharpe D3M [Tom] on Aug 9, 2013 22:44:41 GMT -5

Description/writing, Speaking , Thinking , Hears

Alright, already the show goes on
all night, till the morning we dream so long
anybody ever wonder, when they would see the sun up
just remember when you come up
the show goes on!

Tempus was ready. Ready for the new generation of actors and actresses to come to Tempus. Rio had raised so much money to bring Tempus back to it's previous glory. Things were moved, by Rio, and sometimes some help from Kalyan. Kaylan, he was one of the biggest helps to Tempus for Rio. Sure, he was the one who got Rio into the drugs and stuff, but Rio was perfectly fine now. Kalyan was all Rio had of Navy left, well except for the ring. The ring that Rio found inside her room as Kalyan and him were moving stuff for the new cast and stuff.

Rio sat at a table that was moved there, so Rio can watch the auditions and write down what he thinks and possibly comments on the people. Rio's arms rest nicely on the table as he puts on a blank expression and stares onto the stage at full attention while sitting up as straight as possible making his appearance a bit more intimidating. Rio needed to see how confident these actors and actresses are with intimidation, just so he can separate the weak and the strong ones. Rio was ready, definitely ready for the auditions.

His hands reach down for the sheet of the possible new people. His back straightening as he looks up and stares at center stage. The memories flying past him like a hurricane. A hurricane that never stops. The day Rio began to clean Tempus, the day was normal, except it felt like it was abnormal and it was, without Navy, his life felt like shit. The only thing keeping him going, going through life was the fact of Kalyan and other people, he was living it for them, for all of them. He wouldn't give up on life, until he knew it was time to.

Rio began the auditions now. Rio's voice rang out as he called some boy named Rick. Rick begin speaking to Rio, "I want to be an actor here, so I can find love, because theater is hot and gets both sex's flustered." Rio stared at this guy in disbelief. Rio slowly rose up. He slammed his hands on the table and glared at the pathetic guy. This guy did not just say that he just wanted to find love and that's why he was here, only for that. Rio rose his voice and the guy, "You. Get off my stage! If you are not going to take this seriously, then you shall not be here at all. This is show biz, not a Soap Opera, this is an opera house and I take things very seriously. If all you want is love, then go to a fucking strip club and pay a whore to give you some 'love'. Now, I want you out of here in a matter of three seconds." The guy rushed out the door in tears, but Rio fucking didn't give a shit. Rio never gave a shit about those people, they were rude and insensitive to the arts.

Rio looked at the paper and next on the list was a guy who was named Meriweather Wynns. Rio smiled to himself. Meriweather, what a funny name. Sounds like Merry Weather, we are having isn't it. Rio sat back down into his posture he had before. The intimidating one, that is. He spoke in a calm, but stern tone, "Meriweather Wynns, come on stage and impress me." Rio smiled as he waited for this Meriweather to appear. This is going to be a lot more fun, than I thought it was going to be. Prepare Meriweather, Riordan Einfallen is watching.

So no matter what you been through
no matter what you into
no matter what you see when you look outside your window
brown grass or green grass
picket fence or barbed wire
Never ever put them down
you just lift your arms higher
raise em till’ your arms tired
Let em’ know you’re there
That you struggling and survivin’ that you gonna persevere
Yeah, ain’t no body leavin, no body goin’ home
even if they turn the lights out the show is goin’ on!

(OCC: ok so how this is going to work, is Rio in the post is going to call a name, your charrie if they are being an actor/singer states that and then sings a song, if they are playing an instrument, they just begin playing. after your post, I will do another Rio post and Rio will ask for the next person to come up. So the order should be like Rio, audition, Rio, Audition, Rio, Audition, ETC... until the thread is done. You may choose the song your charrie will sing. And do not post until Rio calls your name!)

Last Edit: Aug 9, 2013 22:46:00 GMT -5 by Benson Sharpe D3M [Tom]

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Kire
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~The Show Goes On~ (Tempus plot) Aug 15, 2013 13:06:51 GMT -5

Post by Kire on Aug 15, 2013 13:06:51 GMT -5

Hey guys, so I'm in Hawaii and I'm just sticking this here to say that this will be when drunk Kody stumbles in and sits way in the back. use that as you will, but there might be more Kody posts. I'm planning on having him move closer to the stage so yeah. Anyway, blah blah blah he's drunk and he's feeling weird so he goes to the theater to see what's going on, and he pushed past the crying dude.

So yeah, that's about it. I'll fill it in when I get home.

Last Edit: Aug 15, 2013 13:07:30 GMT -5 by Kire

On hills and waves on stormy days.

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mayor of bootyville

~The Show Goes On~ (Tempus plot) Aug 22, 2013 17:58:12 GMT -5

Post by Raseri on Aug 22, 2013 17:58:12 GMT -5

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hello darkness my old friend
I've come to talk with you again
because a vision softly creeping
left its seeds while I
was sleeping

[/i][/center]

In all of his sixteen years, Meriweather had never once been on stage. It wasn’t that he’d never thought about it; in fact, he did quite often. He could see himself now, walking out with a hand raised to shield his eyes from the blinding stage lights, sweaty palms emerging from the crisp sleeves of a brand new suit, not the one he used for funerals but one all his own. Like a magician, he’d pull his violin out of what seemed like nowhere, bringing it to rest under his chin and readying his bow, prepared to dazzle the millions of eyes that were now trained on him, waiting to hear his music. Meriweather Wynns, master composer, famous violinist.

That wouldn’t happen, or so he’d always thought; there were no stages of the sort in District Six (besides the one that the Games escort stood on each year), right? He’d never even heard of the opera house until his brother had brought the auditions to his attention the night before. ”Meri, you’ve gotta try out,” he’d said, and his mom agreed. ”You need to get out more, baby. Make some friends,” she’d added. Musical theater was pretty much a foreign concept to him, since he’d never acted before, and he hardly ever sang in front of people. He knew there was no way he’d make it through auditions. But despite all that, there was a tiny piece of his heart that beat like hummingbird wings each time he thought about being that person up on the stage. Maybe he could even get good at it. This could be it.

He’d stayed up all night figuring out what he’d do at the auditions, practicing his routine over and over. ”Hello, my name is Meriweather Thomas Wynns,” he’d say very articulately and formally to his reflection. ”Today I’ll be singing for you, and performing an original composition on the violin.” With a little bow, he’d pull out his violin and pull the freshly-rosined bow across the strings. The notes came to him as naturally as breathing when he was alone like this. He just hoped that would still be the case at the auditions.

But as soon as he got there, he felt like going home. The guy running the thing, Something Einfallen, yelled the first boy off the stage. Granted, he probably didn’t deserve to be in the program if those were his reasons, but it was still a little intimidating, and the guy did go a little overboard on the lecture. Meri shifted uncomfortably in his seat as his name was called, and then picking up the worn violin case, he walked onto the stage, suddenly aware of the way each of his footsteps echoed throughout the room. It was a bit different from how he’d imagined it. No lights, no huge crowd. No admiring eyes—only an irritated young man to watch him and decide his fate. No suit—just jeans and a black v-neck tee shirt. Meri unzipped the case and took out his instrument, raising his bow and flexing his callused fingers before pressing them against the strings that would call out the first notes. Strength was what he needed to show—the kind of power that commanded a stage, and glued the audience’s eyes to a performer. Meri called upon all of that stuff he could find in himself. Then, he swallowed.

The tune was one he’d composed right after his grandfather’s funeral—too late for Pappy Wynns to hear it, unfortunately—a tune that was both sad and hopeful at the same time. It pulled at the heartstrings, his mother told him, but most of all, it was pretty. Besides that, Meri didn’t have any particularly special reason for choosing it; no explanation about how it meant so much to him, or some kind of intricate symbolism relating to his choice to join the theater. He liked it because it was pretty, and hopefully that would be enough for this Einfallen person as well.

When he’d finished, and his violin was safely back in its case, he began to sing a song. Meri wasn’t exactly sure where it had come from originally, or who had written it; his mother used to sing it while she cleaned the house, and he’d picked it up from her. His voice wasn’t the greatest, and quite a few of the notes were pitchy at best, but that was one of the things he hoped to improve at the opera house. What he did give himself credit for, though, was his projection—his almost feminine voice rang loud and clear through the mostly-vacant theater, and he was nearly certain that everyone would be able to hear him. Hopefully that would earn him a few points with the boss guy.

”Thank you,” Meri said, trying to keep his voice from shaking—the cool air of confidence he’d seen in the mirror had been sweated away as soon as he’d stepped on the stage, and he’d felt it. Taking a bow, he started towards the steps leading off the stage, but he stumbled rather conspicuously when he reached the third one, his breath catching in his throat. Please tell me no one saw that, he thought, steadying himself. As he walked towards his seat, Meri’s eyes were glued to the next person on the stage. He wondered if he would be acting and singing with them soon. Or maybe, he thought, his eyes flicking towards the exit, I’ll be the next one to run crying out that door.

{ooc- this is pretty much the violin tune and this is the song. sorry for being so late. love you guys<3}

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thinking, doing, hearing, ”saying,” other[/center][/size][/blockquote][/justify]
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Last Edit: Aug 22, 2013 17:58:45 GMT -5 by Raseri

"i shut my eyes and all the world drops dead;
i lift my lids and all is born again.
(i think i made you up inside my head.)"

Benson Sharpe D3M [Tom] Moderator 5,166 POSTS Pronouns: He/Him last seen May 28, 2024 12:05:01 GMT -5 OowoO	~The Show Goes On~ (Tempus plot) Aug 23, 2013 17:43:53 GMT -5 Select Post Deselect Post Link to Post Member Give Gift Back to Top Post by Benson Sharpe D3M [Tom] on Aug 23, 2013 17:43:53 GMT -5 THIS IS A FILLER, I AM DOING A FILLER BECAUSE I KNOW A FEW HAVE PREWRITTEN YOUR POSTS, SO ARX IS NEXT!
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arx
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~The Show Goes On~ (Tempus plot) Aug 25, 2013 9:52:01 GMT -5

Post by arx on Aug 25, 2013 9:52:01 GMT -5

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\\ . Jequirity.Orellia.Eckhart . //

" Tell my love to wreck it all ... "

This was a huge mistake. Sure, I had heard about the auditions that were taking place ages ago and considered (and of course I mean "considered") auditioning as part of the orchestra or something like that, but I never thought I would actually be going. And I tried so hard not to. Pretended to be sick, made my sister drag me out of bed, refused to get dressed, to eat breakfast, to brush my hair, and I even resorted to hiding in the closet. But, of course, Shale being who she is knows all of my hiding places and so all my attempts to avoid this had been in vain. She brushed my hair and teeth for me (I bit her a few times though, don't worry) and picked an outfit that made me look very distinguished and worthy of being accepted into this opera house and I swear, not even kidding you, she shoved a piece of toast down my throat and shoved me out the door and locked it right behind her before throwing the key somewhere in the bushes and dragging me along as my limbs grew stiff with growing fear. This was insane. Me auditioning?! I can't believe my sister is pushing this so hard ...

And now I am sitting in a chair, my hands twisted in tight knots, my stomach lurching, my heart beating so fast I think it might explode into a million pieces, spraying red over everyone in this opera house. The perfect display of my emotions and words that I just can't make myself say aloud. Shale is sitting next to me, watching me closely even with the boy on stage distracting her. And he certainly is distracting - in a good way of course. The melody, even though it is not mine, is seeping into my bones and relaxing my muscles and slowing my heart as the strings as he glides the bow over the strings with swift and flowing movement. It's so beautiful. The way the melody echoes and the way his voice tangles itself around your very core. But the way he plays the violin? No one could ever match how absolutely amazing it sounds and how beautifully he plays. Each note rolls off the other, the melody and harmony twisting into something that can only be described as magic, his arms - his entire body - getting lost within the song. It settles me, seeing someone who loves music and playing just as much as I do. I have my sisters, yes, but they just aren't the same as me. They don't spend hours upon hours writing and composing music for q massive array of instruments, trying to figure out how to make the music say just what I want it to say. Because there is so much I want to say - so much I want to tell my moms and my sisters - that I am just too cowardly to utter.

"Let's talk, child." I close my eyes and I feel cuffs digging into my wrists. I feel blood dripping down my naked body - my very own blood seeping from twisting lines on my body - and my throat starts to hurt from all the screaming. (Why will no one listen?) "Tell me everything." The road map of scars comes to life across my body, burning and stinging just like they had when they were carved there. I shake my head, my eyes still closed, still trying to get the glint of her blade out of my mind. I can't do this. I can't go up there on stage, I can't, can't, can't - no. And I feel her near to me, whispering in my ear, telling me to relax and it will all be over soon, but she didn't even manage to end it. She couldn't even give me the mercy of killing me. Even with the violin playing sweet music, I can hear my screams echoing across the broken pieces of my mind and her voice softly placing the pieces back into a deformed and wrongfully put together puzzle.

That's when the vision ends and I am jolted from past memories and into the present as my sister shakes my arm. My eyes fly open and I find myself gasping for air. I didn't even realize I was holding my breath. The music has just stopped and when I glance onto the stage I see the boy putting away his violin, treating like a child he is putting to bed. It's how all instruments should be handled - like children. And as he walked off stage, I couldn't help but giggle a little through my gasping for air as he stumbled. Apparently his musical grace didn't carry over to his natural grace. My sister smiled beside me, probably happy to see me laughing through my obvious horror. It had only been a few weeks since my last breakdown and the whole family had really been on edge around me. Iris wouldn't even come near me. And when your little sister is a afraid of hurting you, you know something is wrong. But despite the bit of relief I feel my hands are still shaking and I have to grip the arms of the chair tightly, until my knuckles turn white, before they stop quaking in fear. I swallow hard, Shale whispering things into my ear from beside me, but I hear nothing but a muffled feminine voice, my breathing finally beginning to slow - in, out, in, out, in, out - and my heart finally beginning to beat at a leisurely pace - bumpbump, thud bumpbump, thud ... - just in time for the boy in charge to call my name. And at first I don't move. My limbs are frozen, my whole being frozen to the seat, the fear of getting up there and saying - saying, speaking, talking, words, words, words, a name - my name - I can't, no ... no speaking, please no ...

And a tiny whimper escapes, and I pray it is only audible to my sister next to me. She yanks one of my hands free from the arms of the chair and places my clarinet there, completely assembled for me. "You can do it, Jeq. Just play." She whispers as she yanks my other hand free and presses the handle of my viola case into my palm. "Show 'em whatcha got." And then she pulling me to my feet and shoving me in the direction of stage, the place nearly empty but still my palms are sweating as present fear clashes with that of the past as I make my way on stage. The boy in charge looks on and I wonder if he expects me to say my name - I can't, I can't, he has to know that, I can't - I won't, he can't make me. - or to say thank you or say what I am performing. But instead I only close my eyes and let the emotions flow from my body. My clarinet sings, my fingers pressing the keys and covering the holes with a deftness that only years and years of practice can give. And I just let the notes and melodies flow through my body and into the air and carry me away. I play my clarinet until I grow bored and then sit and cross my legs, laying my clarinet in my lap and pull out my viola, running the bow across the strings, creating a deeper sound than the shrill violin that the boy had played before. I move with the music, my eyes closed, not needing to read any music because I have memorized this song from start to finish. And then when the song is done, I lay the viola in it's case, stand, ignoring the people watching me, the high I felt from playing still pulsing through me.

The piano on stage is not like the one at home in my basement. It isn't the rich and brilliantly constructed one that I have practiced on my whole life - but I think it's better. When I sit at the bench before it, lifting the key cover so it folds away, the ivory keys have a sort of worn look. Played before, played often, beautiful music, brilliant music, making it's way from this piano to echo around this entire opera house. I place my fingers on the keys, pausing for just a moment to let the feeling of it sink in, before playing. And it feels so different, but sounds so the same. It feels richer and fuller, like there is more there than just my music, but music that others have played as well. It's as if I can feel them there, watching me and listening to my music, adding the sweet melody to the worn keys, engraving it in history for everyone to feel. And then when I hit the last chord, I feel something - what is this? - wash over me and I feel myself begin to smile, my heart swelling, my cheeks flushing. And I'm not sure what this feeling is - what is it? what is it? - but all I know is I have not felt it in a very long time. I stand then, my clarinet and viola case gone, sitting with Shale. I had been so lost in the music I hadn't noticed her take them. My palms start to sweat again as fear begins to rise within me as I return to center stage, staring at the daunting boy who decides whether or not I am worthy of this place. I curtsy, looking into his eyes, and nod.

And as I exit stage and make may way towards him, still running on the high that music gives me, I can feel myself start to panic. But I'm already half way to him, already a few steps, not much further, there

[/i][/color] so I reach for the folded note I have tucked into the waistband of my skirt and lay it down in front of him before I even have the chance to think about what it says - it's saying things, my words, my voice ... no. - and walk back to where my sister is seated, my knees weak and my heart and soul gnawing at each other, looking to tear me apart. And the note: it's just a few simple words, my name.

Thank you. - Jequirity

But still I am scared. Scared that everyone will read them, hear them, hear me ... And I sit, the words on the note burning into my brain, burning on my seemingly dead tongue, dancing there, and I can't help but want to run. To scream. To cry. I am afraid.[/size][/justify][/color]

" Cut out all the ropes and let me fall ... "

|| table : zoë || lyrics : skinny love || palette : berries & mint || words : 1800 ||

{ooc: I didn't pick a song like Ras, but obviously she played pretty things~}
{~~Also I am sorry for so many words. x:~~}

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"I run on the road, long before I dance under the lights."

Benson Sharpe D3M [Tom] Moderator 5,166 POSTS Pronouns: He/Him last seen May 28, 2024 12:05:01 GMT -5 OowoO	~The Show Goes On~ (Tempus plot) Aug 25, 2013 15:03:18 GMT -5 Select Post Deselect Post Link to Post Member Give Gift Back to Top Post by Benson Sharpe D3M [Tom] on Aug 25, 2013 15:03:18 GMT -5 Another filler. I feel terrible, but I am extremely busy. So next up is Dreamer.
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Kire
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~The Show Goes On~ (Tempus plot) Aug 25, 2013 20:25:45 GMT -5

Post by Kire on Aug 25, 2013 20:25:45 GMT -5

I think it's about time for another Kody post, so blah blah blah filler. I very much apologize for the fillers but I promise to work on them soon. He probably giggles a little bit for stupid reasons then stares at the stage in mock-focus. Still drunk as ripred only knows.

Last Edit: Aug 25, 2013 20:28:35 GMT -5 by Kire

On hills and waves on stormy days.

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~The Show Goes On~ (Tempus plot) Aug 31, 2013 13:09:03 GMT -5

Post by Deleted on Aug 31, 2013 13:09:03 GMT -5

Romero Alexander “Ra”

Romero could not stop shaking; it was subtle and unnoticeable to the passing eye. No matter how hard he squeezed and no matter how hard he told his body to relax, it kept shaking as if it was trying to power a locomotive. He did not realize that today was the day; he did not nearly practice enough and was emotionally unprepared to deal with rejection. Ironic that the thought of rejection was one thing that worried him; since he dealt with the fact every minute. Like when he noticed an attractive guy, or when if mustered up the courage to even acknowledge the attractive guy. And when tries to slowly tell himself, he rejects himself and blames his color-blindness on it!

He woke up this morning unaware of the audition. The call time was set for three O’ Clock in the evening and Romero had originally planned to spend the entire morning off book, singing in front of the mirror. Instead, he simply had breakfast played soccer with some of with friends. It wasn’t until one thirty when he realized that the one thing he was actually looking forward to was about to start. He rushed into his bathroom where he striped everything took a haphazard shower. After scrubbing up, he attempted to control the curls that love to not obey and disregard any sort of order. However he only got them to remain tight towards his head.

Though what to wear? He pondered as he analyzed his assortment of wonderful fabrics that hang on oak wood hangers. It’s one thing that he prides himself on, the ability to always dazzle people with the clothes on his back whether it be a simple suave sports coat, or the classic beauty of acid wash jeans. His fashion sense just comes naturally to him. Today he decided to wear a grey graphic tee with a nice black sports coat and a pair of indigo jeans, something to show that he had a relaxed kind of style and was able to do anything, accept kiss another man.

As he trotted up towards the old Opera house, Ra could tell that the place lost its dignity so long ago. The once ornate architecture that was proudly displayed remains covered in the thick wooly blanket of dust. The light to once emanated is hidden by the shadowy curtain of darkness. The doors lost their ease he wrenched the French door open and the hinges squeaked as they tried to turn. The inside didn’t look any different as the curtain is covered in the same blanket and the lights lost all the warmth as well. As he walked on towards the rest of hopefuls the theatre echoed every step, as if the place was trying to recreate the music it once had.

He was fourth to be called, grateful not to be first but a bit disappointed to not be last as well. Though the auditions went much faster than anticipated. The first guy came up and basically said that he wants to act to have sex. Fucking idiot, if you want sex go find some whores that will do anything if you have enough cash, even you. He amused the thought in his head as the head of the house made the stupid kid cry. Good for you, he started to admire the auditioner, apparently he wasn’t as desperate as the place looked.

The other two before him didn’t sing yet they played such beautiful notes on their own instruments. Meriweather, the kid with the huge Dumbo ears played the violin like he’s been playing it forever, I wouldn’t doubt that he made love to it either Ra thought as we watched Dumbo Ears put the instrument tenderly away, only to trip down the stairs like a buffoon. And the girl after that was the most skilled pianist he ever had the privilege to hear. I still need an endearing nickname for darling, he said to himself as he watched her leave with her sister. And then it was his turn.

He strutted up to the stage, acting like he owned the place. Once he reached center stage he turned to Riodan and slated. “Hello my name is Romero Alexander but people call me Ra. I will be singing “On My Own” from the musical Les Misérables and yes I know the song was sang by a girl I don’t fucking care.” He cleared his throat, hoping he drank enough tea today, and began to sing, losing the stage out his sight and only seeing him. The boy that will never be his, even if Romero finally decided to accept himself.

And now I'm all alone again
Nowhere to turn, no one to go to
Without a home, without a friend,

How if only Romero could accept himself for who he truly is, maybe he might feel the same way. Maybe they could be the happily ever after that he dreams; but only if Ra could admit to himself that he’s gay. But what would happen to their friendship? They had grown so close within the last 2 years.

Without a face to say hello to.
And now the night is near
Now I can make believe he's here.

The boy who was the most attractive in the world, with those rippling muscles hiding under the smooth olive skin that tempted Romero every day. The deep dark eyes that stared deep into his soul. The hair that he wanted to feel running though his fingers. He didn’t care that man was only 5’7”, he was the most beautiful man in the world.

Sometimes I walk alone at night
When everybody else is sleeping
I think of him and then I'm happy
With the company I'm keeping
The city goes to bed
And I can live inside my head.

On my own
Pretending he's beside me
All alone, I walk with him till morning
Without him
I feel his arms around me
And when I lose my way I close my eyes

How each day, down at the soccer fields, they see each other and play with each other every day. How they’ve grown so close within the last couple of years, how the bond of friendship has banded them together, only with the chance to be severed by three very simple words. Everything can lost by uttering his most heart wrenching desires.

And he has found me

In the rain the pavement shines like silver
All the lights are misty in the river
In the darkness, the trees are full of starlight
And all I see is him and me for ever and forever

And I know it's only in my mind
That I'm talking to myself and not to him
And although I know that he is blind
Still I say, there's a way for us

I love him
But when the night is over
He is gone, the river's just a river
Without him the world around me changes
The trees are bare and everywhere
The streets are full of strangers

I love him
But every day I'm learning
All my life I've only been pretending
Without me his world will go on turning
A world that's full of happiness
That I have never known!

Can he finally admit it to himself? Can Romero finally say that he’s in love his best friend?

I love him
I love him
I love him
But only on my own.

Nope. He opened his eyes as tears gently roll down his face. He wipes the tears off and pretends that it never happened. “Thank you.”

BC8200/Headers~Lyrics

4D1619/Narration

D67A57/Thoughts

DE6607/Actions

F5A947/Others

EECC47/Speech

(ooc- Here’s the song if you haven’t seen Les Mis yet. One of the most beautiful musical ever )

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Benson Sharpe D3M [Tom] Moderator 5,166 POSTS Pronouns: He/Him last seen May 28, 2024 12:05:01 GMT -5 OowoO	~The Show Goes On~ (Tempus plot) Aug 31, 2013 13:20:15 GMT -5 Select Post Deselect Post Link to Post Member Give Gift Back to Top Post by Benson Sharpe D3M [Tom] on Aug 31, 2013 13:20:15 GMT -5 Don't kill me.... I am doing another filler</3 Next up is Kendall!
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