Chapter Text
Richard is used to doing every damn thing his brother tells him to. Jim says jump and Richard sure better know how high. That's how they are.
But that certainly doesn't mean Richard has to like it.
Richard had liked his theatre company. He'd been working together with them for years. Jim permitted it, providing Richard never drew undue attention to himself.
They share a face after all.
But it is hard to be an actor, being part of a team, wanting to give your best and always having to hold back, just in case. Don't draw attention. Don't suck, but don't shine. Don't be too good.
Apparently Richard wasn't holding back enough.
And now Jim has made it clear on no uncertain terms that Richard will not be seeing his acting company ever again.
Jim's found Richard another one. More obscure. Less likely to draw critics who might stick a photo online or in print.
Jim thinks Richard should be grateful.
Richard is just tired.
But acting is the only thing that's his, and he'll go mad without that. Something of his own. Somewhere for expression (however repressed).
Jim humours Richard with the pretense of an audition with the director and writer slash female lead (evidently screwing the director). Richard wonders whether the pair think he actually has any talent at all, or if Jim hasn't even let them think they're taking Richard on by choice.
The director is cold and impressive, and the woman is cold and self-absorbed, so it's hard to tell.
There's a junior and adult company affiliated with the run-down little theatre, and it gets used for dance recitals as well. There are photos of tiny ballet performers on stage cropped into cheap frames and hanging from walls that the public get to see.
Richard feels a little sick walking into the theatre to meet his new company for the first time.
He's not entirely sure it's worth it. What if he makes friends again, only for Jim to find issue with something?
Richard's life isn't really his own. He had no business counting his old company as his kin.
Everyone in the new company stares when Richard walks in. They're sitting around in a circle, evidently perfectly familiar with each other.
Richard feels like an interloper.
The director stands. He's dark-skinned, strong in body and voice, and he makes Richard quail a little inside as he booms out an introduction of his new male actor.
Richard approaches reluctantly.
The woman rushes forwards and has her hands on Richard's hair before he can protest. “Isn't he perfect?” she tells the others, who don't reply. She holds her long dark hair beside Richard's own. “He's the exact right colouring to play my brother. I'll look even more beautiful and feminine in contrast.”
Richard says nothing. He notices the derisive look shot to her by a stunning short-haired woman sitting on the ground.
The director kindly glides Richard out of his girlfriend's grasp and reminds Richard of his name, Kwento Igbo. The dark-haired girl is Willow, Scripts, and the others are named in a blur that Richard cannot catch, despite the timbre of Kwento's voice. Kwento's disinterested, and his strangled elocution shows it.
The actors stare at Richard in assessment and he tries not to meet anyone's gaze. There's an older man in a chair who looks like he knows (or thinks he knows) everything about acting (or possibly life in general), and a pretty teenage boy that everyone except that man seems to like, based on their posture. The boy is blond, with green eyes, and looks surprised, but not by anything in particular. A bit vapid. He can't have been in the adult company long, but presumably he's moved up from the kids' one, for there to be such a familiarity and protectiveness to the way the short-haired woman sits beside him.
“We're going over the current draft of the script,” Kwento declares, and Richard recognises the invisible order: take a seat. Richard obeys, taking the proffered pages, and feeling distinctly ill at ease. He sits a distance from the others.
Some of the younger company appear throughout the afternoon, but they hurry on with nothing to say to Kwento or the others. Presumably they're further on in production than Richard's company, because there are vague sound effects and musical scores drifting through the walls now and then.
The adult company finally get permission to disperse and Richard takes that as a cue to hurry away, feeling shy and miserable.
“Hey, new boy!”
Richard looks around, not even recognising the voice. Odd accent. Not displeasing.
But it's not one of his fellow actors. It's a young man kneeling on the floor, expertly painting a backdrop. He sits up on his haunches, wiping paint from his hands, and gives Richard the first genuinely friendly grin the brunet has seen all day.
“They're a bit hard to get used to, but they do warm up,” the stranger offers, looking sympathetic.
“Am I that obvious?” Richard winces.
“I haven't even been in the room, I just know what they're like,” is the reply.
Richard feels like lingering. Here's a kind voice, and Richard's got no one to talk to at home. No friends anymore. And Jim would hardly be sympathetic on the phone.
The slightly younger man seems to notice. “Did you pick up anyone's name?”
Richard makes a face. “Kwento tried to tell me...”
The man grins. “Yeah, he's only clear if he thinks it's important. But he can be helpful, at the sort of direction he's invested in.”
Richard nods.
The man shifts his weight again, drawing Richard's gaze to the muscles and tattoos in a way that he hopes the other hasn't noticed. He doesn't appear to have done, explaining, “The way to tell them apart is: Kwento will tell you what to do. Scripts will tell you what she wants to do. Wordsworth will tell you anything. Blue will tell you to ignore them. And Thomas will listen.”
Richard considers. “Scripts is the one with the long hair? And Wordsworth is the grown-up. Thomas is the kid, and Blue...”
“Is the smoking hot one, yes,” the other man grins, even if he does look screamingly queer.
Richard smiles a little. “And I'm Richie. What about you?”
The man grins. “I am Ruaridh, and I would shake your hand, but you look very clean.”