Poking Around
Jun 30, 2009 19:30:26 GMT -5
Post by Rosalind on Jun 30, 2009 19:30:26 GMT -5
**AND STILL ANOTHER**
Rosalind had not found Mercutio after meeting that friend of his backstage; in fact, shortly after calling out to him - Good luck finding Mercutio! - she had realized how greatly she did not want to see him, and crept back to her rounds as cowardly as a mouse (or a girl), spending the rest of the day in great sighing dread of spying him tumbling out of a room with a tumbled lass in an eruption of stealthy laughter.
So when she had gone back to the Opera the next day, it had been with a rather grim purpose, its nature so grim as to turn around and become gay, hair short beneath a newly-bought cap (she'd perhaps give it to Mercutio in exchange for her old one, or keep it and let him keep the old one. What did she care? It was a hat. And perhaps chiding him about having it would be enjoyable), and something vaguely unfamiliar in her stride. Even though she had first come to this grand building dressed as a boy, and under the name of Ganymede - twice, even - she had not been him. Alex and Mercutio had still never met him. And Rosalind did not cut it - with Mercutio, at least.
She had no intention of meeting him. She did not have to. Ganymede could go about the day not caring whether he ever saw Mercutio again or not, rather than look down every empty hallway with dread and excitement in his eyes, and wouldn't she be so much the better for it?
Thus it came to be that Ganymede, after doing his rounds a couple of times, making very spirited chit-chat with one of at least a dozen old women who insisted he call her Grandmother (he called her Babushka instead), decided to do some more poking around backstage in a manner much similar to Laszlo's having done, although he hardly needed to give an excuse for being there. The ballerinas had recently cleared it after a practice, although a few lingered, and Ganymede smiled at one and tipped his hat with a flourish of the wrist that was vaguely similar to Mercutio's except quite a bit more precise and elegant - quite a bit more courtly.
Rosalind had not found Mercutio after meeting that friend of his backstage; in fact, shortly after calling out to him - Good luck finding Mercutio! - she had realized how greatly she did not want to see him, and crept back to her rounds as cowardly as a mouse (or a girl), spending the rest of the day in great sighing dread of spying him tumbling out of a room with a tumbled lass in an eruption of stealthy laughter.
So when she had gone back to the Opera the next day, it had been with a rather grim purpose, its nature so grim as to turn around and become gay, hair short beneath a newly-bought cap (she'd perhaps give it to Mercutio in exchange for her old one, or keep it and let him keep the old one. What did she care? It was a hat. And perhaps chiding him about having it would be enjoyable), and something vaguely unfamiliar in her stride. Even though she had first come to this grand building dressed as a boy, and under the name of Ganymede - twice, even - she had not been him. Alex and Mercutio had still never met him. And Rosalind did not cut it - with Mercutio, at least.
She had no intention of meeting him. She did not have to. Ganymede could go about the day not caring whether he ever saw Mercutio again or not, rather than look down every empty hallway with dread and excitement in his eyes, and wouldn't she be so much the better for it?
Thus it came to be that Ganymede, after doing his rounds a couple of times, making very spirited chit-chat with one of at least a dozen old women who insisted he call her Grandmother (he called her Babushka instead), decided to do some more poking around backstage in a manner much similar to Laszlo's having done, although he hardly needed to give an excuse for being there. The ballerinas had recently cleared it after a practice, although a few lingered, and Ganymede smiled at one and tipped his hat with a flourish of the wrist that was vaguely similar to Mercutio's except quite a bit more precise and elegant - quite a bit more courtly.