#ofperez

[remybourque-blog]

‘ your friend sounds like an after school special. ’

‘ oh, well, ’  she pauses, thinking back to the last half hour she just spent talking the other’s ear off about her old schoolmate. like, sure, maybe it wasn’t proper of remy to just dump everything about her friend’s failed sugar daddy exploits --- the horrible affair ended up in the said sugar daddy’s now-ex-wife shaving a bald spot into her poor little head while she was asleep in their marital bed --- onto a complete stranger, but then again, it wasn’t completely fair that remy’s unnamed friend came to her in the middle of the night with a bottle of expensive wine, burdening remy’s conscience with this information.  ‘ she’s a really nice person, i swear. ’

[theyoungpa-blog]

‘ let’s dig deep here… favorite color, favorite ice cream, favorite season? think you can handle it? ’

(   *   &.   –   SHARP  OBJECTS  SENTENCE  STARTERS .

there’s a touch of a crease of both confusion and curiosity on their brow as they consider the woman. part of them wants to laugh, but mostly they’re just confused. 

      ❝ i’m--- sorry, officer. is this a normal line of questioning or------? ❞

[starriingrole]

“Your greatest accomplishment in life is pulling off that lipstick, which you have to let me borrow, it looks awesome.”

the unbreakable kimmy schmidt sentence starters

She instinctively looks down, as though she’ll be able to see the lipstick on her face if she looks HARD enough, crosses her eyes perhaps. Delicately upturned nose scrunches with effort and concentration, and it’s a delayed moment before she finds herself looking back at Veronica, mouth agape and dark brow knit. “This lipstick looks INCREDIBLE on me,” she finally manages, crossing her arms over her chest and letting out a light scoff, “I’m not pulling anything off. And NO, you can’t borrow my stuff after insulting me, the hell. That - that’s not how this works.” Truthfully, she’s more baffled than anything. Clearly, someone has denied this poor creature access to the girl code early in life and she’s never recovered.

[knightmathias]

when: during the winter masque bc they’re turning up Fashionably Late where: a bathroom? outside the refectory? one of those singular stall ones with a lock? i am making this shit up who: @ofperez​ @teddynewell​

“Not to be morbid, but I should’ve stolen more from Orson at the time because there’s only enough for maybe a line each,” Mathias says, pulling a small plastic bag from his jacket pocket and waving it in front of his face for emphasis. He’s leaning against the side of the sink, quirking an eyebrow up at his two friends. It feels weird, almost wrong somehow, to be acknowledging Orson with Paola and Teddy, when their director was the person who brought them together in the first place. Most of the time, he was here with them, forming a wonky square as they stood around a table, and it would be Orson brandishing the bag. 

Before Mathias can think about it too much, he shakes his head and tosses the bag to Paola for her to set up, focusing instead on looking in the mirror to fix his collar and hair. He frowns, then rearranges his face at the idea of frown lines. “Doesn’t it feel awful for us to be going to a ball to celebrate, when he’s not there with us? I mean, that was our first play without him -- and, yeah, I know it wasn’t a full one, but still. I don’t --- doesn’t feel right somehow, eh?”

He doesn’t look at Teddy in the eye in the mirror’s reflection, even if he is thinking about Romeo and how he himself was only in the first few scenes. The slick shot of surprise that hit him when he saw the role of Benvolio on his own note. With his chin raised, he checks his hair and lets his eye catch Paola’s instead. 

[ofmadsle]

when: during the winter masque, act 4 scene 5 where: in the refectory  who: @ofperez​

If one were to look closely, Mads’ tears could seem genuine and not just for the show. Even someone who tried to act as if she were above this all, she still did as best as she could. Poor Juliet and her accursed fake death, even the raw emotion in Mads’ voice as she recited lines long since memorized sounded sincere. Part of her wondered then if she’d be this distraught, or if her grudge would follow Paola to her actual grave. She likes to think she wouldn’t be so harsh. Still, she could only keep it up for so long and she was glad the scene was coming to an end. Fair Juliet will be revealed to be alive, only to die shortly. And Mads knew how much Paola was eating the attention up.

“Our bridal flowers serve for a buried corse, And all things change them to the contrary.” She recites just as her character was to exit. Releasing Paola’s hand with a thud to the ground, Mads stood up and wiped the well rehearsed tears that spilled beneath her mask from her face. She looked over Paola once, before turning on her heel, cape swiftly following after her as she shifted out of the spotlight. This was what they were now.

[zahramalik]

LOCATION: the refectory TIME: act i, scene v AVAILABILITY: closed @ofperez​

What a fucking joke. How was it that even with Orson no longer standing in her way, Paola was still usurping her? If Zahra was the least bit superstitious, she’d take it as a sign that Orson’s notebook was a cursed artifact set to wreak havoc on her career. Most likely, she figured that the cast list had been set before his untimely demise. It was the only reason she could think of, why she’d be relegated back to a supporting role so soon after her performance as Cressida. Zahra wouldn’t put it past Orson to still be cruel even from beyond the grave.

A lesser actress would have seethed at the sight of Paola taking center stage. Though Zahra still thought she was much more suited for the lead, she resigned to give it her all to the minor role she did have. Sure, her scenes were limited, but she was going to make the most of it.

“Madam, your mother craves a word with you.” Oh, Paola must be loving this. But Zahra didn’t think of that as she interrupted Juliet and Romeo’s passionate second kiss. Zahra smothered the part of her that wanted to smack the smugness off of Paola’s made-up face. Instead, she had slipped into the role of the mother figure she never had but always desired — someone concerned for Juliet’s wellbeing despite all the ridiculous choices the young girl made. 

[ofhelens]

date & time: act 4, scene 5 location: the refectory availability: taken @ofperez​

The angels had flown. They had fallen. And now, they wept - their tears reserved for the brethren who lay in a false slumber at their feet. Helen could feel the weight of the room like never before - Paola’s influence, she was sure. A powerhouse of an actress, she embodied Juliet to her core - and had you fooled, thinking that maybe - just maybe - the story might end differently this time. Half of her had believed it, hopeful creature that she was, only for her heart to break as the tragedy unfolded. Here was it’s beginning - Juliet’s sleeping body - and the grief of a mother.

Taking her cue from the Nurse’s opening line, Helen stepped onto the stage. “What noise is here?” Mothers were not her forte. She had never played a mother before - even thought of what it must be like to be a mother, to have the child you reared ripped from this world. It must be wonderfully heartbreaking, to love something so much. What sort of person did you have to be to throw that all away? Thoughts best not thought of.

Conscious the audience’s burning gaze, Helen stepped forward to where Juliet lay. She reached out, taking her slender frame into her grip. And she shook. She shook the daylight out of Paola, as if her touch could inspire life itself. It hurt. But that was acting. It demanded to be felt.

[bxstvrd]

DATE & TIME: Before the performance begins LOCATION: The Refectory AVAILABILITY: Taken @ofperez​​

It was a rousing speech. Jonah had to give her that. Paola and Mathias, in their matching somber dress, making the rest of them feel guilty for not thinking of the same thing, setting themselves apart as the anointed, as Orson’s perfect prodigies, and it’s not an unfair distinction, even if it does make Jonah’s mouth taste rotten and his hands clench at his sides. Or at least, it was a rousing speech until it had taken a turn for the worse, her vitriol for the murderers who had done this to Orson making Jonah’s blood feel like ice in his veins.

He’d wanted Orson dead that night. He’d wanted him dead so badly that, when news had reached him what had happened, Jonah thought he manifested the teacher’s death by sheer force of will. He wondered how Paola would feel about that if she knew. About the vandalism, about the hatred in him like a pit. He had no interest in finding out what lay in that particular Pandora’s box.

Even Jonah understood the necessity for keeping up appearances, and while he was rarely one to kiss the ring, he recognized that, in times of such chaos, he could only gain from staying on Paola’s good side. He had no doubt that she and Mathias would worm their way into this new teacher’s hearts the same way they had with Orson, and currying favor with the two of them was better than them casting him aside. Yet another one of Orson’s broken toys.

Jonah found Paola by the refreshments, sliding into the spot next to her before offering a polite, “That was very moving.” He poured himself a glass of punch, swirling the neon red liquid in his cup with no intention of drinking it, just needing something to do with his hands. His hands, that had so much rage in them. His hands, that had done so much damage that night. His hands, that, if Orson had come back to his house, he wouldn’t have been able to control. “I keep hoping he’s going to walk in the door,” Jonah confessed, despite himself, voice dropping low with honesty. “I keep thinking about all the things I’d say to him if he did...”

He shook himself. Paola wasn’t his friend. He’d do well to remember that. Instead, Jonah tried to offer her a wry smile that probably came off more as a grimace: “I’m sure he’d have a few choice words about me spending valuable rehearsal time thinking about him instead of focusing on the masque. But it feels almost wrong that they kept it this year, doesn’t it? Given, well, everything?”

[ensemblehq]

due to personal reasons, please unfollow @ofperez / the leading lady.

the leading lady is now OPEN.

[pvlmer]

date and time: in between scenes location: the refectory availability: taken @ofperez​

jason used to look forward to the masque ball, in his earlier years at alderidge, he would dream about his senior year and being a part of the performance. back then he thought that he would prove himself by his third or fourth year, and get at least a substantial part. but instead, he found himself looking forward to it being over. everything about the night just felt like a reminder of his place at the program and how replaceable he felt. he only had a few scenes, so he spent most of the time either watching the performance or eating the food. he wanted so badly to prove that he belonged up there with a prominent role, but all he could do was watch from what felt like the outside. 

he was watching when he got the urge to look away, maybe it was too painful, after all he was growing tired of people playing parts that he knew he could do if given the chance. he tapped someone that he thought was a friend on their shoulder and was about to ask them if they wanted to get away from the action for a minute. but when the person turned around, jason’s face almost turned red. even through the mask, paola’s eyes and beauty were unmistakable. “sorry, i thought you were someone else,” jason said, looking away from her. paola, of course, was playing juliet and probably wouldn’t even want to be seen with him yet alone interact with him. that’s what jason figured, given the way they had barely talked since his first year at alderidge. “carry on.”

[hudscnwilliams]

when: sometime after or between the performances where: backstage who: @ofperez​

his heart hadn’t been in the performance, but according to orson, that wasn’t anything new. hudson had a hard time getting out of his own head while performing; he couldn’t be vulnerable enough. now, he was happy about that. being vulnerable meant possibly giving himself or teddy away, and hudson was going to do everything he could to avoid that.

still, most of the others had performed flawlessly. hudson couldn’t say he was surprised. his classmates might be dramatic off stage, but they had the talent to back it up. at least, paola did. she was a lot, hudson would be one of the first to admit that, but she was an incredible actor. running lines and rehearsing with her had always made him better, he knew. that was on perk of being mathias’ understudy constantly. of course, he’d like it more if they actually got to share the stage outside of rehearsals. 

“you were amazing,” hudson told her as he put away some of his props. he had finished his last scene already, so there wasn’t much left for him to do backstage otherwise. “juliet suits you.”

[remybourque-blog]

‘ what doesn’t kill you, makes you stronger… unless it kills you. ’

remy purses her lips and pulls out her phone mumbling under her breath,  ‘ i don’t think those are the words to the song ... ’  she googles the lyrics to kelly clarkson’s acclaimed comeback song stronger (what doesn’t kill you). as she pulls up the results, she scrolls down, singing along to the song.  ‘ see, ronnie ?? you got it wrong. ’ 

[ratsseau-blog]

you’re just balls deep in bad decisions, aren’t you?

( – ask meme | prompts – ) OPEN

There was a hammer pounding hard on the inside of his skill as Lucien tried to comprehend what Malloy had just said. The other man rummaged around the room, shoving things into a duffel bag, slamming drawers closed as he went. The sheets had been pulled from the corners of the mattress the night before and they clung to his back when he tried to sit up. “What are you doing in here?” Lucien managed to ask. Words didn’t come easily through the fog of his hang over nor the desert that had taken over his mouth at some point during the night. He rubbed his eyes with the balls of his hands and opened them in time to see his shirt from the night before plucked out of the floor and flung in his face.

“Cleaning up your mess.” Every word Malloy’s stern brogue sent a painful pulse over Lucien’s body. His hand swept across the bed, an accusing finger pointing to the pale body that laid beside him. Long tangled brown hair hid the face from view but Lucien vaguely  remembered a square jaw and a devilish smile that had captivated him the night before. “This,” he hissed, “is why you don’t get your own room.”

Lucien nudged the man with his knee, wondering how he’d managed to sleep through Hurricane Malloy. He didn’t budge. “Up and at ‘em man. We’re being evicted.”

“Don’t bother,” Malloy growled, tossing something onto the foot of the hotel bed. “He’s done. So we gotta get outta here.” Lucien’s eyes landed on the needle. His hand brushed back a curtain of hair. His skin was cold, vomit spewed across the pillow in front of him.

“We can’t just leave him…” Lucien started to object, but the words stopped in his throat when he looked up to see the manic fire behind Malloy’s eyes, staring him down. Lucien’s shoulders slouched and, obediently, he pulled his shirt over his head.

[lisettesorelli-blog]

‘ all of history was written by men, so… of course they’re gonna make themselves look good. ’

Lisette tilted her head to the side and drug her tongue across her teeth before answering “You’re right. Men have been erasing women from history for centuries. But how is that relevant, officer?”