Page 65 of Suspicions on the Stage
“That’s why, Morgana.” She smiles ruefully, shaking her head. “The theater department used the quick-book spells to get their auditioned folks ready for a run within a week, so he had no idea they’d be doing this when you got back. He didn’t want you to cancel anything important when you can see it later on, too.”
Sneaky, adorable musical mate—nothing is more important than supporting them, and he knows it.
the ballad of sweeney todd
SLADE
The director didn’t deign to notify me that he was using the ‘off-book’ spells for the cast while I was gone. Luckily, those work for the orchestra, too, or he’d really be screwed in terms of this ill-advised first run through. I’ve never agreed with using magic to shortcut the arts in this way because, to me, it feels like cheating. It’s asking the universe to make you skilled at something you put no effort into, and that feels like the definition of entitlement.
Not everyone is supposed to be talented at everything, and some things are supposed to take work—that’s why they’re worth it.
But the increasingly common viewpoint of the less ethical folks in every community—even humans—has been taking advantage of the magic behind these in different ways for years. Technomages were using it to nudge humans into artificial learning models first, then the damned virus of mediocrity was wedged into the arts there, and now, it’s filtered into the supernatural world in a unique style. Rather than giving people's abilities they don’t have, these spells speed learning, enhancetalent, and compact the process of creation in a way that I wholeheartedly believe removes the soul from it.
Unfortunately, budget cuts and funding freezes mean our paltry departments lose time with mounting productions because we can’t afford to build them from scratch like normal. Herr Director, otherwise known as Rialto Beauregard, made the executive decision to cut corners by giving the damn spells out to the entire cast, crew, and musical performers to get his ‘vision’ perfect in the smallest amount of time possible.
“Talk about someone jumping off the earned name of extremely talented people to get ahead,” I mutter as I go over the sheet music in anticipation of my orchestra’s arrival. “That idjit is absolutely a nepo baby, and no one will convince me otherwise.”
When I was approached to head the music department’s involvement in the theater season, no one told me the latest Beauregard—as in the building we’re in, Beauregard—spawn would be in charge of the musicals. I probably would have declined unless I had met them first, just to make certain I wasn’t trapped in the situation I’m currently in. But the Dean of Music pleaded with me and somehow got them to include a small monthly stipend, and I caved. That also should have been a big red flag; I bet that asshat’s family is paying me the hazard fee monthly so he can pad his resume.
Guys like him with money and a famous name just move from college to producing on Broadway—they don’t make any stops.
“Whatever, it’s only this year. He graduates at the end, which is why he’s able to do this for his senior project. Next year, I’ll know better than to go in blind.” My self-comforting doesn’t help as much as I’d like it to; I’m not happy my name will be associated with this mess, and I can’t change my commitment.
Once I’ve gathered everything I need, I climb out of the pit and head to the back of the house. I want to go up into the lighting booth and run the programmed lights to make sure some magic-hopped kid hasn’t set them to accidentally blind the musicians. Professionals or grad students wouldn’t have made such a rookie error, but Rialto has done other dumb shit to cut costs, like taking inexperienced crew in every department.
I might be the oldest, most seasoned person working with him, and that means this thing will either be good because the Beauregards flooded cash into it secretly or terrible because he made shitty choices.
“Let’s find out,” I mutter as I climb the stairs to get into the booth. The door is unlocked, and I keep the lights off as I do the main part of the theater. I used my stand light to organize my stuff because I’m honestly terrified to see what might lurk behind the curtain in terms of sets. It’s prolonging the cringe, I know, but I had to give myself time to bitch internally about how fucking ridiculous this shit is for college-level productions.
Sitting in the chair, I turn on the board and bring up the edge light first, noting that they’re aimed correctly for the curtain, as are the wings. That’s the straightforward part, though, and I start the program, taking a deep breath as the black velvet pulls back to reveal a dark stage. Slowly, lights create the stage palette, and I note the freshman who did this has managed to?—
Holy fucking shit on a goddamn stick.
“What the fuck isthat?” I growl as I note something big and lumpy in the middle of the stage. It looks to be covered with a curtain, and I can’t figure out why the hell it would be there. That isnothow this musical starts, and though it’s not my damn job, I shoot to my feet. Stalking out of the booth, I climb downangrily and head for the stage. Whoever left a set piece or prop there should get their ass kicked, and I’m going to make my fury known to that squealing little dilettante.
Taking the steps up the right side of the stage, I head over quickly, but my feet go out from under me as I slip and slide across the wooden boards like I hit a banana peel. My glasses go flying, and I groan as I get my breath back, rolling to my knees to start my Velma-esque crawl to find the damn things. The floor is both slippery and sticky, plus it’s not fully lit yet and I’m goddamn blind. I’m going to file a goddamn complaint with the college and the theater department. Someone, including me, could have been really injured by… whatever the fuck this is.
“Slade? You there, man? Yo, Slade!” Lucas’ voice pulls me out of my internal complaints, and I look up, not seeing a damn thing but a vaguely blond blob in the aisle. “Why are all the lights off? I thought this was a big deal, so I got here early so I could save us all seats in the front. Why are you crawling around?”
“Slipped and lost my glasses. Can you find the house lights on that back wall? There should be an emergency switch?”
I don’t know if he went to find them, but I continue crawling around to find my glasses. When I finally grab them, I put them on only to find some shit smeared all over them. If the damn prop people didn’t clean up their fucking ‘Demon Barber’ squibs from rehearsal and that’s what this is, I’m going to be even more pissed. It will fuck up the wood of the stage with all that dye and shit. They aren’t the only people who use this facility and?—
“What the hell, man? That shit is nasty! It looks like you’re crawling around in blood!”
Sighing as I find Lucas in the back through my corn syrup and dye covered specs, I yell, “The effects people must have a left a damn mess up here. That’s what I was seeing from the booth. Can you come up here and help me for a minute? I’m too smeared to see well enough to get up without falling again, I fear.”
“Gotcha, pretty boy. No problemo,” Lucas calls as he jogs down the aisle to the left stairs. He comes up them slowly, and I think he’s focused on finding a route where he won’t wipe out, either. Suddenly, he stops, standing perfectly still as he stares at me. “Don’t move.”
“Why? I’m soaked in this crap and I don’t want to stay here. I've gotta change before rehearsal, so just get over here and help me, man.”
Lucas snorts, and it looks like he’s pulling his phone out of his pocket as he keeps staring at me. “There will not be a rehearsal; trust me, dude. Stay still, and I’m going to get some fucking help.”
Easy to say when you aren’t drenched in fake blood and blind.
“But—”
He holds up a finger as he puts the phone to ear. “Hey, Chan-Chan. We’ve got amassivefucking problem in the Beauregard. Yes, we need her. Yes, you too. Maybe? No, right now. Cancel everything. Why? I can’t say over the phone, but… maybe call your other friends, too?Yes, I really think we need themnow. Whatever, have them fly home. Just… get my family and your ass here before anyone else arrives.”
