No, the figures aren’t fast. The sketching of the figures was fast, because LIFE.
But this is a rough-in for the night of the rustle, when the city stages a war against a handful of bodyguards. I need to design the room more thoroughly.
On the topic of acting, (’cause this is not an acting blog . . . cough, cough) my vocal damage is improving. Hooray! I’ve got old emotional scars from, well, forever, and I’m doing the old thrash-them-out-with-yoga-and-Linklater shtick. Which, of course, works. That’s the gentle, slow way, which I prefer to the fast, violent way.
Like Muscle-Splitting Massage And Other Painful Practices
You really shouldn’t attempt the quick way, in my opinion, unless you have a five or six person competent support team and reams of money lying around to live on while you turn into a blubbering wreck and process the aftereffects. ‘Cause that shit is ugly.
Anyway, being a plebe, I’m using the slow process, which I think is more satisfying anyway, since it forms a simultaneous route to exploring new impulse pathways and establishing a library of emotional patches to pull from in performance.
Look at me, talking about myself like a regular old egotist! Told you it was working : )
Here’s some Diana.
“So I touched your arm and I vanished, right?” Stuart asked, staring at the black ice.
Diana didn’t want to interrupt the flow of whatever he was going to tell her, and so waited for more.
“Are you going to be all perfect and understanding now?” Stuart asked, sounding grumpy.
She didn’t reply. Stuart sighed.
“Yeah, you do this all the time when you’re pregnant. Like you’re thinking ahead of me. I hated it. I hate you, okay?” Stuart said, though he sounded lonely.
“What’s wrong?” Diana asked. Stuart’s mouth crimped up, and his eyes said something along the lines of ‘Now she talks.’
“Well, I got stuffed into a tube,” Stuart said.
“I saw that. What’s wrong, Stu?” Diana asked.
“Don’t–” Stuart buried his face in his arms and was still and quiet for a long time.
“Don’t call you that?” Diana asked. Stuart nodded without lifting his head. “You seem really sad, honey,” Diana said.
Stuart broke into wild laughter and got up to leave the roof. Diana stood and followed him. Stuart whirled and pointed to the blanket.
“Stay, woman,” Stuart said.
“You didn’t tell me your timeline,” Diana said.
“Bye,” Stuart said, and he went to the window and climbed back into the house.
Diana licked her lips and thought about what she wanted to do. She’d been prepared for a long and fascinating recital over Stuart’s experiences, but he now presented a different puzzle to her. He seemed so sad that Diana felt he was practically entering a coma of misery.
She didn’t like it. The lassitude of Stuart’s sudden mood seemed strangely ominous to her, and Diana picked up the bedding and went down to the window as well. She went through the rooms of the house until she found Stuart, who had locked himself into a bathroom.
Diana went down to the shed and found a screwdriver with a narrow end, which she took back inside and tried to use to lever the lock open in the bathroom door handle.
“What are you doing, Diana?” Stuart called when he heard her fiddling at the door.
“There are other tools out there, Stu. If you don’t let me in, I’ll get something and start smashing the door down,” Diana said.
Stuart opened the door and glared at her. She was very surprised to see him crying. Diana had realized, of course, that he was very sad, but she had never seen Stuart cry in all her life, and the sight of his reddened eyes and damp cheeks made her feel more like a person whose life has been taken over by aliens than anything that had happened to her so far.
“I’m a terrible influence, Di. You’d never have tried to break into bathrooms before,” Stuart said, trying to smile.
“Stuart, are you in love with me?” Diana demanded.
He shut the door. She felt this was as good as a yes, and so sat down on the floor and leaned her back against the door.
As she felt the situation was full of dramatic possibilities, and as she was thoroughly aware of the watching aliens, Diana set in to be emotionally clumsy.
“So was it horrible to be living with me and knowing it was all fake?” Diana called. “Or are you upset because you thought that I was really there and now you know that I wasn’t?” Diana added.
“Is this your way of showing them home, Di?” Stuart called, sounding both miserable and amused.
“Hey, sweetie,” Diana called through the door. There was a long pause.
“What?” Stuart asked.
“How long were you in that tube, honey?” Diana called.
“Well, they skipped bits here and there, but it was a while,” Stuart said, his voice cautious.
“Like, a couple of months?” Diana asked.
“You tell me how long you’ve been here, first. Then I’ll say,” Stuart said.
“No,” Diana said, and the two of them sat on either side of the door for quite some time.
“Hey. I’m ready to come out, I think,” Stuart said.
“Are you hungry?” Diana asked.
“Yeah,” Stuart admitted.
“There’s plenty of food. I’ve got nice stuff to eat. You want me to make you something?” Diana asked. She heard a sniffle.
“Maybe,” Stuart said.
Diana stood up and went downstairs. I will get the truth out of him with food and sympathy, she told herself, and she collected some of the eggplant-like fruits and started to assemble as soothing of a lunch as she could manage under the conditions.
You’re reading Victor Poole, and I’m thinking about buying donuts after work today. Because… because donuts. And in my current novel, a bigamous gangster is in a lot of trouble with the reputation man.