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From: bookgirl <bonkgirl@NO-SPAMyahoo.com>
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Subject: {ASSM} Elizabethan Scheherazade (M/F, rom, slooooooooow) [1/?]
Date: Sun, 17 Aug 2003 20:10:04 -0400
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Elizabethan Scheherazade - Chapter One

Ā(C) Copyright 1997 - 2003, bookgirl, All rights reserved. Comments to
bookgirl-mail@yahoogroups.com

There was very little by way of outward appearance to even suggest I
had arrived at the Newington Butts theater. Its facade, a windowless
two story wood and whitewashed limestone, was virtually
indistinguishable from the other waterside warehouse buildings. I
double checked the neatly inscribed address on the letter I held in my
hand - the letter signed and sealed with the red waxy stamp of Lord
Strange that had been hand delivered a week earlier along with an
invitation to audition for a new play penned by that greatest of
playwrites, Will Shakesplay. The address appeared to be correct and,
counting back the buildings from the Chandler's Inn on the corner, it
matched the location in the diagram supplied. I approached a large,
solid oak door and pressed my ear to it, hoping to hear some movement
or activity inside. There was none that I could hear above the din of
drunken revelers resounding up the narrow cobbled street from the
nearby Inn.

I start to pace alongside the front of the building, looking for any
signs of entry. There's none to be seen and I would have given up
looking except on rounding a corner into a narrow lane beside the
building I see a dim yellow glow of light seeping out of an open
doorway at the end of the lane. Wanting to get through the darkness as
quickly as I can, I hitch up my skirt and skip down the lane,
carefully sidestepping the multitude of shallow dark puddles of water
and the occasional empty bottle.

"Yes?" a tall, stooped man in shaggy clothes startles me when he steps
out of the shadows just I arrived at the open door.

"Hello," I say, my heart having leapt to my mouth and blocked any
sensible explanation of my arrival from being uttered. I glance past
him and see the sign "Stage Door" attached to the flaking paint of the
open door. "I'm hear for the audition with Will Shakesplay!" I
eventually manage to mutter.

"Are you just?" he says, clasping his whiskered chin between his thumb
and forefinger and eying me in a strange sort of way.

"This is the Newington Butts theater, isn't it?" I ask, suddenly
unsure again if I was in the right place.

"Yes," he replies. His craggy face breaks into a lopsided grin.

"I have this letter," I tell him, waving the paper at him.

He takes my invitation but continues to look me up and down for a long
moment before turning his attention to it. When he does finally look
at it it's only to give it a cursory glance and he crumples it before
pushing it into the inside pocket of his vest jacket.

"An audition, eh?" he gives me a strange look again like he's
expecting some kind of coded reply.

"Yes!" I say. My enthusiasm is difficult to contain and I start
blathering on with my rehearsed speech about my experience in the
repertory theater and how I had studied all of Mr Shakesplay's works.
He cuts me off mid-sentence and ushers me in through the Stage Door
entrance.

I'm pointed in the direction of a passageway I'm told will take me up
onto the stage where I'll find the great Will Shakesplay. Thanking the
peculiar old door man, I stumble along the darkened passageway, past
tables of burned down candles in wax encrusted bottles and mannequins
draped in heavy velvet costumes. There's a small number of steps to
negotiate in the darkness before I finally catch my first glimpse of
the stage and tiered rows of wooden bench seating out past the
threadbare curtains that separate the stage from the auditorium. A
lone figure of a man stands center stage, arms folded and head bowed
as if deep in thought.

"That must be Will Shakesplay!" I say to myself, reluctant to break
the reverential atmosphere I feel starting to radiate from the man. 
--
ser-en-dip-i-ty (n) The faculty of making fortunate discoveries by
accident.

"You don -(TM)t reach Serendip by plotting a course for it. You have to set
out in good faith for elsewhere and lose your bearings
serendipitously." - The Last Voyage Of Somebody The Sailor (The
Sindbad Saga)

http://profiles.yahoo.com/bonkgirl
http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/bookgirl/www

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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