Auditions! [Semi-Open, see Discussion]

[Arthur Rawlings]

Ms. K (Kamilah to her friends, Ms. Kafele to the linguistically adventurous, and Special K to those disappointed starlets who didn't get the part) stood in front of the stage staring down the fidgeting, chatty mass in the theater seats. Spring auditions. They came around every year and that was about the best thing you could say for them.

"Good morning, people," she said when the assembled students finally caught on that she was waiting for them. Her voice filled the room"We're going to have a clean fight today. No hair pulling. No hitting below the belt. If you have a monologue prepared, do it. If you don't, do not panic. Let me repeat that: Do. Not. Panic." Ms. K dropped two stacks of paper on the ground in front of her. "One of these is for the girls, one for the guys. If you're feeling especially brave, I'm not picky about which one you do. I'm not looking for perfection here. If you can read the words in order, that's half the fight. If I can understand them, even better. Take your time. Breathe. And project, project, project."

She started toward the aisle to her seat, but caught herself half way. "One more thing. When you're not on stage, don't think you're invisible. The auditions started five minutes ago and every second until the end counts. Anybody I see texting, chatting, or--God forbid--booing will not set foot on that stage after today."

With one last Patented Look of Death, Ms. K took her seat in the audience and called out the first number.

[Designation Alice]

Alice wet her lips nervously as she sat in one of the aisle seats of the auditorium. Her gaze was locked on Ms. K, deaf to the world around her. She was all nerves. She didn't know what she was doing here; why was she bothering to audition at all. Did she think it would make her some friends? No. She already knew she wasn't the best at making friends. Some people just didn't appreciate good, dry humor when they heard it. She had, however, promised herself back in February... She'd promised herself that she would try and audition at least. If she didn't get a part, no big deal, right? Okay that was a lie. It was a big deal. It was a huge deal. Hell, she wanted to be a performer. Not a hero. Sometimes she would get these scattered memories. Broken down grainy flashes that would split through her head like lightning before fading again. The initial burst was so hot and so vivid, it was impossible for her to forget. The stage. The lights. The applause. Alice's hands trembled. Alice still couldn't decide whether or not to wear her holobelt. She wasn't sure if she would be docked points or for wearing it, but she also didn't know if Ms. K would reject her simply because she wasn't sure how to put her into a role because she looked so different. At the moment it was snapped snuggly around her waist. The image it projected was of a girl with short blonde hair, wearing a simple grey dress. A fresh slate.

The students around her were chattering. Hushed rumbles all around her as Alice sat listening quietly, studying Ms. K. When the woman finally spoke, Alice nodded along in agreement mostly out of habit. Her gaze flitted down to her sheet of paper. The copy of her audition monologue. Her hands clutched tightly at the page, bending and wrinkling it on the edges as Ms. K finished her little speech. Breathe. Project, project, project. Alice took a deep breath. She could do that. Her heart pounded and adrenaline began racing through her body, putting her on edge. She couldn't stop thinking about what would happen if she got up on stage and began reciting those lines... And then locked up. Locked up and curled to a ball as memories cut through her thoughts, just like they had when she and Roach were goofing off on the stage the last time she was here. Why was she doing this again?

And why did she have to sign up to be first? Alice felt an uncomfortable twisting sensation deep in what served as her stomach. She stood quietly, and her feet somehow carried her up to the stage. The lights were already on, glaring down at her. It was hot. Too hot. She swallowed the lump in her throat. She took a deep breath. She held the paper in her hands, standing at the center of the stage. A faint whirring sound. She squinted as the lights blinded her. Click. Now they weren't quite so bad. She could spot the figure of Ms. K. Alice rolled her shoulders, ordering her hands not to shake. Without that control, she wouldn't have been able to hold the paper. Alice took a deep, calming breath, closing her eyes.

Don't wear the belt.

A distinct feeling in the back of her mind crept forward, and before she knew it Alice was pulling off the accessory around her waist. The image was killed instantly, and she stooped to set the metal gear quietly on the floor. That was enough. She'd know you wouldn't need costumes. Alice rolled her shoulders and cleared her throat. When she spoke, her voice was nervous, "My name is Alice Jameson? I'm doing the assigned Monologue from Much Ado about Nothing, Act four scene one." A voice in her head again. Take a deep breath. It's just you and the words now. Alice's tongue darted out to wet her lips and she stared down at the page. Your kin is slandered... She is wronged. You want him dead. You need him dead. As Alice stood there staring over the page, a bundle of nerves, something began to change. Her arms stretched briefly and her sense of self-awareness began to fade. She knew why she was back here. There was something from her past telling her she had to be. You belong up here, Alice.

Her body locked. Her shoulders shook with a few deep breaths before she lifted her gaze up to stare beyond the audience. Sounds of students speaking in hushed whispers, began to fade. There was nothing but silence filling her ears. The scene repeated in her head like it was stuck on a loop, and all at once her voice exploded from her throat. Words tumbled out, tensing with anger as her hand holding the paper shot out to point."Is he not approved in the height a villain, that hath slandered, scorned, dishonored my kinswoman!?" Her other hand hung at her side. She didn't realize she began a line in advance of the script excerpt she'd been given. She paused for a ragged breath before exclaiming, "O that I were a man!" Another pause, "What," She gasped, curling her hand to a fist on the edge of the paper as she jerked it back down. "-bear her in hand until they come to take hands-" She sobbed another labored breath, pacing along the stage. She filled the auditorium with her voice, in a powerful forceful tone, "and then with public accusation, uncovered slander," Alice grew louder as she halted her steps and drew her fist back to hurl the paper to the side, roaring, "unmitigated rancor!" Another gasp before she hollered again, her voice tensing in her throat and straining with tortured rage. "O God that I were a man!" She shifted her feet and stormed forward a few deliberate paces, curling her fingers into fists as she growled, "I would eat his heart in the market place!"

Alice's shoulders shook as she struggled to catch her breath, her voice carrying with heavy gasps on every attempt to breathe as her volume and fervor subsided while maintaining that same desperate tone, "Talk with a man out at a window...." She shook her head, tilting her gaze down -- another sob to catch her breath "a proper saying!" Her voice became pleading as she carried on, "Sweet Hero," Her hands trembled with another sob, "she is wronged... She is slandered--she is undone!" Another pause, "Princes and counties! Surely a princely testimony, a goodly count -- Count Comfit, a sweet gallant, surely." Her legs began to quake as she lifted her hands to either side of her head and hunched her back in grief.

"O that I were a man for his sake!" Her voice grew louder as her tone filled with hate, raising her head. "Or that I had any friend would be a man for my sake!" Once she finished the sentence, her shoulders sagged defeatedly, and she spoke full of scorn, "But manhood is melted into courtesies... valor into compliment, and men are only turned into tongue, and trim ones, too." Her tone darkened, and became cold and hard as her hands dropped back into fists at her sides. "He is now as valiant as Hercules that only tells a lie and swears it..." The fire faded from her voice as helplessness crept upon her. Her fists loosened and she took a deep breath. She sank down into a crumpled seated position, speaking with jaded regret. "I cannot be a man with wishing..." She lifted her head up, carrying it in a weary manner with a few more quieting breaths before finally, ending with, "... therefore, I will die a woman with grieving."

Alice remained on the floor, staring straight ahead as an odd calm washed over her body. She tilted her head down to look at her hands. Metal? Her eyepiece clicked a few times, and she suddenly seemed to remember where she was. She scrambled to her feet, only stopping to scoop up her belt. She held it close and glanced around for her paper before scurrying over and swiping it off the floor. She cleared her throat, giving a small, awkward bow before murmuring a small, "Thank you," before hurrying off the stage. Was she supposed to stay for everyone else? She didn't know. Might as well stick around to see the competition. She returned to her seat, ducking her head to avoid any stray stares before she flopped back into it. Her fingers trembled with remaining adrenaline as she finally managed to steady her breathing. Well. That was certainly different.

[Sunset Oracle]

Acting. There was a fine line between fortune telling and acting, mostly because when a fortune teller couldn't see, or had trouble seeing the future of the person who commissioned them, they would go off the cuff and make up events or even stall for time with some well placed words, gestures, and silent innotations of the body.

In other words, bullshitting. But with style.

Okay, maybe that's a little harsh. It would an insult to the real actors out there...or at least some of them...but for those who actually deserved their merit as actors it would be an insult. It wasn't like James wanted his mind to immediately associate what the fake fortune tellers do to a Buzz Lightyear quote, but he was going off of autopilot for the past half hour or so as he read through the initial prompt that Ms. K had given out as the male audition piece.

James had acted a few times in other schools, either because of his flair for the dramatic, or because of an innate desire to get better at acting. Or maybe it was because he got flashes and glimpses of how much fun the production team and actors were having, even though they hadn't started work on the actual play just yet. It was always an issue with him, in that trying to dissassociate the future from the present wasn't the most innately easy thing to do. Regardless, he grounded himself in the firm reality of the now and paused in his reading of the Othello piece to watch Alice perform her audition.

Wow, she was good....She clearly had the energy and the enthusiasm. While they had not yet been actually introduced...yet...or so James thought at least...James felt like he could sit back and watch her keep going with the scene to the end. Although, he was also thinking about what would happen if the school decided to take Shakespeare and combine it with giant fighting robots as well. Or maybe Romeo and Juliet but with man and machine? Who knew...that might be cool. James stood up and went forward towards the stage as Ms. K called his name next. As he passed by Alice in her seat, he gave her a thumbs up and a quick "That was awesome!" before smiling and taking the stage.

Being calm and collected when you were off the stage was one thing...but once James walked up the stairs to the hard wooden deck under the hail of spotlights, the cold spikes of adrenaline began to surge down his spine. He felt his hands shake gently and grow slightly moist, which he passed off by raking both hands through his long hair. His mind raced through the pre-audition jitters.

Alright, so I'm going to be performing Othello. I'm doing this as Iago...who was Iago again? Man, I wish I payed more attention in class...well...wait....Oh! Yeah, I remember now, he was the villain of the story. This was the scene where he was scheming against Othello...talking to...someone, I can't remember who and I don't want to go into a scry of the lesson while on stage. Alright....alright let's do this.

James smiled and said in a clear, loud tenor, "My names is James Walker, and I will be performing a scene as Iago from Othello. Scene one, Act three." With no secondary individual to be on the stage with him, James would have to act as if the audience was that second person. Not that hard of a stretch he supposed. He just had to remember...he was playing as a manipulative villain. It was now, or never. Taking one more deep breath, he exhaled, focusing his mind as he did before most of his tasks, and letting his worries flow out with his breath; though re really just wanted to take five minutes with his chakra stones...

He started out by hunching his body forward, but only slightly, keeping his hands clasped behind his back for now while smiling out of the corner of his mouth. Slowly, James paced forward and then swept his right hand forward, low and from the center of his body out to the side, as if welcoming in a visitor. "I have professed me thy friend," He stated, pausing only slightly before returning his hand to a spot behind his back with his other before starting to walk slowly down the front of the stage. "and I confess me knit to thy..." he paused again, stopping and then looking back out at the audience with a curt, but exaggerated nod, "deserving with cables of predurable toughness." James smiled again and looked out at the crowd with a hesitated moment, extending the silence as if he were regarding the audience carefully. "I could never better stead thee than now." James commented confidently, emphasizing slightly on the phrase and dropping the smile to maintain a stern, if not bemused look. "Put money in thy purse." It came out curt, strong, and quick, as if were an afterthought.

"Follow thou the wars!" He said with building excitement, sweeping a hand off to the side again, looking towards the opposite side of the stage as if seeing the target of his machinations. "Defeat thy favor with an usurped beard!" James gave a quick laugh before taking his outstretched hand and bringing it back in towards his body, pointing at the ceiling. "I say..." He paused again, turning to look out over all the audience. "Put money in thy purse." Letting excitement light his eyes, James moved forward, almost leaning off of the stage with a sinister smile. "It cannot be long," He started, raising his eyes to the sky, as if seeing the Truth come down from heaven. "That Desdemona should continue her....love of the Moor." James paused again, having been taught well the power of dramatic pauses. "Put money in thy purse." He hissed out again, smiling and raising his eyebrows slightly to the phrase. Then his eyes lit up once more and the index finger came to land on his chin, tapping it with each word as he spoke and dragging out the space inbetween words as he dod so; "Nor he his...to her..."

James laughed, tossing his arms out to the side and walking back, away from the crowd before spinning back around to face them, his arms still out to the side before they came back towards his core, gently rolling the wrists so that his palms could face the sky. "It cannot be long that Desdemona should continue her...love of the Moor," James called in a nigh-hysterical laugh before pointing a finger at the crowd. "Put money in thy purse." Stalking over to the other side of the stage, still moving forward towards the edge, his voice dropped low, sinister in its tone. "These Moors are changeable in their wills." He said with an air of finality to it. "Fill thy purse with money." Came the frequently repeated, matter-of-fact way he had been using the phrase. Continuing to pace towards the other side of the stage slowly, the pace and excitement in James' voice rose. "The food that is to him now as lucious as locusts..." A creepy smile lit James' face, showing many long, white teeth, "shall be to him shortly...as bitter as coloquintida."

"She must change for youth!" James cried, stopping in front center stage and spreading his arms out wide, like some twisted preacher. He laughed and leered out over the crowd, as if assessing them as one would a gold coin. "When she is sated with his body," He began, letting the fury and excitement slowly drain away as if he, as Iago, were recomposing himself. "She will find the..." He paused and gave a small chuckle. "Error of her choice. Therefore..." James paused once more, returning his hands behind his back, keeping that slightly bent forward posture while narrowing his eyes gently. "Put money...in thy purse."

James held the smile for two breaths before exhaling and taking a step back, dropping the character. He was jittery and shaky, having the adrenaline still wash over him and feeling his heart hammering in his chest. Quickly, James left the stage to retake his seat while hoping that he did well with this audition while silently thanking the fact that it was not the first time he'd ever done that sort of thing. Upon retaking his seat, James wondered if he should take a moment and look ahead to see who made the cut. He did have all this pent up energy still surging like lightning down his bones.

Meh. That'd ruin the surprise...and James loved surprises.

[Jeremy Paterson]

Jeremy had never tried out for a play before--no wait, for plays they call it auditing, not trying out--but he liked to try new things and this looked like maybe it might be fun. Some of his friends sounded excited about it after all, and a few of them had even encouraged him to audition. And when he’d mentioned it to Dad, he’d sounded surprised but had also encouraged him to go for it. So why not? It’s not like reading from a sheet of paper and acting up was really all that hard. Now if it came to memorizing, that might be harder, but he was sure he could do it.

He watched as Al and Jake each did their auditions and wow, were they good! Totally animated and hardly even glancing at their page! Okay, he’d have to glance at his page, but he could totally do the dramatic movement and stuff. Finally, each of them were finished and Jeremy realized it was his turn when the stage hand gave him an impatient “get up there!” gesture.

Jeremy strode onto the stage confidently, script in hand. He’d be reading from Othello. He wasn’t sure why Shakespeare had written a play about a board game. Maybe back then people were more boring and board games were as interesting as it got? That didn’t seem likely but... oh, right, audition.

“Hey, Ms. K! I guess I’m Jeremy Paterson and I’m doing the script from Othello.” The other students had mentioned the scene, maybe he should include that? He glanced at the page in his hand and found the number. “Oh! And it’s scene one point three. I think. Anyway, here goes.”

Holding his script up so he could read from it, Jeremy held his other hand up and out towards the audience in what he figured was a dramatic gesture. “I have professed me the friend, and I confess--” He brought his hand in to his chest, with enough force that he startled himself for a moment. “I confess me knit to the deserving with cables of pardonable toughness.” How does one knit with cables anyway? Oh, right, act dramatic. He threw his hand back out towards the audience and shifted his feet to a different dramatic footing. “I could never better stand you than now. Put money in my purse!” He paused. Purse? Damn, did he grab the girl’s script by mistake? He glanced out at the audience, then back at his script. Too late now! “Follow the wars, defeat the favor with an unsouped beard. I say, put money in my purse!” Yeah, definitely the girl part. Oops. “It cannot be long that Desmo-- Desden-- Deser--” Is that someone’s name? Holy hell! Okay, sound it out... “Des demon ah should continue her love to the Moor, put money in my purse, nor he to his her.”

He moved his hand up into the air more, dramatically. “It was a violent commotion in her and you salt see an answerable sequestering, but put money in my purse.” The purse again! Gah! “These Moors are changeable in their wills, fill my purse with money.” Again! His hand dropped from the air and he put it on his hip and adopted a different hopefully-dramatic posture. “The food that is to him now as luskus as locusts--” People ate locusts back then? Eww... “--shall be to him shortly as bitter as colloquial. She must change for youth. When she is sated with his body, she will find the error of her choice. Therefor, put money in my purse!” He ended the scene by thumping his chest again, dramatically.

Jeremy gave a big smile, then made a big bow before walking off stage. He’d totally nailed that! Okay, maybe not nailed... he did have a spot or two where he stumbled and he wasn’t sure what it all meant. He probably should have read over it a few times before getting on stage. Oh well, he still totally did great. He returned to his seat and waited to watch the rest of the auditions.

[Kai Eriksen]

Kai came up from the the audience, moving confidently to downstage center. This was, after all, what he was born for. He was secretly relieved to be going toward the end of the list. He knew he was a tough act to follow, not that that would have made him try any less hard.

He wasn’t holding the script the other students had been working from. As a drama student, he was free to choose something else if he was so inclined, and he was.

“Hi. I’m Kai. Most of you guys know me. I’m going to be doing a soliloquy from Hamlet. I hope you like it.” He gave little smile--not too much, not too little--full of well-practiced modesty. He shut his eyes for what the audience took as a long moment, and he became somebody else.

With his head cocked to the side just one fraction too far, he addressed someone offstage left; his right side was his best. “Ay, so, God b’ wi’ ye!” Following a pause, his voice dropped. He paused. Had he forgotten his lines? But his posture changed to become more stiff, less even. Though he wasn’t speaking loudly, his voice projected with clarity to the back of the auditorium. “Now I am alone.” Quietly, without too much desperation, but reflecting deep wounds, he added, “O, what a rogue and peasant slave am I! Is it not monstrous that this player here, but in a fiction, in a dream of passion, could force his soul so to his own conceit that from her working all his visage wan’d,” he clenched his hands, wrung them together. A futile gesture. His eyes, through visible strain, had gone hollow. With his head angled slightly down, the spotlights cast deep shadows under his eyes.

“Tears in his eyes, distraction in his aspect, a broken voice, and his whole function suiting with forms to his conceit? And all for nothing?” He spat a tired, disbelieving laugh. “For Hecuba? What’s Hecuba to him, or he to Hecuba, that he should weep for her?” He had transformed steadily but in a way that resisted ready comprehension into a spring too tightly wound. He swatted his hair out of his face, but it came out more disheveled, not less. He was too tightly wound, and he was coming apart from the strain.

“What would he do, had he the motive and the cue for passion that I have?” He spat his next line out, staccato at first, then a flood: “He-would-drown-the-stage-with-tears and cleave the general ear with horrid speech; make mad the guilty, and appall the free! Confound the ignorant, and amaze, indeed, the very faculties of eyes and ears!”

He took on a forlorn look and drew in on himself with a face that was went from livid red to pale, wallowing in his own suffering rather than exploding outward in a blind rage. Twisted with madness and delusion, he whispered, “Yet I, like a dull and muddy-mettled rascal, peak, like John-a-dreams, unpregnant of my cause, and can say nothing; no, not for a king upon whose property and most dear life a damn’d defeat was made.” His hollow voice rose, full of self-doubt, in volume and agitation. “Am I a coward? Who calls me a villain? Breaks my pate across? Plucks off my beard and blows it in my face? Tweaks me by the nose? Gives me the lie i’ the throat as deep as to the lungs? Who does this to me, ha?” His laugh was wrenched out of him like a knife amid ribs.

“‘Swounds, I should take it: for it cannot be but I am pidgeon-liver’d, and lack gall to make oppression bitter; or ere this, I should have fatted all the region kites with this slave’s offal. Bloody, bawdy villain! Remorseless, treacherous, lecherous, kindless villain!” His voice broke at his desperate cry, “O, vengeance!”

“Why, what an ass am I! This is most brave, that I, the son of a dear father murder’d, prompted to my revenge by heaven and hell, must, like a whore, unpack my heart with words and fall a-cursing like a very drab, a scullion! Fie upon’t! Foh!--about, my brain!” He commanded, suddenly stiff-backed and lordly. He clenched his hands to his shirt. It almost stopped their shaking, one of a few scant signs of the deep sickness in his mind. He crossed the stage at a slow pace, unsteadily.

“I have heard that guilty creatures, sitting at a play, have by the very cunning of the scene been struck so to the soul that presently they have proclaim’d their malefactions; for murder, though it have no tongue, will speak with most miraculous organ.” His eyes took on a bright gleam, though with one eye very slightly wider open than its partner, he still looked all the part of the dangerous madman he was. “I’ll have these players play something like the murder of my father before mine uncle. I’ll observe his looks; I’ll tent him to the quick! But if he blench, I know my course! The spirit that I have seen may be the devil, and the devil hath power to assume a pleasing shape, yea, and perhaps out of my weakness and my melancholy, he is very potent with such spirits, abuses me to damn me.” He visibly shook off the suggestion, caving under the weight of his mad inspiration. His jaw worked itself into a fury. “I’ll have grounds more relative than this. The play’s the thing wherein I’ll catch the conscience of the king!”

He moved toward the stage left exit with purpose and haste. His right side really was his strongest. He almost left the stage outright, but stopped just shy of the curtain. He turned to face the audience, made a little grin, and bowed at the waist. By the way most of the audience was silent and staring, he knew he’d have his pick of roles.

[Diego Mendez]

Diego hadn't mentioned to Eli, or anybody else, that he was auditioning for the school play. It wasn't something he'd done before, but there was no harm in giving things a try. At first he was glad that he wasn't going first. It gave him a chance to glance over the boy's audition piece from Othello...a play he'd heard of but never seen before. Then as Alice and then James went into their auditions, he was wishing maybe he had gone first. Still, nothing to stress about. Jeremy went on stage and...Diego really applauded the fact he got up stage ont he first place and a stray spark didn't set his script on fire. And predictably, Kai knocked it out of the park, choosing something else for his audition piece. And then, it was his turn. He confidently, casually strolled out on stage.

"My name is Diego Mendez. I'll be performing from Othello, the part of Iago in act 1 scene..." he glanced at the script. "3."

Diego was unaware that Iago was the villain of Othello, though James's audition sort of painted him that way. Without knowing more about Iago though, he opted to do another take on that scene.

"I have professed me thy friend," he said, with a hint of bitterness. "And I confess me knit to thy deserving with cables of perdurable toughness. I could never better stead thee than now."

Diego shook his head, adding sarcasm to his tone. "Put money in thy purse."

His tone remained low, even, but there was intensity behind it as he looked out past the stage. "Follow though the wars, defeat they favor with an usurped beard. I say, put money in thy purse."

He shook his head, his bitterness rising. "It cannot be long that Desdemona should continue her love to the Moor." He practically spat the word out, before continuing, muttering, "Put money in thy purse...nor he his to her."

He scowled and curled a fist up, raising it slightly. "It was a violent commencement in her and thou shalt see an answerable sequestration."

He sneered, spatting out, "Put but money in thy purse."

"These Moors are changeable in their wills - fill thy purse with money. The food that is to him now as lucious as locusts shall be to him shortly as bitter as coloquintida."

Diego shook his head once more, his voice lowering but not losing one inch of the intensity he had been building up throughout the piece. "When she is sated with his body, she will find the error of her choice. Therefore...put money in thy purse."

With the piece finished, Diego offered just a quick nod. "Thank you," he said, going back to his usual, casual, laidback friendly tone he used. He offered another quick nod, and then left the stage.

[Lorne Hazlewood]

Lorne walked up on stage carrying an empty glass. He peered out at the audience squinting his eyes at the bright stage lights.

He spoke some what nervously, "I'm going to be doing something a little non-traditional. My piece is the end monologue from Captain Sisko in Star Trek: Deep Space 9 for an episode called, 'In the pale moonlight.'"

Lorne was met by silence and a few snickers in the background. He cleared his throat nervously and stepped back to the center of the stage. He sat on a stool available there and stared at the floor getting in to character.

He looked up speaking solemnly, "At oh eight hundred hours, station time, the Romulan Empire formally declared war against the Dominion. They have already struck fifteen bases along the Cardassian border." He stood raising his glass in a toast. His voice raised with it but the excitement in it was fake and forced, "So, this is a huge victory for the good guys!"

He strode forward speaking clearly and confidently, "This may even be the turning point of the entire war. There's even a 'Welcome to the Fight' party tonight in the wardroom."

He turned away hanging his head and walked slowly towards the other side of the stool. After a few steps he turned back and spoke this time taking on an accusatory tone, "So I lied, I cheated, I bribed men to cover the crimes of other men."

He hung his head for a few seconds and took a deep breath before speaking again the accusation in his tone was replaced with a tinge of sadness, "I am an accessory to murder."

He turned to face the audience again, "But the most damning thing of all, I think I can live with it. And if I had to do it all over again..." Lorne paused for effect and then snarled. He spoke in a dark voice dripping with loathing, "I would."

Lorne shook his finger walking back around to the front of his stool as he did so. He continued his voice still dark, "Garak was right about one thing. A guilty conscience is a small price to pay for the safety of the Alpha Quadrant." He sat down raising his glass once more, "So I will learn to live with it."

He raised his glass to his lips preparing to drink but stopped just short. He looked up again at the audience speaking in the same solemn, somber tone he started with, "Because I can live with it."

His voice took on an almost cocky tone as he raised an eyebrow. He spoke as though he were explaining something that you should already know, "I can live with it." He sat back in the stool almost casually. He crossed his legs and took a sip from his glass.

"Computer, erase that entire personal log."

He stood up nervously again. He wasn't sure if the silence he was getting from the crowd was because he did great, terrible, or if they were just confused. He quickly shuffled off the stage.

[Roach Copeland]

Technically, Roach hadn't done anything wrong recently.

Technically, what he had done was done weeks ago out of frustration over the Lao and being around folks he never knew. All that frustration and fear had caused him to lash out, but in his hopes of not getting in trouble for fighting or theft, he had decided to 'tag' a garbage can. It wasn't a big deal! Just a quick spray here and there, and then he had turned the garbage around so that it was hidden!

Aggrevation had be diverted thus allowing him to save the day, kill the Lao, and get the girl- Well, girls. They all wanted him anyways.

The only problem was that Deathrage had seen him loitering near the trash. Had even pestering him to 'get going'. So, when Deathrage had finally found Roach's tag, the man knew exactly where to start looking. And look he did. Roach had already avoided him in the halls, in the courtyard, and had made an impressive 'juke' out of the Caf an hour earlier. However, when Roach had turned the corner towards the dorm, he found Deathrage waiting. Pointing. Hollering for him to stop.

So, Roach did the mature thing: Ran. He turned, darted down the corridor and into the theater. Through the curtains, past the stage hands that were setting up boxes, and right out onto the stage where he found... himself not alone. He blinked as he skidded to the halt just as Ms. Kafele was looking up from her clipboard.

"Thomas?" she asked curiously, looking him over before glancing down at her audition forms. She ruffled through them some before shaking her head, looking back at him. "I don't seem to have your form-"

"Stop him!" Mister Deathrage's voice came from the other end of the stage, the older man showing he still had some athletic spirit in him yet! He had made good time but was now leaning forward onto his knees, breathing heavily. "You best stop your runnin' boy! I know you sprayed that trashcan!"

"Me?" Roach asked as he took a step towards the man, his face showing concern. "Me? Oh, of course it had to be me, right? Because no one here came from the Isles?" Roach paused, shaking his head as he threw his hands up towards the air. "It couldn't have been the other kids- No, because they were born into something better. A better community, a better home? A better place with families that taught them better moral choices."

He took a step towards Deathrage, pointing. "It's always that way, isn't it? Better. It's always about looking towards the one that isn't better than 'you'." He turned towards the audience, pointing outwards towards them. "Or you. Or you."

He took in a breath, squeezing his eyes shut before just shaking his head. He walked over towards one of the boxes that had been left on stage, flopping down on it. He rubbed at the back of his neck before casting a glance up towards the confused janitor. "But haven't you ever wondered what it was like to know you weren't better? Know you weren't good 'nough to claim that? To know that you never, ever, had a part of you that was worth a damn? Did you ever know the fear of that realization? The understand that if people wished to accuse you of a crime without evidence, you were at their 'better' mercy?"

He stood, moving to approach Deathrage. He stopped a few feet away from him, chin raised, shoulders rolled back. "Fine, then. Accuse me. Accuse the 'weaker' link. Accuse the kid who makes you feel that you are so much better. Announce to the world what evidence you have that -I- did this crime! Or is it a crime that merely falls onto me because of where I was born? How I am dressed? How I talk- How I am in lower classes then the rest! Or perhaps it's because I'm an orphan. Or maybe because you just hate kids who look like me because a part of me is what you used to be! So, please, tell me- Why am I the accused? Why am I the 'suspect'?"

And with that, silence. From the audience, from Mister Deathrage, and even from Ms. Kafele. They all just stared at Roach, that feeling of his words running through their blood like adrenaline. Some felt doubt, some felt fear... some even pity.

Well, all save for Deathrage. He peeled back his lips before reaching out to grab Roach by the back of the coat. "Because you signed you damn name, boy! Right underneath!"

And with that, Roach was hauled off the stage by the janitor.

Huh... That was right. He did sign his name. Shit... wasted a good monologue on this crime.