A Play On History (Closed)

[Duffy]

The Day Of The Play

“Weeks of planning leading up to this golden moment,” Duffy said longingly.

After what seemed like an age to the Empyrean army, the play was finally ready. In just a few precious hours, the curtains would rise, and with it, if all went to plan, the spirits of a country. Duffy could only stand, silent, and wishful. When he had departed Corone weeks before, he had been sceptical that he, or indeed, that any of the troupe could really make a difference here.

“How wrong I was…,” he whispered, careful not to let slip his doubts to the troupe.

“Sorry?” Ruby turned on a quick heel, her ears burning.

Duffy looked at her, smiled, and rested forwards on his cane. He did not attempt to hide the fact that he had said something.

“Oh, it’s nothing,” he said wistfully. “I was just thinking aloud.”

“No time,” she snapped.

She ushered him to the stage right stairway and down into the changing area. She moved with such speed and force that the moment Duffy came to a standstill, his leg burst into metaphorical flame. He limped, with anguish, to sit on the edge of a packing crate. When he sat, he felt a sudden release, and then it dawned on him he had not stopped since the sun had risen some nine hours prior.

“There’s always time, Ruby. Just give me a,” he stopped mid-sentence when he caught her glare. She had stopped mid-stride and her nostrils were flaring. “Forget I aid anything,” he continued.

“Everybody in the stage area, please listen to me!” she roared. A minuet of echoing melody filled the courtyard. Golden threads of light fell from her lips as ancient power gave her command levity.

Silence fell across the wooden palisades, the empty stalls, and the sunny skies of Emprea’s hearth. Birds scattered, winds ceased, and potential turned to gold in the moisture-laden air.

“Curtains up in one hour!” This fact caused panic amongst the stagehands, tailors, and actors alike.

“Oh good,” the bard mumbled.

He produced a hip flask from within the folds of his jacket, and with far too much relish, even for an alcoholic, he tipped some of the contents onto his tongue. Oak, smoke, and bourbon mash gave him meaning again.

“I can sit down for five minutes,” he mumbled, making sure this time Ruby could not hear his discontent.

In one hour, Duffy’s part to play in this debacle would be over. It was the director’s role to oversee production, casting, and the rehearsal. The split-second the curtains rose he could rid his hands of it. Whatever went awry after that would not be on his head. No broken nail or stumbled line could diminish his accomplishments.

Ruby appeared at his side, seemingly in tune with his misery.

“Duffy, you've done a fantastic job here.” Which was an understatement, but Duffy knew Ruby’s praise was short lived at best, “So for Thayne’s sake, go and fucking relax!” Duffy looked up to smile. He let his cane drop to his side. It rolled against the edge of the crate.

“The show must go on…,” he said hoarsely. He was beyond hope.

He tipped the rest of his flask onto his tongue with the sort of genius borne anguish that tended to find its home in the world of dramaturgy. Ruby gave him one last trusting look before she flew away to her stitches, songs, and soliloquies.