Chapter Text
Monday, 16 September
The general rehearsal had gone too well. Silvester knew it, Director Petra Mede knew it, and everyone who they breezed past on the way back up to Ms. Mede’s office knew it. Nothing was wrong, Silvester and his boss agreed (except dialect coach Mister-three-first-names looking daggers at me while I was playing the piano and prompting, Silvester added in his own head) but something didn’t pass the smell test.
Silvester had three papers waiting on his desk when he got back. Whoever had delivered one or both of them had taken the time to replace his note to himself—“GET K.A.H.V. and J.P. TO COMMIT BEFORE THEY LEAVE OR GET PROMOTED!”—on top of the pile.
Silvester held up the papers to the light of the frosted window to Director Mede’s office. There was one from Bambie, and one from Ruslana.
“Am I interrupting anything?” Nemo leaned into the office, hands in their hip pockets.
“Anything important…?!” Silvester waved the handful of papers he was sorting through. “No, we don’t do that here.”
“Are those for the countertenor and the younger boy?” Nemo slid the rest of the way into the room. “If you mean our show, it’s your career on the line, not mine...”
They were wearing a twill jacket with a cream lace Van Dyke collar on the shoulders. It was an invention Silvester had seen once the previous summer, and he liked it. Nemo had a gift for combining textures.
“Well, then I’ll have to become a cleaner,” Silvester said as he moved his inkwells so Nemo could look at the papers. “And then I can spend more time on the ground floor with you.”
“Then who gets your job?” Nemo flipped through the profiles, lips parted in thought.
“Bambie, maybe.”
“Wait, before I forget: That was the main reason I came up here.” Nemo sat opposite Silvester and caught their breath. “I saw Bambie outside the carpenters’ entrance this morning.”
“And you were out there because…?”
“One-on-one coaching someone. Or, rather, Director Dion was one-and-a-half-on-one coaching, because I was taking notes. I felt like I needed to cough. Like, HARD.”
“You really need to stop smoking.”
“Funny. Anyway, Bambie asked if we wanted to get lunch with them and Olly. Or—maybe not with—next to them in your case, I guess, since I don’t know what they’re planning to eat.”
“Sure. I just have to be back by 13:30. No, before that.”
“It’s a date.”
“How is Director Dion?”
“She claims she’s better, just moving a bit slower. I have a backlog of notes to copy from the time between when she came back and when I started working here.”
Nemo looked back at the stack of papers.
“How did we get here? Oh yeah, Bambie. Did I ever actually explain how I got these names?”
“Is it something along the lines of ‘Bambie gave these two prodigies special attention for years, because they had a premonition some adorable Swiss singer would come into their life’?”
“You must need a favor, because you’re really laying it on thick today. No, that was only the case with this one.” Nemo held up the paper with the teenager’s information. “I don’t want to say he’s a dancer first and a singer second, but he’s can dance and sing at the same time better than I’ve ever seen for that young.”
“And you think he has a lot of energy, so he’d be a good fit for the lead…?”
“…boy, obviously. Now, this one…” Nemo flipped to the next page. “…listen, I know I need to explain my idea.“
“This is one of the Three Boys from The Magic Flute?”
“Yes, he’s in the chorus, but Ruslana said he wants to pursue a solo career.”
“Did you talk to him at all during your run?”
“I mean, I think we’re only onstage at the same time for one scene. So not more than anyone else,” Nemo said. “Except this one time. He was up by the catwalk—I had to be up there, of course, but it was early enough before the show that I was usually alone—and he was crying.”
“Oh no.”
“I didn’t want to pry, but it sounded like he spent a long time pursuing someone who didn’t feel the same way, and is now with someone else that told him it never would have worked out anyway.”
“Is he…?” Silvester tapped his silver peacock tie pin.
“I think. He kept saying ‘he,’ but I didn’t ask about the other person. It sounded like he never shared his feelings with him, but now this other man is with a woman. I did ask if he revealed anything that made him feel unsafe, though.”
“That was a sweet thing to do. What did you feel the need to explain, then?”
“I got this bee in my bonnet saying that he would be a good fit for the lead girl.”
“I’m listening.”
“He’s a countertenor, so he can hit notes most women can’t even reach, so that’s not an issue.”
“Go on…”
“And- I don’t know. He just has this panache I think the role needs.”
“I trust your judgement.”
“Silvester!” Director Mede’s cheerful summons rang through the cracked open door. “I have notes.”
“Duty calls.”
Nemo did a half-hearted salute. “See you later, hero.”
…
“Silvester!” Marina stopped and pointed at him as they passed each other in the hallway.
“Marina!” Silvester responded even more enthusiastically, pointing with both hands.
“Do you have any ideas about when we’ll be able to start working on concept art, or blocking, or…?”
“We have some notes, and stage directions for the first act already.” Silvester pulled a much-creased scrap of paper out of his notebook. “We’ll be done with our version of the libretto and the score by…February. No, March.”
“So how much time does that leave me?”
“March to October, with some overlap with first rehearsals so we can make sure the actors can actually use all the parts of the set and have enough time to get to places.”
“Nemo’s gonna love that part.”
“Honestly, that’s probably the main reason they agreed to work with me.”
…
“Thanks for saving me a seat.” Silvester nudged Bambie’s outstretched legs with the toe of his boot.
“No. You have to sit on the ground with the other worms.”
“Did you two start hating each other since we were all together last?” Nemo coughed out. “Or is this a new development?”
“It’s a compliment,” Bambie assured. “Worms are beautiful. If I got to be the patron of one force of nature, and it was ‘causing the worms to squirm,’ that would be such a gift.”
“Noted.” Silvester couldn’t actually take notes without setting his baked potato on the moss-covered bench, but he could see the words in his mind: “dew fairy <3 worms.”
“And you’ll get the Act III, Scene 1…when?” Bambie purred.
“You can also be in the end of Act II if you want…” Silvester mumbled as he took his seat.
“Don’t be mean!” Olly piped up. “Not everyone has as much free time as you’ve had lately.”
“You’re one to talk,” Jerry added.
The five of them hadn’t been friends since childhood, but it was nice to imagine they were: Bambi and Jerry would be the ones to get everyone in trouble. Olly would be the one to break down and beg for forgiveness as soon as they got caught. Silvester and Nemo would give each other knowing looks, then sneak to do something else together before things got too serious.
A steady polka tune came from a nearby vendor. Nemo rocked back and forth on their heels to the song, occasionally lifting themself onto their toes at the up-beats. That was one of the things that Silvester loved about Nemo, how they found music everywhere and all but danced like no one was watching.
“Pois edestä!” A man in a bright green jacket zoomed past on a bicycle, with Nemo stepping out of the way just in time to not get run over.
“You know, every time I see one of those things, I think ‘Nemo is exactly the type of person I would expect to ride a bicycle.’” O
“You thought of that just now?” Nemo pointed at the disappearing cyclist with their thumb. “Is that what you think of me?”
“Not like that, I’m just surprised you weren’t one of the first people to buy one.”
“Well, I thought about it. But they’re so expensive, for one, and I don’t really need it. Plus I’d need to carry it up five flights of stairs every night so it won’t get stolen.”
“Or just keep it on the ground floor,” Silvester said. “Mrs. Baas would looove that.”
“I made some excuses, then gave up on the idea when I found out about the tires.”
“What’s wrong with the tires?”
“The rubber is from the Congo ‘Free’ State.”
“Ohhh…..”
“…But it’s nice to hear you think about me so much.”
“You’re everyone’s favorite.” Silvester backhanded the side of Nemo’s leg. “Even Ms. Dion doesn’t give you as much work as Petra gives me.”
“And which one of us has had their current job for more than eight months?”
“Who got you that job? Olly?”
“What did I DO to you people?!”
“Let’s redirect this.” Bambie turned to Silvester. “I have a hex that’s guaranteed to piss you off.”
“DON’T.” Jerry warned over the top of her magazine. (It worked on her, too.)
“You know that Alexandra Feodorovna is expecting a baby…?”
“No Bambie, we didn’t know.” Jerry snapped down the magazine. “We didn’t care when the old tsar died—not that we thought this one would be much better—we didn’t care about their wedding, we don’t care about their brat, and we won’t care about their stupid coronation!”
“Noted,” Bambie replied in a small but satisfied voice.
“Speaking of the old tsar, you know his wife?” Olly prodded. The old empress?”
“Oh, she’s still ‘The Empress,’” Jerry corrected, “at least if you ask her…”
“Whatever. She’s actually from Denmark. And her sister is the Princess of Wales!”
“Now that’s the spell to piss me off,” Bambie hissed.
“Isn’t the new- younger empress’s grandmother ‘HRM’ Queen Victoria?” Nemo asked. “I’m surprised Bambie could even contain themself while mentioning the baby; they’ll have English on both sides!”
“What’s with the Romanovs insisting that everyone act Russian when they have one foot in every other country?” Silvester quipped.
“Anyway, what I was trying to say is she—Alexandra-.”
“Which one?” Bambie asked just to annoy him.
“I mean, the Princess of Wales—I think she looks a lot like Nemo.”
“What?” Nemo clearly didn’t think so, or they were just being humble.
“I see it,” Silvester agreed. She’s not NEARLY as pretty, though.
“Yeah, well Nemo doesn’t limp.”
“You don’t know why she does that!” Olly got surprisingly heated. “Do you think she was trying to get all the society ladies to copy her?!”
“True, and I’ll add ‘I don’t limp for now.’” Nemo gestured to where they were standing in the path of the cyclist. “If there’s a god, she’s just letting be coast through on luck, and I’m probably running low!”
…
At 13:24, Silvester figured he should get back to the office. Technically he didn’t have anything to report to at exactly half-passed, but he was trying to not be fashionably late to absolutely everything.
Nemo folded their uneaten bread and cheese (which was most of it) into a Brownies handkerchief. Partway through, they paused and stared off into space.
“Hey, Captain. Got a minute to talk about this week?”
Nemo started and rubbed their eyes. “Yes, sorry.”
“Didn’t sleep well?”
“Right.”
“What’s your availability for the next week or two?” Silvester asked.
“Well I have…let me see…you might have to write this down in case I explain it in no order…” Nemo rested their forehead on their fingertips. “…We usually have some kind of coaching session in the morning from 10-13, then copying music or and taking notes during whatever meetings Director Dion wants to have in the afternoon until 17, sometimes a little later. I could tell you….”
“We can take it one day at a time,” Silvester assured. “Tomorrow and Thursday I have rehearsals starting a little after 19, so that leaves us a bit of time if we just stay in the offices. Could you do tomorrow at 17:30, then the same on Thursday?”
“Sounds pretty tight for you…”
“Just so we can get back in the swing of things, see where we left off. I think we were basically done with Act II…?”
“I understand. Don’t work too hard, okay?”
“I’ll try. I have a whole call script to basically rewrite with all the notes from this morning alone.”
“Oof. Is it at least something fun?”
“Orpheus and Eurydice.”
“That’s a bummer. Well, toi, toi, toi, then.”
“That’s cute when you say that.”
“What? It’s just how you say ‘good luck.’” Nemo looked around to see if anyone heard, even though they weren’t in the opera house. “In the Deutschosphere, at least.”
“But you make that little ggrrhhih sound before each one. Is that a common phoneme in German?”
“No, dumbass. You’re supposed to be spitting at the devil. That’s why it’s good luck.”
“Yes, but when you combine the sounds, it sounds like you’re saying ‘Rytoj, rytoj, rytoj.’”
“Which is funny because…?”
“That’s ‘tomorrow, tomorrow, tomorrow’ in Lithuania.”
“Well, if I don’t run into you again today, I guess I’ll see you ‘rytoj, rytoj, rytoj.’”