Chapter Text
Baz
Audition days always drag on, but this one feels like it’s been going for years. I shift uncomfortably in my chair and try not to cringe as yet another hopeful belts out a rather pitchy rendition of On My Own (the sixth one so far today). She finishes her cut and smiles broadly, obviously pleased with her efforts. Bunce gives her a noticeably strained smile and manages to force out a relatively cheerful ‘thank you for your time!’, before scanning our list for the next candidate. “Simon Snow?” she calls, and a man walks through the door.
The minute he comes fully into view, I almost fall out of my chair. Because Simon Snow is fucking gorgeous. Infuriatingly gorgeous. I don’t quite know why - he’s an average build, average height, and there’s nothing remarkable about his blue eyes – they’re just blue. But his skin is a pale gold, and the afternoon sun shimmers in his bronze curls as he slowly makes his way towards the table - and there’s something about the quietly confident way he holds himself that makes me melt.
Bunce seems almost as affected by the sight of him as I am, which is surprising. She’s sitting there with this unreadable expression on her face, any trace of tension or annoyance completely vanished. “He looks just like Heath,” she breathes incredulously, and I don’t know how I didn’t see it straight away. Snow is the spitting image of the fairytale-prince protagonist in mine and Bunce’s musical. Everything about him – from his dopey smile, to the light dusting of moles over his neck and cheeks – is exactly as I had pictured. He even looks like he’d be comfortable wielding a broadsword.
He steps towards me and cautiously sets his resume on the table, looking straight at me. I feel a hot flush start to creep up my cheeks, which is just ridiculous. Pitches don’t blush. But then he looks at me again, and I can practically feel my face turn the colour of the bright red folder in front of me.
I’m starting to think that he can’t possibly affect me any more, when he opens his mouth, and starts to sing.
Penny
I breathe a happy sigh when Simon starts his song. He’s chosen It All Fades Away from Bridges of Madison County – one of my all-time favourites (and unlike every song from Les Mis, I don’t hear it every fifteen minutes)– and his voice is rich and emotional. His diction’s a little poor, sure – but the way his classical baritenor rolls over the notes is enchanting. I can tell Baz thinks so, too. He’s leaning slightly forward, hanging on to his every mis-pronounced word. Simon’s voice crescendos up to the high A, and Baz’s mouth drops open. I can see he’s trying to hide it, but he’s impressed. I am too. For the first time in years, I let a candidate sing their song the whole way through. I’ve all but given him the role when he starts on his monologue.
To say that it’s a mess would be an understatement - I’m not sure if he’s nervous, or if he just has genuine speech problems, but he trips over every second word, and has to take a pause every few lines to compose himself. When I look over at Baz, though, he’s still staring transfixed.
Baz
Snow is an absolute wreck. And it should be a relief – it should. It should shatter the illusion and disenchant me with him entirely. But because I have the absolute worst luck in the world, it’s completely fucking adorable. I’m torn between wanting to snog him and wanting to punch him in the face for making me want to snog him.
I settle for an option somewhere in between the two, and stand up abruptly.
“Thank you for coming, Mr Snow,” I say coldly, “That will be all.” Bunce gives me a withering look, but I stand my ground. So does he. Literally. He just stands there, staring at me, a mixture of surprise, hurt, and indignation on his face. “That will be all,” I repeat, “You can go now”.
He turns slowly to leave, and I hear him start to cry as he walks out into the hall. I want to run and comfort him.
What the fuck is wrong with me?
Penny
What on earth is wrong with Baz?
Sure, Simon's monologue wasn't going well, but our policy has always been to let everyone finish speaking - no matter how terribly they're doing.
And Baz clearly didn't think Simon was doing all that terribly.
He'd just started to find his feet, too - the more he spoke, the fewer mistakes he made - and I was starting to seriously consider casting him again. But for some unknown reason, Baz decided it would be a good idea to stop him just when he'd gotten right into it. I give him my best 'you've-really-fucked-things-up-this-time-Basil' look, and he visibly shudders.
Good. Let him suffer.
For the most part, the rest of the auditions are mediocre at best, but a few do make it to the callback list. A fairy-like blonde with an ethereal voice gives such an impeccable audition that even Baz (who rolls his eyes at me the second she walks into the room with her baby-pink resume) has to admit she'd play our leading lady Isabella perfectly. And there's a strikingly handsome American whose monologue makes Baz and me laugh until our sides hurt.
(He's definitely getting a callback. For his acting skills. And for... other...personal reasons.)
Still, though - none of their auditions stick with me quite as much as Simon's - mistakes and all.
Baz
I've really fucked things up this time. After sitting through a few more auditions, it's clear that Snow’s the best fit for Heath by far, even considering his linguistic shortcomings. And with the way I acted, he might not still want the role. I give myself a solid mental kick for being such a supreme arsehole, and try my best to concentrate on the few remaining auditions.
Bunce stares daggers at me for the entire rest of the day, and as soon as the last candidate (completely tone-deaf, but an excellent actress) walks out the door, she turns to face me.
“What. The. Actual. Fuck. Basilton??” she yells, punching me rather hard in the arm.
It’s well deserved.