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Noelle didn’t know how she had ended up in that small rehearsal room, huddling close to the small portable heater with Asta, reading over their lines. It was beyond late by now. It was well into the night, even, but there she was, with her brand new copy of Racine’s Bérénice in hand instead of sleeping. Asta was by her side, reading the play in silence. Apparently, he couldn’t find sleep either– too excited to have been given a role– so he had come down to the rehearsal room to read the play. (It was a good idea; Gauche would probably have killed Asta for flashing a light in the dorms). Noelle’s heart almost gave out when Asta burst into the room loudly as if it hadn’t been the middle of the night.
Noelle didn’t know how she had ended up being a main role for a classic tragedy, but then again, she wasn’t too sure how she had ended up agreeing to join the Black Bulls either. The Black Bulls were the worst troupe in town. They were also the only troupe who would have taken her in, considering her (severe) stage fright. (Noelle knew exactly why she had ended up in that troupe; she simply didn’t want to remember and that classical play they were supposed to play at the Festival didn’t help her forget).
Yami had announced the play and the distribution for the April Festival. The April Festival was just the most important open stage festival in the kingdom. Well ‘open stage’... the stage was open if you didn’t forget to send an application and if the application was accepted. Yami had forgotten but thankfully, Julius Novachrono, Yami’s godfather, had a say in who got to play and nepotism was almost a rule in the drama world.
So, the play Yami had chosen was a classical play. A tragedy. Bérénice, by Jean Racine. Noelle wouldn’t have minded the choice of play that much if Yami hadn’t listed Asta, Finral and herself as the main roles. Finral played Antiochus, Asta played Titus and Noelle played Bérénice. Finral, who had always been adamant he wasn’t an actor, started and ended the play. Titus had the most lines in the entire play and Asta could not even remember his lines for one scene. Bérénice was a main role, the eponymous character and Noelle basically had stage fright. Yami’s line up made no sense, but he said it was the best line up they had.
Noelle had her doubts.
So, the distribution was a problem, but the play was another. Bérénice was a classical tragedy written in alexandrines with all its rules and its constraints. Yami’s directing would make it ‘less stuck-up’ (Yami’s words), but it was still a classical play, it was still a tragedy, and they were the Black Bulls. It was one thing to mess up a ‘normal’ play, but if critics saw the Bulls mess up a classical play, it might just end the troupe. Critics would call it a ‘heresy’ and they would demand Julius Novachrono take away their authorization to play (to be fair, they were already asking for this). Even if the critics didn’t overreact… Noelle knew someone a ‘disrespectful’ adaptation of a classical tragedy would upset beyond reason. She didn’t want to see what would happen if that man heard of it.
Noelle focused back on the play. The more Noelle read the lines, the less she understood them. She glanced up and stared at Asta. She could almost see the steam come out of his head as he tried to read the strenuous alexandrines. He was frowning and mouthing the words, and Noelle could tell he was rereading the lines over and over again. Asta didn’t look like he understood the play either. Soon, he gave up and lied down on his back instead, looking up at the dark painted ceiling.
“Yami said your family specializes in classical plays?” Asta said.
“My family doesn’t exactly specialize in it,” Noelle said, turning a page from her book. “The Silver Eagles don’t play anything but Ancient tragedies or classical plays… and among the classical plays, they mostly play tragedies.”
“Why?”
Noelle looked down. Why? was a good question. Because it was a tradition. Because her mother, Acier Silva, a giant who played tragic heroine roles so vividly and so perfectly had made it impossible for the Silvas to be seen as anything else than perfect classical tragedy actors. Because Noelle’s father only wanted classical plays to be played. Because they were beautiful. Because they were magnificent. Because they had torn heroes who had to choose between love and power and always chose power. Because these were, for Niccolo Silva, the only plays he called ‘drama’ ; everything else was just street acting, mere vaudeville or cheap harlequin. Lower people’s entertainment. The Plebe’s Amusement.
Noelle took a deep breath then said, “They just do.”
“So you must know a lot of things about classical plays!” Asta said excitedly.
“More or less,” Noelle said, shrugging.
Noelle couldn’t say she didn’t know much about classical plays. They were all she had tried playing ever since she could speak because they were the only plays her father cared about. Her mother used to tell Noelle to broaden her horizons, to see more plays, to try and play different forms of drama. Even clown? Little Noelle had asked, confused. Especially clown, Acier Silva had replied. Noelle hadn’t understood that day. Maybe she understood just a little more now that she had seen Asta act. There was an energy in his acting that so clearly stemmed from clown.
But Noelle’s problem was still the same. Her thorough education was useless if she couldn’t put the theory to use.
“I can’t play classical,” Noelle admitted. “I can’t play anything at all.”
Noelle didn’t know why she repeated it. She had said it to Yami when he told her she would play Bérénice, but now she had to tell Asta. She needed him to give her some of his magic, the one he gave her before they went on stage at the improvisation festival with the Black Bulls, the only time she had ever managed to play on a stage, in front of an audience… in all of her life, Noelle had never felt as good as when they bowed on stage, Asta’s hand warm and sweaty in hers. She remembered staring at him, at the big grin on his face, at how bright his eyes were shining as he took the applause.
The memory made her chest feel tight sometimes.
“You did it at the festival,” Asta said, frowning in confusion. “Why would it be different if it’s a play?”
Noelle looked down, then admitted, feeling herself blushing hard. She wanted to say that it was because it had been improvisation, not lines, not a play, but she knew it wasn’t true. The only reason why she had managed to play last time was because Asta had been on stage with her. He had pulled her in. It was the only reason why she found herself shouting and moving around, the only reason why she felt so free and happy when she stepped out of that stage that day… why she had cried of joy when she realized that maybe, just maybe, she wasn’t the failure everyone had decided she was.
“Because you won’t be with me in every scene,” Noelle said quietly.
Asta blinked. Noelle hid her face. She kept it down, to the point she couldn’t even read the play. Why had she said that? Sure, it was true. She had managed to play because she had seen Asta give it his best in front of a tough crowd, she had seen his wonderful and stupid acts and stunts and she couldn’t stand idly by his side. She had to engage. But telling him felt wrong. It felt so awkward and Noelle was so… ashamed.
“Really?” Asta asked, sitting up effortlessly before grabbing his copy of Bérénice. “You’re alone on stage sometimes? I didn’t notice…”
Noelle looked up, only to see him leafing through the book. The focus on his face was strange. He looked older suddenly, more mature. But Asta had misunderstood. The problem wasn’t that she would be alone on stage. It was that the only person Noelle had ever managed to perform with in front of an audience was him.
Asta found what he had been looking for and sighed, “Ah, you’re right, there’s one scene when you’re alone… It’s not that long, though… it’s only 9 lines! Luck will be here a lot with you!”
“But he’s not…” Noelle started. She paused, then whispered, “You.”
Asta turned towards her and blinked.
Ok, I’ve done it.
Noelle felt herself blushing hard. She brought her knees to her chest and hid her face behind her arms. She hoped Asta wouldn’t notice. The room was dark enough, but the light from the heater might give it away…
…give what away?
“I’ll be right here with you,” Asta said, grinning. “In the wings!”
Noelle didn’t say anything. There had been people in the wings before, when she was performing. Or more, trying to perform. Her siblings. Nebra and Solid, mostly, because Nozel was in the room, judging. Nebra and Solid were trying to make her lose focus. They were talking, they were snickering. Nozel would tell them to be quiet but it would be too late… It wouldn’t take much for Noelle to lose how little confidence she would have managed to build up.
“Noelle?”
Noelle hummed, picking up her copy of the play to distract herself from the thoughts. Maybe it wouldn’t take her much to lose her confidence again when going on stage this time around either. Whether Asta was here or not, maybe she wouldn’t be able to play. Maybe it had been a miracle Noelle managed at the improvisation festival. And she would be back to being a failure. Except that this time, the entire troupe, the one that had taken her in, would suffer from that poor performance.
“Maybe what happened at the improv festival is how you normally are,” Asta said. “And the times you flunked were the exceptions.”
“Are you stupid?” Noelle asked. “I succeeded once and failed all the other times! I think it’s pretty clear what’s the exception!”
“But maybe that’s what you’re really capable of!” Asta said. “I think that’s why Yami’s put you in a leading role. He knows you can do it! And I know it too!”
Noelle stared at Asta. She was beet red by now and only wanted him to be quiet. But at the same time… what if he was right? what if I could do it after all?
“Why?” Noelle asked.
Asta frowned, repeating, “Why?”
“Why do you think I can do it? You’ve never seen me act with lines. You don’t know what I can do.”
Asta shrugged, “I saw you act without lines and it was brilliant. It won’t be different with lines!”
Noelle stared at him, “You really think so?”
“Yes.”
Noelle looked down. She wanted to tell him the same. That he was incredible on stage when he was just doing improv, that he had an energy that was so captivating, that when he stepped on the stage, he was the only thing the audience, the actors, anyone could see. That she had felt something upon seeing him over there that gave her the courage to forget and to go on stage too. Just so she could stand beside him. Just so she could play opposite him. And now, she would. Together, Asta and her, with Finral and the rest of the Black Bulls… they would put together the truest performance of Bérénice. It wouldn’t be classic, it wouldn’t be how the Silver Eagles or Noelle’s father would have done it, but it would be filled with that energy that was theirs, with their raw emotions and that power they put in every play. Maybe the Black Bulls could pull it off…
No. We will.
“Let’s do a reading of our scenes together!” Asta said.
“You mean the breakup scenes?” Noelle asked in a bitter laugh.
Asta chuckled. His eyes held hers a little longer than necessary before he looked down at his book.
“Act II, scene 4!” Asta said.