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Post by bryan ryan on Aug 12, 2010 17:18:04 GMT -5
Bryan was on his way to the theatre at the end of Akron, his mind set on hoping that the theatre was empty so he could let all his emotions out on the stage. Considering he had recently performed on stage there during his production of Les Mis, the owner of the place had given him permission to practice there whenever he needed to, as long as he got him free tickets to his productions, which was fair enough in all honesty, but he was only doing it for the use of the theatre, definitely not to be a gentleman, that wasn't his style.
By emotions, he meant the stress of all the shows he'd been performing lately, and the bitter arguing that was going on between him and his wife. He knew that he was probably the cause of all the arguing, but it was not like he cared. Bryan wasn't one to show his true feelings, not even around her. That way he was around her had disappeared a few months back, since then, their relationship had gone down hill. The last time they spoke without any shouting was a few minutes before he left his house, where he announced he was heading to the theatre, which was answered with a simple 'Fine' before he walked out. He shook his head as he thought about it, trying to get rid of all the depressing stuff from his mind, that wasn't how Bryan Ryan rolled.
"Ah, perfect." Bryan mumbled to himself, smirking at the fact that the theatre was empty. He could finally have some time on his own, and let his feelings out through music without nobody there to judge him or to patronise him. Slowly, he walked up onto the stage, pacing slowly along the edge as he began to think of a song to sing. A certain song by David Cook popped into mind, which was a song he had been addicted to lately, different to the usual musical stuff he listened to each and every day. Come Back To Me was a song which, to him, represented perfectly what he wanted to say to his wife, but he would never sing it to her, he wasn't one to sing to people. Never had been, unless it was to boost his ego or make him famous. He stood centre stage, turning towards the front before inhaling a slow, deep breath and starting to sing.
'You say you gotta go and find yourself,
You say that you're becoming someone else,
Don't recognize the face in the mirror looking back at you..'
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Post by mimi riter on Aug 13, 2010 2:32:33 GMT -5
 you heard that i was trouble ,
BUT YOU COULDN'T RESISTJ U S T T A K E A B I T E L E T M E S H A K E U P Y O U R W O R L D- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -I got a sick pleasure in torturing myself. Not with physical pain, no, but I seemed to repeatedly fuck myself over in the emotional and mental department. Not a day went by when I didn’t regret my decision to leave Broadway over a stupid guy, and I was sure soon enough I’d be sitting outside of the nearest newspaper office, mourning the repeat of my mistake. In New York City, every two weeks I would go see a Broadway show and fill my own head with “I could have done that better” or “I bet I would’ve gotten the part” or “I bet people would be in this audience for me and me alone” and I never even attempted to stop them in order to keep my own sanity. It was like a disease, my constant need to do this, my constant need to berate myself for all of my regrets. I was never able to let things go. It was almost pathetic, really, how I did this to myself, but it’d become a necessity at this point. I guess in a way it motivated me to stop sucking. Not in a literal sense, of course, because I never actually sucked anything, but in a figurative sense. But hey, I was a teacher in Lima, Ohio. ‘Sucking’ was, I suppose, implied.
Broadway was not in Ohio. Sure, tour companies always stopped in Cleveland, as I’d come to learn, but Cleveland was relatively far away and there weren’t necessarily always good shows playing. So I’d done some research and discovered that there was a rather large theater in Akron, which wasn’t exactly near Lima, but it was close enough to where I wouldn’t mind making a few frequent trips. As far as I could tell, there would be no rehearsal scheduled for today, because there were no upcoming shows and auditions for the next weren’t being held for another two weeks. I made the journey out one afternoon after school let out, and noticed that only one other car was in the parking lot. Perhaps it was just someone cleaning or working the office or something.
I entered the Civic Theatre and nodded once with approval at the place. It wasn’t as big as anything in New York City, but that was to be expected. And this really wasn’t too bad. I hadn’t noticed the man on stage until he began to sing, and I cocked an eyebrow; we seemed to be alone. He came to do just what I had come to do. I probably should have left, because he seemed to be having some sort of moment with himself and I didn’t want to intrude on that. Still, another part of me found that I wanted to figure out what the hell this guy’s deal was.
I advanced forward, arms folded loosely over my chest. I figured he probably wouldn’t see me, considering I was so small, and I waited until he finished the song before I piped up. “Impressive,” I complimented, “You were flat in a couple of spots, and sharp in others, but all in all that was good. Full of emotion, you know, I’m sure you’ve got all that inner turmoil going on.” I sank down into a seat in the front row of the audience, keeping my head cocked to the side.
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Post by bryan ryan on Aug 13, 2010 14:37:33 GMT -5
 ninety-nine red balloons ,
FLOATING IN THE SUMMER SKY
panic bells it's red alert !
I usually considered myself to be above everyone else, as it was what i was used to since high school. Everyone knew me, everyone wanted me, and everyone wanted to BE me. It was how I liked it, and it was how I wanted it to stay, but as I grew up, I began to gradually realise that it wasn't that easy in the real world. Nobody really takes notice of you unless you're so unique that nobody else in the world has the talent that you have. Or, in my case, if you're someone with nothing better to do than to gawk at a man on stage in a small and pathetic town called Lima who wastes his life away by appearing in the lame productions that try to be the equivalent of the Broadway shows in New York. How I miss that kind of life, but I was too much of a jerk to throw it all away because of some stupid little thing the Director said that I didn't like. Ah well, I'll always have to live with that, but I'm tough, I can put up with anything. I'm Bryan Ryan for goodness sake, I can handle anything and everything because I am the best. I learned to handle this place, didn't I? As much as a dump this hole of a town is.
I guess this old theatre is one good thing about this place. I owe it all to Dave, the owner. He seems a nice guy, but maybe that's because of who I am. See, nobody usually tends to be spiteful or use a unfriendly tone with me, because the last person who did it, ended up in hospital, so I'm pretty much guessing that everyone heard about it as everyone is always practically kissing my feet. Anyway, Dave told me that I could use the theatre any time I wanted in exchange for tickets to every production I star in, which riled me obviously, but I can see why he would bribe me, who wouldn't want to see my on stage? So here I am, standing here on this stage and singing my heart out to hopefully get rid of all this aching in the pit of my stomach. I have no idea what it is, I've been told you get it when you're hurting about something, but I feel fine.. I think. These lyrics really represent things though, I'd love to sing them to my wife, but she would never take any notice of them. Besides, I don't think it would bother me if we divorced, the spark has long gone between us and all we do is mutter the occasional 'Hi' before going throughout the day without speaking another word.
I almost jumped when I heard a voice from down the front of the stage, as I was expecting to be able to stay here without anyone interrupting me. Typical, no alone time at all. What is it with this place? You can't go anywhere without at least someone walking in on you. I looked down at her, raising an eyebrow as I saw how short she was. I mean, I was used to looking down at people but my God, she was short. I rolled my eyes at her criticism, why was it that someone always felt the need to comment on something I did? Jeez, this wasn't a performance, this was something I wanted to do on my own, something I wanted to use to get rid of all this mushy stuff floating around inside of me. It wasn't me, it wasn't helping me get on properly with things either. But no, someone had to walk in and totally ruin everything.
I shook my head and muttered fairly loudly. "No alone time." I then shoved my hands in my pockets and walked to the front of the stage, still looking down at her. "No offence, shorty, but I don't need your criticism, thanks. Besides, that wasn't a practice, I was just trying to get rid of.. something." I told her quite sternly as she sat down in a seat. She seemed to be adamant on staying, so I raised an eyebrow at her and said pretty impatiently. "You won't be getting a private show from me, kid, so why don't you just scurry along to the little hole where you came from?" Yes, that was mean, but what did I care? She was just some stranger who I would never see again, so it didn't matter how I spoke to her.
you are thinking !
" you are speaking ! "
" someone else is speaking ! "
WORDS ,, 762 TAGGED ,, Mimi NOTES ,, Sorry it took so long, but it's a long one. D: CREDIT ,, PANIC! ITS LAUZ @caution[/size] |
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Post by mimi riter on Aug 14, 2010 3:15:44 GMT -5
you heard that i was trouble ,
BUT YOU COULDN'T RESISTJ U S T T A K E A B I T E L E T M E S H A K E U P Y O U R W O R L D- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - He talked. I laughed.
That probably wasn’t the most appropriate response, but the more he went on the more intense my giggling became as I sat in the chair. His insults were dreadful, and I had to wonder if it was worth trying to engage in a battle of wits with him. There was no doubt in my mind that I would trump him, considering he couldn’t come out with anything better than ‘shorty’, and I had a feeling that I could bring up some of my past experiences to get him all roiled up. After all, he was standing up on a stage, singing. He was probably some wannabe Broadway star who never made it. But I made it. And I could rub that in. I mulled this over in my mind for a moment, trying to figure out if I should put the poor man through the humiliation I had every intention of putting him through if I were to continue, and I decided that it was worth it to continue. I was a pretty big bitch and I liked to watch cocky men squirm. Because, hell, I’d lived in New York City for over ten years. I learned some things. Learned how to be a smartass, and I wasn’t about to give that up just because I lived in Lima, Ohio.
So I smiled. Wide, genuinely, with a malicious undertone. No, I didn’t bother with my usual smirk. I was far too excited for just some banter. I rose to my feet, not saying a word as I made my way up on stage, picking through the insults rolling around in my head to find the wittiest place to start. I let out a final, dark chuckle and turned to face him, eyebrow cocked. “If the best that you can come up with is ‘shorty’, then darling, I’m afraid that you might as well step out of this situation right now. This isn’t going to end up too pretty for you.” I smirked, then, deciding I’d lighten up my facial expressions a little bit. “I don’t think I’ve been called that since the sixth grade. Most people had advanced to other sad excuses for insults by then. Apparently, you’re holding onto your childhood. Your past. Probably let a few dreams die. That’d explain why you were here.” I didn’t wait for a response, and instead paced around a bit before continuing, “And get rid of something? What’s that, the stick up your ass? Good luck, it seems to be wedged pretty far up there.”
By the time I stopped pacing, I was standing center stage, looking past him out to the audience. I guess I was trying to prove that he really wasn’t worth my gaze. I didn’t know this guy, but he seemed like a pretty big tool. “As much as I like a private show, I’m pretty glad that you’re not going to whip anything out for me. Not that there’s anything to whip out, I’m sure.” Mulling over how to phrase my next comment, I crossed my arms over my chest. I feigned a curious look. “Hole? What hole? Surely you don’t mean New York City, you know, where I lived since I was eighteen. And I’m positive that you don’t mean Broadway is the hole, because that’s where I was by age twenty four. And I’m guessing you wouldn’t dare call the New York Times a hole, where I went after, especially when I was one of the top reporters. Perhaps you’re talking about William McKinley, where I’m teaching now. Well, I suppose I can’t argue with you, there. I don’t really like the color of the walls.” There, there was my malicious grin again, and I turned to face him with a look in my eyes that secured I had absolutely no good intentions with this. I slowly advanced to stand beside him, raising both eyebrows simultaneously. “Plus, this is a public theater, doll. There’s nothing wrong with my presence here. The only person with a problem who has a problem with it is you and if I cared at all what you thought, I’d have shot myself.” Shrugging my shoulders, I nodded in his direction. “Hey. I’m Mimi. Nice to meet you.”
Oh, this was fun.
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