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@stageplayhero
STEP OUT ONTO THE STAGE, DON'T BE SHY!
RP/ask blog for a canon divergent, somewhat AU Actor from W.KM (canon and headcanon based)
Indie and semi-selective account
Muse and mun are both 18+
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follows from @gunsblazin
“Wishing you all a very Happy Valentine’s Day — and reminding you that revenge plans against your ex are okay.”
What was it about this scene? Why didn't it simply fade to black once the main character left? How was there a world that was able to function - and still make sense despite the vague setting? None of these questions were something that ever crossed Yancy's mind since, as far as he was concerned, this world was real.
He scoffed in amusement at Mark's answer. "It's a lesson all of us gotta learn at some point. You gives the impression that you ain't used to meeting people like us who's in prison. Least one punch ain't that bad. Once youse is checked that you got no concussion or anything bad, youse'll be able to get back to youse's cell."
The off-hand insult hit Mark hard, it seemed. He stated his case as a brag, and Yancy couldn't help but slowly raise an eyebrow and gesture around them. "Youse got in, yeah, but getting out's the hard part. But hey, it ain't gonna be that bad. Assuming you didn't do more shit, then that'd be... 'bout five months? Ain't too bad, really." He hummed, tilting his head to one side, then the other.
"Oh shit, really?" The revelation of the box's goal made Yancy whistle. "Must've been one of them things youse can sell for real cash. Didn't feel all that heavy to me." If anything, it felt empty. Must have been some weird historical thing. Mark's question, however, made Yancy shrug and give a smile that was a clear 'you got me' signal.
"What can I say? They seemed like they had something special out there that they's wanted to get back to. But, uh, what 'bout you? You okay with they's, ehh, ditching you?" Yancy might have thought Mark weird but... It was awkward when he thought about it. "Youse didn't have no sorta spat or nothing?"
All of the questions that wouldn’t occur to Yancy to ask are racing through Mark’s head, but he can barely give them proper attention while still keeping up with the dialogue in character. Does it still count as dialogue, if this is all off script? Another question that won’t be answered any time soon, it seems.
Youse’ll be able to get back to youse’s cell. No, thank you. As if he’d be sticking around that long. He feels like he has a concussion, or like the punch rattled him somehow — he can’t think of any other reason this conversation would be happening. “I’ve been to prison before.” Not technically a lie. Mark sighs. “But, yeah. Not the worst pummelling I could’ve gotten. If you don’t count the wall.”
Five months is longer than Mark plans on staying, as well. Would this world last that long, outside of the story? Or would it collapse in on itself? “I’m not the one who chose a getaway vehicle I didn’t know how to fly.” He releases a deflated breath. “Maybe you’re right. Except — uh, what’s the charge for throwing a bomb in a museum?” Not that it matters. Not really.
“Welllllllll,” Mark drags out. “Not exactly. But that’s a secret. Hopefully they’ll put it to good use.” In this route, the box holds the key. The viewer won’t be coming back for him, however, or for Yancy. They should be able to.
Mark pretends to stiffen. “Oh, if I get started on that I don’t think I’ll stop. I am upset, but… it’s good to hear they’re out.” He nods in concession, crossing his arms. “We had a spat about the helicopter, but it was more important to get out of here. If I can ask, though — why are you still around, if you knew how to escape?”
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Wilford has had a memory spinning around in his head for several days. He remembers meeting Mark, and making a childish, dramatic fuss about Mark having an occasion before Christmas. He was almost sure Mark laughed and insisted that he was simply "that special".
Maybe that was why Wilford knocked on the door with a good bottle of wine and a tin of shortbread biscuits (apparently these were English things. English was fancy, right?).
Oh. And a birthday card decorated with old people dancing. Helpfully, Wilford had labelled one as "Mark" and one as "Wilford". (rosetintedgunman)
Wilford’s memory is accurate, indeed! Mark wouldn’t deny that he would have made some sort of claim of specialness (at that age, or any other). Still, he also recalls the difficulty of organizing celebrations so close to a holiday in childhood.
Which is why he’s mildly surprised to open the door and find Wilford standing there with wine and biscuits. It’s a busy time of year for him, even if Mark can’t know that!
“Thank you — ah, one moment.” He retrieves a couple of wine glasses and cracks open the tin. Life is for the living, no time like the present.
The card garners an actual, out loud laugh from Mark. “Well, it’s nice to see I’m not alone in the old age department.”
"Hey old man, I believe its your birthday right? I have some gifts." Holding out some gift bags. "Theres something in there almost just as old as you." Kitty jokes, which is actually a revised and edited copy of a romcom movie that Mark & her did together. She did throw in a new silk robe, in a purple mauve with little emerald green accents color, can't always wear that red one. Plus candies like usual.
“You would believe right — but come now, you have to be nearly as old as I am!” At least, Mark thinks so. Time loops and jumps aren’t exactly unfamiliar to them.
Lingering on that thought too long is an excellent recipe for a headache, though, so he smiles and accepts the gift bags. Memories begin to flood in as soon as he picks up the movie, fondly flipping it over to examine it. It seems so long ago, now.
The robe receives a soft whistle of admiration. Mark can’t not appreciate silk. Or candy, for that matter.
“Thank you, Kitty.” Mark holds up the movie once again. “Do you care to give it a watch, for old time’s sake?”
At some point, Mark has to question whether a birthday really means anything. He hasn’t aged (not in the normal way) in nearly a century.
He’s celebrated on and off, certainly. Parties, presents, drinks to drown out everything else. Something isn’t the same, though.
Maybe that’s what happens when you live beyond a human lifespan.
Mark doesn’t know, and doesn’t care to dig into those feelings too deeply. Who knows what’s lying underneath. He’ll settle in and watch some favourite movies, instead — cake included, of course!
And he’ll pointedly avoid thinking about how overqualified for a senior’s discount he is.
something about not posting anything ooc for an extended period of time makes me feel weird about posting ooc now for some reason pfft. so. hey :)
Oh no. It's Wilford, and he's got that pink microphone and a matching grin. "What's a production ya wanna work on? Movie, TV show, drama, whatever. What's th' thing ya wanna be in?" (rosetintedgunman)
The microphone is eyed with some degree of distrust — that’s a lot of glitter, and it could very well get on him — but how can he say no to such a question?
“You can call it cliché of me, but I would love to be in a Shakespeare production. His plays are classics for a reason, after all! Perhaps something from the Henriad, or Hamlet, or The Tempest…”
His finger pauses in the process of tapping his chin. “I also would have given anything to be in one of the first talkies.”
Mark just barely stops himself from asking whether Wilford remembers them. It was too close in time to that night. But Mark remembers it; remembers watching in utter awe at a film with speech. It’s too bad the only role he could play was mayor, at the time.
The real terror of Spooky Season? Wilford waiting a few days before Christmasifying Mark's dressing room. The centerpiece is a three foot tall tree, wrapped in red tinsel (rather like a certain actor in his favourite lounging robe). However, the star on top had a printed out photo of Mark slapped on top of it in a hasty decision to try and get out of trouble. (rosetintedgunman)
It feels like it took no time at all for the makeup crew to switch out their wobbly bat headbands for ones with reindeer antlers and jingle bells. Something about holiday spirit and morale boosts. Mark doesn’t care about that so much — if only they would be a little more punctual about bringing him his coffee.
Ha, without it, he practically feels like a walking corpse! That’s not quite it.
He also doesn’t usually mind the decorations: he has an eye for the aesthetics. It’s just… a little early for him to walk into his dressing room and have it seem like an elf threw up in there.
Mark stands in the entryway, blinking as if the light reflecting off the tinsel has blinded him. Who would have—?
… Actually, he can already guess.
He fights off a smile in vain, especially when he sees the photo. How can he complain? He is a star.
There is a gift for Wilford. There is also a Mark, in a change from last year. He can hardly turn back now, anyway, when they’re standing face to face and the package is in his hands.
Well… he could. But it would look rather foolish.
“I thought I’d finally come and give the roller rink a try,” he says, nodding towards the rink in question. It’s a part of the Roller he had been avoiding on purpose — to not look like a baby deer struggling to walk, mostly. “And to deliver a very important parcel, of course.”
Inside is a fancy reporter’s notebook and pen; with the added benefit that the ink will never run out and neither, somehow, will the pages. Mark doubts Wilford will be one to question it. Happy Birthday. (@stageplayhero SKIDS in. am i late to wilford birthday??)
@stageplayhero (NO YOU ARE NOT LATE BECAUSE I WAS OUT YESTERDAY AND TRAVELLING TODAY :D )
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Business was winding down for the day in the Roller. Wilford had just returned from storing his card from the staff somewhere safe when something - or rather, someone - caught his attention.
"Ya - wha - huh?" It was rare to make the talkative reporter struggle to find words. Mark willingly wanted to go skating?? And there was a present?? This was a lot of good news in one go! The present was the first thing to be addressed, revealing a rather pretty notebook and matching pen. One would swear Wilford's eyes sparkled as he flipped through the empty pages. So many possibilities. So many questions that needed answering! So many mysteries to make comments about and look professional while doing so!!
"Thank you. Y've got a good eye fer these sorta things. I promise not ta use 'em on ya fer an impromptu interview." He could not make a similar promise for scheduled interviews. "C'mon. Let's getcha on th' rink. It's quiet in th' evening. This'll be th' best chance ta try it out. Trust me - it's safer than ice skating."
"Hey Mark?" Yancy was once again pestering the Actor in his cell. "If youse thinks that this all is fake, but youse is real, then how do you knows that you ain't be controlled by someone else and that you ain't as free as youse thought?" (theauthorlives, have some spooky reflection time)
What is this, philosophy class? Mark took one of those back in his university days. He hadn’t been very good at it, but at least he could have acted back then, when he knew the right words and the right lines to say.
Still, he faces Yancy and ignores the faint feeling of a chill going down his spine. “Simple. I’m already familiar with the thing that’s bigger than me. The Entity doesn’t control me, however.”
It doesn’t it doesn’t it doesn’t—
“There isn’t anyone beyond that. The layers can’t keep going on forever, right?” Mark doesn’t like the way his skin is crawling. This shouldn’t be enough to rattle him. He clears his throat, continuing quickly. “Anyway, you must have other Halloween traditions here besides giving me an existential crisis?”
Pokes his nose. "I mean theres one basically speaking to me now." Laughing a bit before going to collect things to go ghost hunting. They'd need some equipment!
Mark wrinkles his nose — but in a very mature and dignified way, obviously. “I’m hardly a ghost. I’m—” … Huh. “Well, I’m not entirely certain what I am.”
But that doesn’t matter right now. They’re off to catch some ghosts!
@stageplayhero echoed :
“My vote is for ghost hunting. Seems like it could be rather cinematic.”
"Im sure we can find ghosts or ghouls quiet easily...Theres already some around..." She wasn't wrong in a way.
“Do you think so?” Mark considered, tilting his head. “I suppose the idea of them is that they could be anywhere.”
There’s a bowl of candy on the doorstep to the manor. It is definitely not cursed.
@wisteriagrcve said: Free candy? Ah yeah. Kitty will be taking some, even if it is cursed. Shes cursed anyways.
The candy bowl seems to… chuckle? It’s probably fine.
There’s a bowl of candy on the doorstep to the manor. It is definitely not cursed.
@blueheartedmayor cued:
Damien had taken the script Mark had been using to rehearse and appeared to be thoughtfully reading through the scene. He had even lifted a pencil and was taking notes. That's a helpful friend right there!
Until Mark checks the pages later and realises that Damien has actually doodled in the margins. (blueheartedmayor, WKM boyo. I might have sent this earlier. I don't remember. I'm sending it again just in case.)
Rehearsals were a staggering success, if Mark does say so himself. The middle of the monologue had been tricky to memorize, enough so that he’d been stuck on that scene for a while — bleeding into the time he and Damien had agreed to visit.
A pinprick of guilt had nagged at him when he told him he just needs to run through it a few more times, this is the one, I can feel it. But Damien seemed to have taken it in stride, if his thoughtful reading and note taking was anything to go off of. A helpful friend indeed!
Mark had finished with a perfect run through of the scene. Triumphant, and with a guest to pay attention to, the script and scene were momentarily forgotten.
Until Mark picks up the pages and sees Damien’s doodles scattered in the margins.
Wait, what?
The unexpectedness of it is enough to pull a laugh out of him. Well, he’ll have to keep this version of the script around, given the artistic endeavours that went into it. Dare he say it will be getting framed?
