Oberon Noberon
It was yet another night where even the tar-analogue coffee wasn’t doing much. Her mother had told her that 90% of sewing was ripping out stitches. She couldn’t actually let the stitch ripper go, her hand like a crone’s, molded into the shape. That was going to take a long soak with Epsom salts. That it wasn’t even her mistake was what burned, though. A junior costumer had fitted all the cast’s coats, vests, skirts, dresses, and pantaloons. And (alarmingly well) had taken them in for a trim, accurate fit. Problem was, they hadn’t done it over the bulky blouses and ruffled linens. They did it over t-shirts and skinny jeans. Street clothes. An amateur’s mistake, but one she’d have to deal with right until dress rehearsal, which was closer than she’d like to mention. But what burned… what really burned under all of that, was Oberon. Not actual Oberon, and she was sure there was someone who has his position, if not his name, among the Fair Folk. It was James Jordan Gorbitsky. There wasn’t any James Gorbitsky in the SAG. He just wanted the prestige of an extra name when he was being addressed. Yeah, he went by JayGo. Everyone had a nickname, but few people made it an amalgam of their actual name. Just the naive, and the foolish. J.J.G. definitely was the latter. You see, it was his plan… his mission, his life goal… to become favoured among The Gentry. He felt he simply deserved it, you see. His ‘subtle’ mentions of his most admirable talents… his ‘hints’ that his skills would be most valued among The Fey… his cast mates, the crew… everyone had run out of ways to roll their eyes. Not that he noticed. His performance of Oberon in this year’s (every year’s) play would be so glamorous, so heartfelt, so acted, the Good Neighbors would hold him up as a God, and shower him with favour. She was the senior costumer, and his outfit was her special pet. She’d refused all offers for help, saying the wanted Oberon’s duds to be her crowning glory of a final project. Dried roan and elder berries in the hems. What he’d think were stage diamonds stitched onto the trim-fitting vest would be, in fact, large salt crystals painstakingly grown on filaments, and stitched in with the aid of a magnifying glass. Rosemary water soaked underwear shirt, which as he acted his heart out under the stage lights would become more and more redolent. She’d soaked the shoe-leather in her own urine, and the hob-nails were iron, natch. James Jordan Gorbitsky felt he truly deserved it. And while it would be satisfying to have The Fair Folk show him how little he would want what they had to offer, it would be more satisfying to deprive him of it.
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