#litvny

[avenvir]

―Sʜᴀᴋᴇsᴘᴇᴀʀᴇ's Sɪsᴛᴇʀ

He's had a lot of odd jobs in his time. He's moved from place to place, taking work where he could get it. Though the norm is carpentry for contracting work, his experience is not at all limited to woodworking. He's painted, sculpted, carved, written, and consulted - all for the minimum market price.

He's never worked on a theatre set before. It's a little different - he's expected to bring the director's vision to life; make it stunning, but not so stunning as to distract from the actors. And he has very few coworkers, so he has a pretty big job ahead of him. Luckily, some of the cast has volunteered to lend him a hand (see: were blackmailed into helping by the director). He tries not to be too hard on them, since their main focus is not the artistic aspect of their occupation, but rather the interpretive part.

So when he finds a couple of kids fooling around with the paint, he resists the instant urge to shout "hey, stop fucking around" and instead just turns off his belt sander, props his safety glasses on top of his head, and flags them down.

"Okay, one of you come over here and help me for a minute."

[anemvia]

―Iɴᴛᴇʀᴠɪᴇᴡ Wɪᴛʜ Tʜᴇ Aᴄᴛᴏʀ

The Tragedy of Hamlet, Prince of Denmark. Performed by Seoul Players.

He doesn't often get to venture into the world of acting. His primary business has more to do with the ins and outs of the government - segments on President Park and Prime Minister Jung. He's gotten used to the monotony of it all.

But sometimes - sometimes he's allowed to play with the theatre junkies. The men and women who dedicate themselves to breathing life into the creations of others. Jinki can respect that.

Hamlet, though, is a terrible tragedy... to sit through. By the time Ophelia starts singing, his mind is already going numb. He has to break out a can of Volcano to focus before he heads backstage. It's still in his hand as he slides towards the back wall, where the stage director is quietly congratulating everyone that passes him by on a good performance. Something in the way the man smiles, worn-out looking and content, says that they've already been through a big hurrah.

After a question or two, he's redirected to the dressing rooms, where a small flock of people is buzzing, some tired, some excited, and others complaining. He makes a beeline for who he recognizes to be their Hamlet, just barely visible within the chaos.

"Excuse me! Would you mind sparing me a few minutes of your time?"