( What are you laughing about? What? I'm not. I wasn't. Sure, you weren't, Allison.
You know it's not smart to keep anything going on back home out here, right? It all-- I'm not. -- just ends in ruin. It's not like that. I'm just trying to help. Everyone's been th--
I heard a rumor you let this go.
She's not even angry when she says it. Or. If she is, it's more embarrassment, or something sourer, like shame, than the crystalline purity of anger, which makes it faster. Sharper on her tongue, even in the smoothness. It's not that she knows this isn't a ruin in the making, but she doesn't want to explain how there's nothing about this that can ruin her as much as Luther not leaving did. It already happened.
But it's not that even. It's that she's never talked to anyone about that. Never talked about him more than in passing. When people link their names, with the Academy, with everyone else. When there's a news blast, or a commercial, or a newspaper article. Not anything else. When they want details over drinks, so they can feel like they touched something special. She smiles and delights them with anecdotes. Like it's not chewing glass. Because to them, nothing else was there. Ever. At any point.
A secret kept and cast off in the same obliterating silence. That's the real story. The one she lived, but won't ever tell.
Allison knows this can only pick at that open sore, until it's raw and oozing, more so than just emotional fodder for her acting. Knows her feet are slipping too much already, and she should stop. But she doesn't want to. She wants it. Even if all it is is pain, and inevitable disappointment, and another round of her ruin, and hating herself, again, at that end, she still wants it. Him. Maybe she hasn't changed at all in two years. She can't tell if she hates him or hates that she still can't hate him even a little when she closes her door, shoulders hard against it, and finally gets past halfway. )
Dear Luther,
My roommate of the cards is Bea, officially, but her parents named her Beatrice, and she hates it, so she changed it, and she's probably going to come for me in my sleep now that I've broken my promise never to tell after she spilled it on accident. My other roommate, Jennifer, is new, about a month now, no nickname or name change so far as I know. You'd be surprised how long the list is of what all people do change about themselves out here.
I haven't actually done Cordelia yet, but I'm sure the Fool and Falstaff, would both agree that Lear and Illyria are absolutely lost somewhere in all the madness out here. I'll keep her in mind for the next time I need to consider fresh pieces from the classics. It doesn't hurt to have new pieces to study and practice in case. You never know what might be needed at the next casting calls.
Not any truly amazing concerts, and it's more bars with bands than concert-concerts, which is sometimes good and is sometimes just a recipe for spending the other half of the night trying to get beer off your shoes, purse, self. Secret? I don't think I'm actually into most of the music being produced out here right now. It's mostly loud and annoying and whiny. I miss the music yo-
I'm being flown up to Canada later this week for some of the scenes for the early season episodes off the pilot, so I think that means things are looking really good with this show. Wish I could tell you more, but contracts I actually do have to keep. Maybe you can catch some part of it once it has a release.
Hope your wrist is feeling better, Allison
Ps. Pirates are ~not~ the only ones who sealed their letters.
no subject
What? I'm not. I wasn't.
Sure, you weren't, Allison.
She's not even angry when she says it. Or. If she is, it's more embarrassment, or something sourer, like shame, than the crystalline purity of anger, which makes it faster. Sharper on her tongue, even in the smoothness. It's not that she knows this isn't a ruin in the making, but she doesn't want to explain how there's nothing about this that can ruin her as much as Luther not leaving did. It already happened.
But it's not that even. It's that she's never talked to anyone about that. Never talked about him more than in passing. When people link their names, with the Academy, with everyone else. When there's a news blast, or a commercial, or a newspaper article. Not anything else. When they want details over drinks, so they can feel like they touched something special. She smiles and delights them with anecdotes. Like it's not chewing glass. Because to them, nothing else was there. Ever. At any point.
A secret kept and cast off in the same obliterating silence.
That's the real story. The one she lived, but won't ever tell.
Allison knows this can only pick at that open sore, until it's raw and oozing, more so than just emotional fodder for her acting. Knows her feet are slipping too much already, and she should stop. But she doesn't want to. She wants it. Even if all it is is pain, and inevitable disappointment, and another round of her ruin, and hating herself, again, at that end, she still wants it. Him. Maybe she hasn't changed at all in two years. She can't tell if she hates him or hates that she still can't hate him even a little when she closes her door, shoulders hard against it, and finally gets past halfway. )
My roommate of the cards is Bea, officially, but her parents named her Beatrice, and she hates it, so she changed it, and she's probably going to come for me in my sleep now that I've broken my promise never to tell after she spilled it on accident. My other roommate, Jennifer, is new, about a month now, no nickname or name change so far as I know. You'd be surprised how long the list is of what all people do change about themselves out here.
I haven't actually done Cordelia yet, but I'm sure the Fool and Falstaff, would both agree that Lear and Illyria are absolutely lost somewhere in all the madness out here. I'll keep her in mind for the next time I need to consider fresh pieces from the classics. It doesn't hurt to have new pieces to study and practice in case. You never know what might be needed at the next casting calls.
Not any truly amazing concerts, and it's more bars with bands than concert-concerts, which is sometimes good and is sometimes just a recipe for spending the other half of the night trying to get beer off your shoes, purse, self. Secret? I don't think I'm actually into most of the music being produced out here right now. It's mostly loud and annoying and whiny.
I miss the music yo-I'm being flown up to Canada later this week for some of the scenes for the early season episodes off the pilot, so I think that means things are looking really good with this show. Wish I could tell you more, but contracts I actually do have to keep. Maybe you can catch some part of it once it has a release.
Hope your wrist is feeling better,
Allison
Ps. Pirates are ~not~ the only ones who sealed their letters.