Entrechat Cinquante - Fifty
Apr. 17th, 2009 10:51 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
splixTitle: Entrechat Cinquante
Pairing: VigBean
Rating: G to NC-17
Author: Alex
Warning: AU
Written for the![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
seans_50 challenge.
Beta: the most excellent![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
kimberlite.
Disclaimer: Utterly untrue.
Prompt: Fifty.
Note: I want to take this opportunity to thankkimberlite, whose tireless beta skills and endless patience made these pieces the best they could be. Thanks to everyone who's been generous enough to give me feedback for this series. Some of you have been particularly diligent in your generosity, and I thank you most especially. Finally, thanks to govi20 and mooms, who created the seans_50 community and sparked the idea for the series, and who have been unstintingly supportive over the months it took me to write this. It's been such a treat to write, and I couldn't have done it without you. Hope you enjoy this last segment.
April 17, 2009
*
The weather was still pleasant late at night, so they elected to walk to the restaurant. After weeks of fluctuating temperatures, it felt like spring had come at last. They strolled down Columbus, mingling with the last of the crowds emerging from Lincoln Center.
“No one dresses for the theatre anymore,” Sean sighed, watching a couple stroll by in hoodies and jeans.
“Eh,” Viggo said with a shrug. “Big deal. At least people still come.”
Sean nudged Viggo in the ribs. “I know, I know.” Viggo liked to dress up – when he felt like it. If he didn’t feel like it, he didn’t dress up, and anyone who disapproved could go pound sand. It had been a minor struggle to get him into one of his better suits and a tie tonight. Thank God the restaurant had a dress code.
“Shit, you know what? While we’re here, could we stop for a minute? I left some notes in the stage manager’s office at the State.”
“Mike’s probably gone by now, Vig,” Sean said, looking at his watch.
“No – he said he’d be there late tonight. We’ll be on time, won’t we?”
Sean shrugged. “It’s fine. They’ll hold the table.”
“Great, come on.” They backtracked, crossed the plaza, and ducked into the stage-door entrance to the State Theater, nodding to the security guard. It had been renamed months ago, but everyone still called it the State, and likely would for a long time.
The theater was undergoing renovation, and one work light illuminated the mess of tarps and construction equipment backstage. Sean and Viggo picked their way to the tiny hole of a stage manager’s office, but the door was locked and there was no light beneath. “Well, shit. He told me he was going to be here. Oh well.”
“Too bad. Come on, I’m hungry.”
“Hang on a sec. You’ve got to see what they did to the lobby.”
“Some other time, Vig,” Sean pleaded.
“Just for a minute,” Viggo urged, pulling Sean by the hand. He led a reluctant Sean down the stage steps and through the darkened house, stopping in front of the lobby doors. “Hey.”
“What?”
“Happy fiftieth birthday.” Viggo let out a soft laugh and opened the door, nudging Sean through.
Two hundred people let out a huge collective cheer and began to clap and whistle. Sean’s mouth dropped open. “Oh my God.” He blushed ferociously as they began to sing Happy Birthday, and turned to Viggo, who was shaking with laughter. “You’re in trouble, mate.”
Viggo drew him into the crowd. The entire company was there, shouting and applauding. Kit kissed him on the cheek and hugged him. Jens, twenty pounds heavier and looking more relaxed and happy than he’d ever been in the company, shook his hand, laughing and talking at once. Sean was surrounded by old friends, colleagues, dancers and directors from other companies, balletomanes he’d known since he'd started at MBT. Slowly, he moved through the throng, hugging, kissing, greeting long-lost mates, being greeted with the sort of acclamation reserved for Oscar winners. They led him to an enormous tiered cake with a candle on top.
“What, only one bloody candle?” Sean laughed, and everyone cheered again as he blew it out.
Whoops and catcalls came from the crowd. “Speech! Speech!”
Sean looked around for Viggo, but he’d been swallowed by the crowd. He sighed through a smile. Speeches had never been his strong point, but he couldn’t very well disappear. “Okay, okay, pipe down. Well, obviously you lot can keep a secret –“ He grinned as the crowd whooped again. “—but I truly wasn’t expecting this. It’s a tremendous honor for me, and I think I know who’s to blame. Vig?”
Viggo came forward, two plastic cups of beer in his hands. He handed one to Sean, and they touched glasses. Sean held his aloft. “Thanks to all of you for making my job the best a weedy lad from Sheffield could possibly hope for. Thanks to Kit for keeping this company afloat during the toughest time it’s ever known.” He turned to Viggo and put an arm around his shoulders. “And thanks to Viggo for being....” He paused and smiled. “For being the best partner in the world.”
*
The word had spread, and more and more people had joined the celebration. A collection had been taken to fund a beer and pizza run since the food and drinks had run out an hour before. The music was loud, spirits were high. Company class would be misery for most people on Saturday, but the party raged on.
Inside the auditorium, it was dark and quiet. Sean closed the lobby door behind him, shutting out most of the sound. He strolled up the aisle to the stage stairs, ascending them noiselessly. The safety curtain was down, the heavy velvet draperies pulled back. He looked out into the soaring semicircle of seats, rising five stories to the high-flung ceiling, and closed his eyes.
Beyond the smells of sawdust and carpenter’s glue, he detected the faint resinous fragrance of rosin, the tang of sweat, the odor of dozens of florist’s bouquets. Beyond the murmur of sound from the lobby, he heard soaring music, the cheers and applause of a captivated audience. Beyond the cool temperature of the abandoned stage, he felt the heat of stage lights, of footlights, of his own trembling muscles.
“Hey there.”
Sean opened his eyes. Viggo was leaning against a wing leg, smiling.
“What you doing?”
“Remembering.” Sean beckoned him closer, and reached out to take his hand. “Just remembering.”
Viggo brushed a strand of hair out of Sean’s eyes. “You okay?”
Sean glanced around the theater once more, then settled his gaze on Viggo. He took Viggo’s face in his hands and kissed him. “Never better,” he said, and knew it was true. “Never better.”
End.
*
Slideshow bygovi20. Music by Pyotr Ilyich Tchaikovsky.
My table is here
Pairing: VigBean
Rating: G to NC-17
Author: Alex
Warning: AU
Written for the
seans_50 challenge.Beta: the most excellent
kimberlite.Disclaimer: Utterly untrue.
Prompt: Fifty.
Note: I want to take this opportunity to thank
kimberlite, whose tireless beta skills and endless patience made these pieces the best they could be. Thanks to everyone who's been generous enough to give me feedback for this series. Some of you have been particularly diligent in your generosity, and I thank you most especially. Finally, thanks to govi20 and mooms, who created the seans_50 community and sparked the idea for the series, and who have been unstintingly supportive over the months it took me to write this. It's been such a treat to write, and I couldn't have done it without you. Hope you enjoy this last segment.April 17, 2009
*
The weather was still pleasant late at night, so they elected to walk to the restaurant. After weeks of fluctuating temperatures, it felt like spring had come at last. They strolled down Columbus, mingling with the last of the crowds emerging from Lincoln Center.
“No one dresses for the theatre anymore,” Sean sighed, watching a couple stroll by in hoodies and jeans.
“Eh,” Viggo said with a shrug. “Big deal. At least people still come.”
Sean nudged Viggo in the ribs. “I know, I know.” Viggo liked to dress up – when he felt like it. If he didn’t feel like it, he didn’t dress up, and anyone who disapproved could go pound sand. It had been a minor struggle to get him into one of his better suits and a tie tonight. Thank God the restaurant had a dress code.
“Shit, you know what? While we’re here, could we stop for a minute? I left some notes in the stage manager’s office at the State.”
“Mike’s probably gone by now, Vig,” Sean said, looking at his watch.
“No – he said he’d be there late tonight. We’ll be on time, won’t we?”
Sean shrugged. “It’s fine. They’ll hold the table.”
“Great, come on.” They backtracked, crossed the plaza, and ducked into the stage-door entrance to the State Theater, nodding to the security guard. It had been renamed months ago, but everyone still called it the State, and likely would for a long time.
The theater was undergoing renovation, and one work light illuminated the mess of tarps and construction equipment backstage. Sean and Viggo picked their way to the tiny hole of a stage manager’s office, but the door was locked and there was no light beneath. “Well, shit. He told me he was going to be here. Oh well.”
“Too bad. Come on, I’m hungry.”
“Hang on a sec. You’ve got to see what they did to the lobby.”
“Some other time, Vig,” Sean pleaded.
“Just for a minute,” Viggo urged, pulling Sean by the hand. He led a reluctant Sean down the stage steps and through the darkened house, stopping in front of the lobby doors. “Hey.”
“What?”
“Happy fiftieth birthday.” Viggo let out a soft laugh and opened the door, nudging Sean through.
Two hundred people let out a huge collective cheer and began to clap and whistle. Sean’s mouth dropped open. “Oh my God.” He blushed ferociously as they began to sing Happy Birthday, and turned to Viggo, who was shaking with laughter. “You’re in trouble, mate.”
Viggo drew him into the crowd. The entire company was there, shouting and applauding. Kit kissed him on the cheek and hugged him. Jens, twenty pounds heavier and looking more relaxed and happy than he’d ever been in the company, shook his hand, laughing and talking at once. Sean was surrounded by old friends, colleagues, dancers and directors from other companies, balletomanes he’d known since he'd started at MBT. Slowly, he moved through the throng, hugging, kissing, greeting long-lost mates, being greeted with the sort of acclamation reserved for Oscar winners. They led him to an enormous tiered cake with a candle on top.
“What, only one bloody candle?” Sean laughed, and everyone cheered again as he blew it out.
Whoops and catcalls came from the crowd. “Speech! Speech!”
Sean looked around for Viggo, but he’d been swallowed by the crowd. He sighed through a smile. Speeches had never been his strong point, but he couldn’t very well disappear. “Okay, okay, pipe down. Well, obviously you lot can keep a secret –“ He grinned as the crowd whooped again. “—but I truly wasn’t expecting this. It’s a tremendous honor for me, and I think I know who’s to blame. Vig?”
Viggo came forward, two plastic cups of beer in his hands. He handed one to Sean, and they touched glasses. Sean held his aloft. “Thanks to all of you for making my job the best a weedy lad from Sheffield could possibly hope for. Thanks to Kit for keeping this company afloat during the toughest time it’s ever known.” He turned to Viggo and put an arm around his shoulders. “And thanks to Viggo for being....” He paused and smiled. “For being the best partner in the world.”
*
The word had spread, and more and more people had joined the celebration. A collection had been taken to fund a beer and pizza run since the food and drinks had run out an hour before. The music was loud, spirits were high. Company class would be misery for most people on Saturday, but the party raged on.
Inside the auditorium, it was dark and quiet. Sean closed the lobby door behind him, shutting out most of the sound. He strolled up the aisle to the stage stairs, ascending them noiselessly. The safety curtain was down, the heavy velvet draperies pulled back. He looked out into the soaring semicircle of seats, rising five stories to the high-flung ceiling, and closed his eyes.
Beyond the smells of sawdust and carpenter’s glue, he detected the faint resinous fragrance of rosin, the tang of sweat, the odor of dozens of florist’s bouquets. Beyond the murmur of sound from the lobby, he heard soaring music, the cheers and applause of a captivated audience. Beyond the cool temperature of the abandoned stage, he felt the heat of stage lights, of footlights, of his own trembling muscles.
“Hey there.”
Sean opened his eyes. Viggo was leaning against a wing leg, smiling.
“What you doing?”
“Remembering.” Sean beckoned him closer, and reached out to take his hand. “Just remembering.”
Viggo brushed a strand of hair out of Sean’s eyes. “You okay?”
Sean glanced around the theater once more, then settled his gaze on Viggo. He took Viggo’s face in his hands and kissed him. “Never better,” he said, and knew it was true. “Never better.”
End.
*
Slideshow by
govi20. Music by Pyotr Ilyich Tchaikovsky.My table is here
