vineleaves | Closed: There's a lot more to you than there is to you

Claudius arrives on the minute, and finds himself rather optimistic about the whole thing. There's something unsettlingly vulnerable, about the thought of acting on stage -- he has techniques for his deceptions, but acting feels like telling someone you're lying and expecting them to still believe you. He has trouble believing the same techniques translate. Nevertheless, he made a wager, and he has to be prepared to fulfill his side of it. Moreover, there's a play which Susan is putting some importance on, which means it's an event to watch. What better source of gossip could there be than joining the cast?

The sound of Dionysus singing also lifts his spirits, before he even knocks on the door. Dionysus is a good of drama. He won't let Claudius make a fool of himself -- that should count as a believer's prayer.

Edited 2024-05-08 23:42 (UTC)

Dionysus greets Claudius at the door with a tight hug. "Oooh, I'm so excited! Are you excited?" he asks as he ushers him inside. "Make yourself at home, dear! Are you thirsty? I've got some water on the table," sure enough there's a pitcher and a couple of glasses, along with the script for Szechwan on the table by the wall, "Or, well, you know there's always wine when I'm around. Water is, unfortunately, better for the vocal cords though."

Claudius laughs, and the last of his nerves vanish. "For the sake of my vocal cords, then," he says, as he pours himself some water. "You've an enthusiasm that's like a contagion. I mean that positively. If I wasn't excited before, I believe I've become so."

Dionysus, however, foregoes the water and instead makes himself up a glass of wine. Typical. "What was making you less than excited before? Are you nervous?"

Claudius laughs, leaning back and looking around the room for little glimmers of personality, smiling when he sees the shelf full of scripts. "Oh, I'm never nervous about oratory. You should hear the little speech I had planned for my first days as king ... you probably have, in fact. I'm quite comfortable playing to a room of people with practiced words." Turning reflective, he says, "Play-acting, however ... that's not something I've ever attempted. It's considered rather disreputable. An unsuiting pasttime for royalty, even moreso than my gardening. And a constant source of contention between the two Hamlets¹." Before he killed the elder one, of course, though he doubts the younger will thank him for it. "Perhaps I can consider this my final rebellion towards that way of life."

¹ Does that mean that, in the canon of the play Claudius's canon leads into, Hamlet not only puts off avenging his father but comes up with a plan his father would explicitly disapprove of? ... Yes. But look, he tried nothing, and he was all out of ideas.

Dionysus briefly has the very amusing mental image of Hamlet (prince) arguing with Hamlet (king, who is in this mental version a bedsheet ghost with a crown on top) arguing like they are in the ending of one of those cheesy coming of age movies. No, Dad, revenge is your dream, I want to be an actor!

It's clearly the better version, obviously Will didn't know what he was writing.

"The nice thing about acting versus delivering a speech or anything like that, is you've got suspension of disbelief on your side," Dionysus explains, sitting down on the foot of his bed. "When someone's watching a play, even if they're not, y'know, a theatre person, there's a certain level of everything they're just -- willing to accept. Oh, the set stayed mostly the same throughout the show, despite scenes taking place in different locations? Doesn't matter. Someone mimed having a pen to write something down in one part? Also doesn't matter. Oh, this actor I saw playing one person has now shown up later in the show as a completely different character? Who cares, it's theatre, everyone's sitting together watching others play make-believe on a stage with two staircases, a fake door, and one table, and it's the most transformative, beautiful experience they'll have all week." He takes a sip of his wine and shrugs. "I don't think political speeches usually have quite the same effect. No offense."

"None taken. Even a well-wrought political speech has to be utilitarian and clear -- anything too clever or profound gets edited down, so no one mistakes your meaning. If a speech does move someone, it usually has more to do with the situation. Speeches of condolement, speeches on the eve of battle, that sort of thing." He pauses. "Don't mistake me -- speeches for ceremony's sake are important. I'm planning a wedding, and it's absolutely necessary that my friends make speeches. I'm sure they'll be very moving, since Lan Wangji is an exceptional wordsmith and Crowley is a raconteur¹."

¹ ... Sure, that's one way to describe them.

"Well you can't very well have a wedding without any speeches," Dionysus says in agreement. "I mean, I guess you could, but then it would be over so quickly everyone would regret getting all dolled up for only five minutes of ceremony." He laughs.

"Alright, let's get you warmed up," he hops off his bed, leaving the wineglass on his bedside table, and moves to stand in the makeshift stage area. "Come over here."

That rings a bell, and the back of Claudius's neck blushes when he remembers telling Sagramore in a flustered tone warm me up. With that in mind, Claudius realizes it's not entirely true he's never tried play-acting. He play-acts with his lovers all the time ... but that just makes the idea of going up on stage and doing it newly vulnerable. He clears his throat, before following Dionysus to the stage. "As you will," he says, primly.

He looks over what Claudius is wearing; thankfully he didn't show up in a full suit or anything, but Dionysus realizes too late he forgot to mention about showing up 'ready for movement'. Still, it should be okay.

"Alright, stand here, eyes closed, arms at your side, and -- I want you to breathe in deep," he breathes too, "And out. In. And out. Keep doing that. In. And out." He has Claudius just breathe for a few long moments. "Alright, this next time, when you exhale, I want to you keep exhaling until you can't anymore." He stays close, on the off-chance Claudius gets dizzy from that. "Feel how your lungs automatically fill themselves back up, with all fresh air? Okay, you can breathe normally -- but see? Your body does a lot of things, constantly, on its own. It knows what it needs to do. Acting is using your body, but you need to be connected to it. You need to be grounded, to feel every inch, and really know even those automatic things."

Claudius thought himself at the height of casual wear, in his shirt-sleeves without a vest, and even the top button artfully undone. His pants are still, of course, perfectly pleated, and his sockers gartered, but he wouldn't be able to leave his room otherwise. All that aside ... he follows Dionysus's instructions. He breathes in deep, something he learned with Wangji, when they sat in meditation together. Something in his chest, he found, wants him to breath shallow, wants to move on to the next exhale-inhale without wasting time. But he eases into it with practice. It does make him a bit dizzy, but not enough to stumble. When he releases his breath, it's with a low laugh. "Like the autonomic nervous system," he says. "Yes, I think I see what you mean."

"Alright, now -- keep your eyes closed," he says, walking in a small circle around Claudius. "We're going to release tension. So start at the bottom. Think about your toes. Wiggle them around a bit if you need to, but if there's any tension there, let it go. Relax. Okay? Then I want you to move to your ankles. How do they feel right now? Keep moving up the rest of your body, it's okay if this takes a few minutes, but part by part, realize whatever tension you're holding there, and release it."

Oh, Claudius is so grateful now that he's practiced meditation with Lan Wangji. He's already gotten through this part where he feels a bit ridiculous, and impatient, and wants to start pacing rather than go through this slow inventory of all the tension in his body. Because, as it turns out, there's a lot. Dealing with it all, each wiggling toe and the vast mountains of stress held between his shoulder-blades, takes time. But he does it. He thinks of his qi circulating, the qi that starts with his breath where all the powers of speech begin. He does it in silence, and does a noble job of not opening his eyes and asking whether they're done and ready for the next bit yet. It is unaccountably difficult for Claudius to be present with himself, when his mind's always wants to race for the next thing.

"As soon as you're done, take a few more deep breaths, then you can open your eyes," he says calmly, not in any sort of attempt to rush Claudius, more just giving gentle directions.

Once his eyes open, Dionysus grins. "Okay, now... shake it all out!" He starts shaking his arms and legs. "Get your energy back up!" He shakes and laughs, because it's objectively fun to shake around for a few seconds.

It does feel good, in fact. After shaking out his arms, he flexes his fingers in the self-soothing way he sometimes does, snapping apart and twirling the branch-like band of his engagement ring, until he's satisfied. Laughing, he says, "I'm beginning to see why wine and drama share a god. They both involve a certain unselfconsciousness."

"Well, that's the whole reason theatre exists," he says, offhand. "Sort of evolved from some of the things my followers would do to celebrate." Dionysus shrugs, walking over to grab the script off of the table. "Acting does require you to be unselfconscious enough to be confident in whatever choices you make on stage, and being able to access your emotions easily." Which he supposes definitely checks out, with everything he's always cared about.

He hands the script to Claudius. "I don't guess you've ever read The Good Person of Szechwan, have you? I mean, clearly not at home, but here?"

Confidence in your choices sounds close enough to the theater of stagecraft, though accessing your emotions was never particularly prized in Elsinore's family dynasty. Perhaps that's why the older Hamlet was so judgmental. But, Claudius can admit to himself, he was no less judgmental when it came to these things¹. "I suppose I'd rather you find out this way than any other," he says with a self-effacing laugh. "I don't read plays. I was a bit of a snob about them, but now I'm perfectly eager to learn." He flips through the pages. "What's this one about?"

¹ Publicly expressing emotion? No, thank you. (See also Act, Scene II of Hamlet, 'Tis sweet and commendable in your nature, Hamlet ... We repress our emotions in this family, Hamlet.)

"Eh, it's fine. They're better to watch performed anyway. The words a dramatist writes are only half of the play. The other half is what the actors and crew do with the words, you know. The same play performed by different people -- the same people but different nights, even -- will be an entirely new experience."

He sits down on the edge of his bed again, wrapping his arms around one of the dozen or so throw pillows sharing the space with him. "Three gods -- I don't think they're based off anyone in particular, they're not given names or anything -- three gods come to Szechwan province and are in need of lodging. Really it's a test to see if they can find a 'good person'. The only person who agrees to let them stay is a sex worker named Shen Teh. They announce she's the good person they were looking for, which comes as a bit of a shock to her considering she's been told someone with her profession isn't good, which is honestly such garbage, but -- ah, that's a rant for another day. As thanks they give her a large amount of money, which she uses to buy a tobacco shop. A bunch of people from the town begin to take advantage of her, because she truly is a good person, and has a hard time saying no to any request, so eventually in an attempt to save herself she invents an alter ego."

He takes a quick break for a nice, dramatic pause, and to give the typist a good place to break up the wall of text. He takes a sip of his wine before continuing. "Everyone taking advantage of Shen Teh is suddenly met by her "cousin", Shui Ta. He's just her in disguise as a man, but nobody notices that, and as Shui Ta she feels comfortable standing up for herself in ways she couldn't do before. She intends for it to be a one time only situation, but finds she needs to rely on 'him' more and more, until finally she spends all of her time as the fake cousin and nobody knows what happened to Shen Teh. Shui Ta gets blamed for her murder and goes to trial, where the three gods show up again."

"If you flip towards the back, there's a page I've highlighted a monologue on -- it's her finally admitting what she was doing. Generally speaking, it's best to read a play in its entirety before doing a monologue, but for now you'll have to make do with my summary. But it's a really good play and I think you'd like it, if you want to borrow that and read it all. Um. But, yeah, spend a few minutes -- oh you can sit down now if you want -- spend a few minutes reading over it and I'll have you do a little run through of it for me. How's that sound?"

Claudius has always enjoyed Crowley's scattered, evocative method of summarizing for the plots of future entertainments, but there's something to be said for a more thorough approach. It gives him a decent idea of the themes of the story, which -- Dionysus must have known -- speak to Claudius particularly. He flips to the instructed page, the highlighted lines, holding it open with fingers splayed to frame the passage. "Sounds practicable. As I did with Be Prepared." But sober. Now that he thinks of it, the glasses of champagne should've been an impairment to memorizing lines rather than an improvement, but it worked for him. He takes a seat, sips his water, and silently reads ahead.

Dionysus sits on his bed, sipping his wine, waiting patiently for however long Claudius wants to spend reading the monologue before attempting a go at it. It's not like he's got some pressingly urgent errand scheduled for after this or anything. Acting class can take all day for all Dionysus cares. That would be preferrable, actually. Spending all day with bestie Claudius, while they're also doing theatre? Sounds great.

Claudius reads through the speech, analyzing it the way he would if this Shen Teh were in front of him, heaving out her heart in words. It would stir his sympathy, of course, but there would still be that calculation running through him, reading inbetween her spoken lines for the secrets still clung close to her chest. She speaks her struggle frankly, the struggle of being split into two like lightning by the commandment to be good, unable to be good to herself and good to others -- unless she became an other, even to herself. Unless she became someone else. But how much of Shui Ta was someone else? How long had Shui Ta been inside her, a voiceless protector, inside of her saying I deserve better than this? And how different was he, from the voice she allowed to speak, saying all life deserves better?

There's fury in her words, and it's the fury of unfairness. He understands it well. Something is wrong with this world of yours. Why is wickedness so rewarded, and why is so much suffering reserved for the good? Gertrude, to be a good and godly wife and queen, took all the world's suffering on herself. By making himself the only wicked man in the world, the one willing to condemn himself, Claudius thought he could save her soul. He also split himself in two, the wicked poisoner and the good king, and planned to spend his whole life keeping them seperate, secret from each other. And yet pity brought me such pain that I at once felt wolfish anger at the sight of misery.

It truly wasn't possible, to keep those sides of him separate. His wickedness and his goodness, his desire to kill and his desire to make peace, both sprung from the same source. He was only one man, with one life and soul.

Condemn me: each of my crimes was committed to help out my neighbor, to love my beloved or to save my young son from going without. O gods, for your vast projects, I, poor human, was too small.

"I think I've a grasp of the character," he says at last. "Shall we begin?"

"Of course!" Dionysus shifts his position to be more attentive. "Go through it once, so I can see what we're working with, then I'll give you some notes and we can go from there." He's truly excited to see how this will go. Is Claudius going to treat it like a speech? He undoubtedly has a lot more experience with giving speeches than he does acting out a monologue, but then again... he's literally a character from a play. Is he going to just naturally be good at it as a result of that? There are so many different ways this could go, and Dionysus can't wait to find out.

He takes another slow breath, as he might before meditation. Even before he knew he was in a play, Claudius had the sense that life was scripted, and success came from playing many roles well. He studied how courtiers, and tradesmen, and military men spoke together, and copied just enough of their gestures to make himself approachable and likeable. But because he was limited by that very thing, being likable, it limited how much he could express in a role. He's more used to repressing anger, to putting on a smile.

So he makes use of that practice. Rather than play anger, he plays someone trying to smile, and make smooth arguments, despite the anger roiling in her. She starts in a tone of apologia, defending herself for something she knows was wrong -- lying, behaving selfishly -- but the tone slowly changes. It's a realization, when she says, "Something is wrong with this world of yours." It shifts apologia to accusation, passion rising in her voice.

Every gesture is conscious, all the breaks in speech deliberate. Claudius is, as it turns out, quite a good actor.

Claudius performing is a wonderful experience for two different reasons. The first is, well, he's just good at it. Why shouldn't he be? Some of the very greatest actors in the entire history of the world have played him, they've poured themselves into his existence, it makes sense that he might be able to tap into that as well. It's not like he's the first person to play Shen Teh in this way, but for a first read through of a monologue it's lovely to see that actual thought has been put in, even if only after a short while, and he's not just going at the same frantic level the entire time.

There's also the fact that it's activating that god of Drama sense in the back of Dionysus' mind that has been so quiet the entire time he's been here, so blocked off from the usual cacophony of every single performance and rehearsal around the world simultaneously. It feels good to have it back, even if it's just one man standing on a makeshift stage in the middle of Dionysus' bedroom, in front of him.

Dionysus claps when Claudius finishes. "Darling, that was lovely! You're a natural!" But there is, of course, always room for improvement. Or at least playing around with things, choosing different choices, exploring every angle of a character that you can, before settling on a final characterization. He gets up and brings over one of his chairs, setting it in the performance space beside Claudius.

"Sit down, do it again -- ah, sit on your hands, I guess?" He was about to literally tie Claudius up but figures that might be a little, well, a lot considering they're in a bedroom and all that. "This time, you can't gesture. Get all of the acting out, but just with your voice." He sits back down on the bed, then decides to tack on, "Oh, also you can't talk louder than a whisper."

Hard mode.

It's a game, Claudius realizes, and makes this whole acting business even more enjoyable. Not so different, after all, from the games he plays with lovers and friends¹. He dutifully sits on his hands, smiling up at Dionysus. "I'll take the challenge. Let's begin again, then." He drops the smile, and lowers his voice, as he goes into his lines. He hits some softer, rasping notes this time, subtleties he'd missed the chance to make at a normal volume. But it is an effort not to gesture. Too many times he instinctively tries to punctuate a word with a wave or evocative twirl of his hand, and briefly breaks character to laugh, then try again.

¹ Example of a game Claudius plays with friends: weiqi.
Example of a game Claudius plays with lovers: sexy weiqi.

"It's hard, isn't it?" Dionysus says, laughing along with Claudius one of the times he breaks character. He usually finds this is a good exercise for when someone is gesturing too much while acting, to the point of it being a distraction rather than a genuine character choice. This wasn't necessarily an issue Claudius had, but it's still a useful exercise regardless, he thinks.

"So what points did you find were the hardest to get through, without using your hands. And why?"

“How shall I put it?" Claudius muses aloud. "Well, if we ever happen to play cards against each other, this is my tell. My hands twitch whenever I'm agitated, one way or another." He demonstrates, holding up one hand, fluttering the fingers. "It's one of the reasons why -- outside of target practice -- I've never been able to fire a gun. But I'm quite accustomed to hiding it. The tell is when I put my hands beneath the table, or behind my back. I would keep also my voice level, my face calm ... all to the end of suppressing some emotion. Suppressing and expressing emotions at once I find rather difficult. When Shen Teh’s speech turns heated, my instinct is to show it in my hands. But I suppose that’s why it’s acting.”

Edited 2024-06-15 12:59 (UTC)

"One of the hardest things to do in acting is to give a convincingly understated performance. Some characters require it, if they're the strong, silent type, or maybe they're being sneaky for one reason or another. When the character doesn't want to show their emotions outwardly, but as an actor you need to anyway."

He takes a sip of his wine. "I don't know that that applies very much to Shen Teh, possibly when she's pretending to be Shui Ta though. It's a tough role! There's often very minimal costume changes between the two personas, due to a few times in the script when she has to flip between one and the other quickly. That means for it to be believable, the actor has to figure out how they're going to show it through -- usually physicality, maybe changing their voice up a bit. Go too far though and it becomes silly, which is also not ideal."

"I've made a study of such things," Claudius says, casually enough. "The subtle ways people shift their behavior to fit the context. How their faces move, how they hold themselves, how they look when they're holding something back." It's always made him feel a bit like something inhuman, looking from the outside in. Perhaps that's one of the reasons he so enjoys Crowley's company -- he can talk about how humans are without sounding strange. (And from the beginning, Crowley has always recognized his humanity.) "I can tell you there are many two-faced nobles who are Shui Ta to their social lessers and Shen Teh to their superiors ... which feels rather backwards, all things considered. When you see them without their masks, figuratively speaking, you may as well be looking at an entirely different person." Sometimes it is quite silly -- Claudius recalls the people-pleasing pitch of some courtiers' voices, pitched too high and sickly sweet. Sometimes it's terrifying. Claudius recalls, also, the duke and duchess he stayed with in Cornwall, so solicitous to a visiting prince, monstrous with their own vassals.

"Yeah," Dionysus says, rolling his eyes. "You don't have to tell me, I'm a god. You don't know the amount of times some ruler or other welcomed me with open arms, while 90% of the population was suffering directly because of laws he'd enacted. 'Oh yes, Lord Dionysus, we'll do whatever you want, please bless our harvest' or whatever. What I want is for you to ... I dunno, let the women outside if they want to leave the house? Free your slaves¹? Oh whoops apparently that's asking too much I guess."

1. Look, I'm not saying I know this god better than Aristophanes, but ... actually no that's exactly what I'm saying.

Edited 2024-06-20 03:27 (UTC)

Claudius gives an extravagant eye-roll of his own. "I may be a new-Dionysian," he says, in mutual complaint, "but I do believe it's not best practices to quibble with the liberator about granting freedoms."

"Yeah... I've gotten into a lot of ...arguments... because of this sort of thing." He takes a sip of his wine. "Honestly, generally speaking, banning me from a city-state is a sure fire way to make people want to come party with me anyway, so it doesn't really work out quite like they plan." Another sip of his wine, a deep sigh, and he shrugs it off. "That was all a long time ago, though. Nowadays it rarely comes up in so obvious a way, because it's a lot harder for people to believe me when I tell 'em I'm a god in the first place."

Drolly, Claudius says, "It's like banning bread and circuses. That's never worked well for a populous." But he also listens to the rest and asks, with intent concern, "Did people treat you unkindly?" It's quite beyond Claudius to do anything about that, but he feels a flare of fierce protectiveness.

"I mean, I've lived a long time, it's inevitable that occasionally I'm going to run across someone being a little less than kind. It's usually not so bad, even when they don't believe me when I introduce myself." He shrugs. "That's one nice thing about being here, people tend to believe I am who I say I am."

"If you were a con man, with preternatural powers but no claim to godhood, I would've fallen for it." Softening, he says, "God or no ... it was your kindness that converted me. I sometimes think of what Gertrude would say. She gave every appearance of a devout Christian woman. But I think she'd rather I was with you than anyone else." He hopes -- no, he believes -- Gertrude has many sympathetic theatrical adaptations. There's so much in her to love.

"I hope if she shows up here again you'll introduce me! I would love to meet her, she seems absolutely wonderful, both from what I already know from -- ah, well, you know, as well as things you've told me about her here." To be fair though there's a lot of characters from Hamlet he would love to meet. Most of them, in fact.

"I wouldn't want her to stay here forever, you know -- someone needs to steer the ship of Denmark, and she has a firm yet gentle hand." Claudius laughs, realizing how that sounds. "Not that I've ever gotten to experience that. But when she came here, we danced. Her husband would've never let us dance. If she came here again ... I'd be quite pleased to introduce you to her."

Dionysus smiles. "I'm so glad you two got to dance."

"You know, she would like you. She liked her entertainments -- she liked Yorick whenever he mocked her husband, and she supported her son's fascination with theater. Which I understand now, I suppose." He gestures back and forth, to encompass their acting lessons. "Gertrude was forced so often to be more somber and reserved than she would have wished, because of my brother's jealousies. But the Gertrude I know is joyful, and charming, and laughs at scandalous stories while barely pretending to be scandalized. She's a wonderful host who can smooth over any hint of conflict at a party. You'd have a great deal to talk about." Claudius smiles, thinking of her. "She's also extraordinarily brave, kind to the point of stubbornness. It's very difficult to avoid accepting it, when she wants to care about you."

Oh, right, they were in the middle of rehearsing. Dionysus is in no real hurry to get back to that though, Claudius is already pretty darn good at the monologue on his own, and Dionysus wants to hear more about Gertrude. "You light up when you speak about her, y'know. It's precious."

Claudius flushes up to his ears. "Ah, well," he says, illustratively. "She is someone precious to me."

"Even if I didn't already know I think I could've guessed as much from how sweet you are when you're talking about her." It's very cute.

"Sweet," Claudius scoffs, the flush threatening to take over his cheeks. "You see, this is why you'd get along. You'd exchange stories about how sweet I supposedly am." And Claudius wouldn't deny her, because he could never deny Gertrude a single thing that made her happy.

"Oh that sounds fun. I hope she gets to visit again just for that alone!"

Claudius huffs. Predictably, he is the sort of student who keeps the teacher on track¹, and asks, "Any other advice on delivering a monologue?"

¹ A nerd.

"Okay, okay," he says, laughing. "I'm easily distracted, sorry. Ah, let's do another exercise. Ah, lay down on the floor this time, and I want you to go through the monologue, once you feel like you absolutely cannot lie down anymore, sit up. Then when you feel you have to move on from that, get up to your knees, and so on. By the end you should be standing."

Claudius laughs in turn, soon forgetting his embarrassment. So much so that he's shameless enough to say, "You know, ordinarily when men order me on my back, it isn't to monologue." Obediently, he does lie down. It takes him a moment to start, like this, to recall the lines that came easily to him, moments before. The same words feel differently. Perhaps it's the joke about intimacy, but lying down makes Claudius more likely to murmur, to keep his voice even and soft. When he has to be louder, it becomes more of a struggle, and his voice -- Shen Teh's voice -- becomes more frustrated, closer to the frustrated snarls Claudius tries to suppress when he's tightly wound with choler.

It's not something Claudius would have tapped into deliberately, because he's so used to suppressing it. He can suppress the urge to move a long while, because he's had practice, while Shen Teh goes through her litany of all the crimes of this world, sounding like a caged and desperate animal barely contained. In fact, it's only at the very end that Claudius rises, when Shen Teh would want to look her accusers in the eye, going from kneeling to standing in the space of two lines. Then at last Shen Teh's voice turns calm. It's the calm of a realization, or a resolution made.

Closed: There's a lot more to you than there is to you

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