Mount Asteria

Chapter Twenty Eight

Ebony, and also Bláth, who had taken a greater interest in Alexandra since she had started recounting Damien's behaviour at practices, did not approve at all. Alexandra always brushed off their protests, insisting that Damien wasn't a bad guy at all, so long as you never took him seriously.

"I never have any appetite unless I have a buttonhole first," Damien announced, script in hand though he didn't need it; he knew his lines perfectly.

"A Marechal Niel?" said Alexandra, pretending to fetch a pair of scissors.

"No, I'd sooner have a pink rose." Damien batted his eye-lids. Alexandra fought hard not to laugh.

"Why?"

"Because you are like a pink rose, Cousin Cecily!" Damien exclaimed, dropping his script dramatically and seizing her arms.

"Damien!" Ms. Lyng hissed.

Alexandra stepped away from him, shaking her head. She continued, "I don't think it can be right for you to talk to me like that. Miss Prism never says such things to me."

"Then Miss Prism is a short-sighted old lady. You are the prettiest girl I ever saw." Damien puckered his lips comically, clasping his hands together and leaning towards Alexandra.

"Really, Damien! Come on! Be serious, just for a minute."

In between snorts of laughter, Alexandra just about said, "M - Miss Prism says that... that... that... all good looks are a... a..."

"Snare," Ms. Lyng supplied.

"They are a snare that every sensible man would like to be caught in."

Alexandra took a deep breath. "Oh, I don't think I would care to catch a sensible man. I shouldn't know what to talk to him about."

"And that's the end of that scene." Ms. Lyng sounded relieved to be finished. "You can have a quick break while I go to see Louis and Thea."

Alexandra went to get her water, still snickering. "I don't think Ms. Lyng was too impressed with your interpretations."

"Poor Ms. Lyng. She doesn't understand true art."

"Ms. Lyng, the English teacher and stage director?"

"My point exactly, dear Cecily. How can anyone appreciate artistic brilliance if they have never done anything but teach and direct? It's all giving orders, all the time."

Alexandra raised her eye brows. "That's one way of looking at it, I guess."

"I see with the eye of an abstract artist, listen with the ear of an experimental musician, smell with the nose of an Irish cook, taste with the taste buds of a green bottle fly..." Damien had worked his way over to the other side of the room, arms flailing about with each word.

She laughed. Her cheeks were beginning to hurt from smiling so much. "You should write your own play," she told him as he came back towards her to collect his bag. "You could be a modern Oscar Wilde."

"Ahh, it must be an Irish thing," he said, slinging his arm across her shoulder casually.

"What about Shakespeare? Or Moliere?"

"Lexa, Shakespeare wasn't funny."

"Twelfth Night? Much Ado About Nothing?"

"Humorous, but not exactly side-splittingly hilarious."

"Moliere was hilarious though."

"I'm not sure – Bláithín! Just the person we needed to see." Damien quickly removed his arm from Alexandra ran a hand through his hair. Bláth did not look at all impressed. She was awkwardly carrying a large gate-shaped piece of cardboard through the corridor and looked quite flustered.

"What?" she snapped at him impatiently, picking at her black clothing, spattered with paint and glitter.

Damien leaned back against the wall, arms folded, and though it was so dreadfully cliché, he really did look very suave.

"I think Irish writers have a particular talent for comedy. What do you think?"

Bláth raised her brow. "Is this what you communications majors talk about all day?"

Alexandra and Damien exchanged looks. They shrugged. "Pretty much. Why, what do you talk about? Torture methods? The best poisons for quick deaths or slow deaths?"

Alexandra raised her eyebrows, wondering just how much of a joke that was. Bláth scowled. "Alexandra, I honestly don't know how you tolerate him."

Alexandra smiled. "My dear Bláth, Ernest and I are in love!" She mimicked Damien's batting his eyelids and sighed contentedly.

Bláth snickered. "Oh, I can't wait to see this!" She began walking down the corridor. "Especially your kiss at the end!" she called back.

Alexandra paled. "Our what?"

Damien grinned. "Our kiss, Lexie! Don't tell me you didn't read the end of the script?"

"But -"

"When we get engaged. And after we get back together. And again at the end of Act II. Twice at the end of Act II, in fact. See..." He flicked through the script. Alexandra tore it out of his hands, staring at the stage directions in horror. "We've more kisses than even Jack and Gwendolyn."

"But Ms. Lyng won't actually make us..." she whispered uncertainly.

"Ah, that is one point Ms. Lyng and I actually agree on. All stage kisses should be included. And more, if possible."

Too put off by this news to see any humour in it, Alexandra didn't react to his joke. If it was actually a joke, of course.

"Don't worry, Lexa, we'll get lots of practice in beforehand."

Alexandra pursed her lips.