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Dramatis Personae

Lucien, Steve


"{I admit I'm torn between horror, flattery, and curiosity.}"


<NYC> New York Theatre Workshop - East Village

The crowd that has gathered in the theatre this evening is small but deeply excited -- in part perhaps purely out of the thrill to see some theatre, any theatre, opening back up after the long drought; in part likely because at this invited dress most people in the audience have some personal stake in the success of the cast and crew. As intermission breaks the lines gathering for the bathrooms are typically long, the chatter is excited. Lucien has carefully set himself as much apart from the group as the small space will allow, tucked on a side bench in a gray linen jacket in casual, sleek lines, forest green silk vest that faintly recalls his most iconic costume from Lost! over a seafoam green shirt, gray linen trousers, and black monk shoes. A flute of champagne -- on the house, tonight, and not his first -- is held between his fingers. "{-- quite a departure from the pageantry of Lost!,}" Lucien is remarking lightly to his companion. "{I think she has done a lot with the simplicity.}"

As usual just a touch more classic in his dress than is average for a given event, Steve's suit -- also lightweight, also gray, if darker -- is cut in squarer lines than Lucien's, with a subtle windowpane design, his white shirt is faintly textured and breathable, his ocean blue tie festooned with abstract tessellated wing motifs. It is a credit to his fame that he's allowed in here with his shield at all, and a credit to his tailor that he doesn't look ridiculous with the great targe slung across his back. "{I'm admit I'm a bit of a philistine in this area, easily taken in by spectacle,}" he admits, "{but I think it's lovely.}" Though he's kept pace with his companion, the champagne has no noticeable effect on him. "{Do you think it will play well with audiences? I mean ones that are not full of people from in or around show business.}"

Lucien is slow to answer. His forefinger taps against the stem of his glass; he takes a small sip, eyes sweeping the ceiling as if for answer. "{I think it is a quiet little gem -- and that timing right now will do a lot for it. There is,}" a touch of rue creeps into his voice, into the brief thin twitch of his lips, "{not an abundance of competition to draw theatre-goers elsewhere. In a different time --}" His hand turns up. His fingers spread, then drop to his knee. "{But we are not in a different time. For worse and, I suppose, for better. There are a number of interesting projects coming down the pipe, but it will take many of them a while to be realized.}"

Steve nods, very seriously. "{That makes sense. The sort of thing that might be an art house hit but never make it anywhere near Broadway. In a different time.}" He rotates his glass slightly and watches the cascade of bubbles racing upward. "{But in the times we are in, it's anyone's guess.}" He pauses. Looks directly at Lucien for once, his expression opaque. "{It may matter a lot, what people here say about it. They may not be critics, but they're on social media, and theatre people are probably on the lookout.}" He smiles, relaxing a little despite his general sobriety. "{Anything thing interesting to you coming down the pipe?}"

The hitch of Lucien's brows is very slight. So is the quirk of his lips. "{Oh, it always matters what the buzz is. Advance word can often make or break a show but certainly the right word from the right person can give a much-needed boost just about any time.}" His eyes lower; the soft breath he exhales ripples at the surface of his drink. "{Oh, goodness. I likely oughtn't be telling you this, but --}" He tips the slender mouth of his flute just a hair in Steve's direction. "{I've been approached with a draft of a musical about -- you.}"

"{I'll be sure that my Twitter praise is glowing.}" Steve smiles. Takes a long sip of his bubbly. His eyebrows lift up slightly. And then lift up a lot more. "{Is it -- actually about me? Or, actually about Captain America, I guess?}" He shakes his head. "{I admit I'm torn between horror, flattery, and curiosity.}" His eyes glint with humor suddenly. "{Is a reading too much to ask?}"

"{As it stands now, it is -- both.}" Lucien's brows furrow. "{Though it does take some liberties when it comes to the facts, I have to say. Is that better or worse, do you think, than accuracy?}" He leans back in his seat, his fingers curling tight against his knee. "{If it helps assuage some small part of your horror, the playwright is an exceptional talent. She sent it to me for approval -- though it's yours that matters far more than mine. I rather thought I wouldn't bother you with it if it were too much a travesty to be salvageable but it is so far -- well.}" His eyes lift as the lights in the lobby begin to dim and brighten again, a slow and easy flash. He is languid in unfurling from his seat. "{If it will ease any more of your horror, most certainly I will read for you.}"

"{I think it depends a lot on what's accurate and what's ah -- liberated,}" Steve allows. "{But regardless, coming from you, that assuages a lot.}" He rises more readily than his companion, though he does not hurry Lucien -- knowing, perhaps, how generous such warnings are. "{I would love to hear it -- would, even if it were downright awful. But if you think it's worth working with?}" He crooks a smile. "{I might just give her some notes.}"