An Extract from Mania by LJ Ross
Description
Vocal Characteristics
Language
EnglishVoice Age
Young Adult (18-35)Accents
British (Received Pronunciation - RP, BBC)Transcript
Note: Transcripts are generated using speech recognition software and may contain errors.
Mania and Alexander Gregory thriller by LJ Ross chapter one, the Old Palace Theatre, London opening night, the storm raged all around him, echoing the turmoil that raged within hard rain pattered down upon the ground in time with the drumming beat of his heart. While the wind howled trilled and fierce, forcing the hair back from his face to reveal a noble brow lined and carew worn by age and hard living through it all thick smoke billowed like fog across a heath clinging to his throat and clouding his vision. Here I stand. You're a slave. He dragged in a laborious breath, wishing he could expel the foul smelling air from his lungs. Diaphragm heaving with the effort of restraint. He lifted his arms upward, beseeching the elements and tried to remember who he was a poor, weak and firm, despised old man. Thunder rumbled, a deafening sound that sliced through the darkness and he was disoriented for a moment. A despised old man. Yes. Yes, that was it. He turned this way and that while shards of white light broke through the murky fog to capture his face, upturned and confused, marred by madness. His feet began to stumble as if dragging themselves across uneven grass while his hands clutched the sides of his head. And yet I call you servile ministers. Bloody marvelous, isn't he? Doctor Alexander Gregory looked briefly at his friend, Professor Bill Douglas who had whispered the words from his position in the neighboring stores seat. Very convincing. He agreed softly. He turned back to continue watching one of the world's leading actors perform his rendition of King Lear and was forced to admit that the delivery had been masterly so far, the man's depiction of escalating mania mirrored by the Wild storm into which he had been cast, created by an array of clever sound and lighting effects was almost too realistic in his line of work, Gregory was rarely fazed by the sight of a human being in crisis. In fact, it generally gave him a sense of purpose to be in a position to help them if he could years spent working at Southmoor Hospital, which was one of a handful of special hospitals in the UK dedicated to caring for the most dangerous kinds of patients had desensitized him to the usual behavioral ticks. One might associate with madness if one were to simplify a whole field of scholarly inquiry into a single catch all phrase. And yet as he sat in the shadows of the theater immersed in the Bard after an enjoyable evening with his friend Gregory found himself unnerved by the role play. He couldn't say why exactly. Perhaps the mannerisms of a soul and torment were a little too accurate or the rasp in his voice, just the shade too convincing. But then he suppose that was the mark of a fine actor. He tried to relax in the stiff velvet upholstered seat and ordered himself to lighten up. They were watching a work of great fiction and he ought to enjoy the opportunity to switch off thorns, not seek out problems where there were none to be found. There came another crackle of thunder and somewhere in the rafters, a lighting technician flashed the powerful beam of a spotlight on the stage and then briefly around the room, Gregory blinked and as his eyes refocused on the solitary figure weaving drunkenly through the mists of white smoke, he noticed that the actor was not only stumbling but seemed to be on the verge of falling that was taking it too far. He thought perhaps even the finest actors were not immune to a spot of self indulgence when it came to their interpretation of Shakespeare. No sooner had the uncharitable thought entered his head, then it was replaced by a far more compassionate one. Perhaps the man was drunk or under the influence of some other narcotic sir, Nigel Villiers would hardly be the first person of means and opportunity to develop a toxic habit that might from time to time interfere with his work. Gregory leaned forward again, studying the man's deportment for clues, sweating heavily. He noticed, but that could easily be a result of the hot stage lighting trained upon him. Wide unfocused eyes unsteady on his feet. But that could be affected for the sake of his art. Villiers was playing Lear after all. Sensing his discord. Douglas put a hand on his friend's back, urging him to relax, leave it back at the office. He murmured, Gregory's lips twisted into a smile. There was very little he could conceal from his old friend and mentor and even less he would ever wish to. Sorry. He muttered occupational habit. A woman seated nearby through what could only be described as a filthy look in their direction. And Gregory held up his hand in apology, settling back into a seat once more. By now, Villiers faced the crowd swaying on his feet in time to the thrumming of invisible rain. He could not see their faces and could barely see the edge of the stage. His throat felt tight. His chest even tighter. I will be the pattern of all patients. I will say nothing.