[color=A1A1A1]“A month? Seriously?”[/color] Noah deadpanned, flipping over the card without so much as inspecting the flowery text pressed on to it, [color=A1A1A1]“That's barely enough time to order anything for whatever we come up with. I don't think this'll fly, Director.”[/color] He passed on the slip of paper to the next person and drifted soundlessly towards the stage, pulling himself up with both arms pressed down in the woods. All of this seemed to come straight from a fairytale. They wouldn't have enough time to create anything long or grand and the mysterious donor may not even be real in the end. Every cell in Noah's body screamed about how awful this idea was, how he shouldn't even bother to contribute in to but...

There was something oddly thrilling about trying. Lucas already seemed set on getting the group together to perform, and by the time Noah found a comfortable spot to lean against he could hear his roommate listing off possible plays they could start developing. A small group of titles splayed passed his vision, endless plays they could probably get together in less than a few weeks if they really worked their hardest. Noah stared down at the polished stage and, for a moment, saw the paint-stained double that belonged to his old high school. Theater wasn't in his blood but he forced it into his life anyway. Noah tried to imagine his life without the stage and the lights and the sounds of thespian life and he only fond a gray landscape, blossoming with the dark colors of bruises and alcohol and abandonment.

He thought of a life without [i]Abracadabra![/i] and suddenly felt a pull in his chest to fight on. A show in a month, it sounded impossible but...

But where was the harm in trying?

Noah drifted back towards the front of the stage and slapped a calloused hand down onto Lucas' shoulder. [color=A1A1A1]"Decide on a play and I'll get the light design squared away as quickly as possible."[/color] He spoke with the casualness of a robot, straightening his posture as he tilted his head back to inspect the catwalks. Depending on the play, he would have to venture up and start adjusting some of the older fixtures to accommodate the scenes. They had no time to order anything additional like they normally would, so the Director would have to be pleased with old gels and shaky spots.

Still, he had more than enough to work with in the theater, no matter how old everything might be. Noah silently wished for a newer tech set up but found himself rather thrilled with the idea of climbing back up into the catwalk and sitting there silently all day while the actors prodded around the stage. He thought briefly of joining them on stage for the rushed show they were about to set up and instantly felt his stomach swoop with more bad-idea-anxiety. Getting into character for him was a therapeutic but long, long process. It would be ill-advised to ask for a role on such a quick play. Besides, tech suited him better mentally, even if he did enjoy getting into the mindset of another person for a few hours a night.

Noah was drawn from his flood of thoughts by the familiar voice of Ziggy, and his line-drawn lips actually tipped upwards for a moment at the play suggestion. [i]An Inspector Calls[/i] was an old, three-act piece. Long enough to set off some red alarms in the back of his mind, but just small enough set and tech wise to quell the panic. [color=A1A1A1]"That's 'drawing room theater' at it's finest. It's three-acts long though, but I think it can work if the actors work their asses off."[/color] He droned in agreement, [color=A1A1A1]"Any other suggestions?"[/color]