Neil Perry
riverrun, she said. I don't know what it means, but I don't want to forget it. Maybe I ought to worry more about why, about what it means to be here-- what the cost might be-- but it's hard to care, knowing where I might be otherwise. What I might be... It's bad enough, being reminded by the stillness... but... I'll take that, over being a ghost.

Is being remembered really what makes the difference? I guess it's nice to know, in a sense... though in other ways it only makes things worse. No matter what anyone says I know I don't deserve to be here. But I am. So maybe I should just... try to forget, about what I deserve or don't, and try to make the most of this. A second chance, to get it right. Seize the day. I'm trying, really.

I wonder what they would ask of me, to buy my life back... and whether it would be wrong of me to do it.


I've been meaning to make this announcement a while, but between the curses and everything else... well, better late than never.

We're still looking for people for our production of A Midsummer Night's Dream in June, and need to fill the following roles;


THESEUS, Duke of Athens
EGEUS, Father to Hermia
PHILOSTRATE, Master of the Revels to Theseus
SNUG, a Joiner
FLUTE, a Bellows-mender
SNOUT, a Tinker
STARVELING, a Tailor
TITANIA, Queen of the Fairies


As well as, if we can get them, a few more fairies. Both with and without lines, though the fairies who do have speaking parts don't have much to memorize. Please let me know, as soon as you can, if you're interested! Even if you're not entirely certain. I'll talk you into it.

For everyone already in the play, what times would be good for you for rehearsals?

Other than that... I think I promised a few people I'd fence with them, but I lost track of who... Caspian, and Kate, and... was there anyone else?

I should update more often, or things pile up...

Also, do you think I could buy a typewriter, somewhere in the City..?



[ooc; strikes are unwritten, I just wanted to voice what's on his mind ;_; Play post here forever. also, striking out as people are wheedled into it, ahaha. <3]
 
 
Neil Perry
[Voice | Accidental]

[There's a quiet sound of pages rustling... And if you listen closely, a soft voice. Neil is reading poetry to himself, because there's nothing else he can do, today... No one sees him, no one seems to hear him. He's got no idea that he's recording.]

Their spirits beat upon mine
Like the wings of a thousand butterflies.
I closed my eyes and felt their spirits vibrating.
I closed my eyes, yet I knew when their lashes
Fringed their cheeks from downcast eyes,
And when they turned their heads;
And when their garments clung to them,
Or fell from them, in exquisite draperies.
Their spirits watched my ecstasy
With wide looks at starry unconcern.
Their spirits looked upon my torture;
They drank it as it were the water of life;
With reddened cheeks, brightened eyes
The rising flame of my soul made their spirits gilt,
Like the wings of a butterfly drifting suddenly into sunlight.
And they cried to me for life, life, life.
But in taking life for myself,
In seizing and crushing their souls,
As a child crushes grapes and drinks
From its palms the purple juice,
I came to this wingless void,
Where neither red, nor gold, nor wine,
Nor the rhythm of life is known.


[There's a low little sigh.]

Minerva Jones...

[The post trails off into silence.]

[ooc; AFFECTED! Neil is invisible and relatively insubstantial; the best he's managed to do is pick up one book to read, Edgar Lee Master's Spoon River Anthology. 'Cause being mean to dead kids is fun. The amount of effect he has on the tangible world waxes and wanes a little, so some responses may be incomplete or accidental, to add to confusion ♥]