I hate tech. Actually, that’s not true. I hate the first day of tech. To be really specific, I hate the first HOUR of tech. You spend three weeks in rehearsal, getting everything set up on paper, and then one day you come in and suddenly everything that was merely paper is now very large and very real and very in front of you. You hope and pray that everything is in order but there’s that niggling feeling that it isn’t. And if it isn’t, somebody could get hurt, could die, things could break, or, worst of all, tech will be slow. At least here I didn’t have to worry about anybody dying – either they already were, or they were damned hard to kill. Well there were the nymphs, but I was kind of hoping one of them would die, disappear, or have a child stop believing in them… whatever it took.
Plus there was the crew. In a normal theatre, they were cranky enough; set in their ways, lazy, and territorial. It was tricky – they knew the theatre, and resented intruders, but I knew the show and they couldn’t really do their job without me, at least not for the first day. That was at a normal theatre.
Here… well, the crew included dwarves and vampires. They had all of the normal crew traits with the added bonus of having been doing theatre since my grandparents were babies, and not only did they hate intruders, they especially hated human intruders. But I knew the show, and they didn’t. And luckily, I had George on my side.
“Wooo….”
“Hey George. Ready for tech?”
“Whoooo….” He moaned mournfully. Guess he didn’t like tech much either. Just then we heard a crash.
“HEADS!” I looked up, and saw the scrim heading towards me. I dived out of the way just in time. The scrim landed on top of George, who didn’t seem to notice. “Sorry lass, just dropped my laptop, then forgot I had the rope in t’other hand.” I peered backstage, and there was one of the dwarves in front of the rail with a computer at his feet. He was currently trying to pull out the scrim, but was having a bit of difficulty, it was probably out of weight. I picked up his laptop, which seemed unscathed. On it was a full screen view of World of Warcrack, and the dwarf’s character was apparently an orc. The dwarf saw what I was looking at and grabbed the laptop back.
“Nay, lass, that’s an expensive computer, that is. What are ya doing here?”
“Albert, I have to go over the run list, props list, and other stuff with you.”
“Wooo….”
“Can it ye daft ghost.” I never understood why somebody who was born in raised in Vancouver would have a thick Scottish accent. Maybe it was a dwarf thing.
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