Romeo and Juliet, guest starring Jack Alwyn as Sampson

He swept through the large polished oal doors, exiting the theatre. He strolled down the sidewalk keeping the collar of his crisp Victorian style cloak high up around his face, more to hide from his masses of adoring fans then to ward off the biting cold.

He took long strides as he made his way to the Library. He used the Library because no one expected him to, why would such a rich famous and attractive man use a public library?

He inconspicuously entered the new shining building by barely opening the doors just enough to slide by. He quickly strode across the room to the stacks. He stopped a few feet in though when he saw that a young strong man stood in his path.

The man bit his thumb at Geoffrey.

"Do you bite your thumb at us, sir?" asked Geoffrey, horrified that one would insult him in such a manner.

"No, sir, I do but bite my thumb." The man, Sampson, sarcastically drawled.

The bright sun beat down upon the beautiful Veronan streets.

"But do you bite your thumb at ME, sir?" Abraham said, starting to get flustered.

After a brief conference with his nearby friend, Sampson said, his own anger rising to match Abrahams "No, sir, I do not bite my thumb at you, SIR, I do but BITE MY THUMB, SIR!"

"Do you quarrel sir?" Sampsons friend, Gregory, said politely, but with a hidden venom.

"Quarrel sir? no sir!" Abraham said, fearful of the princes wrath lest he be caught in yet another fight.

"If you do then I am for you, I serve as good a man as you." goaded Sampson.

"No better?" Abraham said, nearly laughing as he knew his master was superior.

"Well sir," Sampson started. Gregory whispered something into his ear, "Aye, Better sir!"

"You lie," spat Abraham.

"Draw if you be men," threatened Sampson, as Abraham drew his rapier and he drew his own, "Gregory, remember thy swashing blow," he cautioned his friend as he moved to fight.

I looked around the library's lobby. Why did that man just run out of here? Why was everyone staring at me? Why did I come here? Oh yeah, I was looking for that book...

Everyone stared at Geoffrey. He bowed, then hurried off to the stacks, praying that his adoring fans wouldnt follow him.
_____

Geoffrey rushed down the sidewalk. He wore some shabby cloak that made him look like an extra from Oliver Twist or the like. He slipped into the library and walked halfway across the room before he ran into some poor fellow, one Jack Alwyn by name.

Due to his raised collar, Geoffrey didn't see Jack walking towards him. Jack, gnawing his thumb as he pondered some deep pressing concern, had just gotten up from a computer and, being deep within his own thoughts, did not see the scruffy old actor.

They collided. The man almost choked on his thumb from the impact. He yanked his digit from his mouth, and began to apologize.

"oh, I so-" he began before Geoffrey interrupted him.

"Do you bite your thumb at us, sir?" he said, projecting as only an actor can, with a look of deep insult upon his face.

"What? uhh, I guess, i was just thinking, i didnt mean to-"

"But do you bite you thumb at ME, sir?" He interrupted again, getting slightly impatient.

"No, no, I didn't mean to insult-"

"Quarrel sir? no sir" He said to the empty area right next to Jack.

Jack, now thoroughly freaked out, began to edge his way around the actor in a large radius in order to get out of the door.

"No better?" he sneered at Jack.

He froze, fearful that the lunatic had caught on to his scheme.

"You lie!" he shouted, reaching towards his hip.

Jack, imagining that the man was reaching for a gun, made a break for the door.

Geoffrey froze. his arms dropped to his sides. He looked around as though completely confused. His clothes no longer hung on him comfortably, but clung to him oddly as though he had forgotten how to wear them comfortably. Suddenly, his demeanor reverted back to when he had entered.

He bowed, then rushed off to the stacks.

Opening Night of Richard the III

The Audience roared with applause as the Director took the stage. He attempted to appear tall, but, despite the four feet added to his height by the stage, he failed. This failure might've been caused by his rotundity or perhaps the fact that the nearby throne made him look as a midgit. He began to deliver the house speech and by some miracle the audience managed not to fall asleep.

The Director finished his speech, announced the play, and left the stage. The audience's reaction almost drowned out the opening lines of the first actor to make his entrance.

"Now is the winter of our discontent. Made glorious summer...." He began in a thunderous voice.

He stood with a hunched shoulder, but still towered over the throne that dwarfed the director. His hair had a brilliant sheen, it glowed in the bright stage lights. His brilliantly applied make-up illuminated his face, gallantly combating the emaciating affects of the aforementioned stage lights. His costume, an immaculate Elizabethan ensemble, suited his figure perfectly, causing all the young ladies of the audience to think scandalous thoughts of what they would do to him given the slightest opportunity.

He paced around the gorgeous stage as he ingeniously delivered each line of his monologue. The soft leather soles of his blindingly shiny boots hit the radiant oak boards of the stage, making not a sound to interfere with the lines spoken on stage. The rich, velvety curtains splendidly caught the light and brought out all the right colors in the costumes of the actors.

By now other actors had entered onto the stage, but no one payed them any heed. All attention was on the main character, as superbly portrayed by the famous actor Geoffrey Marlowe.

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A tall, scruffy looking man stood upon a run down stage. The stage looked as though it might collapse at any moment and the warped plywood that made it up creaked at the slightest movement of the man. His ratty clothes, which at some point might've once been a costume, theoretically of an Elizabethan style, were now so moth eaten that one could not even discern their original color. A thick coat of dust covered the man as well as the stage, the seats, and everything else in the building. The building in which he stood, an old abandoned theatre, looked as though is had not seen any manner of human life within a 20 ft radius of its perimiter for at least 2o years. This wasnt the case, as the man, one who called himself Geoffrey Marlowe, had lived in the theatre ever since its closing 25 years ago.