nine. hamlet
Charlotte was nervous as hell. Her flight was taking off at nine, and that was nine hours away. It was midnight; Tom was softly snoring in the room next door, her mother wasn't home yet, and she was tossing and turning in her bed. One moment too hot, one moment too warm, but that was the least of her concerns.
What kept her up was anxiety. The entire thing was too good to be true. She was just waiting to fall asleep and to wake up and find out she never got the role, or the letter. That was probably why she kept it under her pillow. The girl sighed, swinging her feet off her bed. She stepped over her slippers and out of her room, the cool tiles of the kitchen tickling the soles of her feet.
She wasn't in search of something that would put her to sleep; she needed something to ease her nerves, and they always seemed to disappear in the theatre. It was like the stage was in her bones, acting in her blood, and the limelight in her eyes. You could scare her with spiders or snakes, depths or heights, but place Charlotte Vaughan on stage, and she was home.
So she tip-toed down the winding wooden stairs and found herself in the hallway of the theatre. Its temperature was always lower than the rest of the building, and it was beneficial that day in the middle of the summer, when the asphalt was warm even at night. The girl shivered slightly at the change of temperature and wrapped her hands around each other.
Any anxious though had already left her.
Maybe she should have brought her pillow and just slept on stage.
But just as she barely smiled at that thought, at the image of her mother and brother going crazy trying to find her in time for her flight, she heard a voice, and fear shot through her like an electric surge.
There wasn't supposed to be anyone in here in this time of night.
What if they were burglars? Or if they came to sabotage the play? Or kill them?
But despite everything, Charlotte kept walking toward the stage room. Curiosity killed the cat, they say; but satisfaction would bring her back, she hoped.
She perked her ears up and opened her eyes, ready to jump at any slight movement. The voice sounded like she was underwater, and she couldn't understand what it was saying, but it sounded like it was... it sounded like it was singing.
Maybe someone her mother discarded like Christiana came to show her she was missing out on their unique talent, but they chose the wrong time and place - as her mother never came downstairs at that time of night - and way - because it was well-known Carla Vaughan couldn't stand operas or musicals.
So the chances of the owner of the voice being a burglar, saboteur or murdered were slim, as last time she checked, they weren't in a Disney movie. Well, even if they were and she got killed, at least it wouldn't be graphic.
Charlotte's breath was shaky as she approached the doorway to the stage room and peeked inside. The person on stage was walking into it, their back turned to the door, so she took the chance and slipped inside, hiding behind the last row of seats. She lifted her head just enough so her eyes could see over the back of the chair, but the singer still had their back turned to her.
It didn't matter, however, because she knew that voice.
That voice sang her to sleep.
Charlotte grinned so wide she though her cheeks would break at the stitches, but she didn't want to interrupt him. She knew he wrote songs as a hobby, but she never heard this one. It was nice; it had a slow, kind melody, and his voice was melodious and magical to the tunes he played on his guitar. What made everything better was the acoustic nature of the stage that gave the song an undertone of echo.
Wow.
She collected herself, and started to creep toward the stage in the darkness of the viewing seats, walking in a crouch until she was right under the stage. She could hear his heavy footsteps on the old wooden planks as he returned, and she pulled her knees to her chest, hugging them and leaning her head back, trying to appear as small as she could and disappear into the shadows.
She listened to his long fingers pluck at the guitar strings, the instrument hum and his voice lull her to sleep. And she would have fallen asleep right then and there, had the song not come to an end.
The girl pouted, but shifted so she was kneeling, and stood up slowly so her eyes were above stage level. The boy had his back turned toward her again, now starting to walk toward the left side of the stage, and Charlotte took that opportunity to vault herself onto the stage and run toward the boy, who registered the sound of her footsteps and pulled his guitar off his shoulders, holding it up as a bat.
But there was no need to use it, as he was only attacked by a hug.
"Hamlet!" Charlotte squealed into his ear as he spun her around, one arm on her back and one holding his guitar.
"Lottie!" the boy laughed. He was the only person who called her that. Charlie was reserved for Tom, though she sometimes told people whom she wished to befriend to call her that as well, but they mostly resorted to her full name; and Lottie was reserved for Hamlet.
"I thought you wouldn't be able to come see me off." she said, frowning yet smiling, as she was lowered down from the hug.
"Surprise!" he opened his arms, before placing his guitar on the floor, "I was supposed to surprise you in the morning, you spoiled my plans!" he swatted at her arm, biting on his lip.
Charlotte huffed and crossed her arms over her chest, "If you were supposed to surprise me in the morning, why are you here in the middle of the night?"
"You almost gave me a heart attack, you looked just like mum a moment ago." he pointed at her, placing a hand over his heart, before walking deeper into the stage and grabbing a duffel bag.
"Then explain yourself, young man. Did you fly from Harvard in the middle of the night?" she let her arms fall to the side, following him as he took his guitar and jumped down from the stage.
"Not... really." he winced, turning around to look at her. She was his weakness.
"I wasn't at Harvard. Exams finished months ago. I was in LA for the past few weeks, recording an album." he sighed, looking down at his feet for a moment before looking up at her.
"So you sing now, like professionally?"
"Yes! But mum must never know about it." he was in front of her in two long steps, looking like he had wanted to put a hand over her mouth.
"She let Tom sing, he's got a band." Charlotte looked up at the boy as they started to head toward the hallway.
"Tom's the youngest, rules don't apply to him, he can do whatever the hell he wants." Hamlet shrugged, putting his guitar strap over his head, "But you and I, you know mum's sensitive when it comes to what we're doing with our lives.
"She's got high hopes for us." he proceeded, "Not that she doesn't have them for Tom, I mean, I've heard him sing, if the world was right side up, he'd have a future, but he doesn't have a big arse so it's still up in the air." he made a face, and Charlotte laughed.
But she understood what he was aiming at with their mother. And she understood why he didn't tell anyone he was in LA filming.
"But yeah, I was in LA, and the flight that would have brought me to your party got canceled, and the next one got me here now, and it's the middle of the night and time zones suck and jet lag sucks and I lost my key to the house and I'm not sleepy at all." he pounded his head against the door lightly once they reached it, and Charlotte had to wait for him to stop for them to go through.
"Well, that makes the two of us." she said as they started to climb the stairs. Hamlet passed his hand over the metal railing as they walked up, mumbling how he missed the feel of the place. But only of the theatre, the place to which they owed everything.
[A/N]
It's Wednesday, time for a BrIn update, aye!! This is Hamlet, he is a soft, protective big brother. I really love my casting and the entire Vaughan-Gilbert clan, you've no idea. Anyway, one more chapter to go and then we're infiltrating the MCU, cue evil laughter.
Thanks for reading, hope you enjoyed!