[h3][i]Freddie Blackwell[/i][/h3][hr]Freddie was surprised to see his roommate appear in the Theatre Studies class; he hadn't been present the previous lessons, and frankly Freddie didn't have him down as the dramatic type. Then Kieran presented him with his satchel, before quickly escaping the room, barely giving the grateful Freddie chance to call out a 'thank you' after him. The class was beginning, however, so Freddie assumed that Kieran must be especially late, having brought him his forgotten bag before heading off to his own class. He made a mental note to thank him properly later... For as Miss Brown began to speak, it soon emerged that he had more pressing matters to attend to.

"This year, we'll be doing a production of Ian Doescher's 'William Shakespeare's Star Wars Verily, A New Hope'."

The teacher's words hit Freddie like a freight train, and for a moment all seemed still for him; knocked senseless by what Miss Brown had announced so casually. For a split second, he was convinced the wretched woman had smirked at him, slightly enough to avoid the perception of those whom had not been paying the same attention he currently fixed upon her. He scowled furiously, but remained silent. A low rumble of thunder swiftly spoke for him.

"At least it's still Shakespeare," Mari said. Freddie wasn't sure if that was supposed to be some kind of supportive note intended to comfort him, but he simply looked at her in horror; his mouth dropped and eyes wide in utter disbelief that the girl could even consider this to be 'still Shakespeare'. It was an atrocity; a shame upon everything the Bard had ever scrawled. Still shocked, Freddie turned back to face Miss Brown as another growl boomed from the skies; closer, this time.

Freddie seethed silently. Why was this woman acting as though Macbeth was never on the cards? She had been less than subtle in her implicit references that the Scot's Play would be their production for this semester; of course, she'd never obviously stated it... But she'd definitely allowed Freddie to continue with his understanding, despite it being quite obvious that he was going for the lead. He'd been rehearsing tirelessly; he had nailed two or three scenes in particular that he was still debating between for the auditions, and now... [i]This...[/i]

Freddie's phone [i]blooped[/i] loudly in his bag, but he didn't check it. Miss Brown was already debriefing them on how she'd sent a copy of the damned disgrace they were expected to engage with. [i]How thoughtful of her...[/i] he hissed to himself, still not uttering a word allowed. The clouds outside were beginning to truly blacken by this stage, and the thunder sounded as though it was pretty much directly overhead. A firm rain reasserted itself upon the windows, as Freddie continued to fix his glare upon the poor excuse for a teacher; hoping that, perhaps he would outdo himself, and some godly burst of lighting would strike her down on the spot.

Alas, she fell not, and Mari began to recruit a group under her instruction. Freddie was totally disengaged with the action around him as the class began to shuffle, his eyes still burning with fury upon Miss Brown.

"Is something wrong, Mr. Blackwell?" she asked, in a way that struck the Brit as jeeringly polite. It was the final straw; his eyes narrowed and a flash of lightning briefly illuminated the room. He rose to his feet.

"Do you take me for some kind of fool, Miss Brown?" he asked, his accent thick amidst his rage. "Is the theatre some kind of joke to you? What right do you have to stand before us, mocking the heritage of the very language you dare to speak?" he spat venomously. He was unintentionally melodramatic, as was often the case when he felt the things he loved were being threatened. Of course, it might seem to the others that Freddie was unnecessarily angry... But the stage meant something to him, especially Shakespeare, and he would defend it with his last breath.

"That's quite enough, thank you, Freddie. Take a seat." She said firmly, before adding: "[i]Now.[/i]"

Freddie's only response was a gaze of defiance, emboldened as he folded his arms and raised an eyebrow. It was likely a shock to the other students: of course, Freddie had had his moments of rebellion here and there, but nothing quite on this scale. He'd been making a conscious effort to avoid such an episode before this seemingly out-of-character outburst.

"Mr. Blackwell," she replied, more angrily this time though doing a good job of masking it. "Whether you approve of me or my selection for this year's production, is of no interest to me." she said, staring him down. "I am your teacher. We will be performing Doescher's Shakespearean take on Star Wars." she said, matter-of-factly. "[i]All[/i] of us."

That did it. Someone burst into the room, late, but Freddie paid them no attention as a thick fog swept in through the now-open door; hanging heavily in the air and filling the room with a sharp chill. It created a moody and theatrical atmosphere; one fitting of the stage... And that was precisely what Freddie desired in order to make his point. The production had to be Macbeth; or he wouldn't be part of it at all. Better yet... There wouldn't [i]be[/i] one at all. 

"Come, seeling night," he said, adopting a convincing Scottish accent and channelling a spirit that was not his own. "Scarf up the tender eye of pitiful day, and with thy bloody and invisible hand cancel and tear to pieces that great bond which keeps me pale." He recited the words clearly and with conviction; people could say whatever they pleased about Freddie, but it was decidedly difficult to criticise his acting abilities. Freddie stood there, of course... But the words he spoke came from somewhere else. He was but a puppet in the moment.

Stephanie raised an eyebrow, but did not falter. "Very good, Freddie. Now take a seat."

Freddie moved away from the table, the fog swirling around his feet in his wake as his eyes locked upon her own. She knew the words were meant for her. "Light thickens, and the crow makes wing to th' rooky wood. Good things of day begin to droop and drowse; while night’s black agents to their preys do rouse." Each word was delivered with perfect temperament, Freddie's own rage converted into the wistful sense of impending danger that the script required. Miss Brown was growing increasingly annoyed.

"Freddie, I will not warn you again. Take a seat immediately or you won't take part in the production at all." she warned him, but Freddie was too far gone to be swayed. With the stubbornness inherited from his father, and his before him, he walked past the late-comer and stood in the doorframe, turning back to face Miss Brown with an expression of sly victory behind his eyes.

"Thou marvel’st at my words: but hold thee still." he said, pointing at the teacher dramatically. "Things bad begun make strong themselves by ill." He said, holding both his eyecontact and his outstretched finger for a moment longer, before the character seemed to crack and he focussed his eyes briefly upon Mari, half-expectantly. "So, prithee, go with me." he said, before storming down the corridor. Whether his friend chose to heed his call was beyond his control.

As he headed out into the storm and back towards his dorm, quickly becoming very wet, only one thing was clear to him in that moment: it seemed he would have Tuesday mornings free for the foreseeable future.