Title: Midsummer's Night
Author: Kelandris the Mad
Fandom: View Askewniverse
Pairing: Jay/Silent Bob
Rating: PG for language. Dreaded Musefic.
Status: posted somewhen in 2002
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Email address for feedback: Kelandris
Series/Sequel: Independent. I hope there won't be a sequel!
Disclaimers: All characters belong to Kevin Smith and the View Askewniverse, or to me. If I really get into this, I probably will too. Or at least go into hock when I walk into a video store, go into rut, and buy all the DVDs at once.
Notes: I have no idea where I get these ideas. This is seriously weird even for me. And I wanted to put Jay in the dress, darn it.
Summary: Jay and Bob are in a show!
Warnings: Language. Some kissing. And Dreaded Musefic, I mentioned that, right?


"Midsummer's Night"
by Kelandris the Mad


A tall man, somewhat resembling a certain fallen angel named Bartleby, walks out on stage. He wears a red and black slashed doublet, a cream lace ruff, parti-colored hose and a wry expression. Silent, he slides a large card onto a waiting easel. The card says:

A MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM

He waits a beat, then slides another large card over the first.

This card says: ENTER DEMETRIUS, HELENA FOLLOWING HIM

He grins at the crowd, bows precisely, and exits STAGE RIGHT.

Immediately after he leaves, a thin man with long, blond hair caught up in a long, braided queue walks on stage. He's wearing a black and grey striped doublet, dark hose, and a confused expression. He looks off-stage. Applause breaks out in the audience, and he stares forward, eyes round in shock. Whistles and cheers start up, and he takes a step back.

Then he looks down. The audience can see him visibly gulp, and laughs uproariously. Gulping again, he makes for STAGE LEFT, only to be confronted with someone else approaching the stage.

This individual is heavyset, and wears a long dress of embroidered lawn, with a bodice of burgundy velvet and cream lace cuffs. The shoulder-length dark hair is curled back from the forehead, and hangs in loosely twisted pleats over the shoulders. The lips are painted red, the face wears a panicked expression, and the head is violently shaking no. Hands push him forcefully on stage, and he steps forward several paces, shaking.

The blond looks at the man in the dress, then looks around at the audience.

"Dude, this is fucked!" he says loudly. Bob glares at Jay, daring him to say anything. Jay waves his hands.

"Dude, this was so not me, I swear to God."

He looks down at himself again, indicating his own outfit. Then he looks out at the crowd.

"What the hell is this? Where the hell are we? What the hell is going on?"

The extremely familiar man appears again, shrugs to the waiting crowd, and hands Jay a sheet of paper, smiling. He turns to Bob, repeats the gesture. Then he walks offstage again.

Jay looks down, begins to slowly read.

"I love thee not, therefore pursue me not.
Where is Lysander and fair Hermia?
The one I'll slay, the other slayeth me."

He looks up. "You gotta be kidding me." The audience applauds helpfully.

"Thou told'st me they were stolen unto this wood;
And here am I, and wode within this wood,
Because I cannot meet my Hermia.
Hence, get thee gone, and follow me no more."

Jay looks at Bob, trying to inch offstage. One hand comes out from behind the curtains, waves a finger warningly--'tsk, tsk, tsk'. Bob sighs, looking at the paper in his hand.

"You draw me, you hard-hearted adamant;
But yet you draw not iron, for my heart
Is true as steel: leave you your power to draw,
And I shall have no power to follow you."

In his mouth, the words become less compulsion and more honest plea. Jay slides a sidelong look his way, scratches his leg, and looks down at the paper again.

"Do I entice you? do I speak you fair?
Or, rather, do I not in plainest truth
Tell you, I do not, nor I cannot love you?"

"Fuck this," Jay says, crumpling up the paper. He throws it at the crowd. The crowd screams its delight. The man in the red and black doublet appears again, hands Jay a fresh sheet, and leaves.

Bob sighs, reading the next lines.

"And even for that do I love you the more.
I am your spaniel--"

Bob looks offstage. "'I am your spaniel'?" he says in an offended voice. Hands appear, making shooing motions. **Go on, read it,** they seem to say. He sighs again, shaking his head.

"I am your spaniel; and, Demetrius,
The more you beat me, I will fawn on you:
Use me but as your spaniel, spurn me, strike me,
Neglect me, lose me, only give me leave,
Unworthy as I am, to follow you."

Bob looked up, stared at the audience for a long moment. When he continued, he sounded less offended, and more shaken.

"What worser place can I beg in your love--
And yet a place of high respect with me--
Than to be used as you use your dog?"

Jay looks distinctly uncomfortable now. He stares at the paper, as if he wants to crumple this one up and throw it, too, but he stops himself. Quietly, he reads the last line to his black embroidered shoes, and drops the paper to flutter to the hard wood of the stage.

"Tempt not too much the hatred of my spirit;
For I am sick when I do look on thee."

Bob looks over, staring directly at Jay. "And I am sick when I look not on you," he says softly, and the crowd goes wild. He hadn't looked down at his last line, and now tosses the paper over his shoulder. He takes a step forward, the train of the dress dragging, looking up at Jay's still face. He reaches up a lace-covered hand, nearly touching the other man's cheek, before he remembers the audience. The hand drops to whack Jay's arm instead. They both turn, bowing, before Bob remembers something else. Grimacing, he curtseys unsteadily, then they both leave the stage to thunderous applause.

Walking backstage, they confront a satisfied Kel at the soundboard. Her burgundy hair is in braids, and she's wrapped in a blue shawl, sipping herbal tea. Bob shakes his head warningly.

"What?" she says. "It was cute."

"Fuck cute. You think we don't got our own ideas?" He grabs Bob, pulls him close, kisses him thoroughly until the other man is breathing heavily. He pulls away, glaring at Kel again, Bob weaving at his side.

"Oh yeah," he says, "we got *plenty* of our own ideas. We don't need you helpin' with--what the fuck *is* this?"

"Doublet and hose." She looks mystified.

"And what the fuck is with Bob in a dress?"

"Shakespeare couldn't cast women in his plays, it wasn't allowed. So men played all the female parts. I could have put you in the dress," she offers helpfully.

"I oughta pop you one, bitch, for even *thinkin'* that shit!"

He looks over at Bob's dreamy expression, and sighs in total exasperation. "Man, now *this* fat bitch is gonna be gone for days, thinking of me in a goddamn dress. Thank you *very* much!"

She shrugs, trying to look repentant and failing. "Well, hey, there's the costume shop," she says, gesturing with the mug. "Go and change. I'm not stopping you."

"'Bout damn time you said that," Jay mutters, and walks off. He stops, turning towards Bob. "Hey, you think--?" He leans forward, whispering in Bob's ear, and Bob turns an immediate brick red. They move quickly for the costume shop.

Kel starts to laugh, chokes it off when she hears Jay.

"Bitch, you laugh, I swear to God I will sit in your room tonight in that Girl Scout uniform and pelt you with cookies, all fucking night long!"

"Okay, I give, I give!" she yells, and picks up her mug of tea. Humming happily, she leaves the stage, flicking off all the power--save the costume shop. She leaves the keys hanging by the door, sure in the fact that, whenever they surface, her boys will lock up.

"'All the world's a stage,'" she said softly, "'and all the men and women merely players...'"


END
*****************
Kelandris the Mad
oh my luve is like a red red rose


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