I'm going to be incredibly narcissistic today.
Introductions
Emma Che, clad in military-style clothing, had the group stand in a circle together. Still strangers, we played a name game to get to know eachother. "Chez" "Annabelle" "CJ" "Phoebe" "Carlie" "Lachlan" "Reilly" "Shanae" we called one after another. It was a funny phenomenon, Annabelle thought to herself, that every time she started a new workshop, she stood with the people she knew and ignored everyone else at first, and by the end of the course, will have made best friends with the new people.
After two and a half hours of character writing, space jump and generally being idiots, the group took a much needed break. Annabelle pushed CJ playfully on their way to the rec room
"How the knitted sweaters are you even WALKING, yet alone running? I am so friggin tired" she whined.
"Maybe it's the fact that I'm better than you at everything, Miss Kent." he said with a thick scottish accent, which gave Annabelle butterflies. He would never know, but Annabelle thought his accent, and him in general, were adorable. They entered the rec room to see the rest of the group lounging on bean bags or on old, beaten up mattresses, with 'Joy Division' pumping through the stereo. Heaven, Annabelle thought, as she collapsed into Marlon Brando, her beloved beanbag. Everyone at Backbone knew the three rules of the company, as they were proudly posted above Andrew, the head director's office;
1. Be a good audience
2. Nobody is a failure
3. Unless your name is Annabelle, don't touch Marlon.
Leaning back into the well worn folds of the beanbag, Annabelle took a moment to really appreciate her surroundings. Good music, good friends and a beanbag to call her own. She was comfortable, at home, and in her absolute element. She was feeling so good, so relaxed, and so tired, she decided to rest her eyes momentarily. The introduction to "Love Will Tear Us Apart" began to play, and Carlie began to speak, but all sounds became inaudible, and swirled together in a beautiful cacophony.
After two and a half hours of character writing, space jump and generally being idiots, the group took a much needed break. Annabelle pushed CJ playfully on their way to the rec room
"How the knitted sweaters are you even WALKING, yet alone running? I am so friggin tired" she whined.
"Maybe it's the fact that I'm better than you at everything, Miss Kent." he said with a thick scottish accent, which gave Annabelle butterflies. He would never know, but Annabelle thought his accent, and him in general, were adorable. They entered the rec room to see the rest of the group lounging on bean bags or on old, beaten up mattresses, with 'Joy Division' pumping through the stereo. Heaven, Annabelle thought, as she collapsed into Marlon Brando, her beloved beanbag. Everyone at Backbone knew the three rules of the company, as they were proudly posted above Andrew, the head director's office;
1. Be a good audience
2. Nobody is a failure
3. Unless your name is Annabelle, don't touch Marlon.
Leaning back into the well worn folds of the beanbag, Annabelle took a moment to really appreciate her surroundings. Good music, good friends and a beanbag to call her own. She was comfortable, at home, and in her absolute element. She was feeling so good, so relaxed, and so tired, she decided to rest her eyes momentarily. The introduction to "Love Will Tear Us Apart" began to play, and Carlie began to speak, but all sounds became inaudible, and swirled together in a beautiful cacophony.