When asked how to describe his only daughter, Colin Harrington-Kelly had come up with one word: dramatic amongst others, but that’s besides the point. So was it any wonder that Felicity was hovering outside the Room of Requirement waiting to audition for the school play? At least, she couldn’t help but think to herself, it wasn’t a musical. Musicals were absolutely no fun if you couldn’t sing well, and obviously this girls prowess was relegated to the shower. And what were the roles that non-singers took in musicals? Trees.

TREES.

If there was one thing Felicity wasn’t, it was ready to be a tree. Waiting outside of the room and watching other students come and go, she found herself absorbed in the monologue she’d prepared, reciting the lines over and over in her head in between taking deep breaths. So focused was she that she completely missed Flynn going in and coming back out, and missing the goings on with that boy was not something she usually did. It was, however, probably for the best: Felicity would have felt nothing but confusion at the idea of him auditioning, and over-analysis of her… friends actions would have been totally distracting.

As her name was called, the Slytherin swallowed hard and timidly pushed the door open, offering Professor Myers a rather nervous smile that said she was totally ready to be on stage. Not. Her hands shook as she clutched the paper in her hand and climbed onto the stage, and no deep breaths were helping her calm down right then.

Why did it have to be so blood difficult? To perform in front of one person? What was she going to be like in front of the rest of the school?! "I’m…. Hi, Professor! I’m… Well, I’m auditioning for any role, really," the American said, honestly. "And I’m going to do Juliet’s monologue from Romeo and Juliet."

Because that’s what British people did when they auditioned for plays and stuff, right? Read The Baron – or whatever his nickname might’ve been. And she could be British, although the accent she could do reflected the people she lived near in Mayfair. "The clock struck nine when I… uh, I did send the nurse," Felicity started, her voice quiet, falling on the side of nervousness, rather than the excitement that Juliet was supposed to feel. "In half an hour she promised to…. Come back.." Maybe that was because, honestly, she had no clue what on Merlin’s good Earth she was actually talking about.

Suddenly, any small hint of character was gone, and Felicity dropped the paper from her hands. "I’m sorry! Can I…. Can I start again, Professor? Can I…." This time, she swallowed, biting her lip slightly to stop the embarrassed tears from falling: this time, she was going to do something she knew, not ancient words she didn’t understand.

"Okay, people!" Her voice was commanding, firm, and she looked Professor Myers directly in the eye as she spoke, her hands finding their place on her hips. She could do unimpressed. The English accent stayed strong as she continued. "I wished upon a star, so I guess it does make a different who I are!" Cue the eyeroll. "Do I have to be some poor nobody? Do I need some kind of… Of kryptonite, like a little pea?!" Her hands came up at this, in exasperation. "Did my prince get turned into a frog and is now hiding in some creepy bog –" Face pulling. "- waiting for me to find him?" She shook her head and let out a long, annoyed breath. "I don’t even know how to swim.

"What’s the use of dreaming anymore? No one is beating down my door. I need to be some damsel in distress to get some attention, I guess." Her tone indicated that the idea of being a damsel in distress was insulting. "Where’s my Prince Charming? Is there something about me that’s alarming? All I get is Prince Pampered –" she continued sarcastically, starting to walk across the front of the stage. "- who spends his whole like hampered by being royally stuck up. Or there’s Prince Never Grow Up, who is way too pretty in his curls. UGH! All these boys make me want to hurl!"

She finished by returning to the centre of the stage, hands gripping the sides of her head in infuriation, where she paused for a moment before letting her hands fall and the pink flush creep up the sides of her cheeks. "Thanks, Sir." Contrary to the way she’d performed, her voice now was quiet, and she hurried past the Herbology Professor and out of the room before he could say anything.

OOC: The second monologue is the first half of "Where's My Prince Charming?" from The Ghosts of Detention by D. M. Larson.