Note: This was an assignment from Musical Theatre used to explore the characters I wished to portray in the musical.
Angelina Almanza
AMT3M1
Mrs. Alexander-lui
Ms. Clarke
September 9, 2017
Character Autobiographies
Village Character
“Bonjour!” I warmly called out, before hearing my neighbors reply back. They didn’t sound nearly as excited as I, but I did not care. There was plenty to do, and not nearly enough time!
My eyes made contact with another female who was looking around frantically, and I made my way towards her. I suppose I could spare a few moments with her before I had to run my morning errands.
“Have you seen my cat?” She asked worriedly, whirling her head around. My eyebrows furrowed, and I moved my basket of hats to one side as I frowned.
“No.” I said, now also worried. “Not since she came by my door late last night asking for milk.” Which also reminded me, I needed to pick up my pay for milking farmer Jacques cows this morning.
Assumably noticing our worried postures, three more women walked up to us-including the lady who always reeked of fish. I shifted away from her slightly. After explaining the situation however, they too enjoyed the us in looking for the poor ginger kit.
The sausage girl, as I called her, suddenly pointed to a tree, and we all looked up it to spy the orange fluff lounging on a branch.
I was momentarily satisfied, but then I saw the daughter of the inventor stroll down judging us all. She was strange, liked books, and didn’t fit in here. But there was no denying she was naturally beautiful, and had stolen Gaston’s heart.
Leaving the group, I walked around town to finish my errands while making note to all the strange things Belle was doing. She entered the library, only to leave a couple minutes after with a book she had read multiple times!-Not that I would know.
Walking up to a vendor, I scanned his wares.
“What lovely grapes!” I exclaimed as I studied their vibrant purple hue. It had been so long since I had had any of the juicy fruit, but I knew I could not afford to make such a purchase at the moment.
Walking to the baker's shop, I ask for a loaf. Marie passes me one and before I pay, I notice something. Squeezing the bread, it does not make a satisfying crumbling sound, but instead is stiff as rock.
“This bread is stale!” I say irritated before walking off angered.
I finally finish my task, and set up for my main job, selling hats. If only I was in stead in Paris, designing beautiful dresses for the rich to wear…
A female visitor comes to my stand, and tries on a hat. As I hold up a mirror for her, she greedily eyes the sausages in the cart beside me before snatching one and running off with it and my hat.
Shocked, I snatch up my basket and chase after her with the infuriated sausage girl. Looks like my meal money will come from the tavern tonight…
Palace Servant
I move away from a vase containing a dozen unadulterated roses, painfully conscious of how such a fragile vessel could shatter. The disaster could be envisioned vividly. Loud ringing of the glass as it splintered, the white leaflets bruising as they hit the tiled floor, and the disgusted look the prince would wear as he glided across the hall to deliver my punishment. The fear I would feel from his gaze, it would waterfall over my entire being. In no way would it be possible for my actions to go unnoticed in a grand party such as this one, unlike my previous calamity. At the moment, his current focus was on the beautiful pairs dancing at the center, but the lord only knows what would happen should I cause a scene.
Attempting to stop the slight shaking in my hands, I hold out my silver tray as one of the lovely ladies in white took a refreshment. My only job was to stand around and offer glasses of champagne to the thirsty habitué, and it had to be done with the utmost discretion. We servants were not to draw attention to ourselves at any costs, the prince had told us all himself. He did not want a repeat of last time, and no one wanted what had happened to the poor serving boy to happen to them.
Noticing the emptiness of my tray, I scurry to the closest servant door at the side of the beautiful hall and step through, the music of the party becomes distant background noise. I take a moment and relish in the void of the stone hall. It was cool here, especially compared to the heat in the room next door, and the weaker lights were a welcomed change to my eyes. A slight wrinkle in my apron caught my attention, and I straightened it out before double-checking the rest of my uniform. My bonnet was slightly lopsided, and I could feel some of my auburn hair sticking out. That was enough to set me into a small panic. Had it been showing sloppily this whole time? Would someone make a comment to the prince about an inappropriately dressed servant? Would they mock him for having someone like me in his presence? Finally noticing how long I had stood in the corridor set my heart a flutter, and I rushed in the direction of the kitchen, the pressure on my chest greater than before.
The voices of Ms. Potts and the chief could be heard even before I entered the hectic room. They called for the help to prepare appetizers and pour more champagne while quickly completing their tasks, and Ms. Potts took immediate notice of my entrance.
“Champagne?” I asked, attempting to answer her assumed unspoken question.
With a nod to a counter parallel to herself, she went back to making sure all napkins were freshly pressed for the dinner later this evening.
Narrowly dodging another server, I made my way over to the surface supporting silver trays. As I carefully pick it up, I am addressed.
“Adriane, a word please.” They say in a voice that could only belong to them. I tense, and place the tray back down. Moisture gathers at the nape of my neck, and I turn towards the man beckoning me into the hall.
“Yes Sir.” I say with my head bowed. Taking weighted steps, I head towards him and leave the safety of the kitchen.
It was silent as the door to the room shuts, and I gaze upon the very floors I polished that morning, awaiting the news he would be giving me. My nails dug into my fingertips, and I began to scratch-a terrible habit, really, but I could not help it. And just like that, my mind began racing to the worst. Would he be telling me that after all my years of service, they would no longer be needing my help? Had all my clumsy accidents caught up and they were finally done with me? Was I being sent out into the cold night on my own to never return?
“You’ve been moved to polishing the silverware.” Was what he instead said. I stared at him for a tick, not quite understanding.
“Pardon?” Was my smart reply.
Taking in a deep breath, something he did when he was slightly ticked off, he repeated himself.
“Sil-ver-ware,” He began slowly. “You are polishing it now.” He sighed. “You need to work on understanding clear instructions! Honestly! Your attention to explanation is atrocious! You do realize that if your family had not been loyally working here as long as they have that you would have been thrown out a long time ago, correct?”
I nod my head, fully aware of that fact. The multiple times I had spilled dirty water down the hall and knocked over books in the library flashed through my mind. Even the one time a destroyed a vase in front of the kind-hearted late queen. I was only allotted a measly half portion of food for an entire year and a half to pay it off. Most servants would be sent out with nothing on the spot, but the generous queen did not. Her son however, was not like her. If I made any mistakes during his reign, I would surely not live to see 26.
Satisfied with my response, he muttered in approval.
“Cogsworth!” Another servant who I knew to be Lumiere called from down the hall. “Cogsworth! We may have a slight problem!”
“What!” The man in front of me asked looking horrified. I watched as he raced to his direction and only managed to catch a few words before they left my earshot. “What kind of problem are you talking about?”
Taking another moment to settle myself, I turned back into the kitchen and walked to where a pile of unpolished spoons were before sitting down on a stool and brightening one. And then another. And another and so forth.
After my twentieth or so spoon, I came across one that was dull and scratched. It looked as though it had been used plenty of times by children. Staring at it, I began to wear a troubled expression before I could finally hear it. The screaming. Spoon in hand, I got up and looked around the room, making eye contact with the other worried servants before a tingling feeling resonated through the air.
“Mama, what’s going on?” I could hear the small voice of Chip asking.
And that was the last thing I heard before there was a brilliant light that turned all dark.
