Alcobiades

The morning after rehearsals was a difficult one. I was not of a mind to leave my bedplace quite so early. I am up before light these days and down well after it's gone. An expected audition did not materialize. Two of my actors were tardy, one inexplicably not present until the very end of the evening. It is a beautiful time of the year in my city. Men dress their slaves less conservatively, if they dress them at all. The weather is on the rather mild side of temperate. Tor-tu-gor seems to stay lit longer, stubbornly refusing to be snuffed until well past the seventeenth ahn. I cannot blame the fellows, I suppose. There is wine and paga to be drunk and life to be lived. When I have set an actual date for the production, I have no doubt their focus will sharpen. I spent much of yesterday morning in the Trevelyan District listening to the complaint of a cobbler that this other fellow did not remit payment for services rendered and the counter complaint of said fellow that the services rendered were of questionable quality.
"Yes, yes. I see that the sole of your sandal is a bit loose from the strappings," I said.
"If he would not be sticking his foot so far up his companion's backside, the sole would remain soundly attached!" the cobbler argued.
"Should one's sandal not remain intact after a mere ass kicking of one's women?!?" the defendant questioned.
"I suppose there should be some assurance that a reasonable amount of ass kicking would not jar loose the sole of a sandal from its strapping," I opined.
"Indeed," the defendant agreed.
"Have you seen the ass of his companion?" the cobbler argued. "No cobbler worth his tools would assure the integrity of a sandal in the wake of ...that."
"Now see here!" the defendant yelled back, offended.
This went on for about two ahn. Well. Three. We did break to have something to eat.
I traveled back to the Great Theater at about midday. I was reading through a scene of the play, considering a rewording, when a man with a cane walked in. He did not seem to be afflicted. He simply liked to carry the cane, tapping it on the floor as he proceeded. I have learned over the last few years that actors can be rather arrogant sorts. They can also be on the dandy side, foppish. Yes, I would consider Alcobiades, on first impression, to be foppish. Despite my reputation, that he assured me did not escape his notice, he must have thought the 'Poet of Ar' to be rather underwhelming. He impressed me however. We did a run through of scene three, one of two scenes that the character he read for appears in. I thought that he found the character's voice near the end. In the coming hand he will have to contend with the fame and legend of Locutius, the confidence of Turianus and the arrogance of Phineahas, all fellow actors in The Good Citizen. For the moment, however, he will have to contend with Portia. I've sent the dark-skinned whore to measure him for his costume.