[ This is hardly the sort of role that Ferdinand would dream of sharing with Manuela under normal circumstances. Yes, as a teenager, he dreamed of the day that he might share a dance with her, sing a duet with her, or even be so fortunate as to bask in her resplendent performance. But the reality of the situation does little to dim the starstruck glimmer in his eyes.
It's hard for Ferdinand to insert himself into the role of a struggling student, given how diligent of one he had been. But the role of a student falling for a teacher, for this teacher? That's infinitely easier for him to imagine. Perhaps it's silly of him — he had been told, after all, that the plot was merely a flimsy excuse to put two actors into an intimate situation — but he can't put his heart into it without some sort of connection. With Manuela, that wouldn't even remotely be a concern.
He swallows the nervous lump in his throat as he walks to her desk, trying to focus on the role at hand. Is her line an ad libbed response to set the scene? Or has she caught on to those little glances of his over the years? ]
Yours is the only class to give me this amount of trouble, and it has nothing to do with how you teach.
[ The knot in his chest grows a little tighter, and as he puts his hand on her desk, he finds himself drawing upon his own experiences. More specifically, his experiences with her. ]
I try to pay attention, but whenever I look at you, all I can think about... [ He takes in a quick breath to soothe his nerves. He has to bring himself to be a bit more suggestive than he would like, but that doesn't mean he isn't also being honest. ] All I can think about is how if I had to choose between giving my all on the field and giving it to you instead... I would throw away this jacket right now.
[ Yes, throw away the jacket. What sort of idiot student would choose some silly game over a woman like Manuela? In one swift movement, Ferdinand pulls the jacket off of his shoulders and throws it to the floor in a most dramatic fashion. It's meant to be a bold declaration, like the hero of an opera declaring his intention to marry the diva's character even despite the odds. But it's undercut somewhat by how tight the shirt underneath is, hugging every last muscle on Ferdinand's chest and stomach and leaving precious little to the imagination.
The editors will probably have to cut out the sound of a crewmember nearly choking on donut crumbs. ]
no subject
It's hard for Ferdinand to insert himself into the role of a struggling student, given how diligent of one he had been. But the role of a student falling for a teacher, for this teacher? That's infinitely easier for him to imagine. Perhaps it's silly of him — he had been told, after all, that the plot was merely a flimsy excuse to put two actors into an intimate situation — but he can't put his heart into it without some sort of connection. With Manuela, that wouldn't even remotely be a concern.
He swallows the nervous lump in his throat as he walks to her desk, trying to focus on the role at hand. Is her line an ad libbed response to set the scene? Or has she caught on to those little glances of his over the years? ]
Yours is the only class to give me this amount of trouble, and it has nothing to do with how you teach.
[ The knot in his chest grows a little tighter, and as he puts his hand on her desk, he finds himself drawing upon his own experiences. More specifically, his experiences with her. ]
I try to pay attention, but whenever I look at you, all I can think about... [ He takes in a quick breath to soothe his nerves. He has to bring himself to be a bit more suggestive than he would like, but that doesn't mean he isn't also being honest. ] All I can think about is how if I had to choose between giving my all on the field and giving it to you instead... I would throw away this jacket right now.
[ Yes, throw away the jacket. What sort of idiot student would choose some silly game over a woman like Manuela? In one swift movement, Ferdinand pulls the jacket off of his shoulders and throws it to the floor in a most dramatic fashion. It's meant to be a bold declaration, like the hero of an opera declaring his intention to marry the diva's character even despite the odds. But it's undercut somewhat by how tight the shirt underneath is, hugging every last muscle on Ferdinand's chest and stomach and leaving precious little to the imagination.
The editors will probably have to cut out the sound of a crewmember nearly choking on donut crumbs. ]