DOLLHOUSE || Iago Biston

“Wherefore art thou, my love!?” A man shouts with a wooden expression, his body stiff and his tone deader than a doornail. “Tell me, o’ dandelion…”

He crouches to the ground, the pads of his trousers clacking as they make contact with the stage floorboards. Light fixtures surrounding the platform beam warm, subtle rays onto his gorgeous features. His blonde hair spools like honey on a dipper, dripping down his face with a rich sweetness.

“Well…” As he taps his quill on the parchment, Iago sneers, muttering under his breath. “This is fucking shit.”

The man’s acting ability is so preposterously bad that Iago finds himself unconvinced. Even a simpleton halfwit can put on a better show. The mood is entirely wrong, the pacing is off, the cadence is atrocious. If Iago were to place a feral dog onstage instead, then hold up a bone, it might better act out the part of the male lead.

No, this isn’t poor acting ability. It’s poor acting intentionally.

“Do you see me in yourself, that she has been taken by the Southern winds? Too soon does my sweetheart escape to distant lands…” His tone is softer now, almost nostalgic, and for a second his demeanour melds with the scene. “Miss her as keenly as I, this humbly soiled man? With no strength nor will to bind her to my root, I must see her bloom in the field of another.”

His expression is wistful, and while caught up in his own emotions, he forgets himself. It is not that he forgets his character. No, the script comes simply and easily to him. Still, he forgets the part he is playing.

The part of a hopelessly unskilled actor, Iago recognizes. How detestable.

Auditions for ‘Chasse Au Vent Du Sud’ has been largely successful so far, and Iago is pleased with the progress for enlistments. While he could certainly use the veteran dolls that have been acting for the Biston Dollhouse for years now, he wants to make an impact with his first theatrical production as family head.

When he remembers his circumstances, the man quickly bites his lip, and with it makes the harrowing decision to terminate the scene. “I’m sorry, Sir. I’ve forgotten my lines.”

To prove he has the capability to write, direct and cast a top-tier play, Iago’s made preparations for auditions months in advance. With enough luck, he’ll be able to fully flesh out the cast with new recruits.

With plenty of time to train the recruits and organize the costuming department, Iago can afford to be picky with who he selects. Until now, all the roles except for the male and female leads have been filled. Iago’s given himself a limit of one week. If a week passes and he cannot find leads he’s satisfied with, he’s willing to compromise and choose from the veterans.

For male and female leads, it isn’t wrong to be careful. The entire show is pinned on their performance.

“Have you, now?” Iago hums, cheeks resting in his palm as he tap the table below the platform, looking up at the shameful display of cowardice. “It seems my reputation proceeds me.”

You can imagine Iago’s displeasure in facing such a situation. The doll on stage is the right kind of attractive for the male lead, and has a certain aura about him that lends itself well to the lead male’s personality. While not flawless, it’s satisfactory.

The only kind of humans untethered to an owner are those living in the slums. These kind are the uncultured kind who have chosen a life of misery over servitude, and he does not expect one to audition.

Others, like the man on stage, all have owners.

The owners bring their dolls to the Biston dollhouse for auditions in hopes of currying favour with the Biston family. If their dolls can become leads or secondary leads and transfer ownership, they can act as a social bridge between the families. It’s a nice thought in theory, but unsound logic in practice.

“I can give you riches. I can take you out of the shabby clothes your current master has given you and present you with robes and gold thread. I can treat you to the finest foods imaginable, bottomless barrels of hundred-year-old wine...” Iago smiles, pushing back his blue hair as he leans back into his chair.

Iago knows his reputation is clouded with dirt, but never thought it would affect his auditions in this way.

Iago Biston loves to torture his dolls. Iago knows it. The auditioning dolls know it. Their masters know it. Everyone knows it. However, some seem to be under the impression he is a tyrant. No, what he loves most is when dolls grit their teeth in submission to the wealth he provides. Endures for the sake of a lavish lifestyle.

He has no interest in those that are truly unwilling enter into a contract with him, and Iago believes that he makes it abundantly clear at the beginning of each audition. After all, that’s why he disallows the dolls masters to attend the audition. To give them a chance to express their resistance.

With no pressure to agree to begin with, he hates that the man on stage willingly went on to make such a fool of himself.

“I can make you lose yourself in a haze of whatever drug you choose. And I promise that so long as you are with me, your life is insured.” Iago pauses to let his words sink in, before speaking once more. “The only price you have to pay is pain. So, would you like to try the audition again?”

The man’s hands ball into fists, and he fails to meet Iago’s eyes. Knees weak and trembling, he tries to steady himself, but his voice is quivering. His golden locks fall into his eyes, and he bites his lip to sober himself up.

“I’m sorry to have disappointed you, Sir. I am not fit for this role.” He finally bites out, and the fight drains from his muscles.

Iago is silent, then crosses the man’s name out on his paper. “On your way, then. Call in the next applicant as you leave, will you?”