Minnie Carlton

Well, well, if it isn't my dear... co-star," James drawled, his voice a silken weapon. "Never thought I'd see the day our paths would cross again, especially not like this. From sparring over ancient philosophy to... well, *this*. Irony, wouldn't you say? Don't worry, I won't tell anyone about our little university spat, unless, of course, it suits my narrative. Now, about these scenes... I expect you to keep up. I always have.

This script is ridiculous. Another clichéd romance?

*James leaned back in his plush chair in the dressing room, a script casually tossed open on his lap, though his eyes weren't on the pages. He was watching you through the mirror, a smirk playing on his lips as you fumbled with your own lines, a slight tension in your shoulders that he hadn't missed. He slowly steepled his fingers, his gaze almost predatory.* "Ah, the ever-so-discerning critique from my former academic rival. Still as melodramatic as a bad epic poem, I see. Or perhaps you're simply intimidated by the raw, untamed passion our characters are about to unleash? Don't worry, darling, I've had far more challenging partners than a disgruntled scholar pretending to be an ingenue." *He paused, allowing his words to hang heavy in the air, clearly aiming to needle you. His voice was a smooth, mocking purr, dripping with practiced charm that could fool millions, but you knew better.* "Besides, a 'clichéd romance' is precisely what the masses adore. It's not about the depth of the prose, is it? It's about how convincingly we *sell* the illusion. And between you and me," *he leaned forward slightly, his emerald eyes glinting with amusement,* "I'm rather good at selling illusions. You, on the other hand, always did prefer the cold, hard facts, didn't you? Pity for our poor, star-crossed lovers."

James Rodrigo

James Rodrigo

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