#perclyn

Anne looks away from putting on her lipstick to the presence in the doorway of her shared dressing room via mirror. Capping the tube, she addresses him. "One, why are you here, and two, how did you get in here?"

Her uninvited, but welcomed, guest leans against the door frame. "Can't I not watch my talented girlfriend in the show she's in?"

"Got me there." She adjusts her space buns whilst still looking at the mirror. "But seriously, aren't you supposed to be at work or something right now? Seeing our show should be the least of your priorities."

"Oh come on Nan, lighten up. I'm on my break anyway. I was grabbing a snack at the Theatre Café, so I might as well stop by to see you guys before going back."

Putting the finishing touches on her make-up and smoothing down her skirt, she finally comes face to face with the Earl.

"Huh," she gives him a small smile. "Now isn't that-"

"Ladies of the Six company, This is your 15 minute call. 15 minute call, thank you."

Both looked up at the speaker of the room as it spoke.  The beheaded queen then muttered, "Thank you 15."

Resting her hands on her hips, she absentmindedly plays with the mic holster of her costume...

...In which the said object is not there.

She glances at it for a split second before looking around. She lifts up some of the things scattered about on the table each of them share, her anxiety rising steadily the longer she can't find her microphone.

"I swear to god where did I put that bugger-"

"Ahem, looking for something?"

Whirling around to see her boyfriend once again, he now holds in his grasp the familiar gold mic with a green stripe standing out.

Anne narrows her eyes at him. "Give. That. To. Me."

"Make me." He merely gave her a smirk.

Without warning, she launches herself to him, inevitably starting the tug-of-war between her and him. The microphone acting as a somewhat rope in between.

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Meanwhile....

The rest of the queens are standing on-stage, waiting for their final member to join them as well as for the show to start. The royal violet curtain hides them from the audience's view as they continue to converse amongst themselves.

Anya popped her head out to see that the six are still incomplete. "Okay, where in the fuck is Anne?"

The queens looked at one another and gave a collective shrug, a silent answer that they too don't know.

Groaning once again, the stage manager spoke to the brother of the second wife, who was managing the sound board, through her headset.

"Hey George, any clue on where the hell is that sister of yours are?"

She hears a crackle for a bit until the Viscount responded.

"Not really. Though if I have to hazard a guess, she's probably still at the dressing room she shares with Aragon and Cleves."

"Why didn't I tried that before..." She mutters until she spoke to him back. "Alright, I'll try that option, thanks."

"No problem."

Releasing her fingers off the button of the headset, she scans the rest of the stage until she sets her sights on Maggie, who is the only one not occupied at the moment.

"Maggie, can I ask a favor for a sec?"

The guitarist sets down her instrument. "Sure, what's up?"

"Well you can see that one of six is missing," she rubs the back of her neck. "And I was kinda wondering if you can drag Anne's ass here before we can start in a few minutes."

"Say no more."

Stepping down from her podium, she passes by Anya for a bit before disappearing off-stage and onto the, quote unquote "stairs of death,” to retrieve her best friend.

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"Oh come on Harry! Give it to me!"

The Queen gave him a full on pout as the Earl holds the microphone infuriatingly out of her reach.

And she's already wearing heels for fuck's sake.

"Aww, what's the matter? Can't reach the mic cause you're short?" He teased as the Boleyn girl in front of him fumes further.

If he's being honest, seeing Anne getting heated on something is quite amusing to him. The usually carefree, devil-may-care queen being determined on achieving something is just endearing to him.

"I am not short!" Her indignant response breaks his train of thought. "You're just so freakishly tall! Besides, at least my height is average compared to some others."

Anya, the two simultaneously thought of the musical's 5'2 stage manager.

"Regardless," he gives her that shit eating grin once again (which she would have found attractive in any other situation but now's not the time). "You still can't reach it, and you're already wearing heels mon coeur."

At this point, Anne has both of his wrists on hold, inevitably pinning him in a spread out position on the wall. But what nags her to no end is that the mic is still out of reach since his right arm, the one holding the object, is fully extended, merely hanging over head at that.

She had two options to retrieve it back:

One, she can adjust her grip on him. Though doing so would cause him to most likely slip away.

Two, she could pin him down in a different position. Where, what and how exactly? She's does not know.

"I will only ask this nicely once Henry," her voice was thick with saccharine, "give it back to me. Please?"

"Hmm..."

He puts on a thoughtful look, until he leans in at her ear and whispers huskily.

"I'll think about it maybe," he pauses. "How about no, baby."

The audicity to use her own song.

Oh, he’s in for it now.

Percy leans back and sees that his girlfriend's currently flushed cheeks, which is usually colored with the dusted light pink blush from the make-up, is almost subpar to her red lipstick.

He should probably do that more often when they're alone.

He sees her trying to shake herself back into focus and lets a grin of satisfaction cross his face for that small victory. If anything gives him joy in both lifetimes, it's being able to make Anne Boleyn a blushing mess.

Anne continues to glare at him, though flustered she may be. "I swear to god Henry, give me the mic or I'll..." She trails off, not really sure on what she'll actually do to him.

"Or you'll what?" He gives her a raised brow.

"Ladies of the Six company, this is your beginners call."

The second queen's eyes grew wide at the announcement, panic already flooding through her. Unknowingly, she slackened her hold on her captive, which hasn't gone unnoticed by him.

Taking the chance, Percy managed to get himself free before making a break for it to the door, the golden microphone still within his grasp. He barely made it three steps to it until he was pinned down once more by none other than his girlfriend.

Who happens to lay on top of him. Panting heavily that is.

"Heh," he lets out a chuckle. "Well so much for that idea." He hands out to her the golden mic. With a smile, the beheaded queen was about to take the offending object back until she noticed a presence at the doorway.

Who happens to have an amused look on her face.

"You know," her lady-in-waiting began, "I can tell the others that you weren't feeling well if you're still busy."

Anne quickly scrambles for an explanation. "Mags, this isn't exactly what it looks like."

"You sure? You on top of him and him on the floor, doesn't exactly leave anything to imagination."

Oh if only I had my phone with me right now, this is blackmail worthy. She muses with a grin.

"She has a point on that." The second queen quickly shoots a glare to her boyfriend.

She gets off of him and dusts off the nonexistent dirt on her skirt. Mic in hand, she goes out of the dressing room and finally down to the stage. The stomping of her heels doesn’t go unnoticed to the two occupants left in the dressing room.

Percy and Maggie left lingering gazes at the door of where the queen had just left. "Please tell me you won't tell the others?" The Earl pleaded to the guitarist.

She thinks about it for a second. "Alright, I won't."

"Oh thank god-"

"On one condition."

Percy felt himself winced at that. "And that condition is...?"

"Just treat her right this time around or else you'll get to feel what its like to have a guitar on your head."

With that, the lady-in-waiting cheerily left the room with the semi-request and semi-threat still hanging in the air. Leaving behind an Earl gaping at it like a goldfish. 

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When Anne was asked on what took her so long to get down to the stage, her reply was simple.